Breakfast was good, though. Jimmy cooked while the rest of us lay gasping on the ground. He did pancakes on the barbie griddle and I’d never tasted anything so excellent in my life. I ate six, smothered in maple syrup. I was hungrier than an overweight hippopotamus on a calorie-controlled diet.
Fresh air and exercise. I tell you. I’d probably have munched through a bucket of Brussels sprouts, though I’d be grateful if you didn’t let my mum know that.
After breakfast, we showered and then met up with the instructors in one of the huts. It had been set out like a classroom, with rows of chairs and a whiteboard. There was no sign of Mr Crannitch. I thought it was unfair that he could have a lie-in, until I remembered he’d been sick since almost the start of this camp. He must’ve needed the rest.
Phil did the talking.
‘Okay, guys,’ he said, pulling at his earring. ‘Today is basic survival skills. And putting up tents. Tomorrow, very early, we are hiking in the bush.’ He pulled down a map from above the whiteboard. It didn’t help much. Trees, more trees, the occasional lake and a crosshatch of dotted lines that appeared to be walking tracks. Phil took out a pointer.
‘We will be trekking along this path,’ he said. ‘Eventually, we will arrive here.’ He smacked the pointer on a small lake. ‘Doesn’t look far, does it?’ We would have nodded but we were too tired and full of pancakes to have the energy. ‘In fact, it’s a two-day hike. Which means we will be camping along the way. Two people to a tent, so I suggest you find a partner who doesn’t mind that you fart, snore and dribble in your sleep.’
I tapped Dyl on the arm. I didn’t want to get lumbered with John Oakman, who would probably not only resent my farting, snoring and dribbling but also take issue with my breathing. Dyl nodded. We’d shared a bedroom before.
‘Okay,’ said Phil. ‘We provide tents, sleeping-bags, hiking boots and wet weather gear. What we don’t provide is their transport. You will carry everything in backpacks. Nor do we help get the tents up. And if any of you are hoping we’ll tuck you into your sleeping-bags, check the corners of your tents for monsters and tell you amusing bedtime stories, then I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed. Right, all outside and we’ll show you how to get the tents assembled.’
It turned out that Kyle was the one who didn’t get a partner. Everyone had obviously come to the conclusion that sharing with him would be like bunking down in a rubbish bin with a skunk. So he had to put his tent up by himself, whereas the rest of us at least could work it out in pairs.
It wasn’t difficult. The tents were tiny. Me and Dyl are both shorter than average, but it would be tight in there regardless. I wondered how John would fare. He’d have to curl up like a sausage or his legs would stick out the flaps. Wake up and find some critter had eaten them in the night. Mind you, he’d still be taller than me. Maybe in an emergency his partner could use him as a tent pole.
Jimmy and Phil made us put up and take down our tents at least ten times.
‘Ye cannae afford tae think aboot it,’ Jimmy shouted. ‘Oot there, yous’ll be caud, wet and buggered wi’ tiredness. Ye huv tae dae it oan autopilot.’
Putting up and taking down a tent again and again is not my idea of quality relaxation time, but it gave me the chance to have a private word with Dyl.
I told him what Blacky had said the previous night. Dyl’s eyes lit up.
‘Cool, Marc. I can’t wait. You and me. Another adventure.’
It’s a funny thing. I’m the one who is forced to go on these adventures. It’s only me who can communicate with Blacky, after all. Yet I prefer a quiet life. Don’t get me wrong. I want to change things for the better. It’s just that I’d prefer to do that without running the risk of being eaten or put in jail or becoming lost in a harsh wilderness. Dyl, on the other hand, can’t stand the quiet life. He craves excitement. He’s in love with danger. Getting eaten or going to jail or being stranded in woop woop holds no terrors for him.
Not for the first time, I thought how lucky I was to have him along.
‘Any idea on how we can lose the rest of the group, Dyl?’ I asked.
He scrunched up his forehead in thought.
‘Nah,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll work something out when the time comes.’
I glanced around at the rest of the special boys unit. They were working hard at getting the tents up. Phil and Jimmy moved among them, offering encouragement. Something struck me then. Something I’d noticed but hadn’t quite got round to thinking about.
