‘Thanks, love,’ he said. ‘All good now. It’s the emphysema. Should never have taken up (wheeze) smoking. Paying for it now. Tell me, what on earth made you think I was (wheeze) shooting horses?’
I wished I hadn’t said anything, but it was too late now. ‘I heard you say “Shoot them” this morning,’ I mumbled, ‘up at Mrs Bacton’s.’
‘Well, well, well. I see. Yes, (wheeze) I was pretty wound up this morning. Hopping mad, in fact. This whole rotten business is driving me insane. But, shooting my horses? Never!’
Mikaela made a noise under her breath. It could have been ‘told you so’, but I wasn’t sure.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, inspecting the scratches on my arm. ‘It’s just … it’s just that I thought … you were asking Mrs Bacton to help you shoot the horses because the bats had given them Hendra virus and …’
‘Hendra?’ Mr Shearer held a blotchy hand in the air like a policeman at a stop sign. ‘Yes, yes, now I see your misunderstanding. Well, (wheeze) you are right, my gun has everything to do with bats and viruses, but it has absolutely nothing to do with shooting horses. Actually, it’s rather the opposite. And (wheeze) since Mrs Bacton will be here soon to collect you, and my lungs aren’t what they used to be, I’ll have to tell you another time. That all right with you?’
11. Missing
I helped Alice and Mikaela untack the horses while one of Mr Shearer’s stablehands brought us each a glass of cold water. I couldn’t drink mine. I was feeling too sick. Mrs Bacton would go nuts when she arrived. I hadn’t stuck in pairs and I hadn’t stayed within the boundary fences. I’d ridden unsupervised and I’d done more than wander off. I’d run off! On a racehorse!
I’d be sent home immediately. Mum and Dad would give me another lecture on letting my imagination run wild, and Mum would cut off my tuckshop money for a month. There’d be no sleepovers, and no play dates with friends, and I’d never be trusted to go on riding camp again.
I kicked the dust with my too-big borrowed boots.
There would definitely not be a horse of my own.
It was dark by the time a big old four-wheel drive rattled up the driveway, a horse float towing noisily behind it. I recognised the battered hat as soon as the light inside the car came on.
‘Thank goodness,’ said Mrs Bacton, rushing over. ‘You’re safe!’
But her smile soon dropped as she took in my ripped T-shirt, scratched arms, and filthy face.
‘I want to hear all about it,’ she said, ‘but for now, let’s load up the horses, and get you back before it gets any later. Just wait here a second, I want to say a quick thank you to Mr Shearer.’
‘Make sure you tell her,’ I whispered to Mikaela once Mrs Bacton had gone over to him. ‘You know, how you tricked me.’
Mikaela stuck out her chin. ‘You ran off, not me,’ she hissed.
‘But you tricked me.’
Mikaela flicked her ponytail behind her shoulders. ‘Prove it!’ she said.
‘Prove what?’ asked Mrs Bacton, coming back.
‘Oh, nothing,’ said Mikaela. ‘Lucky Alice and I found her, hey?’
Mrs Bacton smiled. ‘Yes, thank you, Mikaela. And Alice. I’m very grateful to you both. Not a nice place, the bush in the dark. Now, I can see Joey and Razz over there, but Charli, where’s Spud?’
Spud? My mouth went completely dry. I stared at my boots, wishing I could squeeze my eyes shut and become invisible.
‘Charli?’
‘She couldn’t stop him,’ whispered Alice.
‘I beg your pardon?’
Alice studied her fingernails, as if the dirt might hold all the answers.
Mikaela wore a giant smirk on her face.
Mrs Bacton’s lips were tight. ‘Charli?’
Alice started to cry. I didn’t dare look up as her sniffles grew louder. I focused on the bottom of Mrs Bacton’s jeans. They were frayed at the back where they hung over her boots.
‘Where’s Spud?’ she repeated.
‘I’m sorry,’ I murmured in a voice that wasn’t mine.
The jeans walked away. I heard Mrs Bacton say something to Mr Shearer. Alice’s sniffling developed into sobs.
