by Georgia Byng
Unlike Malcolm and Molly, they’d had a good landing. Their parachutes tangled in the trees, but miraculously, they were deposited in a clearing. Micky detangled the parachutes, knowing that they would be useful. Lily had been most unhelpful. Shocked by the fall, she simply sat shivering under a tree. So it was Micky who’d braved the branches and rescued the bundles of material. While Lily sat with her knees pulled up to her chest, he hunted for shelter and found a cave. He’d laid the parachutes out like sleeping bags. Then they’d sat close together and stared at the dark night, listening to the creatures of the jungle. It was dawn before they fell asleep, and an afternoon sun was high in the sky when they woke.
For the rest of the day, the hot sun shone down on the children’s clothes that Micky had put on rocks to dry. Lily sat in her underwear, huddled and scared, while Micky focused his mind. He knew that they might not meet another human for weeks and that it was essential that he find a way for them to stay alive in the forest.
He had read many adventure stories. In fact, he had read both fictional and factual accounts of survival stories, set on mountains and out at sea, in deserts and in the jungle. Even though it was scary to be in such strange terrain, with no knowledge of what plants around them were poisonous or whether there were dangerous insects or snakes about, he found the whole business quite exciting.
Micky knew that he and Lily might have to eat grubs and insects, and there was fruit on the trees. That afternoon he spent a lot of time foraging and digging.
“Why don’t we just walk somewhere and get help?” Lily called out from her nestlike place under a tree.
“Walk where?” Micky replied. “We don’t know how big this forest is or if we will find help.” He pulled an orange tuber out of the ground and, brushing the soil off it, put it on a pile of other roots.
“I am not eating that rubbish.” Lily crossed her arms belligerently.
“You might have to,” Micky retorted. “And Lily, you should try to drink as much as you can. It’s in the leaves, look, there’s tons of it everywhere. You may be getting altitude sickness. You see, we’re very high up.” He tapped the altimeter. “We are at about three thousand feet, and that can make some people feel funny.”
“I don’t feel funny. But you look funny.”
“Ha, ha. Why don’t you come and help me dig for potatoes?”
“No way. I’ll get dirty,” she said, taking her clothes from the rocks. “Dry clean only.”
Micky laughed. “Dry clean only? Are they allowed to go through the washing machine of a whirlwind storm? Come on, Lily, get a grip. Come and help.”
But Lily shook her head and went to sit back under her tree.
That night, Micky lit a fire. He cooked the roots, and though they were black with char, Lily, now starving hungry, helped him gobble them up. The smoke from the campfire kept the insects at bay. And as a modicum of comfort crept back into their lives, both Micky and Lily felt a little bit better.
“Well done for remembering the matches,” Lily said, nodding toward the fire. She reached into her parka pocket and passed Micky something small and silvery. “Chocolate?” she offered.
“You’re joking.”
“No, always carry it. Never know when you might need it.” Micky took the chocolate gratefully, and they both unwrapped the sweets. “Mmm. Tastes a million times better here, doesn’t it?” said Lily.
“Yup,” Micky said. “Thanks.”
“No, it’s me who should say thanks,” said Lily. “I’m really sorry. I’ll try not to be so useless tomorrow.”
“Don’t worry,” said Micky. “It was the shock of the jump. Crazy, wasn’t it?”
“Really frightening.” Lily shivered. “I think we ought to start looking for the others tomorrow.”
“Agreed,” Micky replied, rubbing his eyes and yawning.
“Do you think they’re still alive?” Lily asked. Micky shrugged. Inside he had a strange feeling that Molly and Petula were all right, since they seemed to have a habit of falling on their feet. “If we use our compasses and follow the coordinates to the stones, I’m sure we’ll find them. Now let’s get some sleep. Yam for breakfast?”
Lily groaned. “Again?” She closed her eyes. “Chocolate croissant!” she murmured dreamily.
“Sausage roll,” Micky replied.
“Peanut butter and jelly sandwich,” Lily suggested.
“Chocolate cupcakes.”