‘Dyl?’ I said. ‘What is it with these kids? At school, they are mongrels. They destroy stuff. They swear. You couldn’t keep them in a classroom if you padlocked it. Yet, on this camp – so far, at least – they haven’t caused any problems. Why’s that?’
Dyl looked at me.
‘You can’t work that one out for yourself?’ he said.
I shook my head.
Dyl grinned. ‘I thought you were the smart one, Marc. They call us “the special boys unit” or “the behaviourally challenged group”. Stuff like that. But we know what they really mean. We’re the retards, the dropkicks. Thing is, school doesn’t suit us. Try to get us in rows, sitting there all quiet while some dude bores us with Maths or reading a dumb book written by someone a hundred years old . . . well, that’s when we cause problems. It’s okay for you. You like that stuff. You’ve got the brains for it.’ Dyl folded up the canvas of the dismantled tent. He was good at it. It took him no time at all. ‘But we like doing things. Working with our hands. This camp is great. It makes us feel like we don’t always have to fail. That’s why we behave.’ He waved his hand around the clearing. ‘I know these kids. And I can tell you they’re all good, deep down.’
‘What? Even John Oakman?’ I asked.
‘Well, not entirely sure about John,’ admitted Dyl. He started putting the tent up again.
I thought about what he’d said. It proved two things, at least. Firstly, Dyl was not dumb. I never thought he was, mind. That was just what everyone else thought. Secondly, it doesn’t do to judge on appearances. Dyl was right. The retards. That’s what other kids called them. I think, in private, it’s what the teachers called them. But who was really dumb? The kids who acted up when forced to do things they couldn’t accomplish, or those who condemned them for it without considering the reasons why? I was guilty of that.
Which all goes to prove, I guess, that I’m dumber than I like to think.
The rest of the day passed in a blur.
We had instructions on survival techniques, just in case we got lost out there. Phil and Jimmy told us that we wouldn’t need it this time, because we were going to be travelling in a group and there’d be no chance of becoming separated. That’s what you think, I said to myself. But the techniques might hold us in good stead for the future.
I paid particular attention. If Blacky was taking us into the bush, this information might save our lives. Blacky has many good qualities – well, I assume he has – but I suspected he wasn’t going to come equipped with a GPS or an assortment of distress flares. Rolling in foul messes is all well and good, but it’s rarely the difference between life and death.
Maybe I’m wrong, though. The last time I smelled Blacky I wanted to die.
We made lunch. Sandwiches and cordial. Then, in the afternoon, we played games. Instructional games, problem-solving by communicating within the group. The sun made an appearance around two o’clock. It wasn’t a warm sun, but it lifted our spirits.
It wasn’t the only thing to make an appearance.
We had just started a trust-building exercise that involved falling backwards into the arms of a waiting team member. I’d been paired with John. This meant I had to stand a considerable distance away and catch something the size and weight of a mature ironbark tree. I was bracing myself, confident I’d be crushed like a bug, when an eerie sound drifted through the air.
‘Cooeee.’
We all froze. What was that? The hairs on the back of my neck stood
to attention and an icy chill ran down my spine. I gazed at the surrounding forest and an ominous silence gathered.
‘Cooeee.’
Around a bend in the track, two people appeared, buried under a mass of camping equipment. They carried colossal rucksacks. Pots, pans and tents dangled from every available strap. I’ve seen department stores that weren’t as well stocked. It wouldn’t have surprised me to spot a five-burner gas barbecue with wok side-burner and an industrial fridge. They teetered towards us and stopped, the mountains on their backs swaying alarmingly. The gentle melody of tinkling pans faded and died.
‘G’day!’ said the mound on the right in a frighteningly cheerful voice.
It was, I think, a female mound. She wore glasses as thick as beer bottles which made her eyes look like pee-holes in the snow. They swam above a huge smile, exposing teeth like tombstones. If you’d stumbled across this apparition on a dark night it would have prompted an involuntary bowel movement. The other mound was probably male. It was difficult to tell.
‘G’day,’ said Phil, who was the first to recover his voice. ‘Camping, huh?’ he added, thus proving that nothing subtle gets past him.