‘Mikaela, Alice, get your horses, please. Charli, best you go wait in the car.’ Mrs Bacton marched around to the back of the float, taking Alice and Mikaela with her. I was left standing alone, my face burning.
I didn’t blame her for being angry. I’d broken every rule. But didn’t she understand? I was worried about Spud too. I turned towards the four-wheel drive, keeping my eyes firmly on the ground.
‘Your horse was the big grey thoroughbred, wasn’t he, love?’ wheezed a voice.
I jumped. Mr Shearer’s wheelchair was right behind me. ‘Yes,’ I mumbled, more to myself than to him. ‘His name was Spud.’
‘Well, then! Bet you a month of Sundays young Spud will turn up (wheeze) as soon as he hears the feed buckets rattle. Take it from me, all thoroughbreds are the same. Love their tucker. Don’t you worry – he’ll turn up.’
He winked and gave me a knowing nod, but I opened the door to the four-wheel drive, pretending I hadn’t noticed. How would he know? Crazy old man. It was his fault Spud was missing. If he hadn’t been raving on about shooting and killing and …
I busied myself moving a pile of old feed bags, bridles, and buckets into the boot, and slumped against the back seat as soon as I’d cleared a space.
‘All set?’ said Mrs Bacton, hopping in the front. Alice and Mikaela crammed in the back with me. Alice’s nose was red from crying.
Mrs Bacton said a last thank you to Mr Shearer before turning on the engine and jamming the four-wheel drive into gear. She’d taken off her hat and her thick black hair lay squashed against her head, as though it wasn’t used to being free. Without her hat and her straight white smile, she didn’t look like herself. I hoped she wouldn’t be too mad when we got back.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Alice as we roared down the driveway. ‘We’ll find him.’
Mikaela sat with her head pressed against the window. If only she’d own up.
But I already knew the answer to that one.
Fat chance.
Mrs Bacton didn’t say another word until we got to the stables. Silence. The worst kind of trouble. She got Alice and Mikaela to help her unload the horses while I was sent to my room. I lay on my bunk, listening to the bats screech and flap outside. The others would have fed their horses by now. If Spud were here, he’d be gobbling down his pellets, dropping them from his lips because he was gulping them too fast.
If Spud were here.
‘Charli?’ said Alice, flicking on the light. ‘You okay?’
I sat up, wiping away a rolling tear. ‘Is he back?’
Alice squinted, and squished her lips together like she’d eaten a sour worm.
I lay back down. I guessed not.
‘But don’t worry, Mrs Bacton’s going out to look,’ she said. ‘She’ll find him and bring him back, and he’ll be okay. Everything will be okay.’
‘She’s going now? In the dark?’
‘Yep. She’s just waiting for Mr Shearer to come and watch us, cos she doesn’t trust us on our own. Then she’s taking Razz and going out.’
‘She doesn’t trust me, more like,’ I muttered.
Alice padded over to my bunk. ‘I told her about the dead bat – in case you were wondering. She’s going to call someone to remove it.’ Then she chewed her lip. ‘It was my fault, too, you know,’ she said. ‘I tried to tell Mrs Bacton that I encouraged you. But she said I shouldn’t try and take the blame for someone else.’
I shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. Spud’s gone.’
‘Well … anyway, you have to come wait in the common room. Mrs Bacton’s made us some sandwiches and we’re to stay there until she comes back.’
‘But Mrs Bacton said—’
‘Yeah, well, looks like I’m in the habit of ignoring what Mrs Bacton says. I’ll just stay here, thanks.’
Alice hovered in the doorway. She opened her mouth but nothing came out.
‘You go. I’ll be okay,’ I said. ‘And can you turn off the light? Great.’
But she didn’t go. ‘Charli?’
‘What?’
‘There’s one more thing.’
‘What?’
‘She’s cancelled the gymkhana.’
12. Rumours
‘She’s cancelled the gymkhana? What! Why?’
‘She says with everything going on, you know with Spud and Mr Shearer’s bats, it’s all too much to organise. She said worst-case scenario, when she finds Spud – if she finds Spud – he’ll need twenty-four-hour care, and she’ll be too busy to—’
‘Worst-case scenario, he could be dead.’
