‘Rescue,’ said Anna, quickly correcting him.
‘I don’t think the police would see it that way,’ said Kurt. His face was grim.
‘Well, who made the rule that it was okay to treat animals like that?’ Anna demanded. She looked closely at Kurt. ‘In my opinion, the real criminal offence would be to stand by and do nothing.’
Kurt put his head in his hands and stared at the ground. Anna was clearly upset about the sheep. She looked very determined and he didn’t think he could easily talk sense into her, partly because he agreed with her about the animal cruelty. Just for amusement he imagined sneaking into the hospital and leading Rom to freedom. He waited for the sickening, guilty feeling to settle into his stomach, just thinking about stealing again. But to his surprise, it didn’t come. The feeling in his stomach was unexpectedly like excitement. Kurt sighed to himself. What was the best way to buy some time so that Anna could wake up to the craziness of her suggestion?
‘I tell you what,’ said Kurt, ‘I’ll go back home and ask Duggie if he can help out on Sunday night.’ He knew Duggie’s car was in no state to drive. He had overhead him tell Max that he’d dismantled the clutch. Anyway, he’d already witnessed Duggie’s reaction to the theft of a bar of chocolate. There was no way he’d have anything to do with robbery of a much more serious kind. ‘I’ll ask Duggie and then I’ll ring you and let you know.’
Anna seemed satisfied. ‘I know it’s only one sheep,’ she said. ‘I know we can’t save all the animals from experiments, but we have to do something. We have to do what we know is right, even if some stupid law says something different. Don’t we?’
‘I guess so,’ said Kurt. He knew all about rules and laws. He also knew that if Constable Porter ever found out what Kurt had been discussing with Anna, he’d be in more trouble than Anna could ever comprehend.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Kurt called by the garage as soon as he got back from the park. Duggie was standing over a collection of blackened metal objects which Kurt guessed must be part of the car’s clutch. There was also a long cylindrical pipe and a round contraption with spokes coming off it. Kurt began to wonder whether there was anything left under the bonnet at all. In his hands Duggie had some other gadget which he was attacking with a spanner. A smudge of black grease ran from his left eye, across his cheek, to his ear.
‘Hi, Duggie.’
Duggie looked up briefly then returned his attention to the spanner. ‘Hey, Brains, wassup?’
‘Not much,’ Kurt replied. He drew a large circle in the dust on the back window of Duggie’s car. ‘Your car won’t be fixed up by Sunday night, will it?’ He knew the answer even before Duggie replied.
‘On the road, you mean?’ Duggie asked. ‘No way.’ By way of explanation he pointed to all the junk on the ground. ‘And I’ve just ripped out the distributor cap,’ he said, holding up the object in his hands.
Kurt sighed with relief. He put two dots in his circle, for eyes, and drew on a wonky smile. ‘Good.’ He turned around and started walking up to the house. He would ring Anna right away and that would be the end of the sheep-rescuing plan.
Kurt was halfway up the stairs, wondering whether his mother would let him make cheese and onion toasties so close to teatime, when he heard Duggie shouting after him.
‘Why? What’s happening Sunday night?’
‘Nothing,’ Kurt yelled back, taking another step up.
‘Hang on!’ Duggie hollered. ‘Come back! Can you help me with this for a minute?’
Kurt paused. Ignoring his hungry stomach, he turned and raced eagerly back to the garage.
Duggie was standing back over by the car bonnet holding a ratchet wrench. He was just about to pass the dirty tool to Kurt when he paused, looking carefully at Kurt’s clean jeans and hoodie.
‘You’d better put on a pair of those,’ Duggie said, nodding his head to the back wall where several pairs of overalls hung like moulted insect husks.
Kurt hesitated. ‘Really? You’re going to let me help?’
Duggie sighed. ‘Hurry up, Brains, I haven’t got all day.’
Kurt had never imagined that putting on a pair of overalls could feel so good. He pulled the straps over his shoulders and secured them with a clip, then, trying hard to contain his excitement, grabbed the tool from Duggie.
‘Okay, what do I do?’ said Kurt.
‘I’m trying to loosen a spark plug from the cylinder head but it’s stuck like a bastard,’ Duggie explained. ‘They probably haven’t been changed since 1983. Can you try to loosen it while I twist this the other way?’