‘Absolutely,’ said The Teeth. She leaned forward and lowered her voice. ‘Actually, we are hunting.’ If anything, her grin became wider. It was difficult to believe a human mouth could accommodate so many gnashers. Think of a very short-sighted beaver and you’ll get the general idea.
‘Really?’ said Phil. ‘And what are you hunting?’
‘The thylacine.’
She’d lowered her voice even more, for reasons that weren’t altogether clear. Did she think some government department might have bugged the forest? We were forced to lean closer.
‘Ah,’ said Phil, plucking at his earring. ‘Caught many?’
‘No,’ she said seriously. ‘We’ve been coming here every year for twenty years, determined to get photographic evidence. Plenty of close encounters, but no hard proof. But that’s about to change. “This time, Gloria!” I said to myself. We can feel it, can’t we, George?’
The other mound nodded, setting off another round of pot-clashing.
‘Oh yes,’ Gloria The Teeth continued. ‘This is definitely the year. Well, mustn’t dally. We heard your voices and thought we’d pop in to say hello. But time and the Tassie tiger waits for no man. Onwards and upwards. Tally-ho and all that.’
‘Good luck,’ said Phil.
We watched as the mounds swayed noisily across the clearing and disappeared into the forest. I might have worried they’d get to the tiger before us, but it occurred to me that sneaking up on a wild animal stood a better chance of success if you didn’t sound like a military brass band tuning up.
‘Paira mad rocket mental numpties,’ snarled Jimmy.
We made stew for dinner. Us kids peeled vegetables and Jimmy and Phil diced lumps of beef. We put the whole lot into a couple of huge pots and suspended them over the camp fire. Jimmy had kept some of the vegies separate and he put them into another pot with tofu chunks. Dinner wouldn’t be ready for a couple of hours, but we were in no hurry. Once more, I felt bone-weary, but it was a good weariness.
As darkness drew in, we gathered round the fire. No one said much. We watched the flames and smelt the rich aroma of camp stew. I can’t tell you how good it was.
Jimmy sat next to me. I glanced at him as he stared into the fire. Boy, was he hairy! My dad once put a roll of insulation into our roof space and it wasn’t as thick as the mat on Jimmy’s arms. An eagle could nest in it.
‘Jimmy?’ I said.
He turned his eyes towards me.
‘Aye, lad.’
‘Do you live out here?’
‘I wish, laddie. I wish. Nay. Ye cannae live oot here. This is a state forest, so it is. Protected. If it wasnae, ev’ry Tom, Dick and bumhole wud be oot here, sticking up their wee hooses and cuttin’ doon the trees to make room. And then there’d be TV towers and roods and Mc-freakin’-Donalds. And ye know whit, laddie?’
I shook my head. He leaned in closer.
‘Then all of this wud be gone,’ he whispered. ‘Everything. An’ that . . . that wud be a crime, so it wud.’
‘You love this place, don’t you?’
‘Aye. I do that.’
‘So it is protected, at least.’
Jimmy sighed.
‘In theory, laddie. In theory.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Huv a butchers aroond ye, lad. What do ya see?’
‘Butchers?’
‘A look. What d’ye see all aroond us?’
‘Trees.’
‘Aye, lad. Trees. Living things. Magnificent. Ancient. But if, God forbid, we had a business peerson here, do ye know what they’d see? They’d see money, lad. Money. Profit. More bucks i’the bank, so they could buy another car or build another hoose. ’Cause there’s money in timber, son. There’s awfay money in timber.’
He scratched his nose.
‘Course, we have politicians to run things.’ He spat into the fire. It hissed. ‘Trouble is, a politician loves a businessman, so he does. Thick as thieves. So when a businessman wants tae cut doon trees there’s plenty o’ pollies who willnae get i’the way. We need tae be vigilant, son. You need tae be vigilant.’
‘Me?’
‘Aye, you. Us auld uns huv hud oor time and a right pig’s ear we’ve made of it. It’s you weans that huv to look oot fithe world noo. If it’s not already too late.’
