Red Fever

by Caroline Clough

  “DAD! Look!”

  “Where?” his dad yelled from the wheelhouse.

  “Turn round! Turn the boat round, now!” screamed Toby. “Somebody’s chasing them!”

  He could now see with his naked eye that it was a boy running across the sand as fast as he could, with the dog alongside him. As he watched, a man came running out of the sand dunes, waving something in his hand. He looked scary. His mouth was opening and closing as if he were shouting something. The boy stumbled as he turned to look over his shoulder at the man. The dog bounced beside him, pushing at him with its nose.

  “Hurry! He’s in trouble!”

  The Lucky Lady turned around and swung in towards the beach.

  “I can’t take her in much further,” cried his dad. “She’ll run aground on a sand bank and then we’ll be stuck.”

  Toby could now see that the man was brandishing a baseball bat and he looked like he intended to use it.

  “We’re over here! Swim! It’s your only chance!” he yelled at the top of his voice. “Dad, use the foghorn, go on!”

  “I can’t. The pirates may be close,” shouted his dad.

  Toby ran to the back of the boat, slipped the towing rope from its cleat and jumped into the rubber dinghy. He grabbed the oars from the floor, stuck them into the rowlocks and started rowing with all his strength.

  “Toby!” yelled his dad. “Watch out for the cross-current — where the estuary comes into the sea.”

  Toby cast a glance over his shoulder to see where the boy was. He was still running down the beach towards the estuary bridge.

  “No! Don’t go that way! Get into the water and swim!” he screamed, but the boy was still too far away to hear him.

  The man had slowed down. He looked like he was struggling through the heavy sand at the foot of the dunes. The boy was now running up the side of the dunes, away from the beach and towards the bridge.

  Please, please, boy, get into the water and swim. I haven’t got the strength to fight the current and row up river. If only I had time to start the outboard motor.

  But he didn’t have time and he wasn’t sure if there was any diesel in it anyway. The boy was now sprinting over the wooden bridge. It must have become dilapidated since Toby and his family had enjoyed picnics there, as he saw the boy and the dog leaping from plank to plank across huge gaps.

  His dog’s braver than Monty, thought Toby.

  Suddenly a strong pull on the dinghy wrenched it sideways, almost pulling the oars from Toby’s hands. He had entered the cross-current where the river entering the sea met the tide. The small craft bounced crazily and then swirled around to face out to sea.

  Toby pulled on the oars with all the muscle he could muster. He wasn’t as strong as he used to be. He managed to pull the dinghy round so that its nose was facing directly up the river mouth. He could see his dad on board the Lucky Lady, waving frantically at him to head to the other side of the estuary.

  Where does he want me to go? he thought desperately. And where has the boy gone?

  The man had reached the foot of the bridge and was limping up the steps. He had seen Toby and stopped to wave his baseball bat angrily at him, shouting something that Toby couldn’t hear.

  A final mighty pull on the oars and the dinghy was out of the cross-current and heading round the edge of a promontory on which there was a cluster of fishing bothies. Toby could see the stands where the fishermen had thrown their nets to dry and mend. A few pieces of rotted net still stuck to the metal uprights. He caught a glimpse of the boy and the dog, running along a track which led to the other side of the shacks.

  Faster, come on! Row faster!

  Toby looked up to see that the Lucky Lady was sitting just outside the small harbour. His dad was still waving for him to go into the harbour.

  Why? Couldn’t he take the Lucky Lady into the harbour?

  The boy and dog suddenly appeared on the harbour wall. The boy was wild eyed and gasping for breath. He looked petrified.

  Woof! The dog barked at Toby as he bashed the dinghy against the wall of the harbour. The boy pointed to some harbour steps that led into the water, ten metres from him. Toby manoeuvred the dinghy as quickly as he could. He could see the boy nervously watching the track for the man to appear. The dog barked and jumped up and down, its tail wagging furiously, as if it was all a good game.

  “Get in! Quick!” shouted Toby, leaning over and hanging on to the side of the harbour wall with his bare hands. There was no time to tie up. The boy half leapt, half crawled over the side of the dinghy.

