Blacky Blasts Back (10 page)

‘G'day!' said the mound on the right in a frighteningly cheerful voice.

It was, I think, a female mound. She wore glasses as thick as beer bottles which made her eyes look like pee-holes in the snow. They swam above a huge smile, exposing teeth like tombstones. If you'd stumbled across this apparition on a dark night it would have prompted an involuntary bowel movement. The other mound was probably male. It was difficult to tell.

‘G'day,' said Phil, who was the first to recover his voice. ‘Camping, huh?' he added, thus proving that nothing subtle gets past him.

‘Absolutely,' said The Teeth. She leaned forward and lowered her voice. ‘Actually, we are hunting.' If anything, her grin became wider. It was difficult to believe a human mouth could accommodate so many gnashers. Think of a very short-sighted beaver and you'll get the general idea.

‘Really?' said Phil. ‘And what are you hunting?'

‘The thylacine.'

She'd lowered her voice even more, for reasons that weren't altogether clear. Did she think some government department might have bugged the forest? We were forced to lean closer.

‘Ah,' said Phil, plucking at his earring. ‘Caught many?'

‘No,' she said seriously. ‘We've been coming here every year for twenty years, determined to get photographic evidence. Plenty of close encounters, but no hard proof. But that's about to change. “This time, Gloria!” I said to myself. We can feel it, can't we, George?'

The other mound nodded, setting off another round of pot-clashing.

‘Oh yes,' Gloria The Teeth continued. ‘This is definitely the year. Well, mustn't dally. We heard your voices and thought we'd pop in to say hello. But time and the Tassie tiger waits for no man. Onwards and upwards. Tally-ho and all that.'

‘Good luck,' said Phil.

We watched as the mounds swayed noisily across the clearing and disappeared into the forest. I might have worried they'd get to the tiger before us, but it occurred to me that sneaking up on a wild animal stood a better chance of success if you didn't sound like a military brass band tuning up.

‘Paira mad rocket mental numpties,' snarled Jimmy.

We made stew for dinner. Us kids peeled vegetables and Jimmy and Phil diced lumps of beef. We put the whole lot into a couple of huge pots and suspended them over the camp fire. Jimmy had kept some of the vegies separate and he put them into another pot with tofu chunks. Dinner wouldn't be ready for a couple of hours, but we were in no hurry. Once more, I felt bone-weary, but it was a good weariness.

As darkness drew in, we gathered round the fire. No one said much. We watched the flames and smelt the rich aroma of camp stew. I can't tell you how good it was.

Jimmy sat next to me. I glanced at him as he stared into the fire. Boy, was he hairy! My dad once put a roll of insulation into our roof space and it wasn't as thick as the mat on Jimmy's arms. An eagle could nest in it.

‘Jimmy?' I said.

He turned his eyes towards me.

‘Aye, lad.'

‘Do you live out here?'

‘I wish, laddie. I wish. Nay. Ye cannae live oot here. This is a state forest, so it is. Protected. If it wasnae, ev'ry Tom, Dick and bumhole wud be oot here, sticking up their wee hooses and cuttin' doon the trees to make room. And then there'd be
TV
towers and roods and Mc-freakin'-Donalds. And ye know whit, laddie?'

I shook my head. He leaned in closer.

‘Then all of this wud be gone,' he whispered. ‘Everything. An' that . . . that wud be a crime, so it wud.'

‘You love this place, don't you?'

‘Aye. I do that.'

‘So it
is
protected, at least.'

Jimmy sighed.

‘In theory, laddie. In theory.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘Huv a butchers aroond ye, lad. What do ya see?'

‘Butchers?'

‘A look. What d'ye see all aroond us?'

‘Trees.'

‘Aye, lad. Trees. Living things. Magnificent. Ancient. But if, God forbid, we had a business peerson here, do ye know what
they'd
see? They'd see money, lad. Money. Profit. More bucks i'the bank, so they could buy another car or build another hoose. 'Cause there's money in timber, son. There's awfay money in timber.'

He scratched his nose.

‘Course, we have politicians to run things.' He spat into the fire. It hissed. ‘Trouble is, a politician loves a businessman, so he does. Thick as thieves. So when a businessman wants tae cut doon trees there's plenty o' pollies who willnae get i'the way. We need tae be vigilant, son.
You
need tae be vigilant.'

‘Me?'

‘Aye, you. Us auld uns huv hud oor time and a right pig's ear we've made of it. It's you weans that huv to look oot fithe world noo. If it's not already too late.'

I watched the fire and thought. Tasmania was freezing cold and where we were you couldn't get reception on your mobile phone. But it was so beautiful.

And like many beautiful things, so fragile.

‘G
ET UP
! N
OW
!'

I shook my head. Was I never going to be allowed to sleep? I struggled up in bed and glanced at the luminous dials of my watch. Three-thirty in the morning. What was going on?

‘You need to get dressed, tosh. Wake Dylan. It's time.'

I rubbed at my eyes.

‘Blacky,' I said. ‘Are you some kind of mad rocket numpty?' I was beginning to pick up Jimmy's way of talking. They say it's easier to learn a foreign language when you're young. ‘It's the middle of the night. Surely it can wait until morning?'

‘No, mush. It's an emergency.'

‘What is?'

There was silence for a couple of seconds.

‘She's sick,' said Blacky. ‘Really sick.'

‘Who is?'