‘Charli!’
‘So, I guess the others took that news pretty well, then?’ I asked. ‘About the gymkhana? I mean, Mikaela must be thrilled.’
Alice tipped up her chin, like she was checking the thesaurus in her head for the opposite word for thrilled. Furious. Ropable. Never-forgive-Charli-till-the-day-I-die. She didn’t seem to find the word she was looking for.
So I said the only word I could think of: ‘Sorry’.
‘That’s okay,’ she said. ‘There’s always next camp.’
When Alice left, I lay back down and stared at the ceiling. What if Mrs Bacton couldn’t find Spud? The bats had scared him half to death, and I hadn’t helped by hollering and stumbling after him. He’d probably run and run and run. I remembered the view from the hilltop. There were trees and houses and roads for miles. Spud could be completely and utterly lost.
‘Ahhh, so, the famous horse wrangler’s room.’ The light snapped back on and Mr Shearer wheeled himself in.
If I kept still, he mightn’t see me from down in his chair.
‘Hungry?’
I held my breath.
He coughed. ‘Don’t blame you. Not real flash, eh? Dried-up old sandwiches for tea.’
I rolled closer to the wall. My stomach rumbled and I clenched it, trying to stop the noise.
Mr Shearer wheezed in and out like Darth Vader. I thought I heard his teeth rattle. Or maybe that sound was coming from me.
He wheeled himself to the window and peered out. The bats were bouncing and squawking in the trees.
‘I suppose you’re used to that racket by now?’ he said, talking to the window. ‘Must have given you quite a fright, though, eh?’
I allowed myself to take shallow breaths. Quiet ones. He’d give up soon and go away.
‘Shame more people don’t know (wheeze) about the good things bats do, don’t you think?’
Good things? I couldn’t think of anything good. Scaring people and making horses sick, more like.
Mr Shearer’s raspy breaths filled the room. ‘Did you know some bats are listed as a vulnerable species? Bats pollinate rainforests and they—’
‘Kill horses!’ I blurted.
‘Now, now, that’s a bit rough.’
‘They do! We found a dead bat in the water trough! And Spud was going ballistic, and I thought you were coming to shoot him, so I tried to save him, but …’ I pushed my head under my pillow. ‘Now he’s gone and it’s all my fault.’
‘Ah, yes,’ said Mr Shearer, his voice sounding muffled. ‘I see. Horses can get quite fired up in the wind, you know. Just like kids.’
It wasn’t the wind. I knew it wasn’t the wind.
When he starting talking again, I held my breath, trying to block out his words. It didn’t work; I could still hear him.
‘I know what it’s like to lose something precious,’ he was saying.
I moved my pillow away, just slightly.
‘We didn’t know much about Hendra back then. No-one knew (wheeze) how deadly it could be. That horse was her life – she spent every waking moment riding the darn animal. Dreamt of (wheeze) going to the Olympics … wouldn’t have been surprised if they’d made it too.’ Mr Shearer started coughing, and I strained to hear him.
‘… built an Olympic-style arena – jumps, lights, everything. She never got to use it.’
I sat up and edged my way to the end of the bed. That must have been the arena we’d seen, Mikaela and Alice and me. The one Mikaela had said was cool.
‘Your wife?’ I asked.
Mr Shearer shook his head. ‘My daughter. Jo. She was only sixteen.’
Same age as my big brother Matt.
‘Oh.’
‘The horse died first, and three days later …’
He dropped his hands to his lap and ran his thumb over the horseshoe-shaped ring on his pinkie. ‘This was hers. We bought it for her sixteenth birthday. It was still brand-new when she died.’
My head filled with the sound of rushing blood. Mr Shearer had a daughter? And she’d died? Of Hendra virus?
‘I’m so sorry,’ I whispered. ‘You must really hate bats!’
‘Oh no. It’s not their fault. Even Jo understood that. They’re just doing what bats do.’ He sniffed and adjusted the oxygen tube under his nose. ‘That’s the trouble, you see (wheeze). Some people get the wrong idea. They get all worked up and want the bat colonies cleared. They want to keep bats away from their houses, (wheeze) their children, themselves. I’m flat out keeping the locals away from that colony (wheeze) on my property. That’s why I carry my gun.’