‘Sure. No problem.’ Kurt grinned. Now was his chance to show Duggie that he was a capable helper. He grabbed the handle of the wrench and pulled on it.
‘Other way.’ Duggie rolled his eyes.
Kurt muttered his apologies and adjusted his grip. He pulled again, this time in the right direction, but the tool kept slipping in his hands.
‘Got a rag?’ Kurt asked. Duggie directed him to a pile on the floor.
Kurt wiped the handle and his hands with an old T-shirt but it didn’t help much. Frowning and muttering to himself, he wrapped the rag around the handle. That was much better. Kurt wondered if the spark plug had fused itself into place; he heaved with all his might and couldn’t budge it. While Duggie cursed in frustration, Kurt bit down on his lip, screwed up his face and tried once more. Almost imperceptibly, he felt the plug move. With a little more grunting and pulling, the plug loosened and finally, with a grin of victory, Kurt held it up in his fingers.
‘Hallelujah!’ said Duggie.
‘We did it!’ said Kurt. He felt like he’d just scored the winning goal in the soccer league cup.
‘Well, that’s one down,’ said Duggie. He pointed to the cylinder head. ‘But there’s still three to go.’
‘So what’s happening on Sunday night?’ Duggie asked again, wiping his hands on an old pyjama shirt. The spark plugs had all been removed and now Kurt was helping to wipe down the cylinder head. He hadn’t felt so happy in a long time.
‘Need a lift for a hot date?’ Duggie continued. ‘It’s that chick who rang this morning, isn’t it?’
Kurt flushed. ‘No, I haven’t got a date!’ he scoffed. ‘That was just Anna. She wanted to talk with me about a school trip we did the other week.’
‘Ah right, a school trip.’ Duggie looked at him suspiciously.
‘It’s true,’ Kurt exclaimed. ‘Her mother is like this really smart, important scientist. We visited her lab at the hospital.’
As he wiped and rubbed the car engine, Kurt explained about the careers visit. ‘It was kind of boring, but we got to look at my spit down a microscope. It was disgusting, full of bacteria and stuff.’
He laughed when Duggie screwed up his face.
‘So Anna wanted to talk to you about bacteria?’ Duggie persisted.
‘No, it was something else.’ Kurt paused for a moment. He didn’t want to talk any more about Anna and the lab but, then again, a long explanation would buy him more time helping out in the garage. ‘Okay,’ he said to Duggie, ‘this is what happened…’
‘Wicked! Rabbits and rats on the fourth floor,’ said Duggie. He put down his rag and rattled a can of engine lubricant. ‘That’s kind of grim in a futuristic, science fiction sort of way.’
‘There was even this sheep there,’ said Kurt. He glanced at his oily hands. He hoped some of it would stain or at least stick under his nails so he could show off to his friends at school. ‘They gave it pneumonia and then dosed it up with drugs to try to cure it.’
‘A sheep!’ Duggie exclaimed. ‘On the fourth floor of the hospital? You’re freaking me out!’
‘But for some reason the experiment didn’t work,’ Kurt continued, delighted with Duggie’s interest. ‘That’s why Anna rang. She found out that they’re going to stop the experiment on Wednesday morning; after they’ve weighed the sheep’s heart and lungs.’
Duggie looked up and frowned. ‘How do they
do that?’ he asked. ‘With one of those ultrasound things?’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Kurt. ‘They’re literally going to whip out his organs and plonk them on a set of scales.’
Duggie was appalled. ‘They’re going to kill it, just so they can weigh its guts after an experiment that didn’t even work? Man, that’s harsh.’
‘Yeah,’ Kurt agreed. ‘It’s a bit sick, isn’t it?’
‘It’s a wonder they let it happen,’ said Duggie, shaking his head. ‘I’d have thought there’d be someone who works there that’s got a conscience. Someone who’d protest?’
Kurt laughed nervously. ‘Actually, you’ll think this is funny but that’s just what Anna was talking about this afternoon. She had some insane idea about stealing it and letting it free in a paddock somewhere.’ He chuckled. ‘She must be under stress or something.’
Duggie bit his lip. ‘It’s a good idea but there’d be too much security. I mean, how would you get in there in the first place, through all those locked doors?’
