Invincible (Invisible 2)

by Cecily Anne Paterson

  Mum.

  And then there’s a rumble in my heart. It’s the elephants again.

  I have to speak.

  “Why haven’t you ever come to see me and Mum?” My question rattles out like bits of gravel being swirled out of a bucket. It sits between us like rubble. Gah. I’m not getting any better at saying things politely.

  There’s a silence. I shiver and I can’t tell if it’s because I’ve made us cold or because there’s a breeze coming up. Nothing happens for a minute and I’m just about to open my mouth and try to make things better, apologise, when Grandma stands up.

  Her face is tight.

  “I’m sorry I told you to ask whatever you wanted,” she says. “I’m sorry. There are just some things…” She shakes her head. “I can’t talk about… I just can’t.” She turns away from me and I can feel tears starting in my eyes. Around me, suddenly, the air is heavier.

  “Excuse me,” she says, tense and harsh. “I need to be on my own for a bit,” and she turns abruptly and walks off, back down the path into the bush.

  I’m light headed and disbelieving. My hands are clenching themselves automatically, on-off, on-off and my legs are feeling wobbly. I crane my head to follow Grandma, not daring to get up and go with her, but terrified to stay here on my own. The cliff drop seems closer, the rocks darker and the view, instead of being full of delight now appears to be reaching out swirly hands towards me, trying to suck me in. In the distance a cloud has appeared. I wasn’t mistaken before. The sky really is getting grey.

  We’re going to have a storm.

  Frozen, I sit on my rock like a statue on its base. I don’t know how long I’m there. Ten minutes? Twenty? Time could be zooming by or standing still, I wouldn’t really know. But Grandma hasn’t come back, even though my eyes are trained towards the way she went, willing her to emerge from the trees, all smiles again. “Jaz! It was a joke!”

  Yeah, right.

  My stomach is telling me it’s time to eat but I don’t want to dig in the bags for food without Grandma. She’ll think I’m rude, starting without her. And I am rude. Rude to ask questions. Rude to want to know. Rude and ridiculous to think that when someone, even someone who’s your grandma, says you can be honest, you really can.

  I can’t bear it any more. I have to find her. I run back to the path, into the bush, through the trees. Twenty or 30 metres in, in a small clearing I stop and look around. No sign of Grandma. Surely she hasn’t started down the mountain without me? I’ll have to look again.

  “Grandma!” I shout. “Grandma!” But it’s a pointless exercise. Am I going to be able to hear her if she yells back? Still, maybe she’ll at least know that I’m looking for her.

  I head back towards the rocks again. Maybe she’s headed back there and is looking for me. My head is going left and right, back and forth, sweeping the bush for clues. And then I find one. It’s a tiny, half-beaten path going off the right. I’m guessing it leads to a flat place I saw on the edge of the cliff drop.

  It’s a squeeze through bushes and an obstacle course over dead branches and vines.

  “Grandma!” I call. “Grandma! Are you here?”

  And then I hear just a tiny sound, so shrill it could almost be a bird call. “Aaz.”

  I call again. “Grandma?” And I hear it again, just a little louder. “Aaaz.”

  And then I’m running, as fast as I can, tripping over wood and leaves and scratching my face on branches towards the sound, towards Grandma. It must be her. It is her. I have to find her.

  And then, rounding a corner, I do.

  She’s lying on the path on her side, her hair fanned out over a rock. She’s holding her arm and crying and shouting, “Jaz, Jaz.”

  My Grandma is hurt. And I kneel down, crying and sobbing and trying not to hurt her as I hug her.

  “It’s okay,” I say, tears running down my face. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

  Chapter 18

  We hug for a moment before Grandma grabs my arm.

  “I think I’m injured,” she says, pulling me towards her so I can see her face. There are lines on it I haven’t seen before; a look of terror, or horror. Something I don’t recognise. Her voice wavers and goes small. “I’m so sorry. So sorry.”

  I sit back on my heels and brush a leaf off her hair. “It’s not your fault,” I say. “It’s okay,” but she shakes her head from side to side.