“Grilled cheese sandwich…”
Miss Speal sat on a little wooden stool in some bushes high above the camp. She liked this place because it was very private, and yet it had a good view of everything that was happening in the clearing below. She pulled out her blue stone and then hugged it to her chest. “Oh, my dear stone. What shall I do without you?” She began to weep. “I shall miss you.” Then she sat up. She’d heard a noise and voices.
“I vill put a nice hidden trap here,” Miss Oakkton was saying. “Then it’s not too far to walk to check it.”
“And a pit would be good here,” Miss Teriyaki said, slapping away an insect.
Miss Speal jumped up in alarm. She tried to think whether she was doing anything that she might get in trouble for. She was doing nothing. That could get her into Miss Hunroe’s bad books. She quickly shoved her blue stone back into her pocket and, making haste, pushed past the bushes to take the shortcut back to the camp.
The blue stone lay on the ground by the wooden stool. It had not quite dropped into Miss Speal’s pocket. The pocket’s flap had obstructed its entry, and as the woman had hurried away, the movement had tossed out the stone.
Twenty-seven
Petula trotted after Canis, who moved swiftly up the mountain paths. They had been walking since before dawn.
“How much farther, Canis?” Petula called after him. Hearing her panting, Canis stopped.
“We’ll rest now,” he said. “Look, there’s a nice pool of water in the dip of that rock, if you’re thirsty.”
Petula lapped up the sweet cloud-forest water and wiped her muzzle with a wet paw. “We’ve been gone for hours,” she said. “I wonder whether I should have woken Molly to explain.”
“She never would have understood what you were saying,” Canis replied. “Besides, these people are dangerous. Before you involve your mistress, you must see whether they have anything to do with the crazy women you told me about.”
“How many of them did you say there were?” Petula asked, scratching her neck where an insect had bitten her just under her collar.
“Two, but I smelled more in the distance,” Canis replied. “And there was definitely a hint of flowers about them. I smelled the scent of rose thorn and orange blossom. And blood. That’s how I found them in the first place. I found a rabbit that they’d trapped,” he said, getting even more serious. “It hung by its noosed legs, from the branch of a tree.” Petula shivered.
“Let’s hope we don’t step in one of those traps ourselves,” she said.
After a brief rest, they set off again, up the mountain path.
Petula decided she would find out for sure whether this lead of Canis’s was a good one. Then she would report back to Molly before nightfall.
“Smell the barbecue?” Canis asked, sniffing the air with his wet nose. “They must be having a meal.” Petula could detect the whiff of cooked meat—curried cooked meat—on the air. It made her mouth water. Trying to ignore this, she sniffed the wind more, searching for a hint of orange blossom and thorn and rose. She found it.
“It’s them,” she gasped.
“Good work, eh?” Canis gave a short arf. Petula nodded.
The dogs now trod stealthily through the undergrowth, following their noses and reading the air. The smoke from a fire became stronger and stronger, mixed with the smell of baking and the stench of dead animals. And then, just like a car stopping unexpectedly at a dead end, Petula and Canis arrived at a rocky outcropping. It was obviously a place humans liked to be, for there was a wooden stool there and, what w
as more, the smell of mothballs from someone who had been there only shortly before hung in the air. The person had been scared, too, for the odd smell of electric lemon lingered. Down below was a clearing with eight huts. The two dogs surveyed the scene. From four of the huts wafted floral smells of perfume. Nearby was a hut with a water tank over it that Petula supposed must be the bathroom hut. And closer to the ledge that they were on were two more scruffy-looking huts. Outside these were outdoor cooking stoves and ovens and tables with large chopping boards and bowls on them. Tin basins for washing pans and plates lay on the ground. Nearby was a small water tank on wooden legs.
Much farther to the left, segregated from the other huts by bushes, was a hut that was obviously used by hunters. Outside this one were colorful forest birds, green-and red-feathered parrots and cockatoos, hanging upside down in bunches. A rabbit skin was nailed to a board, drying in the sun.
Canis growled.
“I wonder where they are?” Petula pondered.
Just then Miss Speal came out of the kitchen hut with oven gloves on. She opened the oven door and pulled out a hot cake pan. Then she poked at the barbecue fire.
