Croc Country

by Kerry McGinnis

  ‘No-o,’ Jane said stoutly. ‘I mean they won’t fly into us, will they? You hear about them getting into people’s hair. And don’t they carry disease? I wouldn’t like to be bitten.’

  ‘You won’t be. And anyway that’s fruit bats.’ He clasped her hand. ‘Got the torch, Tilly? Lead the way then.’

  ‘I’d rather you did.’ She handed it over and, taking a deep breath, followed behind. She’d once seen Luke pin the head of a red-bellied black snake and bag it for later release, rather than kill it. In the face of that, she couldn’t afford to gibber with terror at meeting a python, which might not even still be there. Rangers, she reminded herself, frequently handled bushfires, crocodiles and stroppy tourists. A non-venomous snake should be a doddle.

  The mugginess of the cave was again immediately apparent, and this time, for some reason, the smell of bat guano was stronger, or perhaps she just noticed it more. Tilly’s head jerked nervously about, seeking the shine of scales in whatever the torchlight lit upon.

  ‘It’s bigger than I thought.’ Luke sounded surprised. Thought . . . thought echoed back and he laughed. ‘Hear that?’ Powdered guano dust rose as he strode forward, the light bouncing over ledges and up the walls of the cave. ‘Moisture,’ he said. ‘See the walls? I thought that glitter was mineral last time, but it’s damp. It explains the humidity.’ He went closer. ‘There’s moss and even some sort of lichen growing here,’ he marvelled, ‘and the light’s absolutely minimal.’

  ‘Listen to the bats.’ Jane’s hushed voice sounded nervous. She tilted her head at the increased activity of wings and minute squeaks coming from above them.

  ‘Hand me the torch,’ Tilly said. ‘There’s something . . .’ She shone it along the ledge, but the box that had once housed the python was gone.

  ‘What?’ Jane said sharply, the word creating a echo. ‘What did you see. Are there . . . are there snakes?’

  ‘No. It was just a shadow that looked a bit like a box.’ Tilly flipped the torch higher and a positive storm of wings and beady eyes erupted from the cave roof, whirling distractedly above their heads. ‘Oops, sorry. Seen enough, Jane?’ The brief glimpse she’d had of the girl’s face had shown it to be pale.

  ‘Yes,’ she said thankfully. ‘Can we go, Luke?’

  ‘In a minute, love.’ He was staring at the silhouettes the bats made against the light from the cave mouth as they whirled about. ‘You got your camera there?’

  ‘Yes, but the flash doesn’t work, so I can’t—’

  That’s okay,’ he said. ‘Tilly, shine the torch on the roof, would you? Stir ’em up again. I want to see . . .’ She obeyed and from the corner of her eye saw him crouch and suddenly leap, swiping at the air with his hat.

  ‘Got ya!’

  ‘What in the world?’ In the torchlight she saw him pinch the felt brim carefully together as he came towards them.

  ‘I need a pic of this little fella,’ he said. ‘I want to check him out. Come over where the light’s better, Jane. Let’s try for a really clear shot. Take several.’ Tilly watched him wriggle his fingers into the hat, heard the muttered, ‘Shit! Little bugger bit me!’ then he pulled the hat away, the tiny mammal held firmly between his fingers, one of which was bleeding. The bat was pale brown above, with a funny-shaped nose, and light-coloured belly fur. Luke positively beamed at it. ‘What a little beauty! Haven’t seen you before, mate. We’ll just find out what you are.’

  ‘How?’ Jane, clicking away, had recovered her colour.

  ‘We have a pretty good reference library at the homestead,’ Tilly said. ‘You’d better disinfect that bite, Luke.’

  ‘Yeah, in a minute. Right, that should do it.’ He opened his fingers and the bat shot away into the darkness behind them. ‘Okay, tour’s over. That was interesting, wasn’t it?’

  When they returned that evening, tired and dirty from their afternoon labours, Tilly said, ‘You have first go at the bathroom, Jane. I want to check the garden.’ Neither Sophie nor Matt were particularly good at remembering to water it.

  ‘Thanks, I’ll be quick.’ Clasping her camera, the girl hurried off as Tilly made her way around the back. Luke went straight indoors, and when she rejoined him half an hour later, he was paging through Native Mammals of the North. He glanced up at her arrival. ‘Come and see. Do you reckon this is the bat we saw, Tilly? Far as I can tell the colour’s the same, though if there’s a difference it could be age related. And the nose is definitely the same . . . What d’you think?’