  “No. I’m sorry. I was hurt.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I say. I’m not quite sure what she means. “It’s not important. But we need to get you up. Is your arm hurting?”

  Grandma nods and winces. I chew my lips and think back to old episodes of The Famous Five Mum used to play for me on the video machine before we finally threw it out. “I loved them,” she always said. “Especially George and Timmy. You will too.”

  To be honest, I wasn’t sure about the Five. They weren’t like any kids I’d ever met, always getting themselves into crazy situations. On the other hand, they always seemed to know just what to do. And now I’m in a crazy situation, without any ideas. What would George have done if Anne had hurt her arm? The answer came to me in a flash. Make a sling.

  “Back in a sec,” I say to Grandma and I dash down the little path, back over the branches and through the scrub, out onto the main path and out to the rocks. I dig through our bags, find an extra shirt and start to head back before stopping in my tracks. George would take the whole bag. I run in the opposite direction, gather up both bags in my arms and scrabble back through the bush to Grandma.

  She’s crying now. “It hurts so much.”

  “Just your arm?”

  “No. Ankle too.”

  I ease my hands around her shoulders and move her hair off her face.

  “I’m going to help you sit up, okay?”

  “Okay,” she says, voice tiny.

  I pull and she moves and with grunts and groans and a screwed up face, we get her sitting, her back against a tree. I take the extra shirt and tie it around her neck like a sling to support the sore arm. She whimpers and then pants in exhaustion, closing her eyes and clinging to my hand so hard it hurts. I wait, swallowing the lump in my throat; hoping that in a minute she’ll open her eyes, smile brightly and get up again. Whew. That was exciting.

  But it doesn’t happen. She just sits there, her face as white as the gum tree she’s leaning against, a tiny dribble of saliva inching down her chin. I reach forward.

  “Sorry,” I say and gingerly wipe it with my t-shirt but as I come in close she grabs my arm again.

  “Get help,” she whispers. I almost have to lip read. She pants again a few times. “I can’t go down.”

  My eyes go big and I chew my lips so hard that there are patches where the skin is broken. “Do you mean you can’t walk down the hill?” I say, coming in close to her face. “Do you want me to go all the way back down on my own and call someone?”

  She nods, a heavy movement.

  I look around me, hoping that someone is going to turn up like in a miracle rescue movie and tell me exactly what to do and how to do it. Or, even better, do it all for me. There’s a noise from below me. I look down and realise that I’m rubbing my hands together, slapping them and stretching my fingers in panic.

  “Okay,” I say. “Hang on. I’ll just…” and I turn around and half run through the bush again, back to the path. Maybe if I yell out someone will hear me. Maybe we’ll get rescued after all.

  “Hello?” I shout. “Help!” I turn in all directions, cupping my hands around my mouth. “Helloooo.”

  I listen as hard as I can but even with my hearing aid on there doesn’t seem to be any reply. My heart is beating and there are sweat drops on my nose, even though the breeze is up. I look up at the sky. Was it that dark before? It’s changed even since I went to get the bags. I shiver and hug my thin jacket around me. Why me? If this is some kind of joke, it’s not a very funny one. If it’s a challenge, whoever’s in charge has picked the wrong girl. I don’
t have a clue what to do. Not like George from the TV.

  I’m still looking up at the sky. Okay, I say, to whoever is listening. George? Anne? The clouds? God? Timmy the dog, even? What am I supposed to do now?

  Go back to Grandma. The words are clear, almost audible, like a shot into my brain. I look around, expecting to see someone—or even a hologram of someone—but there’s no one. Just a gust of wind. I should, I think. I should do that, and then I’m running back, again, for the fifth time through the branches and prickles and scrubby leaves, all the way back down the tiny makeshift path.

  Grandma’s eyes are open now and there’s a tiny bit more colour in her face. She even manages a smile when she sees me.

  “Back already?” She’s trying for a joke.

  “Haven’t gone yet,” I say. “Do you really think I should?”

  “I could try to walk, I suppose,” she says and my heart lifts. “Give me a minute.”

  She takes some deep breaths. “I’m ready.”

