by Justin D'Ath
‘We will not have to land on the water,’ Ali said. ‘I can see the island.’
Colt sat high in his seat and peered out the front window. All he could see was sky.
The engine spluttered.
Everyone became tense again. They stared at the empty fuel gauge. Colt and Birdy clasped hands tighter. The engine spluttered twice more, then there was a sudden, awful silence, and the propeller stopped spinning.
‘Will we make it?’ whispered Birdy.
Colt squeezed her fingers. ‘Let’s hope so.’
Ali was busy checking dials and making adjustments to the controls. ‘We are high enough,’ he said calmly. ‘We will get there.’
The wind whistled across the seaplane’s wings and fuselage. Its nose dipped a little, allowing those in the back their first glimpse of Plague Island. It looked tiny in the huge blue ocean, and impossibly distant. Colt hoped Ali was right. No matter what awaited him and Birdy on Plague Island, it had to be better than coming down in the open ocean.
The next time the plane’s nose dipped, Colt zoomed his superhuman eyes in for a close-up view of their destination. And was surprised by what he saw. It looked like a holopic from someone’s holiday album. There were coconut palms, white beaches, even a big blue lagoon for swimming. The only unusual feature was a bare, cone-shaped hill at one end, but there was nothing to explain why the island had such a scary name.
Or what Ranga had meant by night-life.
Gradually Plague Island grew larger as they came gliding down towards it. Soon everyone could see the palm trees, the white sand and the foamy crests of waves racing past just below the seaplane’s floats. Colt and the other three passengers braced themselves for a rough landing.
But instead of putting them down in the surf, Ali kept the barely flying seaplane level. For a few heart-stopping moments, it seemed as if they were going to plough directly into the palm trees.
Then, just when a crash seemed unavoidable, Ali dipped the right wing and they sailed through a narrow gap that looked like a river mouth. Ahead was the lagoon, ringed by a circle of white beaches and tall palm trees, and overlooked by the cone-shaped hill. Unlike the wild blue ocean surrounding the island, here the water was a pretty shade of aquamarine and as flat as glass. Ali kicked the left rudder pedal and pulled the control column gently backwards. There was a moment of weightlessness, then the seaplane’s floats touched down with a gentle bump and a hiss of spray.
‘Nice flying, Ali,’ said Colt.
The seaplane came to a stop about a hundred metres from the nearest shore. It rocked gently on the last of the small waves caused by its landing. Tiny striped fish darted in and out of its shadow.
‘How is your hand?’ asked Ali.
‘Pretty sore,’ Ranga said.
‘You had better stay inside, then. Lachlan and I will get out and push.’
Lachlan must have been Hoodie’s real name. He and Ali began undoing their seatbelts.
Colt followed suit. ‘I’ll help, too.’
‘And me,’ said Birdy.
Ali turned around and looked her up and down – she was tiny, even for a ten-year-old. ‘The water is deep, Miss Birdy.’
‘I’m a good swimmer.’
The water wasn’t all that deep. It only came up to the men’s waists and a little higher on Colt. But it came up almost to Birdy’s neck. Instead of walking along the bottom like the other three, she held onto the float and kicked along with her feet out behind her. She and Colt pushed one float, Ali and Lachlan pushed the other. Slowly, they guided the seaplane towards the lagoon’s edge.
Ranga remained inside, cradling his swollen wrist. His open door creaked softly on its hinges with the plane’s movements, and he scowled every time his eyes met Colt’s. Colt tried not to meet his eyes. But he felt he had more reason to scowl than Ranga.
‘There’s where the bullet went in,’ he said, showing Birdy a small hole in the top of their float.
‘Whoa!’ went Birdy.
Ali was on the far side of the seaplane. He peered under the fuselage, a look of horror on his face. ‘Did you get shot, Colt?’
Colt grinned and shook his head. ‘Not me, Ali – the aeroplane.’
He pointed at the hole. It was only a handspan from where he’d been sitting when the pistol went off.
‘Is there another hole?’ Ali frowned.
