Plague Island

by Justin D'Ath

  Two hundred metres away, Ali and Lachlan had just emerged from the trees. Each rolled a big, heavy-looking fuel drum ahead of him. When they saw what was happening, they left their drums and came running along the beach.

  ‘What’s going on?’ puffed Ali.

  ‘They were stealing the birds!’ raged Ranga. ‘I caught them red-handed!’

  Birdy rolled her eyes. ‘We weren’t stealing them. We were just checking to see if they’re okay.’

  Everyone looked at the boxes.

  Ali frowned. ‘Why would they not be okay, Miss Birdy?’

  ‘They might be thirsty.’

  ‘Has anyone fed them or given them any water?’ Colt asked.

  The three men exchanged silent looks. Ali looked worried. Lachlan looked guilty. Ranga slowly lowered the pump.

  ‘It’s only been a few hours,’ he said.

  Colt pointed at the boxes. ‘Most people don’t know much about birds anymore, but these little guys aren’t like us – they need food and drink about fifty times a day.’

  ‘Yeah, right!’ scoffed Ranga. ‘How come they aren’t huge and fat, then?’

  ‘They only eat a bite at a time,’ Colt said. ‘And drink tiny amounts. So they more or less do it all day.’

  ‘They have to,’ Birdy added, ‘because their stomachs are only small and their metabolisms work ten times faster than ours.’

  Ali’s eyes darted back and forth between Colt and Birdy. ‘Is this true?’

  Colt wasn’t sure, but it sounded convincing – especially Birdy’s bit.

  ‘We don’t really care who they belong to . . .’ he began.

  ‘Or what country has them on its flag,’ Birdy interrupted.

  ‘. . . but it’d be a real shame if the last twelve regent firebirds on the planet died because you guys didn’t look after them properly.’

  Two of the firebirds already were dead.

  Ali looked close to tears as Birdy lifted the second small, limp body from its box.

  Ranga and Lachlan just looked disappointed. That was $20 million less they’d be getting from Prince Rezak.

  If they get anything at all, Colt thought.

  None of the remaining ten birds was in very good shape.

  ‘Is there a first-aid kit on the plane?’ he asked.

  Ali waded out to get it.

  ‘I’ll need some more water, too,’ Colt called after him.

  There was an eyedropper in the first-aid kit. Colt filled it from the fresh bottle Ali had brought and poked it through the holes in the box lids so the birds could drink. Three were too weak to reach up to the eyedropper.Birdy had to crack the lids open, slide her hands in and carefully lift each bird out. Their brilliant red-and-gold feathers glistened in the last rays of the setting sun as Colt squeezed a few drops of life-giving water into their gaping beaks.

  ‘Will they live?’ Ali asked softly. He had stayed to help with the birds while Ranga and Lachlan went back for the fuel drums.

  ‘I think so,’ Colt said. ‘But they’ll need more water every half hour or so. Does your uncle have an aviary ready for them?’

  ‘Yes. And he has food waiting, also.’

  Colt was pleased to hear it. ‘Can you fix the plane?’

  He, Birdy and Ali looked over at the stranded seaplane. The damaged float was three-quarters clear of the water now.

  ‘We put some rocks under it,’ Ali said. ‘When the tide goes out a little further, we can patch the bullet holes with tape.’

  ‘Will you fly in the dark?’ asked Colt.

  ‘The aeroplane has StarTrack,’ he replied. ‘And at the next island, there will be men with lights to guide us in.’

  Colt nodded. ‘That’s good. Because you need to get these birds to their new home as quickly as possible.’

  ‘New home?’ Birdy whispered, when Ali had gone to help the other two bird thieves bring the fuel drums. ‘Whose side are you on?’

  ‘The birds’ side,’ Colt said. ‘The sooner they get to Bintalu, the better.’

  ‘But they belong to the Lost World Circus! Bintalu isn’t their home!’

  Holding the lid open while Birdy carefully replaced the last of the ten surviving regent firebirds in its box, Colt said: ‘As long as they’re alive, does it really matter where they are?’

  Ali found some duct tape in the seaplane’s toolkit. He and Lachlan wrapped the entire roll around the damaged float, then they slowly removed the supporting rocks. Nothing happened – the seaplane just sat there, rocking gently on the water. Lachlan whooped and gave Ali a high five. The repair probably wouldn’t pass a safety inspection, but it would get them to Bintalu.

