Too Small to Fail

by Morris Gleitzman

  Oliver switched on his phone to see if he could get Google maps.

  He couldn’t.

  ‘OK,’ said Nancy, ‘here’s the harder maths. I know the turning is eighty-nine k’s from the Cooper’s Corner intersection we passed a while back. And these posts on the side of the road with the reflectors on them, they’re meant to be one every kilometre.’

  Nancy pointed, and Oliver saw a post as they whizzed past it.

  ‘But,’ said Nancy, ‘the bloke who put them in was having a fight with the Department Of Main Roads about some overtime he hadn’t been paid, so he put the posts in every twelve hundred metres instead. I’ve been counting posts since the intersection. We’ve just passed number sixty-five. What I need you to work out is, how many more posts till our turn-off?’

  Oliver felt the maths panic coming back.

  How many lots of twelve hundred metres in eighty-nine kilometres?

  He didn’t have a clue.

  ‘I know,’ said Oliver. ‘Why don’t you just use the odometer on the dashboard to measure the distance?’

  ‘It’s broken,’ said Nancy.

  Oliver felt sick.

  He switched on his phone again and tapped the calculator.

  The battery went dead.

  ‘Sixty-seven,’ said Nancy. ‘We just passed the sixty-seventh post.’

  ‘We’ve missed the turn-off,’ said Oliver in a panic.

  ‘How can you know that,’ said Nancy, ‘until you do the maths?’

  Frantically, Oliver tried to do the maths. The numbers immediately got jumbled in his head. If only Mum and Dad were here, they could do it.

  Oliver stared out the window at the desert sky. Perhaps Mum and Dad would come to the farm by plane and perhaps they’d fly overhead and he could wave to them and they’d land on the road up ahead and …

  ‘Post number sixty-eight,’ said Nancy.

  Oliver closed his eyes and tried to concentrate.

  ‘Take your time,’ said Nancy. ‘But try to get it right, because if we overshoot we’ll burn up even more petrol.’

  Oliver felt Barclay licking his hand to encourage him. And slowly, slowly, the numbers fell into place. He checked them in his head. They stayed in place.

  ‘Seventy-two,’ said Oliver. ‘We turn at post number seventy-two.’

  ‘We just passed number seventy,’ said Nancy.

  Oliver held his breath for the next two-point-something kilometres. Or two posts as he preferred to think of it.

  ‘Number seventy-two,’ said Nancy.

  Oliver stared through the insect-spattered windscreen. Where was the turning?

  They passed another post. And another.

  Oliver was about to suggest to Nancy she’d got her counting wrong. Then she slowed the ute and Oliver saw black tyre marks on the road ahead curving into a dirt side-road.

  ‘Yes,’ he shouted.

  ‘What?’ mumbled Rose, waking up.

  Nancy steered the ute and the camel float off the highway onto the dirt road.

  ‘It’s very narrow,’ said Oliver. ‘The police probably wouldn’t bother putting a roadblock on a track like this.’

  Nancy didn’t reply.

  Oliver realised he probably shouldn’t have said that out loud.

  A little while later, Oliver decided to confess about the email he’d sent.

  He had two reasons.

  OK, three.

  ‘Nancy,’ he said. ‘Back at the roadhouse I sent an email to Mum and Dad saying they could hide out at your farm. Sorry I didn’t ask you first.’

  Oliver waited anxiously for Nancy’s reply.

  He hoped she wouldn’t be angry, but he was glad he’d admitted it because:

  (1) it was polite.

  (2) he’d be able to see if Rose was planning to attack Mum and Dad on sight.

  (3) it might give him a clue about whether he was being kidnapped.

  Nancy just grunted, and Rose just muttered something about dung weevils.

  Oliver sighed.

  He had a horrible feeling that was yes to (2) and (3).

  Rose wasn’t a very good singer, but that didn’t stop her.

  ‘Ten green bankers,’ she sang, ‘sitting on the wall. If one green banker should accidentally fall … come on dropkick, you’re not singing.’

  Oliver joined in, but only because now it was dark Nancy said she needed singing to keep her awake.

  ‘… there’d be nine green bankers sitting on the wall.’