Uh-oh, thought Colt, realising why Ali still seemed concerned. What goes in must come out. He slid his hand under the water and felt along the bottom of the float. It only took a moment to find the jagged exit hole, which was sucking in water super quickly.
‘Shashlik!’ he muttered softly. He looked across at Ali. ‘Yeah, there’s another hole. The plane’s sinking!’
Already its right wing was tilting down towards the water.
‘Everyone push fast!’ Ali cried.
It was a race to get the tilting seaplane to the edge of the lagoon before it sank. They nearly made it. But just ten metres from shore, the right float crunched into a patch of coral and became lodged there. It was stuck.
Had he used his superpowers, Colt could have lifted the seaplane free and pushed it safely up onto the beach single-handedly. But he didn’t want to waste any more energy helping the bird thieves. He was out of rat food and needed to save his strength for later.
Who knew what surprises awaited them on Plague Island?
He and Birdy walked up onto the beach. They left Ali, Lachlan and Ranga (who’d climbed out) standing knee-deep in the lagoon, fussing around the stranded seaplane. All three men seemed to have forgotten about the two extra passengers.
As soon as they were out of earshot, Birdy turned and faced Colt. She put her hands on hips and thrust her chin out. ‘Colt Lawless, don’t you ever do anything like that ever again!’
It took him by surprise. ‘Like what?’ he asked.
‘Like hitching a ride on the outside of an aeroplane!’ she said fiercely. Birdy was only little, but she could be almost as scary as Colt’s mum when she got angry. ‘Like nearly getting shot!’
‘I was just trying to save you.’
Birdy took a deep breath. Seawater dripped out of her hair and ran down her face, but that wasn’t what made her eyes wet. ‘But what if you’d died?’
Colt shrugged. He had a vision of James lecturing him earlier that morning: I want you to promise me you’ll never take any stupid risks.
How come everyone was getting on his case today?
‘I didn’t die, Birdy.’
She looked at him for a moment, then stepped forward and gave him a big, damp hug.
(At least James hadn’t done that.)
‘Hey,’ Colt said awkwardly, hoping the bird thieves weren’t watching.
‘Hey yourself, you big smelly hero!’
‘Smelly?’ he said.
Birdy wrinkled her nose. ‘Yeah. You smell sort of like . . . breakfast cereal.’
Colt laughed and scooped the remaining brown sludge from one of his pockets. ‘It must be this.’
‘Eeew!’ Birdy took a step backwards. ‘What is it?’
‘Rat food.’
‘Rat food?!!!’
Colt put a bit on his tongue, but the sea water had ruined it. ‘At least, it was rat food,’ he said, spitting it out.
Then he told her everything that had happened since they last saw each other. The story took longer than it should have because Birdy kept interrupting with questions. They were mostly about James.
‘Maybe he’s a journalist,’ she said, when Colt finally got to the end of his account.
‘How do you figure that?’
‘He said he’s been keeping an eye on you, right? He might be doing research. You know – how some journalists act like detectives when they want to do a story about someone important.’
‘I’m not important,’ said Colt.
‘You so are important!’ Birdy cried. ‘Everyone in the world wants to know about Superclown!’
Colt shrugged. ‘But why would a journalist kee
p rats?’
Birdy thought about it for a moment. ‘That might be part of his research, too. If he’s found out all that stuff about you, he must know about you and rats.’
‘What about me and rats?’ Colt asked.
‘Well, duh! One bit you when you were a baby. A ghost rat. Why didn’t you die?’
‘Because Mum gave me a super-large dose of RatVax.’
‘But it’s happened to other people, too,’ Birdy argued. ‘I looked it up on Woogle. They got RatVax shots just like you, but every single one of them died.’
‘So maybe I was lucky,’ said Colt.
Birdy looked him in the eye. ‘Or maybe something else. Why aren’t you on Woogle, Colt? When I looked up about humans and ghost rat bites, your name didn’t even come up.’
‘I guess Mum didn’t tell a lot of people.’
‘I wonder why,’ Birdy said.
Almost without thinking, Colt rubbed the rat bite scar on his thumb. ‘She doesn’t like to talk about when she was a scientist. Something bad happened in the lab and that’s what started rat flu.’
