Blacky Blasts Back (14 page)

Blacky appeared at our feet. He cocked his head and fixed me with those pink-rimmed eyes.

‘We have to run, mush. She's fading fast. It might be too late already. No more creeping around.'

And then he was gone, a dirty-white blur across the track.

‘Run, guys,' I said. ‘Follow the hound.'

We pounded through bush. Blacky moved so fast it was difficult to track him. I shouted in my head but he didn't let up the pace. Within five minutes, the trees thinned and we entered a large clearing.

This land was dotted with bushes and the undergrowth was thick with coarse grass that came to my knees. Blacky had virtually disappeared beneath its surface. It was only by following the movement of the grass that I was able to track his route. By now, my breath was ragged and my heart thumping. And not just from exercise. Blacky's words echoed in my head.
Fading fast. Too late already
. Tears stung my eyes and I had no idea where they'd come from. I brushed them aside with one arm and redoubled my efforts.

We passed over a slight ridge and came to a stop.

Blacky lay panting ten metres in front of us. He was next to a low, dense bush. The grass around the area was flattened, which was why we could see him. I took one step forward. The grass was badged in dark brown splodges.

Blood. Dried blood.

I took another pace.

I wanted so badly to see.

I wanted so badly
not
to see.

Blacky said nothing.

I moved slowly behind the bush. There was no animal, but there was a smell. A sickly, powerful smell of rottenness, of corruption. I knelt down and put one hand over my nose, the other hand towards the thick shrub. Close up, I could see that something had crawled in there.

I trembled as I parted the branches.

She lay on her side. Fawn-coloured with ten, maybe fifteen, chocolate-brown stripes from a stiff tail to halfway up her spine.

Her eyes met mine and she lifted her head slightly, but the effort was too much and she slumped back. I looked down at her hind leg.

It was a mess. A jagged splinter of bone jutted through fur. It must have been incredibly painful, but I knew that was the least of her worries. I knew because the source of the smell was now obvious. Her entire leg was puffy, swollen with infection. I'd heard of this. The word burst into my mind like a bomb.

Gangrene.

The tiger's chest rose and fell in short, rapid movements.

Suddenly, the tears that had started during my run welled up afresh. I sat back on my heels and sobbed. I rocked backwards and forwards and sobbed. Dyl and John knelt beside me. I felt their arms around my shoulders. Never before had I felt such desolation.

When Blacky's words came, they were uncharacteristically gentle.

‘You didn't do this to her, tosh.'

‘No,' I cried in my mind. ‘I didn't. But other human beings made her like this. By tracking her down, making her desperate. And that makes me responsible, in part. And ashamed. I am so ashamed, Blacky.'

‘I didn't bring you here to feel shame, Marc. This is a mission, mush, not another example of how badly humans treat the world. There is still good to be done.'

I ran my hands through my hair.

‘But how, Blacky? Me and Dyl can't deal with this. The broken leg, maybe. But this infection . . . her leg needs amputating and we're kids, not vets.'

Then it struck me. How could I be so stupid?

‘The hunters! They might have a car somewhere. Or a satellite phone. We could still get her treatment.' I jumped to my feet in excitement.

‘Sit down, boyo,' said Blacky. ‘It's too late. She's dying. She knows it. She'd be dead before you could get her one kilometre, let alone the hundred to the nearest vet.'

I slumped back down and put my hand very carefully on the tiger's chest. She gazed at me with pain-filled eyes. And it was anger that surged through me then. I could feel it rise from the tiger's skin and tingle through my veins. Anger at what we had done to the world, but also anger at Blacky. It felt hot in my blood.

‘But
you
knew about this, Blacky,' I spat. ‘You could have told me where she was. I could have told someone. Phil. He'd have saved her.'

‘Her leg was broken, boyo. It could have been fixed. I only found out about the infection yesterday when I came to bring her food. Remember I said I had an errand? That was it. Bringing her the dried beef I'd stockpiled.'

The explanation wasn't good enough.

‘But there was still time,' I cried. ‘We could've got a vet here. How could you make that choice, Blacky? To let her die here in agony?'

‘It
wasn't
my choice, mush,' said Blacky. ‘It was Tess's. She told me that under no circumstances was I to bring anyone but you and Dylan. Her decision. I had to respect that and so must you.'

My anger died then. It dribbled away and in its place was a dark, echoing hole.

‘I don't understand, Blacky. What good can I possibly do now?'

‘This, tosh.'

He must have said something to the tiger, because she lifted her back leg. She flinched in pain and a thick ooze of pus burst from her wound. But it wasn't the pus that drew my attention. It wasn't even the reek of rotting flesh. It was the pouch between her legs.

And the three puppies curled within it.