  She scrutinised the picture, trying to recall the exact shape of the little mammal viewed in the faint daylight at the mouth of the cave. ‘It looks about right. They’re all the same though, aren’t they – only bigger or smaller? It was tiny so it might’ve been a baby.’

  He sighed. ‘There are thirty-odd species so no, they aren’t all the same. And it wasn’t a baby, not if I’m right. I’ll have to wait for the film to be developed to be certain, but I’m pretty sure this is the one.’ He tapped the picture. ‘Which makes it a leaf-nosed bat.’

  ‘So? I thought it had a weird-looking face, but I’ve never seen one up that close before,’ Tilly admitted.

  Luke tutted. ‘You need to study the native species,’ he said seriously. ‘It’s part of the job, Tilly. And if I’m right, that cave is rather special because the leaf-nosed bat has only ever been found in Arnhem Land. Which would make this one a separate colony and maybe different. A new species, in fact.’

  ‘Really? Wow! You’ll be famous, Luke, if you’re right. We’ll have naturalists from all over swarming the place, wanting to see and study . . .’ Her thoughts leapt ahead, dismissing caution. ‘And once the WPA hears it’ll be bound to guarantee the Sandstone project, wouldn’t you think?’

  ‘Maybe,’ he said cautiously. ‘If I’m right. But it would also mean they’re very rare – maybe the only colony in existence – so they’d need protection. The first thing I’d be advising would be a gate to keep them safe. To keep people out. It’s not like they have a choice of habitat round here if they’re chased out of their home. Theirs is the only cave in the region.’

  ‘Have you told Sophie?’

  ‘Not yet. She’s feeding the joeys, and I wanted to check the books and your recollection first.’

  ‘Well, I’m sorry I can’t be more help, but you probably are right. It pains me to admit how often that happens.’ He grinned at that and she said, ‘Congratulations if it’s true. And now I’m bagging the bathroom.’

  There was a lot of speculation over dinner as to what Luke’s discovery, if it panned out, could mean for Binboona. Native Mammals of the North was passed around, and Jane, for one, was willing to swear that the illustration was a perfect match for the creature she had photographed.

  ‘I’ll finish the roll and put it in for developing the moment I get to Darwin,’ she told Luke. Then her face fell. ‘Damn, it’ll be after office hours, won’t it? Well, first thing next morning then. I’ll give them your address so they can post the pics straight out once they’re developed. You’ll ring as soon as you have them, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course. Thank you, sweetie.’ Excitement gleamed in his blue eyes. ‘I’m not counting on it, mind. There may be a difference I didn’t notice . . .’ But it was clear, Tilly thought, that he didn’t believe it.

  ‘They might name it for you,’ Sophie said. ‘Aldyce-onia something. You never know. If you do the studies you’ve planned, it won’t harm your career prospects at all.’

  ‘Seems a lotta fuss over nothing,’ Matt said sourly. ‘Bats! There’s millions of the buggers and they all stink. Try livin’ with fruit bats and you wouldn’t be so keen on ’em.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t like the cave much,’ Jane confessed, ‘or the bats. But I’m glad we went. It was a fabulous day, Luke.’

  ‘And we even got some work done,’ Tilly said wryly. ‘Only another twenty-five kay of tangled fencing wire to go,’ she said, rising to clear the table.

  Later that evening, Tilly sough
t out her cousin for a private word. Sophie looked up from a report sheet and pulled off her reading glasses. ‘Something up, Till?’

  Tilly perched a hip on the edge of the desk, her eyes on the open door, and spoke softly. ‘I didn’t say anything at the time because Luke doesn’t know the traffickers were using the cave, but they’ve been back – or somebody has – since my visit with Connor. The box they’d left behind has gone. Do you still think Matt can’t be involved?’

  Sophie sighed and screwed her eyes shut for a moment. ‘I don’t know what to think except that I wish your mate Connor would do something more than just sit in the camp like some horrible great spider. If he suspects Matt, why doesn’t he just question him? Sort it out somehow? The whole thing is intolerable! Suspecting workmates, having to consider every word you say . . . It’s not who we are, Tilly. The job’s hard enough – we need to be able to trust each other.’

