Belly Flop (13 page)

After me and Dad finished telling them how pleased we were to see them and we climbed into the boat, and Mrs Fiami finished scowling and moved some kitchen utensils to make room, and Dad knocked one of the oars into the water and I grabbed it, and Dad sat down and knocked the other oar into the water and Carla grabbed it, Mrs Fiami sighed.

‘My late husband was a fisherman,' she said. ‘He'd have got us to town easy peasy.'

Dad stood up and knocked a frying pan into the water.

‘Sorry,' he said.

I grabbed at it, but it sank.

Dad peered at the row of fence posts sticking out of the water.

‘We go that way,' he said.

Mrs Fiami showed us how the oars worked.

She and Carla took one.

Me and Dad took the other.

We started rowing.

Dad soon got the hang of it and we stopped going round in circles and headed off in the direction he told us.

Why am I telling you this, Doug?

When you're not even listening?

Just to let you know that we can look after ourselves, thank you very much.

The Wilkinsons were amazed to see us, partly because they're both over seventy and they don't get many visitors, and partly because of the boat.

‘Amazing,' said Mr Wilkinson as we helped him off his roof. ‘Don't see many of these little beauties this far from the sea.'

‘I hate it,' said Mrs Fiami.

‘Are you keen on fishing?' asked Mrs Wilkinson as Dad lifted her into the boat.

‘I hate it,' said Mrs Fiami.

She explained she'd only kept the boat as evidence. Something to do with Mr Fiami's life insurance and a mongrel insurance company.

While Dad explained to the Wilkinsons that there wasn't room for all their carpets and chickens, I had a word to Carla.

She'd hardly made a sound since we got in the boat and I could see she was upset about something.

‘Is it Roald and Enid,' I asked quietly, ‘and the others?'

Sheep hate water even more than mayors do.

Carla shook her head.

‘They're on our roof with the last of the feed,' she mumbled. They'll be right.'

She bit her lip.

‘We left the photo album behind,' said Mrs Fiami sadly.

Carla's eyes glinted.

‘With the only photos of her dad,' continued Mrs Fiami. She gave a sigh. ‘It's probably history by now.'

Carla looked away.

I didn't know what to say.

Dad stood up and knocked a hall rug into the water.

‘Sorry,' he said.

He peered at the fence posts.

‘The Malleys' place is this way,' he said.

I thought of you, Doug, and how quickly you'd get us out of this.

Then I grabbed an oar and tried to think of a way to tell Carla that I know how she feels about being dumped.

The Malleys were amazed to see us too.

They stood on their roof and aimed rifles at us.

‘Don't you bank buggers ever give up?' snarled Mr Malley.

Dad explained it wasn't an eviction, it was a rescue.

Mr Malley didn't look impressed.

Mrs Malley told Troy and Brent to stop snivelling.

Troy and Brent both went bright pink because they'd been hoping me and Carla wouldn't notice.

When they all got into the boat I could still see tears on Troy and Brent's cheeks.

While Dad explained to Mr and Mrs Malley that there wasn't room for all their guns, I gave Troy and Brent a sympathetic look.

‘We'd have been OK,' mumbled Troy, ‘if Dad hadn't accidentally shot the fuel line in the ute.'

Mrs Malley cuffed him round the head.

Dad stood up and knocked a double-barrelled shotgun into the water.

Mr Malley howled.

Dad didn't say anything.

He just squinted at the fence posts.

We're on our way to town now.

 

 

 

 

The boat started leaking about halfway there.

Not a lot at first, but then more.

‘It's the planks,' said Mrs Fiami. ‘Some of them are a bit rotten.'

Everyone grabbed kitchen utensils and started scooping the water out.

Except me.

I'd had a thought.

A top fisherman like Mr Fiami must have kept stuff in his boat to repair leaks.

Plastic sealant and stuff.

I had a hunt around under people's feet.

Then Dad gave a yell.

