The Amber Trail (11 page)

“
Are you
okay?”

Dig clutched at his chest and
grimaced. “I think so,” he said. “Just fell pretty
hard.”

“
Up then.” Hari held
out a hand. Dig grasped it and was pulled to his feet.

“
He’s very sorry,”
Hari said to the shopkeeper and placed his palms together at his
chest. He pulled the bike upright and wheeled it back toward his
shop, gesturing for Dig to follow.

“
Sorry,” Dig repeated
to the stall owner, and
hobbled after
him
.

Hari leaned the motorbike against
the shopfront. “Wait here,” he said. “I’ve just the thing.” He
disappeared through the doorway.

Dig knelt forward on the dirt,
panting and rubbing at his chest. Hari reappeared through the
curtain of beads, pushing a rusted pink pushbike. It had curved
handlebars, yellow streamers dangling from the handles, and a bent
wicker basket hanging from the front. The wheels were large and the
tyres thin.

“
Your new ride!” Hari
said.

Dig frowned.

A HOT WIND BLEW THROUGH
Dig’s hair
as he weaved his new pushbike between pedestrians on the Hampi
bazaar. His daypack was hooked across his shoulders and a one page
tourist map jammed into his back pocket. Dogs barked at his ankles
as he pedalled.

He followed the road until the
street stalls and restaurants dropped away, leaving a wide dirt
path that thinned out and tracked past a sign that announced the
start of the natural heritage area. Dig eased the bike to a halt
beside the sign.

Ahead, a wide expanse of
triangular hills stood before a hazy blue sky. Piles of beige, sun
bleached boulders were spread across the hills with small stone
buildings nestled amongst them. A carpet of tropical green palms
circled their base. It was an imposing landscape that seemed like a
sandpit for the children of giants.

The dirt road continued past the
sign and snaked into the distance between the hills. Dig checked
his map, then pushed his bike into motion and pedalled away down
the road.

He followed the path across a
rocky field before Dig spotted what he was looking for—twin
sections of rusted steel running perpendicular to the path, nearly
buried in the ground. It was a crossing over the old railway
line.

Dig parked his bike and surveyed
the horizon. Birds chirped in the distance and a light breeze blew
clouds of dust up at his feet, but otherwise all was still. No
modern buildings could be seen, and certainly nothing that
resembled a brewery.

What am I doing?
he
thought.
This can’t be the right place. Why would Dad ever come
out here?

On each side of the crossing, the
path of the old rail line carved a cutting through the rocky
landscape. Dark timber sleepers were partially visible below the
tracks, amongst an overgrowth of pointed brown grass and spiky
weeds.

Dig glanced toward Hampi, then
rolled the front wheel of the bike to sit between the parallel
railway tracks heading north. He placed his foot on the pedal and
pushed the bike forward.

The bike had no shocks and the
padding on the seat was sparse. As the wheels rumbled along the
timber sleepers Dig felt every bump and groove reverberate through
the frame. He sat forward and concentrated on the ground ahead as
he dodged the weeds between the tracks. Periodically the rims would
bottom out, sending a shockwave through the bicycle frame and
directly into his rear end.

He followed the rails around the
base of a wide hill where tall grass whipped at his shins. The
track veered downhill into a cluster of dense tropical palms
crowding tightly on both sides of the track. Overhanging vines
pulled at his face.  

The palms opened out to reveal a
wide river, and he followed the tracks over a weathered timber
bridge. The water below the bridge was dark, and flowed slowly,
with large leaves travelling on the surface. Long reeds grew on the
banks.

The track then began to rise, and
Dig stood up to pump the pedals harder. His thighs burned as his
breathing increased.

A large hill crested the horizon.
The landscape around him became rockier, and piles of boulders rose
up beside the rails. The track curved around a bend and headed
directly toward the dark semi-circle of a tunnel; the rails
disappeared into the hole.

Dig let the bike cruise to a
standstill at the opening. He was breathing heavily, and he fished
his water bottle from his pack to gulp down a few
mouthfuls.

Cylindrical rock columns flanked
either side of the tunnel, and a stone arch spanned across the top
with a series of unfamiliar characters carved into it. A small bird
with blue and green feathers was perched on top of the arch. Its
head was buried under one wing, preening itself.

He stepped off the bike and
propped it against the rocky cutting beside the track, then
approached the darkness. He moved cautiously, feeling like an
unwelcome visitor to an ancient home. As he reached the opening, he
eased his head inside and waited for his eyes to adjust to the
gloom.

It was damp and cool, and the
hairs on the back of Dig’s neck crept to attention. The rail line
continued on, curving slowly into the depths of the hill. Black
streaks of ash ran down the walls. Water dripped from the ceiling
and formed stagnant pools beside the rails.

Dig stepped into the tunnel. His
foot sunk into a fine, mushy silt between the tracks; it smelled
dank and peaty, of damp earth and stale smoke. Claustrophobia crept
up on him, but his curiosity compelled him forward.

As he stepped further inside he
became increasingly aware of a deep resonant hum, like an
electrical substation. He froze and listened, trying to fathom what
kind of thing could create such a sound.

He stared into the darkness, and
thought he saw something moving at the edge of his vision, like a
dark swirling mass. A flutter danced in his chest and he rubbed at
his eyes. Something wasn’t right about this place. It was time to
leave.

He turned and strode back toward
the entrance—then before he realised it—he was running, his feet
splashing through the mushy silt and throwing mud up into the
air.

His big toe slammed into
something hard and pointed, likely some type of fixing for the rail
lin
e. He
pitched forward and fell to his
side
,
just inside the tunnel opening.
Cold liquid seeped into the fabric of his shorts.