  Oliver wasn’t enjoying this part of the trip. For a start, Rose got to choose the songs. Plus this dirt road was very bumpy. The sloshing from the water tanks on the roof was so loud Oliver was worried they were going to fall off. He hoped the bumping wasn’t too painful for Moo in the float.

  He didn’t even want to think about what would happen when they got to the farm.

  What if Mum and Dad didn’t turn up because they’d been arrested? What if they did turn up, but without any kidnap money?

  ‘You two,’ said Nancy. ‘Keep your eyes out for wildlife.’

  ‘If we hit a roo, it won’t be pretty,’ said Rose, sounding as if she didn’t mind the idea.

  Oliver peered into the dusty headlight beams. Ahead of them, the dark desert was full of weird shapes. Any one of them could be alive. Mostly the headlights revealed them to be just bushes or rocks, but until then any one of them could be a kangaroo or a crouching police sniper.

  Rose held Barclay up so he could see out the windscreen.

  ‘Dogs have amazing night vision,’ she said.

  Oliver hoped Nancy’s night vision was amazing too. He glanced at her. In the dull light from the dashboard she was looking tired and not as stern as usual.

  Suddenly Oliver couldn’t stand it any more.

  The stress of not knowing if he and Barclay were prisoners.

  He decided to get it over with.

  ‘Nancy,’ he said. ‘Am I being kidnapped?’

  Nancy gave him a sharp look. Before she could say anything, Rose screamed.

  ‘Mum,’ she yelled. ‘Look out.’

  Oliver, startled, peered out the windscreen. There was something ahead of them, at the bottom of a long sloping stretch of the road.

  Was it a roadblock?

  No, it was a wide riverbed.

  ‘Jeez,’ said Nancy. ‘That shouldn’t be there.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ said Oliver. ‘It hasn’t got water in it.’

  ‘That’s worse,’ yelled Nancy.

  They were skidding now and Rose was screaming again and Barclay was barking and they weren’t stopping.

  ‘Hold on,’ yelled Nancy.

  Oliver grabbed Barclay and the ute hit the sand and then it was terrible.

  21

  Finally the ute stopped rolling.

  It was dark. And quiet. Oliver’s chest hurt. Bodies seemed to be piled on top of him.

  Oliver heard a whimper from Barclay. He reached out, trying to feel if Barclay was alright.

  Rose groaned.

  ‘Barclay,’ she croaked. ‘You’re OK, I’ve got you.’

  Oliver could feel Rose’s weight on him. Something was jammed into the side of his head. It was hard, like a knee.

  Nancy groaned in the darkness. She sounded like she was in pain.

  ‘Rose,’ she said. ‘Are you alright?’

  ‘I think so,’ said Rose. ‘My head might be bleeding a bit.’

  ‘What about you, Oliver?’ said Nancy.

  Oliver was about to say that his chest hurt a lot, but then he realised what might be causing it. He felt around for his seatbelt buckle. When he pressed it, the buckle slipped away from his chest and the pain went almost immediately.

  ‘I’m OK,’ said Oliver.

  ‘Come on,’ said Nancy. ‘We need to get out.’

  Slowly, with difficulty, they clambered out. Nancy went first because she was on top. While Rose followed her, Oliver held Barclay, who was trembling even more than he was. Then Rose took Barclay, and Oliver drag
ged himself out through the window, which seemed to be in a different place to usual.

  Nancy, squinting in the moonlight, was examining Rose’s head.

  ‘I’ll live,’ said Rose.

  ‘It’s just a cut,’ said Nancy. ‘Not deep. Oliver, you’re sure you’re OK?’

  ‘Yes, thanks,’ he said.

  He was more concerned about Barclay.

  Oliver picked Barclay up and checked him over for injuries before giving him a relieved cuddle.

  Nancy staggered and almost fell over.

  ‘Mum,’ said Rose, grabbing her. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘My ankle,’ said Nancy. ‘It got twisted under the brake pedal.’

  Oliver and Rose helped Nancy flop down onto the sand. Then Oliver looked at the wreckage all around them.

  The ute was on its side. One of its wheels was off. Luggage was scattered around. The big plastic water tanks were split and empty.

  ‘Where’s Moo?’ said Rose in alarm.

