Forest Secrets (12 page)

His body quivered when he saw the river turn into a winding creek, along which was the unmistakable shoreline of his safe place – a large, smooth lagoon. Rushing to the edge of the lagoon, he squeezed between the pandanus bushes that grew to the edge and drank his fill, revering in its wetness, thankful for the relief it gave to the rasping harshness in his throat. Satisfied, he waded into the lagoon, past clumps of reeds and floating dead fronds, and sank into the muddy depths where he lay, as still as a corpse, letting the water wash over his body, feeling its softness, letting the soreness and the pain begin to fade. He was thankful.

But not for long.

There was a rumbling noise and it was getting louder. It wasn't the continuous grumble of the volcano or the non-stop screams from the cliff tops; it was something else. Then he realised. It was the wind. It had found a way into the gorge, to his lagoon. That meant danger – again.

He sank deeper into the mud, trying to ignore the giant crocodiles that he was seeing for the first time, and who were splashing about, squabbling among themselves as they fed on the fallen pterosaurs. But there was something else that was bothering him, making him squirm. It was the water; it was becoming uncomfortably hot, not just from the wind but from the volcano too. He could see its lava pouring over the cliff and then into the river and then into the lagoon.

The crocodiles began to writhe and squirm too, swimming and twisting among themselves like stage dancers, not understanding why their home was so unbearably hot.

That's when the rhotosaurus knew … all hope was gone. His place was no longer safe. And so, resigned to his fate, he lay down in the lagoon, and with only his eyes and his nose showing, he watched as his land crumbled and disappeared before him … until the water began to boil.

U
ncle Jim told me in the morning just before he left to pick up Andy, his deck hand – they were going lobster fishing – that he'd never heard anything like it before. He was talking about the storm. He'd immediately gone outside to check our rain gauge … 82mm. That was over three inches in the old scale. Incredible, was all he said.

I'd decided not to say anything to my uncle or my aunt about the vision I'd had last night. They'd want to interrogate me and that'd take time. Besides, Snook was keen to get an early start. I also wondered about Blowhard, whether he'd managed to survive the night or not. We'd need to check up on him.

After giving Shadow his breakfast – he liked the healthy doggy pellets – I went to find Snook. I didn't have to go far. He was in the kitchen, also having breakfast. ‘Are you about ready to go?' I asked.

A spoonful of Coco Pops was just about to enter his mouth. He stopped mid-way. ‘I suppose so,' he said. ‘Sun's nearly up.'

‘I'll go and fix us something for lunch, and you'd better take your mobile phone with you. Something tells me we might need it.'

‘Why's that?'

‘Oh, it's just a feeling I have – about that Mr Blowhard. He could be in trouble. That was some storm we had last night and he'd have been blown around a fair bit, so let's hope that's all that's happened.'

Finishing his cereal, Snook pushed his empty bowl aside. ‘I hope so too. We've helped that feller out once too often if you ask me.' He pushed up from the table. ‘But I suppose we'd better check him out, and then we can go take the photos. Right?'

Giving him the thumbs up, I asked, ‘By the way, did you happen to see the kid again last night?'

As though he were discussing the weather or the latest foot-ball scores, Snook replied, ‘The kid? The phantom? Yeah, I did, and I saw the big dinosaur, too. I think he died.'

‘Let's talk about it later,' I said, noticing my Aunt Irene about to enter the kitchen. ‘We don't want to worry your mum.'

It was seven o'clock and the sun was just starting to rise when we rode into our old camping area. We'd had to dodge quite a few puddles on the way this time as last night's rain had left plenty of those. But at least the rain had gone now and there were no signs that it'd come back.

Leaving our bikes leaning up against the same tree as before and with Shadow following, we made our way towards the bridge in the direction of Blowhard's camp. I could hardly believe what confronted us when we first saw his camp from the bridge.

Snook reacted first. ‘Strike me pink! Look at that; it's a flamin' disaster area! His annex has been totalled. It's as flat as a tack.'

Snook wasn't wrong. The only thing standing was Rex and hanging from it were the remains of Blowhard's annex, swaying in the breeze like washing on a line.