‘Maybe that’s the story this James guy is researching,’ suggested Birdy.
‘I don’t think so,’ Colt said. ‘If people found out about all that stuff, there’d be so much trouble.’
‘But that’s what detective journalists do, Colt. They expose secrets that sometimes get people into trouble.’
Colt shook his head. ‘James isn’t like that. He seemed like a really nice guy.’
‘Ali seems nice, too,’ Birdy pointed out. ‘But he’s a bird thief.’
Colt went behind a thicket to do something about his wet clothes. It was hours since he’d been dry. Removing his T-shirt, he gave it a good wringing-out. When he did the same with his shorts, James’s phone fell out. Colt picked it up and looked at the water-fogged screen. Dead as a dingo. He wedged it into the fork of two branches and got dressed.
When Colt emerged from the bushes, Birdy was sitting next to a palm tree putting her sneakers back on. Her yellow top looked freshly wrinkled and her short dark hair was frizzed up like the fur of a rat dog that had just had a swim and a good shake.
‘Do you think it’ll get cold tonight?’ she asked.
Colt looked at the western sky. The sun had disappeared behind the cone-shaped hill. They hadn’t talked yet about what they were going to do. But they needed to. Because whether or not the bird thieves got the seaplane going again, or even if they found some other way to get off the island, he and Birdy were stuck there until help came. They were going to need food, water and shelter.
‘Let’s take a look around,’ he said.
They set off around the edge of the lagoon. Behind them, Ali and Ranga (using just one arm) were supporting the seaplane’s drooping wingtip, while Lachlan knelt in the water trying to jam something beneath the damaged float.
‘Why are they even bothering?’ Birdy asked. ‘It’s out of gas.’
‘There’ll be a drum of spare fuel somewhere on the island,’ Colt said.
‘How do you know?’
‘James told me. He figured it all out even before we caught up with you guys. He’s really smart.’
‘You have to be smart to be one of those detective journalists.’
Colt rolled his eyes. It was like trying to discuss the regent firebirds with Ali. He stooped to pick up one of the many big coconuts that lay scattered along the beach. ‘Are you hungry, Birdy?’
‘Famished!’ she said, turning a perfect cartwheel on the sand. ‘Thirsty, too. Do you reckon you can crack it open?’
He didn’t need to. There was a hole in the coconut already. And nothing inside. Colt picked up another one and discovered it had a hole, too. It was the same with every coconut on the beach. They’d all been gnawed open and had their contents eaten.
‘What do you think did it?’ asked Birdy.
Colt pitched an empty coconut overarm into the lagoon. It made a big splash. ‘I’ve heard there are crabs that eat coconuts.’
‘Can they climb trees?’
Colt shrugged. There was a clump of fresh green coconuts about thirty metres above their heads. He stared up at them. Did he have enough super-strength left to push over a palm tree? It was a long time since he’d eaten.
‘What are you doing?’ he asked.
Birdy was sitting on the sand untying her shoelaces. ‘What does it look like?’
‘No way are you climbing up there!’ Colt said. ‘You’ll break your neck.’
‘Says the guy who hitches rides on the outside of aeroplanes.’
‘But I’ve got superpowers.’
‘And I’m a Flying Flynn.’
Before he could think of a reply, Birdy the trapeze artist went shinning up the tall, skinny trunk like a Lost World monkey. All Colt could do was position himself underneath to catch her if she fell.
Birdy didn’t fall. But something else did.
‘Watch your head!’ she cried.
Colt took three steps backwards and caught the big green coconut like a football. It was lighter than he’d expected.
‘Shashlik!’ he muttered. ‘It’s got a hole in it, too.’
‘They’ve all got holes,’ Birdy called down to him.
She looked tiny up there. Her voice became tiny, too – as if she was close to tears. ‘I guess those crabs can climb.’
Colt watched nervously as she came back down. He’d been right about the tears – Birdy wiped them away as soon as she was safely on the ground.
‘What are we going to do?’ she snivelled.
‘I don’t know.’ Colt looked around. ‘There must be other stuff to eat. Let’s see what else we can find.’