  “Belle! Come!” the boy commanded the dog, which jumped cleanly into the middle of the dinghy. The impact of its weight made the dinghy bounce away from the harbour wall. As he tried to hang on, Toby felt his fingernails scratching down the gritty granite surface, setting his teeth on edge. He pulled himself upright and grasped the oars.

  “Let’s go!” he said, pushing an oar against the wall and bracing his back to row.

  “He’s coming!” shouted the boy, holding tight on to the dog. “Hurry!”

  Well, I’m not going to hang around, am I now? thought Toby.

  The dinghy pulled slowly away from the steps. The addition of the two passengers made it much harder to row, and Toby was struggling to make any progress.

  “Let me help,” suggested the boy, squirming over so that he sat next to Toby on the wooden bench. Before Toby could argue, he had taken an oar and was pulling it hard into the water. The dinghy swirled in the opposite direction.

  “Whoa! We need to do this together. Now, one — two — three … PULL!” cried Toby.

  “Stop! Stop right there! That dog’s …” the man shouted as he ran towards the harbour, but Toby couldn’t hear what he said next, as they were now making good headway out of the mouth of the harbour. He could hear the puttering of Lady’s engine nearby.

  “Toby! Over here!” shouted his dad.

  Toby felt the rise and fall of the waves increase as the wash from Lady hit the dinghy. They drew nearer until he felt the bump of the dinghy’s rubber side bash against the hard wood of the bigger boat.

  The boy had already leapt up and was throwing a rope over the side for Toby’s dad to catch. The Lucky Lady was bouncing and dancing on the waves but the boy had no problem shimmying up its side and on to the deck. The dog barked at him as he left.

  “It’s OK, boys. The guy’s given up. Relax, he’s not chasing you any more,” Toby’s dad reassured them.

  “Phew! That was close! What on earth was that about?” yelled Toby, catching his breath, still sitting in the dinghy.

  “He wanted to kill Belle,” the boy stated.

  “Kill her? Why? Because she’s a dog?” asked Toby’s dad. The boy nodded, looking at the dog. She gave a big sloppy dog grin.

  “I can’t see this one hurting anyone,” said Toby. “Let’s get her on board, then. I’ll heave from behind if you catch the front end,” he said to the boy. “It’s a bit far to jump.”

  “Hold on a mo!” said his dad. “I’m not sure I want that dog on board this boat.”

  “What?” cried Toby. “What are you on about, Dad? It’s this boy’s dog. The man was going to kill it so we rescued them. Both of them.”

  “We don’t know why he wanted to kill it, do we? There might have been a very good reason,” said his father.

  “Do we have to discuss this now?” asked Toby. “For all we know he’s gone to get a shotgun and he’s coming back to blast us all out of the water!”

  “OK! OK!” yelled his dad. “Let’s get it on board and go. But I hold you responsible for its behaviour, young man,” he said to the boy.

  The boy nodded once more. “Thank you,” he said. “Come, Belle!” he shouted to the dog, which backed up a couple of steps in the dinghy, then sprang into the air as if it was a cat. It landed half on the deck and half on the boy, who gave it a big hug.

  “I knew you could do it! Clever dog!” he gasped.

  “Great,” moaned T
oby. “Now can someone give me a hand?” The boy leant over and offered him his hand. “Thanks,” said Toby, springing up beside him.

  He untied the dinghy and dragged it round the side of the boat, then retied it to the stern. The boy and the dog nestled themselves in the prow of the boat, seemingly unfazed at what had just happened.

  Toby’s nerves were shattered and he started to shake. He was shocked at the ferocity of the man chasing the boy and at his dad’s apparent lack of concern for his safety.

  “Dad?” he asked. “Why didn’t you bring Lady into the harbour? I nearly didn’t make it.”

  “I couldn’t take Lady into the harbour. I couldn’t risk that man getting on board.”

  Toby stared angrily at his dad, even though he knew that he was right.

  “Toby, I wouldn’t have let him hurt you,” his dad insisted. “I didn’t know how deep the harbour was either. I didn’t want to go aground.”

  “So you left it to me to rescue the boy … Cheers, Dad.” Toby felt a hot and furious anger towards him. His father had been willing to gamble on his son’s life to protect his own and Sylvie’s.

  “Here, you’re in shock,” said his dad, offering Toby a large fleecy jacket. “Go to the cabin and keep warm. I’ll keep an eye on these two.” He motioned to the boy and dog, who were sitting in front of the wheelhouse. “We’ll be home soon.”

