Thrill Seekers (3 page)

Bloody Douggie. He’s driving me totally fucking crazy. I mean, not mad-insane like him, just normal crazy. He’s my little brother, and I love him, but it’s not easy anymore. I wish I’d never let him join the Oxley Creek Boys. Wish he’d just stayed at home and read books or something girly like that. Then he’d be normal now, not a bloody loon I have to worry over, get sick to my guts about and find blue on the bathroom floor stuffed full of pills. I try to forget about it, you know, lead my own life and that, not let it get to me. But I can’t help remembering him the way he used to be, the funny kid behind me in the dinghy, or on that stupid
raft we made that best summer of all. The one before Dad died.

School was finished for the year, and only two days into the holidays we had the makings of a raft. The tin drums rolled like thunder down the street as we chased after them. They sounded like giants laughing, so happy they could bust. Like us. The sun scorched the back of our t-shirts and we all had sweat and dirt necklaces and black creases in our elbows as we tumbled the drums the rest of the way to the cubby.

Weeks earlier we’d found a huge old door at the dump and balanced it on our heads all the way home. We tried floating it by itself but ended up scrambling in mud up to our shorts trying to save the door from getting sucked under. Jacko said ‘Told ya so,’ but I swear it was his idea in the first place. He was fourteen then, and already the coolest kid around. He had that leather jacket his Dad gave him, which made him look like he could ride a Harley or something. He was
the leader of our gang; still is really, though there’s not much of a gang left anymore. I was the next boss, then Russ my mate from down the road, then Douggie and his friend Steve. The Oxley Creek Boys.

It was harder than we thought to put the drums and the door together in a way that worked. The ropes kept slipping and we didn’t want to use nails in case it leaked. We smoked half a pack of ciggies trying to figure it out. It was my idea to nick some wire from the fence at the paddock to tie the barrels on. Dad came down with his drill to make the holes, four for each drum, so we could wrap the wire around and twist it tight to make them stable. We scrounged some more wire and did figure eights from one to the other so the barrels wouldn’t pop out at the sides when we put the raft in the water. In the end it looked great, especially after we scabbed some paint out of the shed and wrote ‘Thrill Seekers’ on the top in red.

It took all five of us to drag the raft down over the mud to the water’s edge. Half the kids in the neighbourhood had turned up to
watch the launch. Beck, Russ’s little sister, stood on the bank with the others, sniffling because she wanted to come too; but Jacko wouldn’t let her. She was real cute in those days, red hair in piggy tails and all those freckles. Reckon I had a bit of a crush on her. But I wouldn’t have said anything to Jacko to save my life. He hated girls. Funny how things turn out.

As we hauled the raft to the muddy bank I felt like I was some sort of a hero, or one of those native guys in Tarzan movies who went down the Amazon. We all held our breath as we slid the raft into the water. It floated! We danced like clowns on the bank and I tackled Jacko into the mud just for the hell of it.

‘Unreal!’ I yelled. ‘Let’s go.’

‘Hang on, hang on,’ said Jacko running back to the cubby, coming back waving a bottle in the air. ‘Can’t set off without christening it properly. It’d be bad luck. I’ve been saving this for something special, pinched it from the cupboard.’

He was holding a bottle of rum with a polar bear on the label, but there wasn’t that much left, maybe a third.

‘Here we go then,’ he said, tapping it on the side of the raft near the writing. But the bottle didn’t smash like it was supposed to.

‘Use your muscles,’ said Douggie. ‘Go on, break it!’

‘What and waste all this great booze?’ Jacko said as he sat back up and unscrewed the cap, taking a big swig. Then he passed it to me.

It tasted pretty bad and burned like acid in my guts, but then I got that feeling that’s all sort of golden. I love that feeling. I took another sip and let the feeling spread over my body. ‘Great stuff,’ I said and passed the bottle on to Russ. We shared it down the line till it was gone. We laughed and showed off, acting like the toughest kids ever.