The metal thing that kept his oar in place had popped out of the wood.

Mr Wilkinson grabbed it before it could fall in the water.

‘There's a brick somewhere to knock it back in,' said Mrs Fiami. ‘In the cabin, Mitch.'

I crawled into the little cabin and found the brick.

It was dirty pink with black bits.

I passed it down to Dad and hoped he wouldn't notice.

Then I realised Carla had been crouching next to me the whole time.

She took a deep breath and cleared her throat.

‘When the bank wouldn't lend us money to buy feed,' she said quietly, ‘I got very ropeable.'

She glanced nervously at me, and then at Dad, who was banging the metal thing in with the brick.

Dad looked like a man who was worrying about saving ten people from drowning, not worrying about broken windows from the past.

‘Sorry,' said Carla softly.

I squeezed her arm to let her know I'd have done the same thing if my dad had drowned and my sheep were starving.

Then I saw something.

Behind Carla's head.

A sort of hole in the cabin wall.

It wasn't a rotten hole, it was a cut hole.

The sort of hole a person would make if they were looking for somewhere to store tubes of plastic sealant and their boat didn't have any drawers.

I stuck my hand in there, hoping it wasn't where Mr Fiami had stored the fish guts.

It wasn't.

Inside I felt something hard and square.

After a bit of juggling I lifted out a metal box that looked exactly like a tool box.

It was locked with a padlock.

Jeez, I thought, this must be really expensive plastic sealant.

Carla tapped me on the shoulder and handed me the brick.

For a sec I thought she was offering it to me to keep and chuck through her window when the flood was over.

Then I twigged.

I started whacking the padlock with it.

After a few whacks, the padlock broke and the lid flipped open.

Inside the box were some small metal hooks and a plastic bag and some sort of pistol.

Carla opened the bag.

I examined the pistol but it wasn't a sealant gun.

The plastic bag didn't have sealant in it either, just an old notebook.

‘Mitch, Carla,' yelled Dad. ‘Bail out some of this water or we won't make it.'

We've been scooping water for hours.

That's why I'm telling you all this, Doug or the man in the moon or whoever's listening, to take my mind off the pain in my arms.

And to block out Troy and Brent's sobbing.

And to let you know we are gunna make it.

 

 

 

 

I just want to say, Doug or the man in the moon or whoever, that we would have made it.

If it hadn't been for the tidal wave.

When we reached town it was almost dark, but we could still see the roofs in the main street.

I felt like cheering, even though I had blisters from rowing and arm cramps from scooping.

Then Mrs Malley screamed.

For a sec I thought she'd seen a relative or a helicopter with dry towels on board.

Then Mr Malley screamed.

So did Troy, Brent and the Wilkinsons.

I spun round.

Moving towards us from the direction of the river, faster than ten cattle trucks having a drag, was a wall of water.

Roofs were disappearing under it.

‘Hang on!' yelled Dad, and then it hit us.

Suddenly we were powering down the main street so fast that if Sergeant Crean had been on board we'd have been booked for sure.

And then just as suddenly it had gone, and we were left spinning round and round, all still screaming.

I opened my eyes.

The main street had gone too.

The only bit of town I could see was the diving board tower.

Water was pouring into the boat.

‘Row,' yelled Dad. ‘Head for the diving board.'

We all rowed frantically using oars, saucepans, rifles and hands.

Somehow we got there.

Dad made us all clamber onto the steps before he'd leave the boat.

For a sec I thought he'd left it too late.

‘Dad!' I screamed as the boat sank.

Dad jumped for the steps.

He clanged onto them.

Once the steps had stopped shaking, and we had too, we climbed slowly up to the top.

Diving boards aren't made for ten people, so it's pretty crowded up here.

We're just sort of huddled together in the dark, listening for helicopters.

We haven't heard any yet, but they could have been drowned out by Troy and Brent's sobbing and Mrs Wilkinson's asthma.

And the noise of the water swirling past.