  Toby shrugged off the jacket and stormed out.

  9. Jamie McTavish

  Sylvie’s bed was covered in Barbie dolls and scraps of fabric. She usually loved to make dresses and outfits for them, but she’d got them out and felt too poorly to make anything new.

  Toby put his hand to her forehead. She was burning up, and her rash still looked red and angry.

  “How are you feeling, Sylve?” asked Toby.

  “Not very well,” she snuffled, trying to sit up.

  “Shh, just you rest now,” said Toby.

  “I had a really long sleep,” said Sylvie. “I dreamt I heard a dog barking. Then I heard its claws scrat, scrat, scratting on the deck. It was horrible, Tobes.”

  “Ah, well, Sylvie, whilst you’ve been asleep, something has happened. We’ve a boy come aboard.”

  “A real boy?” she gasped.

  “Yep, a real boy and he has a real dog with him.”

  “A dog?” she croaked, dropping all her Barbies on the floor. “No, Toby, tell me it’s not true! Tell me you’re making it up, aren’t you?”

  “No, Sylvie,” he said gently. “I’m not. But you mustn’t be scared of this dog because she is just like Monty was. She’s a big friendly dog. You’ll see.”

  “A big dog?” Sylvie exclaimed. “I don’t want to see a big dog. I don’t like big dogs, Toby, you know I don’t!” Toby could she see was getting panicky. The little colour she’d had had drained from her face and her eyes were wide with fear.

  “It’s OK, honest. You’ll love this dog. She’s like a big fluffy teddy bear. But if you don’t want to meet her, that’s OK too. She won’t be coming in here, and we’ll be home soon, and then she’ll be gone.”

  “We’ll be home soon?” she asked. “Oh, I want to be at home. I want to see my chickens again, and Henry’s sick of being cooped up in his hutch. I want to feel better so we can go outside and play again. Are you going to come and play too, Toby?”

  “Yes, I’ll come and play. That’ll be great. Now let’s get all this Barbie stuff tidied up before Dad sees it. Y’know what a stickler he is for being tidy.” Actually, his dad was very tolerant of Sylvie’s messes; in fact, anything Sylvie did was OK with his dad.

  Toby tousled the top of Sylvie’s hair with his hand. He did love her. She reminded him of his mum, and though that was painful, it also felt like a bit of his mum was always with him.

  Toby pulled on several thick jumpers and a pair of woolly gloves. His hand had been getting sorer but he hadn’t had time to think about it. He winced as he pulled the glove over the stained and grubby hankie that was still acting as a dressing. He was so cold, even with all the layers on, but he went outside anyway. He wanted to speak to the boy.

  He found the boy and his dog exactly where he’d left them. They were sitting staring out to sea at the front of the prow. He sat down beside them.

  “Thanks for saving me and Belle. We wouldn’t have made it without you coming along at just the right moment. I was so scared, my legs were turning to jelly,” said the boy.

  “So why didn’t you swim for it?” Toby asked, trying hard to keep the anger out of his voice. “If you’d just got into the water and swam out a little I’d have got you much quicker. You wouldn’t have had to run so …”

  “I can’t swim,” the boy stated quietly.

  “What?” Toby was shocked. He’d never heard of anyone young not being able to swim before. Yes, his gran hadn’t been able to swim, and neither had old Mrs Pratt who lived in the village, but they’d been ancient.

  “I’m not proud of it,” said the boy. “I never learnt, that’s all. Mum was always busy with her work. Too busy to take me to swimming lessons. No big deal.”

  “What about your dad?” asked Toby. His dad had driven him to the local town every Saturday morning for years, and sat and read the paper while Toby had struggled up and down the pool. Finally he’d become a confident swimmer and then his dad had been happy to take him sailing with him. But Toby hadn’t wanted to go.

  “Never had a dad,” said the boy.

  Lucky you, thought Toby, but then he felt a pang of disloyalty. He didn’t really think that about his dad, at least not all the time.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said instead.

  “It’s OK. You can’t miss what you never had,” replied the boy in a matter-of-fact manner.

  “So, anyway, what’s your name? Mine’s Toby, Toby Tennant.”