Jacko smashed the empty bottle on the raft and chucked the end into the dirty
brown creek yelling, ‘Get on!’ He
bumslid
onto the raft and sat at the front, the captain’s position. Warm with rum and sunshine, we clambered onboard, sitting so deep in the water that my undies were soaked. Russ and I were crammed next to each other behind Jacko, with Douggie and Steve behind us, their arses hanging off the back.

‘Untie the rope, Douggie,’ I yelled.

‘Yeah,’ said Jacko. ‘Get the rope!’

Russ and I heaved the oars we’d made from orange crates and broomsticks into the water, dragging them backwards, feeling the pull of the creek. Our arms stung with the effort. But once we’d turned towards the dump it wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be. Soon we were fairly racing along down the middle towards Pamphlet Bridge and the river.

‘Yeehah!’ I called out like in one of those old cowboy movies.

‘Cool!’ yelled Douggie, ‘I wonder if this is how the explorers did it? Like us, just them and the boat and maybe wild Aborigines on the bank throwing spears.’ He was like that in those days, always inventing some kind of crazy game.

‘Unreal,’ said Steve.

We all grinned like monkeys and laughed out loud. This was our best creek adventure ever. Beat mud-walking any day. We were right out in the middle, just us fellas, no Dad, no dinghy. Just us, on the raft we’d made with our own hands.

We were going pretty fast too. I thought I was an Olympic star rower. It was so easy, the mangroves just slipping by. As we rushed under the sewerage pipe down past Russ’s place, the shade was only a second of coolness. In my head I saw myself on a podium, bending down for one of those gold medals.

‘Can I have a turn at rowing?’ begged Douggie from behind.

‘No way,’ I said. ‘It’d be too hard for a kid like you.’

‘Would not! Jacko, tell Brian to let me have a go.’

To my surprise Jacko said, ‘Okay mate.’ He must’ve been in a real good mood. ‘Hand it over.’

‘He won’t be able to do it.’

‘Just give the kid the oar. Give Steve a turn too.’

So Douggie and Steve got their turn and even with them rowing we were flying along.

‘See,’ said Douggie, rowing like a mad man, ‘See how fast we’re making it go?’

In no time we rounded the bend of the creek, where rusty washing machines and piles of old tyres and car doors from the dump were sliding down the banks into the mangroves, sinking into the mud. The
dump’s a long way from our house. We’d never been that far down the creek before.

‘Maybe we’d better go back now,’ I said. ‘Dad always says not to go past the dump.’

‘You’re such a girl,’ said Jacko.

‘We don’t have to if you don’t want to,’ I said, my face burning. ‘That’s okay. We can go right out onto the river.’

‘Yeah!’ squealed Douggie and Steve from the back, their arms turning like windmills. ‘We’ll row, let’s do it.’

‘I don’t know if it’s such a good idea,’ said Russ, sounding like a full-on wimp.

‘You wouldn’t would you, you big sook,’ says Jacko. ‘I reckon it’s a bloody good idea. It’s a great raft. What’s the problem?’

Russ shook his head a bit but didn’t say anything.

Douggie and Steve shouted ‘Yeah!’ and rowed so fast their arms looked blurry.

Russ stared down at the water sloshing onto the raft but I didn’t let him spoil my fun. We were used to him being sulky. Ever since his Mum and Dad split up, he was moody. Most of the time he was alright but just sometimes, you know. Not like me. Even then I knew we had to put all that sissy shit behind us, be strong like men and just have a good time. Sure would’ve liked another swig of that rum. Russ should’ve been like Jacko. Jacko’s Dad beat the crap out of him all the time, but I never heard him complain or cry. If you’re a boy you just don’t, that’s all there is to it.

The midday sun was beating down hard on my hair like a fire beanie and my stomach was starting to feel like I’d swallowed creek water. ‘Maybe we should turn around, I’m not feeling too good.’

‘Whatever.’ Jacko shrugged. The back of his neck was burnt a brighter pink than Beck’s favourite skirt.

‘Aw!’ Douggie and Steve groaned. I turned around to glare at them and saw that they weren’t even rowing anymore; the oars were resting on their laps and their fingertips were trailing in the wash as we continued to speed towards the bridge.