  Ten minutes later the seaplane’s fuel tank was full and the three bird thieves were loading their multi-million-dollar cargo back on board.

  Colt was surprised when Birdy went to help. She waded out to the seaplane with the last two boxes and passed them up to Lachlan. When she returned to the beach, there was a sly grin on her face.

  ‘What are you up to?’ Colt whispered.

  She raised her eyebrows. ‘Just being helpful.’

  Ali waded ashore behind Birdy. He carried another bottle of water and two chocolate bars. ‘I am sorry there is not more,’ he said. ‘This is all we can spare.’

  Colt took the three items and thanked him.

  Now Ali removed his jacket. ‘You and Miss Birdy might need this, too, if it gets cold tonight.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  The dark-skinned pilot looked back at the plane. Ranga and Lachlan were buckled into their seats waiting for him. ‘It is not a good thing to be leaving you here,’ he said quietly. ‘I will call on the radio and someone from your country will come.’

  Colt thanked him again. ‘We’ll be okay,’ he said.

  Birdy remained silent as Ali waded back out to the plane. She was biting her lower lip. Colt didn’t blame her for being nervous. He wasn’t looking forward to spending the night on the island, either. The coconut-eating crabs worried him.

  Two minutes later, the seaplane was just a tiny black speck in the darkening sky.

  Birdy let out a long, slow breath. ‘Phew! I was totally worried they were going to check in the boxes.’

  ‘So what if they had?’ Colt asked.

  She pointed at the two boxes the thieves had left on the beach – the ones with the dead firebirds in them. ‘I switched boxes when nobody was looking,’ she said guiltily.

  Colt’s mouth dropped open. ‘You mean we’ve got two live birds?’

  Birdy grinned. ‘I stole them back.’

  Using palm fronds and driftwood, they built a small shelter at the edge of the trees. It wasn’t very stable, and wouldn’t keep them dry if it rained, but it was better than sleeping out in the open. Night was falling fast.

  Leaving Birdy to look after her two stolen-back firebirds, Colt returned to the place where they’d found the mussels. At least, he hoped it was the same place. The rocks were underwater now that the tide had come in, and the failing light had turned the lagoon into a wide, silvery mirror. It was impossible to see what lurked beneath its surface. (Giant coconut-eating crabs, for example.) Colt didn’t want to go in. But he’d insisted Birdy eat both chocolate bars. It seemed only fair – he could eat mussels, she couldn’t. But the small supply he’d saved from last time hadn’t stopped his growing hunger. He needed more. If he didn’t eat again soon, he’d pass out.

  Having superpowers that relied on food had its downside.

  Colt shuffled into the water, trying not to think about giant crabs. But it was actually impossible not to think about them. How big would a crab have to be to make a hole in a coconut? Their claws must be hard as steel. Or did they have teeth? Oh, maaaan!

  Four or five metres from shore, something sharp scraped across Colt’s ankle.

  Shashlik!

  He nearly jumped out of the water. Stay calm, he told himself. If it’s a crab you can deal with it. He had to find those mussels.

  Edging his foot sideways, Col
t lightly tapped the thing that had touched his ankle. It did feel sharp, but it didn’t move when he pressed hard against it. Not a crab, then. (He hoped.) Screwing up all his courage, he reached down and touched the sharp thing with his hand. Yay! It was a mussel. One of hundreds. Gathering them fast as he could – it wasn’t easy because they stuck to the rocks like glue – Colt filled his pockets nearly to overflowing. He made a pouch with the front of his T-shirt and filled that, too. Then he splashed ashore and had a feeding frenzy on the beach (Birdy would have been disgusted) before making his way back to camp with several left in his pockets for later.

  Ali and his partners-in-crime had taken the eye-dropper with them, but while Colt was away Birdy had worked out how to give their two firebirds water by dipping a finger into the bottle, then poking the wet fingertip through the holes in the box-lids. She showed Colt how when he got back.

  ‘Goldie’s really greedy,’ she said.

  Colt raised his eyebrows. ‘Who’s Goldie?’

  ‘I’ve named them,’ Birdy told him. ‘The one in this box is Goldie, and the other one is Scarlet.’