I stared down at Mr Shearer. It was worse than I thought. Mr Shearer wasn’t shooting horses – he was shooting people! I clasped the pillow to my stomach. Mr Shearer really was crazy!
He must have seen my eyes widen, because he smiled and said, ‘Don’t worry, the gun’s full of blanks (wheeze). People do all sorts of cruel things to get rid of the bats – lighting fires, using slingshots, you name it, but that colony’s their home. It’s where they live, and they’re not expecting (wheeze) to be attacked. I’ve resorted to shooting blanks to warn the bats away when there’s trouble.’
I exhaled. ‘Blanks? Not real bullets?’
Mr Shearer shook his head. ‘Not real bullets.’
‘Do people really use slingshots? That’s horrible!’
‘Yep, you bet. And worse. They can’t look past (wheeze) the noise and the smell – and the viruses – and they get panicky. Rumours spread. There’s some folks (wheeze) who’ve been trying to get rid of our colony for years.’
‘But, don’t you wish the bats would go away? You know, because of your daughter and everything?’
‘Crikey, no! Bats have been here for thousands of years. Way before me. Burning their homes only aggravates them, stirring up any virus they’re carrying. And anyway, (wheeze) Mrs Bacton and I always do the right thing. We vaccinate our horses. We keep our water troughs clean. It’s not that hard to learn to live with bats. Imagine if I came to your house and burnt it down!’
I agreed. It would be awful. My horse posters would be ruined. Matt and Gus’s hockey trophies would melt.
‘So now, how about those sandwiches? I thought you youngsters were like racehorses – always hungry?’
I swung my legs and too-big boots off the edge of the bed. My stomach had been rumbling since he’d first mentioned food. But I wasn’t like Spud, able to eat in an emergency. I remembered the way he vacuumed up the grass near the cow paddock, refusing to move on. The cows had stared at us, their teddy-bear ears flapping away the flies …
The cow paddock?
‘That’s it!’ I shouted. ‘We have to tell Mrs Bacton! I know where Spud is!’
13. Injured
Mr Shearer left, promising to call Mrs Bacton to suggest s
he check the cow paddocks. I lay on my bunk and waited. Spud was there. I knew he was there. She’d have to find him soon.
When, sometime later, Mikaela came to bed, I was lying with my fingers and toes crossed, pretending to be asleep. She didn’t say anything about Spud, and I didn’t ask.
I pretended to be asleep again in the morning until Mikaela huffed off to breakfast.
It was no use; Spud was obviously dead.
When footsteps pounded down the hall, I opened my eyes and lifted my head.
Alice stood at the door, trying to catch her breath. ‘Charli! He’s back! Spud’s back!’
I threw off my sleeping bag and leapt from the bed. My boots slapped loudly against the floor.
‘You slept in your boots?’
I wouldn’t call it sleeping. ‘Where is he? Is he hurt?’
‘He was where you said. Near those cows, tangled in some wire. The vet’s here now and …’
A white ute was backing out of the stable yards as Alice and I approached. I slowed to a walk, my heart thumping. Would Spud have bandages all over him like the Egyptian mummies? Or would he be caked in dried blood, like the kangaroos we sometimes saw dead on the road?
Would he know who I was when he saw me?
Would he forgive me?
His stall door was open.
‘Oh, it’s you.’ Mrs Bacton had dark smudges under her eyes, and her hat was all wonky on her head. She held a wad of thick cotton wool and a roll of blue sticky bandages, and she had a pair of yellow-handled scissors wedged under her arm.
‘I’m really sorry,’ I mumbled. ‘I panicked … I thought … Mr Shearer … is Spud okay?’
‘Here, hold these.’ Mrs Bacton passed me the scissors and walked back inside Spud’s stall. ‘And Alice, can you run over to the feed shed and make Spud up a mix of pellets and molasses? There’s a girl, thank you.’
I stood where I was, holding the scissors in my open palms like an offering.
Spud & Charli Page 6