They searched for half an hour. All they found were some orange berries that they didn’t dare eat, and a colony of mussels clinging to a shelf of rock exposed by the low tide. Birdy waited on the beach while Colt waded in and filled his pockets with the smooth, purple-and-black shellfish.
‘How are you going to cook them?’ she asked.
‘I think you can eat them raw.’
‘Eeew!’
He cracked a mussel with his teeth and swallowed its slimy contents. ‘Delicious!’ (It wasn’t, but it was food.) ‘You should try one. Here, catch!’
‘No!’ Birdy said sharply. She put hands behind her and backed away from the water’s edge. ‘I don’t want it.’
Colt ate it himself. Then three more after that. Birdy just watched.
‘You should eat,’ he said, cracking another shell. ‘They don’t taste too bad – you’ve just got to swallow them quickly.’
Birdy screwed up her nose. ‘Actually, I’m allergic to shellfish.’
‘Really?’
‘Really.’
Colt looked down at the oozing shellmeat in his palm. ‘I’m sorry, Birds.’
‘You don’t have to apologise.’
He felt he did. It seemed unfair to be eating when she couldn’t. Colt washed the mess off his hands and waded ashore. His pockets were full – he could eat some more later, when Birdy wasn’t watching. Already he was feeling the benefits from the few he’d had so far. He felt stronger, more alert. But there was a negative side effect, too – the salty shellmeat had increased his thirst.
‘We need to find water,’ he said.
Birdy pointed. ‘Let’s climb the hill. We might be able to see a stream or something from the top.’
The hill was quite steep. Halfway up, Colt and Birdy stopped to rest. They were about thirty metres higher than the tallest palm trees and had a good view of the lagoon. There was no sign of the bird thieves, but the seaplane hadn’t moved. Colt noticed it wasn’t tipped so far sideways as it had been earlier. It seemed almost level. The damaged float was only half underwater. Ali, Lachlan and Ranga must have succeeded in wedging something under it.
‘I wonder where they’ve gone,’ Birdy said.
‘To get the fuel,’ said Colt.
‘Where is it?’
‘I don’t know. Hidden som
ewhere here on the island. James said they would have arranged it all before they stole the firebirds.’
‘I hope they’re okay,’ Birdy said.
‘Of course they’re okay!’ Colt was surprised she cared. ‘Well, except for Ranga’s hand.’
‘I meant the birds.’
Colt hadn’t thought of that. The firebirds had been cooped up in those little boxes for half a day. He zoomed his eyes for a close-up of the seaplane’s rear window, and sure enough, the boxes hadn’t been moved.
‘Has anyone given them any water since they stole them?’ he asked.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Birdy.
‘Shashlik! They’ll die of dehydration!’
He and Birdy went running back down the hill.
‘WHAT IN BLAZES ARE YOU DOING?’ yelled Ranga, running along the beach towards them.
But he was about 200 metres away – and not running very fast – so Colt and Birdy ignored him.
‘That makes twelve,’ Colt said, placing the last two shoeboxes on the sand beside the others.
They had each made several trips to and from the seaplane. Now Birdy came back carrying a big bottle of water. She waved it in the air.
‘Look what I found!’
It wasn’t long before the bottle was almost empty. They left a couple of centimetres for the firebirds.
‘Hooly dooly!’ gasped Colt. ‘I sure needed that!’
‘Me too!’ gasped Birdy.
Ranga arrived at last. He was red-faced and out-of-breath. In his good hand, he carried a big lever-operated pump with a coil of hose attached. He noticed the shoeboxes.
‘IF YOU’VE DONE ANYTHING TO THOSE . . .’
‘Chill out!’ cried Colt. ‘You’ll scare the birds. Here, have some water.’
He tossed the nearly empty bottle to the puffing bird thief, who tried to catch it with his free hand. It was swollen and bruised.
And painful, apparently – he grimaced and let the bottle fall.
‘I ought to thrash you!’ he snarled, raising the pump like a weapon.
‘I wouldn’t try it,’ advised Colt. His arms bulged – the mussels and the water had done their work. ‘Put that thing down before someone gets hurt.’
You, for example, he thought.