‘Hey, give us back the oars you two, you’re not even doing anything. We’ve got to go home now.’

‘No way.’

They picked up the oars and tried to
back-paddle
to turn us around. Water sprayed all over me so I used my hand to send a sheet of water back at them. We splashed at each other till we were soaked and laughing.

‘Is anyone rowing this bloody thing?’ asked Jacko, like he was a grown-up, bored with our games.

‘Yeah, we are,’ said Russ, grabbing the oar from Steve.

After a bit of a tussle I wrenched the other one back from Douggie. Then Russ and I tried to turn the raft.

It wasn’t as easy as we thought. Rowing just on the right side tilted us too far and water sloshed over the door. So I
back-paddled
while Russ rowed on the right, full bore. We puffed for breath, our faces busting, arms quivering. Finally we were heading in the right direction, but even though we rowed as hard as we could, harder than we’d ever rowed the dinghy, we were still drifting backwards towards the bridge. And the river.

‘Row!’ yelled Jacko, like we weren’t trying. ‘Give me a bloody turn. You’re all useless.’ But even his fourteen year-old muscles didn’t make any difference against the current. The raft was too heavy. Bloody door.

Douggie and Steve were pissing themselves laughing, like it was all a crazy joke. I jabbed Douggie hard with my elbow. 

‘Shut up!’

They covered their mouths but I still heard them smirking and giggling behind their hands.

Jacko gave his oar back to Russ. Counting together, we timed our strokes so that the oars went in at the same time, which worked better, but the water was pulling us backwards faster than we could drag ourselves forwards. The muscles in my arms were shuddering and my heart was beating out of my chest, but the best we could do was get the raft to stay still. Water churned up either side of the door, splashing onto us, but we weren’t going anywhere.

‘Bloody hell!’ shouted Jacko. ‘Can’t you do anything? Give me another go.’

‘We have to get over to the side,’ I grunted as I passed my oar forward. ‘Then we can pull ourselves along on the mangroves like when we get stuck mud-walking.’

‘Since when are you the boss?’ asked Jacko, but he started back-paddling so we turned around facing the bank.

That didn’t make any difference either. We just floated down the creek sideways.

‘We’re going to get sucked into the river,’ panted Russ. ‘We’d better ditch the raft and swim for it.’ I glanced sideways at him. He was splattered in mud, soaked with water, face red from busting a gut rowing; and he looked worried. He might have been right.

‘No way!’ yelled Jacko. ‘There’s no bloody way we’re ditching this raft.’

I took Russ’s oar and tried my hardest to work in time with Jacko so we moved in the right direction. Behind me I heard Douggie whispering to Steve, ‘What if we go right out into the ocean and go all the way to Tahiti or Hawaii? That’d be so great.’

‘We’ll get hit by a barge or drown before that happens,’ said Russ, shutting them up.

The bridge was in sight and getting closer fast, the river a wide churning sea behind it. If we were lucky we’d get close enough to a pylon to hang on till the tide changed.

‘What’s that?’ asked Steve, squinting into the glare and pointing to the shade under the bridge.

Putting up my hand to cut down the glare I could just make out something. ‘I see it… it’s a boat. A speedboat.’ As we got closer I saw the writing that was down one side. ‘It’s the police.’

‘Wow,’ said Douggie. ‘Just like on telly.’

‘Bloody pigs,’ said Jacko, but I knew he was breathing a sigh of relief, just like me.

As we drifted closer, still paddling furiously to get to the bank, I saw a couple of heads popping up from the water near the boat. On the deck a policeman in a uniform with shiny badges spied us and yelled,
‘What the hell are you boys doing out here? Go home!’

‘We’re trying,’ shouted Russ. ‘But we can’t do it, the tide’s too…’ His voice cracked like he was about to cry.

‘Don’t sook out on us now,’ I hissed at him.

‘Pull over to the mangroves,’ ordered the policeman.

We paddled hard as we could, but we still weren’t getting anywhere.

‘Jesus Christ! What sort of a fool raft have you got there?’ yelled the cop, throwing us a rope. Jacko caught it on the full, like he did it all the time, rescuing a scrap of our pride.