“She must be the cook,” said Canis. “I wonder where the hunters are. Can you smell them?”
Petula sniffed. A mixed odor of sweat and whisky, with an edge of blood, was very dense in the air. Then she smelled the mothball smell very close to her on the ground. She put her nose down and sniffed. The smell led her to a beautiful blue stone. Unable to resist it, Petula picked it up in her mouth and gave it a suck. It felt smooth and cool.
“Gives me the creeps,” Canis was saying. “They don’t smell of anything good.” As he spoke, a cloud began to thicken in the sky above.
Petula nodded. “And is it my imagination,” she said, “or is their scent getting stronger?” Her heart began to pound, and her fur bristled.
“You’re right,” Canis agreed, looking alarmed. “They’re behind us. Getting closer. Quick! Run!” He put his head down and dashed into the bushes.
Petula followed Canis. It was a bad move.
Moments later, a cord caught around Petula’s back foot. This released a trap catch. The cord tightened, and with a yank that practically pulled off her limb, she was tugged up from her paws and swung into the air.
Petula nearly swallowed her new stone from the shock. Her world turned upside down. And then a horrible pain in her leg cut through her. The ground was now ten feet below her, her body hung heavy and helpless from the hunter’s noose. Canis barked up at her.
Minutes later, Miss Oakkton and Miss Teriyaki arrived.
“I don’t believe it!” said Miss Teriyaki. “A wild pug! The Chinese were in South America long ago, so obviously the breed stayed here. How extraordinary!”’
“I hate pugs,” Miss Oakkton replied, her huge face screwing up as she strained to look at Petula. “Ugly things. Can’t tell the back from the front.” At that moment, Canis attacked. He bit Miss Oakkton’s ankle as though it was a bone left over from a Sunday roast. With a scream of anger, she plunged her hunter’s knife down. It struck Canis on the back. Wimpering, he backed off.
Desperate, he barked up to Petula.
“I’ll come back with my master and your Molly.” And then he dived back into the undergrowth and was gone.
Miss Oakkton rubbed her leg and pointed after Canis, bellowing curses. Miss Teriyaki prodded Petula with her bamboo shooting stick.
“Aah,” she said admiringly. “You know, Miss Oakkton, people eat dog in the East. It is a delicacy. I wonder whether pug tastes good.”
“Hah! Well, I’ll let zat be your delicacy, Miss Teriyaki!” said Miss Oakkton, spitting on the ground. “I don’t want to eat anysing zat barks! Disgusting.”
Petula looked at the upside-down visions of the ghastly women. Miss Oakkton’s body smelled of rotten eggs. She came closer and closer. Then, lifting up her knife mercilessly, she cut the trap rope. Petula dropped to the ground with a thud.
For a moment she lay still, winded and unable to breathe, and frightened that she wouldn’t ever be able to breathe again. Then she felt a stabbing pain in her ribs.
Miss Oakkton bundled her into a bag already full of dead rabbits and birds. And, half suffocated by fur and feather, Petula was carried down to the camp.
As though she were something as disposable as firewood, she was unloaded into a small, dark hut. Petula curled up into a ball and, spitting out her blue stone, for the second time that week, she fell unconscious.
Twenty-eight
Molly was very, very hot. The heat of the Ecuadorean sun had soaked through the clouds above, turning the forest into a steamy sauna. Bas walked at a fast pace along the tree-lined, branch-covered pathways, and it was exhausting keeping up with him. Cappuccino swung through the branches of trees behind them, stopping occasionally to pick fruit from the trees. The air was thin, with less oxygen to breathe, and so Molly began to feel light-headed.
“Are you okay?” Bas asked. “It is difficult to walk in the high altitude because your body isn’t used to it.”
Molly nodded. “I’m fine.” She didn’t want to hold up the trip, and so she walked on without complaining. Her body grew damp with sweat, and she was glad she was wearing cool clothes. She thought back to when she used to go to school and how she’d grumble about cross-country runs. This walk was ten times as hard, yet she was doing it without complaining, doing it because she needed to. The back of her calves and the muscles in her thighs ached, but Molly gritted her teeth and kept going. The sun was starting to burn her skin. But she didn’t care. She had to get to Bas’s viewing tower.