  ‘I don’t like it either,’ Tilly said helplessly, ‘but we have to let Connor handle it his way. I promised that we would.’

  Sophie sighed. ‘Then I suppose we had better hope like mad that Luke is right about his bat. That way we could legitimately ask the company to put up a barricade, a lockable steel gate. Nobody could use the cave then.’

  ‘It wouldn’t necessarily stop the poachers. They’d just find another spot to stash their catches.’

  ‘When did you get to be so damned logical?’ Sophie demanded. ‘Of course you’re right. On another subject, Elaine rang for you today. I told her to try again tonight. It’s all arranged – she’s putting your stepfather into respite care for ten days and flying up. Said that, in the long run, bussing it would cost as much as the flight itself, what with the ticket, meals and accommodation. She sounded quite excited about coming.’

  ‘That’s wonderful! It’ll be the first break she’s had since—’ Since Francie’s death, Tilly thought. If you could call her mother’s brief rush to her daughter’s side a break. She thrust the thought determinedly aside. ‘Thanks, Soph, I’m sure your words clinched the deal. She was trotting out all the reasons she couldn’t come when I spoke to her.’

  ‘She just needed a gentle push,’ Sophie said, adding unexpectedly, ‘She carries a lot of guilt, your mum – about her marriage. Feels she owes a debt, you know. Which makes me think that maybe it hasn’t been as smooth a sailing as she makes out. I always wondered if she really loved your stepfather. I mean, it’s not like it’d be easy, a misanthrope like him.’

  Tilly looked struck. ‘Really? I thought they were okay, that I was the problem.’

  Sophie shrugged. ‘The onlooker sees most of the game, you know. I suppose she did what she thought best at the time, as we all do. Now, I really have to finish this report if it’s to catch the mail tomorrow.’

  ‘I’ll say goodnight, then,’ Tilly said and left.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  The following day it was Matt’s turn again in the kitchen. Tilly, taking a look at the hard fried eggs congealing on a plate on the stove, opted for cereal and toast instead. Luke and Jane were already at the table, sitting close together. Jane’s eyes looked a little pink, and Luke’s habitual cheerfulness was absent.

  Tilly suspected that they had spent the night together, perhaps not for the first time, which would only make the coming separation harder. She said kindly, ‘I’ll do the camp this morning, Luke. And I’m going to miss you like crazy, Jane. It’s been fun having you around.’

  ‘I’ve loved being here.’ Jane smiled below woebegone eyes. ‘Thank you all for having me. I’m going to miss it all so much.’

  ‘You can always come back,’ Sophie replied. ‘Really, I feel we ought to be paying you for the work you’ve put in. Has everybody got their mail in the bag? Good, I’ll lock it then. Don’t forget to pick it up, Luke.’

  ‘When have I ever?’

  ‘There’s always a first time. Especially when your mind’s on other things. I’ll be down the coast today, Matt, so if anyone rings for me, ask them to call back tonight.’

  Matt’s brown gaze fixed on her. ‘You expecting a call then?’

  Sophie shrugged. ‘Be pointless trying to guess. I’m just saying – in case.’

  At the camp, Tilly unloaded the day’s supply of wood, then drove to Connor’s camp only to find his vehicle missing. Disappointed beyond reason – after all, she had only wanted to report the missing box in the cave – she drove back to the ablution block and set about the day’s chores. Once she had hauled off the ashes, she walked down to the river to start the pump, but after anxious moments with her ear pressed to the delivery line – ‘Always be sure the water’s actually running, or you’ll burn the pump out,’ Luke had instructed – she switched off the solar-driven pump with a heartfelt ‘Damn!’

  ‘Now what?’ The pipe was definitely empty. Could the foot-valve be jammed open? She eyed the opaque face of the water, corrugated into ripples by the wind, and visions of crocs filled her mind. No way she was setting foot in that! What would the boys do? she wondered. Well, for a start they’d know how the system worked. She only knew it by rote.

  Hands on her hips, she considered the matter. The pump floated on a raft, which was tethered to a post planted firmly in the sloping bank. If she were to pull it closer, she could step onto the raft and maybe raise the foot-valve to investigate it without entering the river, but what then? How did you get water back into the line? Because, as far as she could see, the lack of it was the root of the problem. The action of the pump pushing the water along the pipe opened the foot-valve to drag more in, according to Luke. Only air in the line would stop it, in which case you had to bleed the air out and replace the water. It was just a pity that she didn’t know how to accomplish this.