  Oliver realised the camel float wasn’t hooked up to the ute any more. He couldn’t see it anywhere, not in the riverbed, not in the scrub.

  ‘This is crazy,’ he said. ‘It can’t just have –’

  Rose grabbed his arm and put her finger to her lips.

  They listened.

  No camel noises.

  Nothing.

  ‘Moo,’ yelled Rose frantically. ‘Moo.’

  Oliver heard a growl.

  But it wasn’t Moo. It was Barclay, crouched by their feet, tail stiff, peering into the shadows.

  He started barking and ran off along the riverbed.

  ‘Come on,’ said Rose, running after him.

  ‘Be careful,’ called Nancy.

  Oliver followed Rose and Barclay, sprinting into the darkness. The soft sand made running difficult and the moonlight was patchy so he had to be careful not to bash into things.

  Like this big chunk of the camel float, lying upside down. It seemed to be the top part, torn from the chassis like a big empty smoked-oyster tin.

  Oliver stopped. He winced as he imagined what might have happened to poor Moo. He didn’t want to go on. Didn’t want to see …

  Then he heard Rose yell.

  He hurried on.

  There was Moo, lying on the sand, not moving.

  Rose was kneeling and stroking Moo’s head and moaning. Barclay was sniffing Moo’s long graceful neck, his ears flat and his tail down.

  Oliver hurried over and joined Rose. He slid his hands gently over Moo’s woolly fur, hoping he wasn’t hurting her, checking her big body for injuries.

  All he could find were a few cuts. The stitches from her operation were all still connected.

  But Moo’s eyes were closed and she definitely wasn’t moving.

  Rose let out a wail.

  Oliver tried not to think about poor Moo being flung out of the float, her heavy body crashing into the ground, something snapping inside …

  ‘Moo’s dead,’ sobbed Rose.

  Oliver put his arms around Rose. He felt like crying himself, but he managed not to. Until he thought about Rose, who’d lost two members of her family now, which was more sadness than any person should ever have to bear.

  Then he almost did cry. Until he heard a gurgling-spluttering sound. Sort of like vomiting.

  He looked down.

  Thick mucus stuff was coming out of Moo’s mouth.

  ‘Rose,’ said Oliver. ‘Look.’

  Moo was coughing the stuff out.

  They stared as Moo spluttered and gurgled until there was a puddle in the sand. Then slowly, struggling and trembling, she rolled onto her tummy, knees tucked under her.

  ‘Moo,’ whispered Rose.

  It took Moo a long time to stand up, but she did it, back legs first, then front. Rose put her arms round Moo’s neck and hugged her.

  Oliver realised he was shaking.

  He picked up Barclay, who was jiggling like a blender on high.

  ‘I think she’s OK,’ said Rose, running her hands under Moo’s belly.

  Moo leaned forward and rubbed Rose’s face with hers. Rose wiped a blob of mucus off her own chin, took Barclay from Oliver, and lifted him onto Moo’s back.

  Oliver watched them.

  If I was a camel or a dog, he thought, and a bunch of humans had made me be in a crash, I’d be really upset. I’d be grouchy and complaining and trying to bite them or kick their bums.

  But Barclay’s tail was wagging and Moo was just standing there, her body trembling only a bit now, her friendly mouth in a sort of half-smile, her big placid eyes looking like they’d seen it all before.

  After Nancy finished checking Moo herself, leaning for support on Oliver and Rose’s shoulders, she decided they should all get some sleep and wait for daylight.

  ‘Try to find the swags,’ she said.

  Oliver wasn’t sure what a swag was. He soon saw as he helped Rose drag one from under the twisted tailgate of the ute. It was like a big sleeping bag, quilted on the inside and waterproof on the outside.

  There were three swags.

  Rose and Oliver laid them out side by side on the sand, and helped Nancy wriggle painfully into one. Rose got into the middle one with Barclay.

  Oliver stood by the third swag. He wasn’t sure what he should do.

  ‘Sleep in a tree if you prefer,’ said Rose.

  ‘Isn’t this your dad’s?’ said Oliver uncertainly.

  Even if your parents weren’t responsible for a person’s death, you didn’t just jump into his swag.

  ‘He doesn’t use it any more,’ said Rose quietly.

  ‘Get in,’ said Nancy.