Every so often Bas would stop, and they’d have a drink. He had brought with him a bag of energy-boosting dried fruit, and while they rested, they sat in silence, nibbling the fruit sticks. Cappuccino would sit in the trees a little way off with all his attention trained on Molly.
After a three-hour walk, Bas stopped.
“We’re here.”
Ahead of them, camouflaged because it was painted green, Molly saw a metal structure.
“Hope you like heights,” Bas joked. And he led Molly to the crane’s steps. They were set like a ladder into it.
Ten minutes later, Molly and Bas were up at the crane’s top, standing in a boxlike viewing platform. Cappuccino had nipped up ahead and was already chewing a flower he had found.
“Wow!” Molly said, cupping her eyes with her hand and looking out. “The view is incredible from up here!” She could see for miles and miles over a sea of treetops. She saw far-off mountains that seemed to touch the highest clouds in the sky.
“That’s a volcano,” Bas commented, pointing to a beautiful white mountaintop in the distance. He had pulled out his binoculars and was studying the forest. His gaze moved over the distant jungle, swinging back and forth as he thoroughly checked to see whether he could see any signs of life. “There’s the plane,” he said.
Molly looked through the binoculars. Far away, she could see a gash in the trees and what looked like a charcoal gray whale parked there.
“We were lucky to get out,” Molly commented. She scrutinized the forest for evidence of parachutes and the others. “I wonder where they landed?” She sighed and sadly put down the binoculars. “Petula can sense where I am. Wish I could feel them. I’m so worried about them, Bas.”
“Cheer up,” said Bas. “Listen, you never know, maybe Petula can feel Micky, too. After all, you are twins. Maybe that’s where she went this morning. Maybe she’s already found him.”
Bas flapped open a silk flag. “Let’s hang this red warning flag, and if they’re up a tree they’ll see it. Look at those monkeys,” he said, trying to change the subject. “And those insects.” Then he pointed to the northwest. “And there, Miss Molly, though you can’t see them, are the stones you are interested in.”
“Really?” Molly gulped.
“Yes. See those far-off crags shaped like owls’ heads?”
“Yes.”
“
Well, the stones are under them. It’s going to take us the rest of the day to get there. Are you ready?”
Molly gulped again. “I am,” she said.
And so they started walking again, their paths passing over pretty tree-covered humps of land that undulated up and down the sides of the mountain. The cover of foliage and leaves above was often so dense that only spots of the cloudy sky could be seen, and their path was patched with mottled light. It was like walking through a strange forest palace. Sounds were muffled, though every now and then bird cry pierced the air. At other times the forest and mists cleared, and wonderful views of the cloud forest stretched out green and leafy below and beyond. Walking uphill was strenuous, but walking downhill was hard, too. Molly’s knees felt like they were going to buckle and bend back on themselves. On and on they walked, with Cappuccino hopping casually behind them. Molly remembered what Forest, her hippie friend, had once said to her.
“There’s an old Chinese saying. Wise man who climb mountain, climb one step at a time. He no look at top of mountain and see how far off it is. He enjoy each step.” Molly decided to try and do this. Soon she found herself in a walking zone, as though her body was hypnotized to just keep taking steps.
“I will keep walking. I will keep walking,” Molly hummed to herself. “One step at a time.” The forest paths became thinner and overgrown. On and on they walked. Hours passed. The light started to fade. And then Bas tapped Molly on the shoulder.
“This is it, Molly,” he whispered. “There’s the owl mountain. See? Now you sit down and eat this.” He passed Molly a snack with some sort of soy curd in it. “Cappuccino’s here. Everything is just fine.”
Molly obeyed in an exhausted daze. She ate her food and watched as Bas set about making a shelter.
She knew that tomorrow she was going to need all the energy she could muster. So as soon as the shelter was ready, Molly rolled out her sleeping bag and crept inside. A moment later, before the forest’s daytime animals had returned to their nests, dens, lairs, and burrows, Molly was fast asleep.