by Des Hunt
When asked about the wounds, Robbie said he’d removed the plasters a couple of days before. “They seem to have healed very quickly.”
Price nodded. “Yes. That’s the case with the simpler animals. They have a great ability to heal, even grow new parts if needed. See this bump near her tail? She’s dropped her tail at some time and it’s regrown. Actually I’m surprised she didn’t drop it when the dog attacked. If it’d grabbed her by the tail she would have.”
Robbie was thrilled by Price’s interest. He had always felt he was doing something special. Now, the man’s reaction confirmed it. Price was obviously finding it difficult to leave the animal alone.
Finally he stood up. “You’re right, Robbie. We have to do something about it. We can’t let the poison drop go ahead. There are at least five of these things, counting the father. And I suspect there must be more than that. It’s very likely they could be killed by the poison; they’re just too much like possums.”
“There’s also CCD from Richardson’s place.”
“We’ll worry about that later. The important thing is to stop the drop.” He took out his mobile phone. There was no signal. “Come on. We’ll try, up at the seismograph hut.”
Shortly afterwards they parked their bikes at the path near the top of the ridge. Price was quickly on the phone.
“Kia ora, Johnny. Price here. How are you? …Yeah, aren’t we all. Listen, do you know anything about a poison drop near here? … No, I thought not. It’s on today. Being done from Jim’s place. Good man! I’ll be there to watch.” He pressed the END button. “Well Robbie, I know you like direct action. Today you’re going to see how the locals do it. Look, listen and, learn.”
* * *
The helicopter came first. There was no missing it — the thump, thump of the rotor echoed around the hills. Then came the support vehicle. It was a clever thing, a combined truck and front-end loader that could scoop poison pellets from the back and drop them into the hopper on the helicopter. It was about to start work when more vehicles started pouring into the paddock.
They came in every shape, size and colour. Twenty, thirty of them There was nothing hostile about what they did. They simply drove in and formed a ring around the helicopter. It reminded Robbie of circling wagons protecting a wagon train from an attack. After a couple of circles they stopped and the people got out.
They also came in every shape, size and colour. Blankets and mats were brought out and laid on the ground for a picnic.
The leader seemed to be Johnny Marshall. Robbie didn’t recognise any of the others.
Nothing was said about the helicopter or the loader. They behaved as if neither existed. It was a very effective protest. Even if the pilot was prepared to try a take-off, there was no way of loading the poison.
Soon afterwards, a Department of Conservation van arrived. The driver got out and swore, very, very loudly. She walked over to Johnny Marshall. “Why, Johnny? I thought we had an agreement.”
“Yes. One that required you to tell us when you were dropping poison.”
“You were told before Christmas we were going to do this side of the ranges. You can’t expect to be notified about each particular drop.”
“That’s exactly what we do expect. Each part of the forest is different. We need to be able to prepare the forest.”
The woman threw her hands in the air. “What preparation? You can’t even get into this part. It’s so thick and steep.”
Johnny spoke slowly. “The forest is a single being. It is a balance of all the things in it, even those things that are not normal. Like the possums. You are about to make changes to that balance. If the forest is not prepared for the change then who can predict what will happen?”
The DOC worker had obviously heard this particular argument before; her face showed what she thought of it.
Johnny wasn’t put off. “If you were to drop the poison today, the forest would react badly. We want the possums killed. But it’s not the right time for this part of the forest.”
“Is there ever going to be a right time?”
“Yes. The forest will tell us when it is ready.”
She’d had enough. She marched over to where the pilot and the driver were leaning against the truck.
“The forest isn’t ready for the poison.” It was a rude mimic of Johnny.
Neither of the workers seemed concerned. They got paid either way. “Can we go then?” asked the pilot.
“Are you going to let them leave?” she yelled over to Johnny.
“Do we have your word?”
She was about to answer when a vehicle roared into the paddock. It was EMUS4ME, with Richardson at the wheel. He was out of the cab before it stopped moving.
“What the hell’s going on? What are these scumbags doing here? Why aren’t you dropping the poison?” He stomped over to Johnny. “I gather you’re behind this, Marshall?”
Johnny Marshall was almost smiling. “We were just about to leave, Mister Richardson.”
“Then why don’t you?”
“When we get a promise that no poison will be dropped.”
Richardson then turned on the DOC worker. “You weren’t going to give in to these people, I hope?”
She spread her arms. “What else can I do?”
“Get on with the job you’re paid to do.”
“Which is?” She was angry now.
“Get rid of the possums. So they don’t bring disease onto my farm.”
“Well I see it slightly differently. I want to get rid of the possums for the sake of the forest, not your farm. And whatever you think of these people they have concerns that should be listened to — I’m not about to drop poison without their consent.”
A cheer went up from the surrounding people.
Richardson knew he was beaten, yet had to have the last word. “I think you might view it differently after I’ve spoken to your boss.” He started to walk away, but then turned back. “And if one of my animals dies from disease, I’ll make sure you and the department pay for it.” He pointed a finger at her. “Just one animal and I’ll have you! Do you understand?”