‘I belong here,' said Tess. ‘This is my world. Not in a cage, pacing to and fro for the rest of my life. Not in a laboratory where I will be cut open, like others before me. When I die, bury me here. Bury me where others of your kind will never find me. Promise.'

Blacky was the go-between. Tess's words appeared in my head, but it was his voice I heard.

‘I promise,' I said. What else was there to say?

‘Thank you. And I ask you to make sure my children – my three beautiful daughters – do not fall into the hands of humans. It would mean their deaths.'

‘They'd be looked after,' I said. Humans were bad. But we weren't that bad. The puppies would be raised carefully. Better than most kids. Back from extinction? They would be the royalty of the animal world. Cosseted, pampered, given the best of care.

‘You don't understand,' said Tess. ‘When others of my kind were captured by humans, they lost the will to live. They never bred in captivity. Not once. Instead, they withered. It might have taken years until they drew their last breath, but they were already dead inside. I don't want that to happen to my children.'

‘I'll try,' I said. ‘I promise I'll try. But Tess, I'm a kid. I can't raise your daughters by myself. And there are people searching for us. Searching for you, too. I don't know if I can succeed in this.'

I suppose I could have lied. Life was draining from her by the second. I watched, helplessly, as it ebbed away. And maybe it would have been kinder to let her go believing things would turn out okay. But I couldn't. Blacky was right. She deserved respect. She deserved the truth.

‘All I ask is that you do your best,' she said. ‘But if it cannot be, I have one last request.'

I nodded.

‘That you kill my puppies. Quickly. Humanely. And bury them with me.'

She must have seen the horror on my face.

‘At least they will have lived and died in freedom,' she continued. ‘Promise me.'

I couldn't say anything. I nodded again, but it was just a movement. I was empty inside.

‘You are a good person, Marcus. Blacky has told me about you and your friend, Dylan. I would never have wanted my children's fate to be left in the hands of a human, but if it must be so, then I am glad you are the one. I'm glad.'

There was so much I wanted to say, but in the end only one thing meant anything.

‘I'm sorry, Tess. I'm so sorry.'

There was a pause.

‘She knew that, mush. She knew it.'

I stared at Blacky and then at Tess. Her chest no longer rose and fell. Her eyes were glassy and staring. Whatever lived behind them once had fled.

John Oakman tapped me on the shoulder.

‘People,' he said. ‘Here.'

The bush covered us. I carefully poked my head out. Two people, maybe a quarter of a kilometre away. Two people buried under a mountain of camping gear. Yup, our tiger hunters might stand out like an Akubra on a polar bear but they had an uncanny knack of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. They were scanning the ground. I wondered for a moment what they were tracking, and then I realised it was us. We'd left a path of beaten grass in our mad run through the bush. Even as I watched, another couple of people appeared from a slightly different direction.

Jimmy and Mr Crannitch. They headed towards us as well.

We ducked back behind the shrub. Brilliant! Fantastic! Of all times to get company, this had to be the worst. I estimated we had five or six minutes before certain discovery. At least it gave me another problem to focus on. I was grateful to put Tess's last words out of my mind for a while.

‘They mustn't find us, guys,' I said. ‘If anyone has any brilliant ideas how we're going to get out of this, now would be a good time to share them.'

No reply. Dyl scratched his head. John was still processing the request. If I waited until he understood what was required, we'd be back on the mainland establishing a Guinness Book of Records entry for longest grounding in history. For once, there was nothing from Blacky. Four of us and not even a glimmering of an idea.

‘A decoy,' I said, more to myself than anything. ‘We need something to attract their attention, get them to move away from here.'

And even as I said it, the idea popped up like one of those light-bulb-over-the-head moments. It was brilliant. It was magnificent. It was the product of a mind bordering on genius.

‘No way, mush,' came Blacky's voice in my head. ‘I have my dignity, you know.'

‘Oh yeah?' I replied. ‘Dignity, huh? And rolling in poo helps that how?'

‘You might not consider it dignified, tosh, but believe me, among my own kind, I'm considered the very height of refinement.'

‘Never mind, Blacky. Time is ticking and this is something you
have
to do. Anyway, you're built for it.' I examined him carefully and nearly reconsidered. Blacky is dirty-white, small, with a stumpy tail and a black patch over one eye. He actually
wasn't
built for this. Then again, maybe we had time to effect a makeover . . .

As Blacky read my mind, he took a step backwards and I realised I'd have to argue later. I jumped forward and pinned the squirming mutt to the ground.

‘Quick, Dyl. Hold Blacky down,' I said. I was treated to a close-up of one of Blacky's rolling eyes.
Master of disguise?
I thought.
Time to put your money where your mouth is, tosh.

Dyl wasn't keen. He had plenty of experience with Blacky and knew that in a toss-up between confronting a bad-tempered, flick-knife-wielding death adder or tackling the foul-smelling hound, the snake was the wiser option. He did it, though.