  Oliver got in.

  ‘Here,’ said Rose. ‘In case you get scared of the dark.’

  She handed Barclay over.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Oliver as Barclay snuggled into the swag with him.

  It was a good feeling, lying there, staring up at the squillions of stars and listening to Moo’s soft breathing and Barclay’s panting. As long as you didn’t think about where you were, and why, and whose fault it was.

  ‘Nancy,’ said Oliver quietly. ‘It was the wrong road, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yup,’ said Nancy.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Oliver. ‘I’m really bad at maths.’

  ‘Wasn’t your maths,’ said Nancy. ‘It was my fault. I thought I recognised the turning and I got it wrong.’

  Oliver didn’t understand.

  ‘That stuff about the posts,’ said Nancy. ‘I made it up.’

  Oliver was even more confused.

  ‘You talk in your sleep, idiot,’ said Rose.

  ‘You mumble about maths tests,’ said Nancy. ‘Which apparently you always fail. You sound pretty stressed about it. So I thought I’d give you a chance to get some maths right for a change.’

  ‘So at least somebody in your family does,’ said Rose.

  Oliver took a few seconds to digest this.

  ‘So those posts didn’t really have anything to do with where the turning was?’ he said.

  ‘No,’ said Nancy.

  ‘Der,’ said Rose.

  ‘And I got the maths right?’ said Oliver.

  ‘I didn’t say that,’ said Nancy.

  Oliver felt his insides droop.

  ‘There are more important things in life than maths,’ said Nancy quietly. ‘Including what you did for Rose a little while ago.’

  ‘Can we go to sleep now?’ said Rose.

  In the darkness, Oliver gave Nancy a grateful look.

  ‘One more thing,’ said Nancy. ‘The answer’s no.’

  It was the answer Oliver had been hoping for.

  ‘We don’t kidnap people,’ muttered Rose. ‘Even when we do see something stupid on their phone.’

  Oliver snuggled into his swag and cuddled Barclay.

  He felt even better than before.

  As long as he didn’t think about Mum and Dad and whether he’d ever see them again.

  22

  When Oliver woke
up, the sun was already hot.

  He reached for the remote control to turn up the air-conditioning, then remembered where he was.

  In a swag with Barclay.

  Lost in the desert with Nancy and Rose.

  Oliver tried not to panic. He tried not to think about anybody wandering desperately around in circles and dying of thirst.

  As he and Barclay crawled out of the swag, Oliver tried to do what Dad often said. Think about the best that could happen today, not the worst.

  Oliver knew what the best would be. Everybody safe, and Mum and Dad not in jail.

  Barclay helped.

  Which was kind. It was easy to think positively when a good friend was licking your face.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Oliver.

  Then he saw that Nancy and Rose were both awake and looking anxious.

  ‘Moo’s wandered off,’ said Nancy.

  ‘I hobbled her really tightly,’ said Rose. ‘She must have been really desperate to get away.’

  Nancy’s ankle was so swollen she couldn’t even stand up, so Oliver went with Rose and Barclay to look for Moo.

  It took a while.

  They found her, a long way from the road, ropes still round her legs, chewing a bush.

  ‘I don’t get it,’ said Oliver. ‘These bushes are everywhere. Why did she come so far for this one?’

  ‘Don’t be an idiot,’ said Rose. ‘She didn’t come this way for a feed. She’s trying to get home. Camels always do that. They can find their way home from anywhere.’

  Moo was gazing at the horizon.

  ‘Our farm must be that way,’ said Rose.

  Oliver gazed too. All he could see between them and the horizon was about a squillion kilometres of flat scrubby desert.

  Without any roads.

  When they got back to the riverbed, Nancy agreed that Moo had been trying to head home.

  ‘So we know which way to go now,’ she said.

  But Nancy still couldn’t stand up. And the ute was crippled too. As well as missing a wheel, the front axle was broken.

  Oliver and Rose tried to lift Nancy onto Moo’s back.

  Moo was very patient, but after a lot of heaving and straining by Oliver and Rose, and a lot of swearing by Nancy, they had to accept it wasn’t going to work.

  ‘Thanks for trying,’ said Nancy. ‘Don’t know if I could have stayed up there for long without a saddle anyway.’