I watched the fire and thought. Tasmania was freezing cold and where we were you couldn’t get reception on your mobile phone. But it was so beautiful.
And like many beautiful things, so fragile.
‘GET UP! NOW!’
I shook my head. Was I never going to be allowed to sleep? I struggled up in bed and glanced at the luminous dials of my watch. Three-thirty in the morning. What was going on?
‘You need to get dressed, tosh. Wake Dylan. It’s time.’
I rubbed at my eyes.
‘Blacky,’ I said. ‘Are you some kind of mad rocket numpty?’ I was beginning to pick up Jimmy’s way of talking. They say it’s easier to learn a foreign language when you’re young. ‘It’s the middle of the night. Surely it can wait until morning?’
‘No, mush. It’s an emergency.’
‘What is?’
There was silence for a couple of seconds.
‘She’s sick,’ said Blacky. ‘Really sick.’
‘Who is?’
‘The last Tasmanian tiger. There’s no time to waste, boyo. Not if we want to have a chance of saving her.’
Dyl woke as soon as I put a hand on his shoulder. His eyes widened.
‘Marc,’ he whispered. ‘You’re scaring me.’
‘Sorry, mate,’ I whispered back. ‘But Blacky is here. We have to go. Now.’
‘No. Not that,’ he said, swinging his legs out of bed and reaching for his clothes. ‘It’s you. You’re scaring me.’
I realised why. I was wearing my thermal underwear. I’d snuck it on when I’d got under the covers last night. Now I was standing in the dorm looking like a pale grey sausage. Never mind, I thought. I’m going to be grateful I’ve got them.
We got dressed in less than thirty seconds. I grabbed the backpack next to my bed. Jimmy and Phil had insisted we stow our gear ready for the morning hike. According to Jimmy, they didn’t want us faffin’ aboot for hours like a wee buncha galoots and boggin’ muppets. Wise words, I thought. Or was it meaningless words? Anyway, the backpack contained the tent, wet-weather gear and a survival pack, including emergency rations.
Dyl and I crept out of the dorm. The floorboards creaked a couple of times and we stopped and listened. It was unlikely any of the other kids would wake up. If yesterday was anything to go by, they were so tired they’d sleep through a marching band recital with an accompanying fireworks display.
It was a bitter night. There was a half-moon nestled in the branches of trees. The clearing around the cabins was bathed in pale
, cold light.
Blacky was by the barbecue. Dyl and I padded over to him, hoisting our backpacks onto our shoulders.
‘Let’s go,’ he said.
‘Wait a moment, Blacky,’ I said. ‘I have to leave a message.’
He made snuffling, impatient noises in my head. I can’t even begin to tell you how weird that was.
‘Why, mush? What’s the point?’
‘They’ll worry, Blacky. I need to tell them we’re safe, that we haven’t been abducted. Say we’ll join up with them here in a few days.’
‘Oh, okay, tosh. That’ll really work. Me and Dyl, twelve years old and city boys, have wandered off into hostile bush in a remote wilderness area for reasons best known to ourselves. Don’t wait up. That’ll put their minds at rest! They are going to search for you, mush. You know that, don’t you? Probably with police, mountain rescue and helicopters. And you are also going to have to avoid being discovered. Until the mission is completed.’
I knew all that. But when he put it that way, I suddenly realised how much trouble I was going to be in. Mum and Dad would be informed. They’d go mental. And it wasn’t just them. There were so many people who’d be worried sick about our safety. Rose would be distraught at my disappearance. Who was she going to torture if I wasn’t around?
And I’d never be able to explain. Not without the risk of being checked into the nearest lunatic asylum. Perhaps I should say nothing. Let them think we had been kidnapped. Claim amnesia and then pretend to forget I’d claimed it. That might be a way to avoid being deep in the brown, smelly stuff for the rest of my days.
I couldn’t, though. I had to leave some message.
Now, I don’t know about you, but if you’ve ever got up at three-thirty in the morning in the middle of nowhere to chase after an extinct animal, you might have had the foresight to pack a writing pad and pencil. Not me. I had nothing to write with.
So I took a stick and scratched a message in the dirt next to the barbecue.
Blacky Blasts Back Page 6