“
Crap!” he muttered,
and as he pushed to his feet he heard a familiar buzzing sound
ahead of him. He looked up and froze.

Sunlight illuminated the arch of
the doorway, and a small shape flew through the opening at head
height. It moved toward Dig and then stopped, zipping from side to
side in the air. Dig’s heart skipped when he realised what it was—a
wasp.

And further, this wasn’t just an
ordinary wasp. It was some kind of monster, double the size of any
wasp he’d ever seen—and as long and thick as his thumb. Its orange
head framed two deep black crescents for eyes. At its jawline, two
serrated, scissor-like mandibles slowly opened and closed, as if
picking up his scent. Its upper body was dark furry brown with a
tint of gold, and a black stinger protruded from its rear like the
point of a needle. The stinger pulsated in and out, as if itching
to strike.

Dig clenched his teeth. He
contemplated running, but the creature hung in the air ahead of
him, blocking his path. Instead, he remained still and willed it to
lose interest and fly away.

But somehow, Dig knew it
wouldn’t. It was something about the way the wasp whipped back and
forth through the air, as if taunting him, wanting him to flee. It
projected a menacing presence that only knew one method of
operation—attack.

Its wings buzzed with increased
intensity and it flew at him.

Dig swiped at it and missed—but
he disturbed enough air to send it off course, and the wasp zipped
past his ear, then circled around and returned to its previous
position above his head. He pushed up from the ground with one
hand, and held the other protectively in front of him.

The sunlight at the tunnel
entrance suddenly broke, and a second shadow cruised toward him,
high above his head, then dove down, directly at him. Dig cowered
and squinted, and made out the shape of a two wide wings and a
beak.

It was a bird—the same bird he
had seen perched on the top of tunnel arch. Its green and blue
wings were spread in a wide glide, and its head
was
tucked in.

The bird swooped and plucked the
wasp from the air, then eased upwards, flapped twice, and dropped
to the floor, coming to a rest on one of the steel
tracks.

The wasp writhed in its beak, its
stinger reaching out for a strike, but the bird bent down and
hammered the creature against the rail until it stopped moving. It
dropped the insect into its throat, tilted its head to study Dig
for moment, and launched back out of the tunnel with a flap of
wings. Dig tried to regain his breath.

A new rumbling echoed down the
passage. Dig frowned as the tunnel filled with light and a bright
white headlight tracked around the bend. His heart skipped a
beat.

A train?
Dig thought.
Is that possible?

The rumble grew louder as the
machine approached, reverberating off the tunnel walls. Small rocks
dropped from the ceiling, splashing into the pools of water beside
the tracks. The headlight grew brighter, and Dig squinted as the
walls of the passage were lit with an eerie clarity. He considered
running, but the machine was already too close. Instead, he leapt
sideways off the track and dropped to the ground.

His shoulder hit the sodden earth
and liquid splashed into his ear. He wrapped his arms around his
head, bracing for impact.  

There was a squeal of brakes and
a hitching, skidding sound, before he was covered in a shower of
gravel. The noise dropped to a low reverberation.

After a moment, Dig dared to open
his eyes. Beside him, the figure of a young boy sat on a
motorbike.

“
Are you okay?” the
boy said. “You took a tumble there.”

Dig took deep breaths, trying to
restrain the pace of his heart. “Oh man...” he said. “You scared
the shit out of me. I thought you were...a train.”

The boy frowned. “Sorry. But you
were
sitting in the middle of the tracks. Not
smart.”

Dig pursed his lips. “I
was...being harassed by a monster wasp.”

“
A hornet you
mean.”

“
Huh?”

“
Asian giant hornets.
Like wasps, but much bigger and meaner. There’s a nest inside this
tunnel.”

Dig thought back to the humming
resonance he had heard. It made sense. He nodded.

“
Those things aren’t
friendly,” the boy said.

“
I
noticed.”

“
You should get out
of here.”

“
Don’t mind if I do.”
Dig laboured to his feet. He wiped the mud from his palms to his
thighs, then shuffled back out through the tunnel entrance to the
sunlight. He stepped down the track embankment, and stood with his
back against the rock wall. He could taste mud on his lips, and he
wiped it away with the back of his hand.

The boy followed him out of the
tunnel and cruised the motorbike to a stop beside him. He had
cropped brown hair and looked to be around twelve years old. “What
are you doing here anyway?”

Dig considered his answer,
thinking back to Jake’s words about his father’s email. “I’m here
for a...meeting,” he lied.

“
With
who?”

“
With...Max.”
 

The boy’s back straightened and
he lifted his chin. “Does Max know about this?”

“
Yes...Max just told
me to wait here and someone would pick me up.”

“
Nobody said anything
to me.”

Dig shrugged. “Should I just
keeping waiting then?”

The boy scratched at the side of
his face. “Nobody tells me anything,” he muttered, and sighed. “I
suppose I can take you over.”

“
Thanks.”

The boy turned the bike around
and faced back into the tunnel. “Okay, you better hop
on.”

Dig stared at the black opening
and swallowed. “What about the hornets?”

“
If we ride fast
enough, they won’t get us.”

“
And what if you have
to stop?”

“
We won’t stop. If we
stop, the hornets will sting us to death—so we won’t
stop.”

Dig’s brow furrowed. “I’m
allergic to wasps.”

“
Ha! Well you really
don’t want to get stung then.”

“
Promise we
won’t?”

“
You won’t if you do
what I tell you.”

Dig raised his eyebrows, then
climbed onto the back of the bike.

The boy extended his hand
backwards. “I’m Raj.”

“
Dig.”