  ‘Cool,’ said Colt. He sat down next to her at the entrance to their shelter and began removing his sodden sneakers and socks. His legs, he noticed, were totally healed – there weren’t even any scars. ‘I think Goldie and Scarlet are going to need more than water if they’re going to survive,’ he said.

  ‘What do they eat?’ asked Birdy.

  ‘Insects, I think.’ He wrung out his socks one at a time, then draped them over the sloping sticks that supported the shelter’s roof. ‘And maybe worms,’ he added. ‘We’ll have to go looking in the morning.’

  ‘I wish we had a torch,’ Birdy said. ‘We could go looking right now.’

  Colt would have liked a torch for another reason. He was still worried about giant crabs. Cracking open a mussel with his teeth, he swallowed its salty contents.

  ‘Eeew!’ went Birdy. ‘How can you eat those things?’

  ‘I would have preferred a chocolate bar.’

  ‘They were really lovely – all soft and melty, with nougat and yummy caramel inside,’ she teased.

  Colt noisily slurped another mussel. ‘Delicious!’

  They shuffled into the shelter and spread Ali’s jacket over their legs like a blanket. In the last two or three minutes, all traces of daylight had disappeared from the western sky. Suddenly it was totally dark.

  ‘I hope Ali keeps his promise,’ Colt said.

  ‘He will,’ said Birdy. ‘I liked him.’

  ‘I liked him, too,’ said Colt. For some reason he began thinking about James – about the tears in his eyes when he’d looked back at the lake. ‘It’s my fault that this happened.’

  ‘How is it your fault?’ Birdy asked.

  ‘I didn’t let James call the police. They could have set up road blocks and stopped Ranga and Lachlan from getting away.’

  Birdy found his hand in the darkness. ‘But they had a hostage, remember?’

  Both of them were silent for a while. Colt heard one of the firebirds, Goldie or Scarlet, ruffling its feathers in its box. From further away came the dull roar of waves crashing against the island’s outer beaches.

  The sound took him back to a summer holiday with his mother, years and years ago. He barely remembered it, but was there a third person on that long-ago beach with him and his mother? Someone tall, wearing glasses?

  ‘Anyway, we’re both okay now,’ Birdy said sleepily. ‘And tomorrow we’ll be rescued.’

  Colt lightly squeezed her hand. ‘We sure will.’

  But first, he thought, we have to get through tonight.

  When his eyes snapped open, Colt had no idea what time it was. Or how long he’d been asleep. He lay still, listening to Birdy’s soft, even breathing beside him. And listening to something else, too – not the dull roar of the surf, but the sound that had woken him.

  Rustling.

  It seemed to come from directly overhead – from the criss-crossed thatch of palm fronds that formed a black, sloping roof less than a metre above him. There were gaps in the thatch. Through some of them Colt saw the twinkling pinpricks of stars. But not all the stars were twinkling. Two of them seemed to be staring down at Colt, like cold, silver eyes.

  Shashlik!

  Colt’s right fist smashed through the thatch, leaving a rat-sized hole where the eyes had been.

  ‘Whatsgoingon?!!’ gasped a startled voice beside him.

  Birdy had been lying in the low part of the shelter. When she tried to sit up, her head bumped the roof.

  ‘A rat,’ Colt said, flexing his tingling hand. He was just as startled as Birdy. Not just by the rat, but by his explosive reaction. ‘Don’t worry, it’s –’

  Something scuttled across one of his bare feet, freezing his vocal cords mid-sentence. But his eyes were still working. And the rush of power that had driven his fist through the roof at almost the speed of light had done something to his eyesight, too. Enhanced it. Suddenly he could see in the dark. And what he saw sent a chill through his body.

  He and Birdy were surrounded by huge, white rats!

  I must still be asleep, Colt thought. In the real world, only one rat in a thousand was a ghost rat. But all these rats were white. They were all ghost rats! And they were everywhere – not just climbing all over the outside of the shelter, but inside it as well. One crouched next to Colt’s elbow. Another peered at him from down near his feet. A third sat on the jacket lying across his and Birdy’s legs.

  Now Colt understood what Ranga had meant by night-life.

  Colt elbowed one rat away, kicked a second one, and swatted another off the jacket.