He climbed in the vehicle, slammed the door, and roared off in a spray of grass and dirt. Soon afterwards the other vehicles had also left.
* * *
Price and Robbie watched the whole performance without comment. When it was over they wandered up to the house.
“Which way was more effective?” asked Price. “Johnny Marshall’s or Noel Richardson’s?”
Robbie didn’t answer.
“There’s no need to blow up roads or fire-bomb buildings. Having a picnic can work just as well.”
“What will Jim say?”
“Ah. I don’t think Jim will be very pleased at all. He thinks a bit like Richardson about possums.”
“Should we tell him about Puku?”
“No! Jim’s got problems at the moment. Let’s not add to them.” He paused, weighing up how much he should say to the boy. “What you don’t know is that he’s going to have to sell Paradise. It’s either that or lose the whole farm.”
Robbie was shocked. “Sell Paradise! He can’t do that.”
“He has to. The farm’s not making any money. I know. I handle his affairs. Small farms like this don’t work nowadays, not unless you change to something like emus or deer. He’s thought about deer but he hasn’t got the money to set it up. And emus are for people like Richardson. At the moment it looks as if selling Paradise is the best option. He thinks it’s the only way he’ll get the money to change away from sheep. He’s already had an offer.”
Robbie was near tears. “That’s horrible.”
“It gets even worse,” said Price. “The buyer is Richardson. Says he wants to open Paradise to the public. Let people live in the wilderness for fifty bucks a night. See kiwi and bats in the wild. That sort of thing.”
“Richardson? He’d just steal all the animals.”
Price nodded. “That’s what I think. He�
�s already acting as if he owns the place. Like that night when we saw him, and I’ve also seen one of his vehicles going over the hill in broad daylight.”
“That must be the thing I’ve been seeing. I’ve seen it twice. What are we going to do about it?”
“Well I’m working on some other options for a buyer, but I’m not all that hopeful. I think the best thing is for us to go after Richardson. Collect enough evidence to take to the police. He’ll find it difficult to steal wildlife from a prison cell, won’t he?”
“Should we go fishing with him tomorrow?”
Price brightened. “Oh yes, my dear Walker. What better place to attack your enemy than from within their own castle? Tomorrow will be the first day of our campaign. Make sure you prepare with a good night’s sleep.”
* * *
Robbie had nothing like a good night’s sleep. He spent the whole night trying to protect Paradise from hordes of campers. For each one he sent away, another ten would come. They were everywhere: in his huts, the bush, even in the tops of the rimu trees. They trampled over everything, whether it was living or dead. Nothing he could do would stop them. And worst of all, towards the end they were wearing masks — horrible, sneering Noel Richardson masks.
When dawn finally came he’d been awake long enough to have sorted out his mind. His father had felt so strongly about Paradise he’d turned his back on his only brother in protest. Now it was his turn: he’d been sent there to take his father’s place — to make sure Paradise was safe. And he had a far greater reason than his father: Puku and her babies. If he did nothing else in his life, he had to be sure she was safe and her babies had a chance to grow and continue the species for a few more million years. That was his job, and today he had to start doing it.
Chapter 12
Noel Richardson’s boat was huge, the sort that was usually left in the water. It needed a powerful tractor to tow the trailer down to the sea, although it was more like a boat builder’s cradle than a trailer.
They launched it in the shelter of a small rocky point.
There were five of them altogether. At the last minute, Jim had decided to take the day off, now that the shearing was over. As soon as they were aboard, the boat began carving its way through the swell towards White Island. The other boats in the bay were left bobbing and tossing in its wake.
Richardson was dressed in his captain’s outfit. From shoe to hat, he was Captain Richardson. His lackey even said “Aye, aye captain,” when given an order, though Robbie sensed a hint of sarcasm. He was the man who’d seen Robbie snooping around the egg crates.
Price was interested in all the electronic instruments in the cockpit. There were depth sounders, fish finders, radio scanners, radar screens, the lot. It was obvious Richardson liked to have everything.
“I helped design that one,” said Price, pointing to a colourful display. “Wonderful little machine.”
He went to press one of the buttons, then thought better of it. “May I?”
Richardson nodded. The screen changed to a map of the world, with New Zealand towards the bottom. Five flashing green lights appeared as beads across the middle. There was a red light near the land.
“We’re getting data from five satellites at the moment.” He turned to Robbie. “GPS,” he explained. “Global Positioning System. Tells you where you are in the world to within a metre. This one is also linked into all the marine maps for New Zealand.” He pressed another button, several times. Each time the screen zoomed into a smaller part of the world until they were looking at a map of the whole of the Bay of Plenty The red light obviously showed their position.
“There,” said Price proudly. “What do you think of that?” It took Robbie a while to work it out. The sea wasn’t just blue. It had mountains and valleys, just like the land, which showed up green.