  “Oh, yeah, sorry.” The boy put his hand out for Toby to shake. “Mine’s Jamie, Jamie McTavish.” Jamie took hold of Toby’s hand and shook it in a serious, adult sort of way.

  “Ah!” yelped Toby. “That hurts.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Jamie. “Let me have a look. I’m good with wounds and things. Went on a first-aid course with the Cub Scouts once.”

  “You’re not old enough to have been a Scout!” declared Toby.

  “I’m thirteen,” declared Jamie.

  “Really? You don’t look it; sorry but it’s true,” said Toby.

  Jamie took Toby’s hand and started to unpeel the hankie, but blood and dirt had glued it to the skin. Jamie left him for a while and then came back with a bowl of bottled water.

  “What are you going to do with that?” asked Toby.

  “I’m not going to be able to get this yucky hankie off without soaking your hand first,” said Jamie.

  “OK, OK. Whatever.” Toby put his hand into the ice-cold water. “Ah!” he yelled. “That’s cold!”

  “Hold still,” commanded Jamie.

  With his hand soaking in the water, Toby had time to look at the boy while they sat chatting. He was very fair, with silvery-blond hair that fell in curls to his shoulders.

  Bet he got a hard time for that when he was at school, thought Toby.

  The boy’s skin was pale, milky white. It wasn’t white like Sylvie’s, whose skin had a strange white-grey pallor. His had a transparency to it so that the blue of his veins could be seen at his temples and wrists. When Jamie looked at him, Toby could see that his eyes were a brilliant, piercing blue, almost like the sea itself — only not the North Sea, more like the Mediterranean.

  The dog sat quietly at Jamie’s side, watching out to sea with pricked ears.

  “She’s very bonny,” said Toby. “What sort of dog is she?”

  “She’s a Pyrenean mountain dog. That’s not a sort, that’s a breed,” replied Jamie.

  “I didn’t think there were any pure-bred dogs left. I thought there were only mongrels these days.”

  “My mum bred her herself. She’d always had mountain dogs. She bred her mother and her mo
ther’s mother. Belle is the last one.”

  “Why did that man want to kill her?”

  “Er, well, she bit him,” said Jamie.

  “She bit him? Oh, great!” exclaimed Toby, pushing himself away from the dog. “Was there a reason?”

  “Yes, the man was going to hit me. He raised his hand to strike me and Belle went for him.”

  “Why would he want to hit you?”

  “I had something he wanted and I wouldn’t give it to him,” replied Jamie.

  “Why didn’t you just give him what he wanted? It can’t have been that important.”

  “You’re wrong. It was. It was my mum’s locket with her picture in, and a lock of her hair.”

  “Oh, yeah, I can see that would be important to you,” said Toby, assuming that, like him, Jamie had lost his mum. “Look, don’t tell my dad about Belle biting that man. He’ll have her overboard like a shot. He’s not keen on dogs any more. You can understand that, eh?”

  Jamie nodded, and put his arm round Belle. “Yeah, I can understand that. Belle’s different, but I can’t expect other folk to realise that, especially when she goes around biting people. But she was defending me, honest.”

  “Well, can you get on with sorting out this hand before it drops off with the cold?” suggested Toby, pulling a soggy mess of hanky and hand out of the bowl.

  Jamie unwrapped it slowly, taking care not to pull the skin underneath off with the hankie.

  “Doesn’t smell too good, does it?” remarked Toby, who was trying to be brave. The hand was inflamed and a violent reddy-purple colour. Jamie seemed intensely interested in state of Toby’s knuckles.

  “I wanted to be a doctor,” he explained. “My mum’s a doctor and a psychologist; I get it from her.”

  Funny, I thought he said his mum IS a doctor. That sounds like she’s still alive, thought Toby.

  “I’m going to need a first-aid kit. Have you got one?” enquired Jamie.

  “Nothing much left in it, I’m afraid. Some sticking plasters and bandages; that’s about it, I think. We’ve been looking everywhere for stuff for Sylvie. She’s my little sister. She’s sick but we don’t know what with … Oh, don’t worry, it’s not red fever,” Toby lied. Maybe this boy could help his little sister. “No, it’s since Mum died, it’s like Sylvie’s pining away. Come and meet her. I think there’s a first-aid tin in the cabin.”