  ‘What are you doing?’ cried Birdy, who didn’t have superhuman eyesight.

  ‘Getting us out of here.’

  Grabbing her around the waist, Colt rolled out of the shelter, bounced to his feet and pulled Birdy up onto his shoulders, all in one smooth, lightning-fast motion.

  Birdy screamed. Now that they were out in the starlight, she too could see the swarming white rats.

  ‘Where did they come from?’ she gasped.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Colt said, breaking into a run.

  ‘They’re chasing us!’

  She was right. The ghost rats came scampering after them in a wide, pale swarm that flowed down across the sand like a foaming wave.

  But no way could they match Colt’s speed.

  ‘We should be safe in the lagoon,’ he puffed.

  ‘What about Goldie and Scarlet?’

  Colt had forgotten about the firebirds. He half-turned and looked back. Where he’d last seen the two boxes, next to where Birdy had been sleeping, there was now just a boiling mass of white fur, pale, naked tails and glistening silver eyes.

  ‘It’s too late,’ he said, wading into the water.

  ‘We can’t leave them behind!’

  ‘We have to.’

  Birdy began pummelling his back and shoulders. ‘Put me down! Put me down!’

  ‘No.’

  Just as Colt had hoped, the swarm of ghost rats stopped when it reached the water’s edge. He didn’t stop until he was waist deep in the lagoon.

  ‘PUT ME DOWN!’ Birdy shrieked, pummelling even harder.

  Colt hardly felt it – he was Superclown – but it hurt him nonetheless. Superheroes could still feel pain inside.

  ‘I’ll put you down if you promise not to do anything silly, okay?’

  She didn’t say anything.

  ‘Promise you won’t go back?’

  ‘Okay,’ Birdy said in a small voice.

  As soon as Colt put her down, though, Birdy went splashing back towards the beach.

  ‘Stop!’ yelled Colt, racing after her.

  But Birdy’s anger had done something to him – hurt his confidence, drained his energy. She reached the shore three or four metres ahead of him. Scattering rats right and left, she went charging up the beach towards their little shelter.

  The rats didn’t scatte
r for Colt – as he staggered out of the water they came swarming to meet him. He had to swerve, and weave, and high-step over them. It slowed him down even further. Birdy reached the shelter before he was halfway up the beach. She was crazy! Couldn’t she see the rats? It was Ghost Rat Central in there!

  Crawling right in among them, shrieking at them, swatting them away with her bare hands, Birdy uncovered the two boxes. It was the bravest thing Colt had ever seen.

  Finally he got through all the rats. ‘Here, I’ll take a box,’ he said – he knew better than to carry her this time.

  Holding a box each, he and Birdy zigzagged back through the sea of rats to the real sea. They didn’t stop until they stood waist-deep (chest-deep for Birdy) in the cool, black water.

  ‘Thanks for helping,’ she puffed.

  Colt looked at her. Or tried to. His eyes were back to normal, like the rest of him. All he could see was a small dark figure cradling a pale-coloured cardboard box.

  ‘Are you okay, Birds?’

  ‘Why shouldn’t I be?’ she challenged him. As if she hadn’t just been up to her elbows in ghost rats. ‘It’s Scarlet and Goldie I’m worried about.’

  Cracking open the lid of her box, Birdy stuck her hand in. ‘Scarlet’s all right,’ she said. ‘What about Goldie?’

  Colt wondered how she knew which bird was which – especially in the dark. She must have been guessing. It didn’t matter anyway. When he looked down at the box in his hands, all that mattered was a ragged black hole in its lid. The rats must have gnawed through it. Uh oh! He gingerly stuck his hand in . . . and was pecked for his troubles.

  ‘Ouch! Goldie’s okay,’ he said. ‘But his box is wrecked.’

  ‘Goldie’s the girl,’ Birdy told him. She cracked open the lid of her box again. ‘Here, you’d better put her in with Scarlet.’

  Nervous about being pecked again – he was no longer Superclown and it hurt – Colt gently put the regent firebird that Birdy reckoned was Goldie in with the one she reckoned was Scarlet. Crushing the empty box, he tossed it ashore, where it soon disappeared under a pile of white, scrabbling bodies.

  ‘I didn’t know there were this many ghost rats in the entire world,’ he said.