“See White Island there? It’s just the first of a whole string of sea volcanoes stretching all the way up to Tonga.” He pressed another button and names appeared. “There they are — Rumble One, Two and Three. They’re all currently active. Then there are Silent One and Two. They’re having a rest at the moment.”
Robbie was amused by the simple names. “What about Noisy One? Where’s that?”
“That has to be White Island,” said Price. “You’ll find out why, if we get a chance to land.” He turned to Richardson. “What do you think?”
“Of the chances of landing?” He looked back at the sea. “Not very good. The wind’s from the south. It’s almost impossible to land in this wind. We’ll see when we get there.” Robbie crossed his fingers, hoping the wind would drop.
* * *
It didn’t. If anything, it freshened. They motored in close enough to be able to see choppy waves smashing onto a broken concrete jetty
“Not a hope,” said Richardson. “Some other time perhaps, young man.”
Robbie took in all he could, knowing he’d probably never have another chance.
The island was one big crater with the wall missing on one side — the south, where they were. Steam was issuing from all over the crater floor. In a couple of places it was even seeping out the top of the walls. Most of it seemed to be coming from the far end in huge billowing puffs, and he realized it must be the source of the clouds he’d seen almost every morning of his holiday.
Just past the jetty was the ruin of a concrete building. That and a wooden notice were the only signs that life had ever existed on the island. There were no plants or birds, just reddish rocks and a small, black sandy beach. With all the steam, it looked like an old picture of hell.
“What did they do in the buildings?” he asked.
“Mined fertiliser, and before that sulphur,” replied Richardson. “But that stopped in 1914, when eleven people were, killed.”
“Did it erupt?”
“Sort of. For some reason part of the crater wall fell down and blocked the vent, then it all spilled out in a river of boiling mud and rock. Everything was buried. I’ll show you where the crater wall collapsed when we get a bit further on.”
As they moved around the island Robbie saw there actually was something living there — stunted pohutukawa trees protected from the toxic gases by the high crater wall. In some places the trees were just skeletons, destroyed during a past eruption.
And there were gannets, hundreds and hundreds of them wherever there was a slope they could nest on. Vast areas of rock were covered with their white droppings.
The place where the crater wall had collapsed was near the biggest colony, appearing as if a bite had been taken out of the rim.
* * *
As they sailed away from the island Price pointed back towards the land. “See how all those mountains lineup? White Island …Whale Island …Mount Edgecumbe …Tarawera. If you could see further, you’d see all the way to Ruapehu. A long line of active volcanoes, including the Rumbles in front of us.” He turned to the GPS. “Now look at the map. See that deep trough there? That’s the White Island trough; it’s almost three kilometres deep. This is a very special place on the earth’s surface.”
He stood up and pointed to the east. “That part of the crust goes all the way to Easter Island. And that way,” he pointed to the west, “includes Australia and most of the Indian Ocean. Now, right below us, the two huge chunks of crust are smashing into each other. That bit’s sliding under this bit giving the deep trough. Of course some of it cracks as well. When it slides, you get earthquakes. And where it cracks you get volcanoes.” He grinned at his audience. “Simple, eh?”
Robbie smiled. “Yeah! Real simple for some people.”
Jim laughed. “Forget the volcanoes. All I’m interested in is fish.”
“You’ll get plenty of those,” said Richardson. “Have a look at that meatball ahead of us!”
The surface of the sea was rippling with fish. Hundreds of birds were milling around, diving, and generally gorging themselves. As they got closer, Robbie could see that something was attacking the fish from below. Large si
lvery flashes were cutting through the water, parting the clouds of smaller ones.
The boat was stopped and the lackey ordered below to bring up the gear. Richardson handed it around, commenting on the cost of each item. There was nothing for Robbie. It seemed he was still too young a man to go fishing.
“OK,” said Richardson. “Let’s milk this meatball.” He had changed and was now the expert fisherman.
Milk it they did. Within half an hour they’d hauled in four yellowfin tuna. One each for Price and the lackey, two for Jim but none for the expert. When the fish moved away, they changed over to hapuka. Again Jim proved to be the best, hooking three of the meaty fish.
After lunch it was on to snapper. This was where Richardson would show them how to do it. He did, with four fish in a very short time. Unfortunately they were all too small and had to be thrown back. In a final attempt to recover lost pride, they went after marlin. This took even more expensive gear. For three hours they cruised back and forth hoping one of the huge fishes would take the bait fish strapped to the hooks.
It was one of the most boring times Robbie had ever endured. As he said quietly to Jim, he’d prefer watching water drain out of a lake. Then one struck. And on Richardson’s line. He strapped himself into the chair, yelling orders to the rest to get their lines out of the water and clear the decks. This was his show.
To Robbie landing the fish was almost as boring as the trolling. He was amazed at how four grown men could get so much interest out of a fish fighting for its life on the end of a line.
However, it did give him an opportunity to search the boat. Down below he found four bunks, a toilet and a kitchen. All boring.
The dining table used two of the bunks for seating. It was a funny table with a very solid base. Robbie studied it for a while, trying to work it out. Then he saw it.