  I put my hands under her arms and try to pull her up but she gives a loud cry and then I almost drop her because all her weight is on me.

  “Sorry,” she says, as I lean her back against her tree. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I’m sorry too,” I say, tears welling up in my eyes. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “It’s okay,” she says, breathing deeply. “It’s okay.”

  I wipe my face. Grandma can’t move. No one is coming to rescue us. I’m going to have to do something. And I’m going to have to do it now.

  “Can you drink?” I ask her. “I’m going to give you some juice.”

  At the bottom of the bag is a juice box. I pop the seal and hold the straw up to Grandma’s mouth. She takes a sip and then another.

  “Just slowly,” I say. “A bit at a time.” She nods. Okay. I put the juice box next to her, where she can reach it with her good hand.

  “What about food?” I ask. “Can you eat?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “There’s a sandwich and a caramel. I’m going to leave them here next to the drink.”

  Grandma nods again and then shivers. I twist my mouth from side to side. I have to keep her warm somehow. But with what? The spare shirt has become a sling and there are no more jackets. This time I don’t even need the Famous Five to give me answers. I know them as soon as I’ve thought of the question. I slip off my own jacket and put it over Grandma and then pull the picnic rug from her bag. It’s lined with some kind of plastic stuff.

  “Should keep the wind off,” I say and Grandma manages a small smile.

  “You’re kind,” she begins, but I cut her off.

  “Okay. Now. I’m going to have to go down the hill. Maybe not all the way but at least until the phone gets reception again and I can call someone,” I say, but a worry catches at my stomach. Who do you call when your grandma is stuck on a mountain with an injured arm and a sore leg? “Ambulance?”

  Grandma nods. “Ambulance. Fire. Whoever. The emergency number. They’ll know who to send. Just remember: it’s Trembler’s Rocks.”

  I nod. There are butterflies in my stomach and my mouth is dry. I pull out a water bottle and the phone to take with me.

  “Hopefully I’ll be back in two hours,” I say. “It won’t be long.”

  Grandma nods. She looks tired. “I’ll just stay here,” she says, with a tiny smile. It’s her little joke. “I won’t go anywhere.”

  I kiss her on the cheek, and then again on the top of the head and then I wait just a tiny second, still hesitating, before George from the Famous Five pokes me in the back and tells me to get going, I’m wasting time.

  The path is just as rough going down as it is coming up. I’m going so fast that I fall over a couple of times, grazing my hands on the rocks, before I tell myself sternly to be careful; I can’t afford an injury as well. My muscles hurt again, but the pain doesn’t take over my head like it did on the way up. I’ve got more important things to think about. Every ten minutes I open the phone and check for reception but the little bars stay dark and silent.

  Help me, help me, help me, I say, over and over to whoever is listening. Let Grandma be okay. Let me find some help. I don’t know what to do. The path is a mess of roots and branches and rotten logs and I pick my way across them as fast as I can, heading down, down, down the hill, further and further away from Grandma. I’m vaguely aware that I’m hungry and vaguely aware that I’m cold but none of it matters. I just have to get down, get help and get back.

  After three quarters of an hour the path flattens out again and then I start to run, panting and coughing. A slow jog is all I can manage after about five minutes. I’m definitely not fit enough for finding my way out of crazy situations. Eventually I have to stop, panting, my hands on my knees and head down.

  And then I see it.

  The phone has reception.

  I press the numbers quickly and sloppily, almost getting them wrong, and then hold the phone hungrily to my ear. There’s a ring, ring, space, ring, ring, and then, relief! A voice. Saying hello. Asking how she can help me.

  I stumble out my words, still panting from the running and I’m talking so quickly that she almost can’t understand me.

  “Please slow down. What is your emergency?”

  “My grandma is injured. She’s at the top of the mountain, you know, Trembler’s Rocks?”

  “What road is that on?” says the voice.

  “Road?” I say. Panic fills my stomach. “I have no idea what road it is. I came here with my grandma. She drove. I’m just 14. I’m not even from here.”

  “It’s okay,” says the voice. “You’ll be okay. Take a deep breath and we’ll go through it again. I’m going to get you some help.”