‘Well, like I said, Anna’s mother is one of the head scientists there. I suppose that’s why Anna feels so guilty about the sheep,’ said Kurt. ‘Anyway, her mum’s got a special “all access” security card. I’ve seen it. You just swipe it and you’re in. It’s quite cool.’
Duggie raised his eyebrows. ‘Now you’re talking!’ He sat back against the front door of the car and folded his arms.
‘The funniest thing,’ said Kurt, ‘is that Anna thought we could use you as the driver.’ He patted the side of Duggie’s car. ‘Use the old orange roughy here as the getaway car.’ He laughed and shook his head at the thought.
But Duggie didn’t laugh along with him. Kurt looked up. Duggie’s eyes were gleaming.
‘It would have to be late at night,’ said Duggie, tapping the handle of a screwdriver against his palm. ‘I doubt there’ll be anyone hanging around there after midnight. That would be so wicked! Sneaking in to rescue a badly treated animal and save him from death row. We would be like a band of honourable rescuers. Anarchists, but with good intentions. Kind of like Robin Hood, but with sheep!’
Kurt stared incredulously at Duggie. ‘But…I thought you were dead against stealing?’
‘Of course I am,’ said Duggie. ‘But it wouldn’t really be stealing, would it? It would be more like rescuing!’
Kurt flinched; Duggie had echoed Anna’s words. Kurt thought Duggie needed to be brought back to reality. ‘We can’t do it anyway,’ he said. ‘The car won’t be ready by Sunday.’
Duggie shrugged. ‘It wouldn’t take too long to reassemble everything. I could have it ready to go by Sunday, if I had some help…’
Kurt’s heart leapt. ‘I could help,’ he said immediately.
Duggie nodded. ‘Sweet.’
Kurt was stunned. Duggie had just invited him to spend the whole weekend in the garage helping with the car. A thrill raced through him. But surely the whole sheep-rescue plan was madness? Surely it was a one-way ticket to youth prison, or worse? He could clearly see his parents’ mournful faces peering through the security window on their weekly visits to the detention centre.
Duggie noticed Kurt’s look of anguish. ‘If you’ve really got a security card, it’ll be easy as! Nobody will even know you’ve been. They’ll just arrive at work and the sheep will be gone.’
Kurt sighed. Why did it seem like he was the only one with any sense left in the world? The plan did sound very easy though. He looked carefully at Duggie for any sign of doubt or mockery. ‘You really think we should go for it? Even though Mum and Dad might have to visit us both in prison?’
Duggie grinned. ‘Hell, yes! How could you not? Anyway, nobody will be going to prison, especially me—I’m just the driver, man!’
Duggie really did mean it.
Kurt thought it over carefully. He was surprised but heartened that Duggie had thought it would work and that he had agreed to help out. But Kurt had promised Constable Porter that he wouldn’t get into any more trouble. He could remember his exact words:
You can tell if it’s the right thing or not, can’t you? You feel it here, in your heart The right thing feels good; it feels true; it doesn’t leave a sick feeling in your stomach.
Kurt searched his belly for signs of sickness; there weren’t any. He searched his chest for feelings of tightness and anxiety; his chest felt relaxed. He closed his eyes and pictured Rom lying miserably in his cage. Beside the cage stood a person in a white coat holding a very sharp scalpel.
Suddenly Kurt knew what the right thing was.
‘We’d have to keep it a secret, Duggie,’ said Kurt. ‘Just the three of us: me, you and Anna. You wouldn’t be able to tell anyone; not before and not afterwards. We would have to keep it quiet forever.’
Duggie looked slightly disappointed. ‘Not even Max and Aaron?’ he said. ‘But they might be able to help.’
Kurt shook his head.
‘All right then, I can keep it hushed up,’ Duggie agreed. He stared at the pile of car parts on the floor of the garage and let out a sigh. ‘Well, we’d better think about getting this engine back together, hadn’t we?’
After washing his hands, Kurt went upstairs and picked up the phone. His heart thudded with a nauseating mixture of excitement and dread as he dialled the numbers. It was answered on the third ring.
‘Um, hello, Mrs…um, I mean Doctor Pascoe. Could I speak to Anna, please?’