The diving board gives a shudder every now and then.

I haven't said anything, but I keep thinking about how crumbly the concrete is at the base of the steps.

I think Dad might be thinking about that too, because he muttered something a while back.

He had his arms round me, and he must have forgotten his mouth was so close to my ears.

‘OK Doug,' he said, ‘I give in. Get us out of this and I'll believe in you.'

I've been holding my breath for ages.

But you're not getting us out of it, are you, Doug?

We're on our own, aren't we?

Well stuff you, Doug.

You had your chance and you blew it.

Now I'm gunna save us.

I just wish I didn't have to dive into that dark swirling water.

If I can hold my breath long enough to get down to the kiosk and back, I'll be right.

If.

Best not to think about it, as Gran says when she's eating tripe.

Stand up quickly before Dad realises what's going on.

Arms.

Legs.

Quick focus.

And dive.

Oh no, my head's too far back.

My tummy's sticking too far out.

I'm doing a belly fl—

 

 

 

 

I must have blacked out.

The belly flop must have winded me.

I don't get it.

I'm in the water, but I'm not sinking.

I can feel the current dragging at my feet, but I'm not moving.

What's this round my chest?

Arms.

Strong arms.

I can hardly breathe.

Doug?

You at last?

Is that you whispering in my ear?

Telling me I'm a stupid bugger?

No.

It's Dad.

He wants to know if I'm ok.

I can't speak.

Partly because Dad's squeezing so hard.

Partly because I'm crying.

Funny thing with us humans, Doug.

Mostly we cry when we're sad.

But sometimes we cry when we're happy.

 

 

 

 

I've just told Dad my plan.

‘The Stegnjaaics' old inflatable plastic swimming pool,' I said. ‘If nobody's shifted it from where I left it, it's down there in the kiosk with all the empty plastic bottles. We could use it as a raft.'

Dad sighed and I felt his hot breath on my ear.

‘It's got a huge rip in it,' he said. ‘I checked it out the day the Stegnjaaics dumped it at the tip.'

We're floating in the blackness.

While Dad treads water I'm trying to think of another plan.

I can't.

My brain hasn't got another plan in it.

Not to save Dad.

Not to save anyone.

Not even to save me.

Suddenly drowning doesn't seem so bad after all.

Me and Dad, together.

Hang on.

Dad's body has just gone rigid.

‘Empty plastic bottles?' he's saying. ‘What empty plastic bottles?'

 

 

 

 

Dad's a hero.

The Malleys and the Wilkinsons have been going round the campsite telling everyone how Dad saved us.

How he kept diving down into the pool kiosk and coming up with empty plastic bottles.

How he made us stuff the bottles inside our clothes until we could float.

How he tied us all together with strips of inflatable plastic swimming pool and towed us away from the diving board just before it collapsed.

OK, they reckon I'm a bit of a hero too.

I've tried to explain to everyone it was just luck that I'd stuffed the pistol from the boat down my shorts.

And luck that I had the idea of firing it while we were floating to attract attention.

And luck that it turned out to be a flare gun.

But people don't believe me.

Specially as Troy and Brent Malley are going round telling the other kids it wasn't luck, it was my guardian angel.

Mum's just tried to make me lie down in one of the army tents and get some sleep, but I don't feel like it cause I'm still too excited after being in the helicopter.

Plus it's too noisy to sleep with all those frogs making such a din.

Plus there's too much going on.

Mum understands cause she's pretty excited too.

She's got the plastic bags of bank money and she's giving a personal loan to whoever needs one, which is something she's always wanted to do.

I've been hugging Dad and Mum and Gran for about an hour.

Gran's spent a lot of that time gazing proudly at Dad, which I think is making him a bit nervous.

When Dad was voted chairman of the town clean-up committee, for a sec I thought Gran was going to call the newspapers.

Mr Bullock was behaving as though he wanted the job, until he saw Gran looking at him.