  It takes maybe six minutes before we work out where exactly we are, what sort of injuries Grandma has and how they can get to us.

  “It’s going to be over an hour before someone can get up there,” says the woman. “Maybe even two. And with the storm coming, it may take longer. Because there are just two of you, I want you to go back to your Grandma and stay with her. Keep her warm. Give her a drink. Can you do that?”

  “Okay,” I say. “I can.” My stomach goes tight again. “But will you come? Are you sure?”

  “Totally sure,” she says. “Someone’s on their way.”

  I hang up the phone. For a second I want to cry but I hold it back. This isn’t the time. I’ve got to get back to Grandma.

  Chapter 19

  By the time I drag myself to the top of Trembler’s Rocks, for the second time in one day, I’m trembling, myself, with pain and tiredness. Plus I’m hungry, plus I’m cold, plus I’ve emptied my water bottle. I’ll have to check and see if we have another one.

  Oh yes, and there’s thunder and lightning crashing and smashing around my head. It started halfway up the really steep bit and I nearly jumped when I heard the first roll. It’s huge and booming and sparkly in the sky. Thunder and lightning are fine when you’re inside looking out. When you’re outside wanting to be in and home and safe and warm, it’s not so good.

  When I finally stumble back down the little breakaway path towards Grandma I find her sleeping, covered with the picnic blanket. I throw myself on the ground, exhausted and wobbly and just lie there for a while. When I finally move again, reaching out for another drink and maybe some chocolate, my legs and arms and feet feel like they’re not quite mine, not quite in my control. I suck greedily at another juice box and stuff the sugar in my mouth in one go. I want to eat more but I’m worried we might have to be here for a while. George wouldn’t eat it all now, I think and decide to ignore the pains in my empty belly.

  There’s a massive crack of thunder and Grandma’s eyes jerk awake. For a half second she looks scared and uncertain and I have a flash and understanding that she is old. My grandmother is an old woman. I don’t really know what to do with that.

  She looks around and then sees me sitting just away from her. A smile of relie
f covers her face.

  “Oh sweetheart. You did it!”

  “They’re coming to get us, Grandma. It won’t be straight away, and they’ll probably have to get you down in a stretcher, so you’ll have to hang tight for a bit longer, okay?”

  She nods and I can see tears welling. Her good hand reaches from under the blanket to catch my own and her grip is wobbly.

  “Thank you, Jaz.” She shakes her head. “Thank you. I’m so sorry.”

  “The woman on the phone said I had to keep you warm,” I say. “And to give you a drink.” I reach for a bottle of water. “You have to have some. She said so.”

  Grandma takes a sip and just as she puts the bottle down, there’s another explosion of thunder and a zzizt of lightning. I look up at the tree trunk she’s leaning against. I’m not an expert on storms but even I know that trees and lightening don’t mix.

  “I think we’ll have to move.”

  I hoist Grandma up, wincing and whimpering and half-drag, half-carry her to a spot under a straggly looking bush.

  “We’re going to have to sit on the packs,” I say. “And we can cover ourselves with the blanket.”

  It’s hard and uncomfortable and boring to wait, and my legs and arms are aching, especially with Grandma leaning on me. When the rain finally comes down I think I just might possibly die from cold and wet and misery, not to mention the very annoying, pointy rock that seems to be lodged under my bottom. But I have to stay strong. Grandma is depending on me.

  What would George do? I think to myself, over and over. What would George do if she was wet and cold and miserable? But there’s only one answer. George would stick it out. She’d hug her dog and sit close to her friends and shut her eyes and find every single, tiny bit of strength inside her to keep going.

  So I put one arm around Grandma and one arm around my own knees, shut my eyes and think of all my favourite things; my plants, my journal. Mum and Gabby. Liam’s eyes and the way the twins do everything together. I think of Dad’s smile and the feeling I always had when he hugged me. I think of Grandma and the things she’s made me eat, and dancing with no one looking. I think of Adrian and the sparkle of the ocean and the bounce of his little boat, Vincey, and how she made it through a storm as well.