CHAPTER TWENTY
Constable Porter stood knee-deep in the gurgling, rushing water. Though the river was fed by melting snow and ice from way up in the Southern Alps, his feet felt warm and dry inside his black thigh waders. His blue-and-black-checked bush shirt kept out the chilly wind, though he was far too busy to notice the weather. He was concentrating on a section of river on the far bank, into which tendrils of willow drooped and bowed like green spaghetti.
Grasping his fishing rod, he cast out the fly. With a slow graceful arc it landed upstream. Floating on the surface of the water it slowly made its way downstream, towards the willow. Suddenly, GLOOP! The fly disappeared beneath the surface of the water.
‘Yes!’ Constable Porter yelled in delight.
Lloyd Porter was fishing from a spot slightly further up the river. He looked around at the sound of his father’s shouting.
‘Hey, Dad! You’ve hooked one!’ said Lloyd.
Lloyd had grumbled mightily when his father had roused him from a deep sleep at four that morning, though he had been slightly appeased with a hot chocolate at an all-night truckstop on the way. As they arrived at his father’s secret fishing spot, the sky had just been turning pink in the east. Lloyd enjoyed watching the night turn into day, surrounded by dense native bush in the middle of nowhere.
‘It’s like the cities don’t exist any more,’ Lloyd had said to his father as they pulled on their boots. ‘Or like we’ve gone back in time and we’re Neanderthals hunting for our food for survival.’
His dad had laughed. ‘We had better keep a watch out for woolly mammoths, then!’
They had been fishing for over two hours without success and Lloyd was beginning to think they would be going home empty-handed. But now his dad had hooked one! Lloyd quickly reeled in his own line and then made his way over the rocks and scrubby grass to see what his father had caught.
Constable Porter slowly reeled in his line, then whizzzzz…the fish made a run back downstream. Constable Porter held on fast, repositioned his feet on the slippery rocks, and reeled in again. Whizzzzz…the fish made another run. This happened over and over for nearly fifteen minutes; reel and whiz, reel and whiz. Lloyd always thought it looked easy but he knew from experience what hard work it was. He noticed veins were beginning to bulge on his dad’s temples, and he was beginning to sweat.
Constable Porter battled on. Finally too tired to fight, the exhausted fish allowed itself to be reeled all the way in. Lloyd was eager to catch a glimpse of it. What did the fish look like? How big was it? Was it going to escape a
t the last minute? He’d seen that happen before. But the fish was now lying at his father’s feet. Constable Porter squatted down and gently removed the hook from the fish’s mouth. Lloyd noted that the fish’s back was a dark olive-brown, scattered with black spots. He recognized a brown trout when he saw one.
‘It’s awesome!’ Lloyd exclaimed. He glanced at his father’s beaming face. ‘How big do you reckon it is, Dad?’
‘I’d say eight or nine pounds,’ said Constable Porter. He held the fish gently in his hands in a shallow pool of water.
‘Score for the Neanderthals!’ cried Lloyd, holding his fist up in triumph. ‘That will feed our whole family.’
His father stroked the fish under the belly and didn’t reply.
Lloyd sighed. ‘You’re going to let it go, aren’t you?’
His dad looked thoughtfully at the fish. ‘Well, Lloyd, we could kill it and take it home and eat it,’ he said, ‘and maybe if we really were Neanderthals, and we needed to eat this fish to survive, then I would consider it. But we’re not starving, are we? We’ve got plenty of food back at home. And I have gained immense satisfaction just by hooking the fish, and great pleasure from seeing it and feeling it.’
Lloyd shrugged; he knew his father often let the fish go. That was why he insisted on using unbarbed hooks, because they caused less injury to the fish when they were removed from its mouth.
‘When you think of the battles this fish has been through,’ his father continued, ‘just to get from a tiny, vulnerable egg floating around in a vast body of running water to a mature adult—well, who am I to end its life?’ He smiled. ‘No, this magnificent brown trout belongs here, back in the river.’
Lloyd stood on the bank and watched as his father guided the fish into deeper water. He held it facing upstream, and the current fanned its gills open. The trout was motionless for a while, then, with a flick of its tail, it suddenly shot out of his father’s hands and into deeper water, out of sight.
Sheep on the Fourth Floor Page 11