  Sighing, Tilly decided she could do no more. Much as she hated to appear useless, she would have to get help. Luke would be taking Jane out to the plane about now, and Sophie – who would certainly fix it in a flash, she thought wryly – had left, which meant asking Matt. And the matter was urgent. It wouldn’t do for the camp to run out of water.

  She had just reached this conclusion when Connor’s voice hailed her from the top of the bank. ‘Tilly, they said you were looking for me?’

  ‘Oh, Connor.’ She turned thankfully to see him scrambling down the steep bank. ‘Yes, it was nothing much, I just stopped by your camp on the off chance . . . Look,’ she said hopefully, ‘you wouldn’t know anything about pumps, would you? This one’s stopped working.’

  ‘Let’s have a look then. What seems to be the problem?’

  ‘Well, there’s no water coming through when I switch it on. I know there has to be water in the line, that the pump sucks it in, but it doesn’t appear to be doing it. Could the foot-valve be the trouble, do you think?’

  ‘Most likely.’ A strong hand reached past her to grasp the mooring line and pull the raft in to the bank. ‘Hold this while I check it. Maybe it’s sucked some weed in and jammed the valve.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Tilly said. ‘I really didn’t want to have to ask Matt, but he’s the only one home just now.’ She tried to see past his body as he hauled the tail pipe up. ‘Is it that?’

  ‘Half a mo.’ The foot-valve came up with a splash, trailing a length of thin nylon rope and she heard him grunt. ‘Yep, it’s jammed open. Picked up a bit of rope that must’ve been floating past. I’ll get rid of that so it doesn’t happen again, then the pump’ll just need priming.’ He freed the loop of cord and dropped the valve back into the water, then pulled at the rope, which seemed to resist. ‘Must be caught on a log.’ He heaved again and the hemp rose, bar taut surrounded by ripples. ‘Feels like the log’s coming too.’ Suddenly his voice changed. ‘What the hell?’

  ‘What?’ Tilly craned forward as Connor knelt perilously on the pump housing to fish something from the river. ‘Don’t fall in!’ she called in alarm. ‘There’s a big croc slide just upstream.’

  ‘I’m fine.’ He was heaving up a heavy plastic canister, as big as a twenty-litre drum
. ‘Well, look at that.’ With a carefully judged leap he landed beside her, the canister shedding river water over his jeans leg as the movement banged it against him.

  ‘What in the world? Is it somebody’s rubbish?’

  ‘I doubt it,’ he said, ‘but first let’s get your problem sorted. Have you got a bucket or a jug – anything that’ll hold water?’

  ‘There’s a bucket in the tool shed.’ Tilly climbed the bank to the little tin hut at the top where spare polypipe, a wrench and some spanners were kept. ‘Here,’ she said, returning breathless from haste. ‘Is this any good?’

  ‘Just the ticket.’ Connor took the half bucket, one side of which had been squeezed into a pouring lip, and began to fill the pipe through a plug hole in the line. ‘It’s called priming,’ he explained. ‘The pump impeller thrusts the water up the pipe, which creates a vacuum, which sucks at the valve to draw more water in. There.’ He screwed the plug home, jumped back to the bank and gave the raft a push with his foot. ‘You can start it up now.’

  Tilly did so and heard the almost immediate rush and gurgle of moving water. ‘Thank you, Connor.’ She spoke with heartfelt relief. ‘I’ll remember that next time it happens.’ She eyed the container as if it contained a nest of spiders. ‘Are you going to open that?’

  ‘Sure am. We’ll take it up to my camp. But first, let’s see where the other end of the thing goes.’

  It took just a moment to learn that the rope was tethered to a dee ring bolted to the end of a steel fencepost, which had been driven full length into the mud of the bank about a metre from where the pump raft was tethered. The length of steel had been pounded out of sight, the result being that the end of the rope was also buried.

  ‘Not meant to be turned up by accident,’ Connor mused. ‘But nobody comes down here, do they?’

  ‘They’re not supposed to,’ Tilly agreed. ‘The path is fenced off, as you’d have seen, and there’s a No trespassing sign on the shed. So it’s really only us.’