‘The last Tasmanian tiger. There's no time to waste, boyo. Not if we want to have a chance of saving her.'

Dyl woke as soon as I put a hand on his shoulder. His eyes widened.

‘Marc,' he whispered. ‘You're scaring me.'

‘Sorry, mate,' I whispered back. ‘But Blacky is here. We have to go. Now.'

‘No. Not that,' he said, swinging his legs out of bed and reaching for his clothes. ‘It's you.
You're
scaring me.'

I realised why. I was wearing my thermal underwear. I'd snuck it on when I'd got under the covers last night. Now I was standing in the dorm looking like a pale grey sausage.
Never mind
, I thought.
I'm going to be grateful I've got them
.

We got dressed in less than thirty seconds. I grabbed the backpack next to my bed. Jimmy and Phil had insisted we stow our gear ready for the morning hike. According to Jimmy, they didn't want us faffin' aboot for hours like a wee buncha galoots and boggin' muppets. Wise words, I thought. Or was it
meaningless
words? Anyway, the backpack contained the tent, wet-weather gear and a survival pack, including emergency rations.

Dyl and I crept out of the dorm. The floorboards creaked a couple of times and we stopped and listened. It was unlikely any of the other kids would wake up. If yesterday was anything to go by, they were so tired they'd sleep through a marching band recital with an accompanying fireworks display.

It was a bitter night. There was a half-moon nestled in the branches of trees. The clearing around the cabins was bathed in pale, cold light.

Blacky was by the barbecue. Dyl and I padded over to him, hoisting our backpacks onto our shoulders.

‘Let's go,' he said.

‘Wait a moment, Blacky,' I said. ‘I have to leave a message.'

He made snuffling, impatient noises in my head. I can't even begin to tell you how weird that was.

‘Why, mush? What's the point?'

‘They'll worry, Blacky. I need to tell them we're safe, that we haven't been abducted. Say we'll join up with them here in a few days.'

‘Oh, okay, tosh. That'll really work.
Me and Dyl, twelve years old and city boys, have wandered off into hostile bush in a remote wilderness area for reasons best known to ourselves. Don't wait up.
That'll put their minds at rest! They
are
going to search for you, mush. You know that, don't you? Probably with police, mountain rescue and helicopters. And you are also going to have to avoid being discovered. Until the mission is completed.'

I knew all that. But when he put it that way, I suddenly realised how much trouble I was going to be in. Mum and Dad would be informed. They'd go mental. And it wasn't just them. There were so many people who'd be worried sick about our safety. Rose would be distraught at my disappearance. Who was she going to torture if I wasn't around?

And I'd never be able to explain. Not without the risk of being checked into the nearest lunatic asylum. Perhaps I should say nothing. Let them think we
had
been kidnapped. Claim amnesia and then pretend to forget I'd claimed it. That might be a way to avoid being deep in the brown, smelly stuff for the rest of my days.

I couldn't, though. I had to leave some message.

Now, I don't know about you, but if you've ever got up at three-thirty in the morning in the middle of nowhere to chase after an extinct animal, you might have had the foresight to pack a writing pad and pencil. Not me. I had nothing to write with.

So I took a stick and scratched a message in the dirt next to the barbecue.

Please don't worry. We are safe. Will be back.

Blacky was right. It wouldn't work. But I felt better having done it. I hoped it wasn't going to rain and wash the message away. Actually, I was hoping it wasn't going to rain anyway. I was freezing as it was.

Blacky led the way out of the clearing. I glanced back. I could just make out the cabins, bathed in soft moonlight. They were solid, safe. Then the bush swallowed us and they were gone.

Within five minutes we were deep into the forest and the moon was hidden by overarching trees. The darkness was thick. It pressed on my eyes.

There was a torch among the survival gear, but Blacky wouldn't let me turn it on.

‘If anyone back at the camp woke up, they'd be able to see the beam. We need to move in darkness for at least half an hour. You can use it then.'

It was the worst half-hour of my life and I've had a few bad ones in my time. Mainly involving Rose.

I couldn't see a metre in front of me, even after my eyes had adjusted to the night. We moved slowly in single file. Blacky in the lead, then me and Dyl bringing up the rear. There was no path as far as I could tell. We picked our way through trees, occasionally tripping over fallen branches. But that wasn't the scariest bit. Whenever we stopped, the bush was alive with rustles, scratches, sounds of unseen things moving all around. Once, something startled only a metre away to my right. A dark shape, a wedge of shadow among shadows, plunged into the bush with a crash that brought my stomach, my heart and most of my internal organs up into my throat.

Another reason to be grateful for the thermal underwear. They were so tight that if I
did
poop myself in terror, there was no chance anything nasty would slide down my trouser leg and deposit itself in my shoe.

Partly to mask the sounds of animals, I told Dyl what Blacky had said about the last Tasmanian tiger. I kept my voice down. I don't know why, but there, in the heart of the bush, it felt like being in church.

‘Sick?' whispered Dyl. ‘With what?'

Blacky chipped in.

‘According to Tess—' ‘Tess?' I said.

‘Tess, the Tassie tiger. She was walking through the bush when she caught a scent. Human scent. She froze in fear. The presence of humans does that to animals. When she turned her head, she saw the guy about twenty metres away. She ran but he followed. And then there was another human to her left trying to cut her off. Eventually, they backed her onto a small cliff. Her only chance of escape was to jump.'