‘C'mon,' I heard myself saying. ‘Let's get down there and see how bad the damage really is and whether Blowhard's okay.' With Shadow showing the way – he seemed to sense there was something wrong –we raced across the bridge and down to the remains of Blowhard's camp.

‘He's gone,' Snook said after bashing on the door of the van and looking around the camp. ‘It's like he's been swallowed. There's no trace of him at all. Maybe he's been washed away.'

Blowhard wasn't to be seen but following Snook's example, I began to look through the wreckage. There could be a clue that'd tell us what had happened to him or maybe where he'd gone. Did he hear the storm coming and move to safety … or what? Having got to know him, I doubted it. I moved from one item to the next; Shadow did the same, sniffing and whimpering as if he knew there had been a tragedy. ‘It's looking grim,' I said to Snook. ‘The river's taken just about everything, including his bed. We'd better go and see what we can find downstream. Let's hope it's not Mr Blowhard.'

Fearing the worst, we headed along the river bank towards the lagoon. ‘Hang on,' I said, stopping and listening, ‘I think I hear something. It's coming from up ahead.'

He'd awakened to the gentle rhythm of waves, and having slept well, he was feeling quite rested and content. He'd been dreaming of far-off deserted islands and waves lapping onto a sandy beach. Sighing, he'd closed his eyes and let his hand trail in the water.

Water?

‘What water?' He opened his eyes and stared. ‘Uh?' he half coughed. ‘Ugh! Ugh! He was no longer in his annexe. He was out in the open, surrounded by trees and shrubs and … he looked down. Still tucked up in his sleeping bag, he saw that he was floating on a lagoon, going round and round in circles … slowly. The stale smell of the lagoon and its muddy bottom came to his nostrils. He tried to lift his head but a dragonfly startled him as it flew past his ears, buzzing and then skim-ming the surface of the water next to his bed.

Too frightened to move in case he tipped the blow-up mattress over and fell in, he lay perfectly still, listening to the waves taunting and teasing, as they lapped in a steady rhythm against the sides of his floating, bobbing mattress. With his sleeping bag pulled up to his eyes, he stared at the sky, trying to think, and then slowly, carefully, he raised his arms above his head and waved. Maybe someone would see or hear him. Maybe. ‘Help! Help!' he called out. ‘Is anyone there? Anyone at all?'

Hurrying ahead, I saw where the sound was coming from – from somewhere inside a low-lying mist, which was hovering over the lagoon. I stared through the blue haze. The noise persisted and I thought I saw someone waving … at something in the sky. Squinting, I tried to make sense of it all, and then I realised … it was Blowhard. Still in his bed, tucked up in his sleeping bag, he was waving for help … about 50 metres out.

I quickly pointed him out to Snook, but he'd already seen him. ‘I suppose we'd better rescue 'im,' he said.

In one way, the situation was hilarious. I was also realising that it was something that could only happen to Blowhard. He seemed to attract trouble. However, I also knew that it could be serious. He could be a non-swimmer or he could be injured.

As though reading my mind, Snook said, ‘It looks like the bushman extraordinaire can't even swim. Otherwise he'd be on shore by now, instead of floatin' around out there like a bloated seal.'

‘We'll have to get him onto dry land somehow,' I said. ‘He might be hurt.'

‘Then we'd better hurry,' Snook said. ‘His mattress might be gettin' water-logged by now and when that happens, it's ta-ta time.'

Here we go again, I thought. We kids to the rescue … once again. I knew the water would be freezing – it always was in Tasmania – but somebody had to do it; so discarding my shoes and socks and holding my breath, I waded in. Shadow was barking encouragement behind me and to my left, near a clump of reeds, several water boatmen were buzzing about on the surface as though cranky at being disturbed. I looked out towards Blowhard. He was still flat out on his back zipped up in his sleeping bag like an insect in its cocoon, and he was still waving to the clouds, screaming for all his worth. Surprisingly, I didn't have to swim; the water was only chest deep.

‘Hello, Mr Blowhard,' I said, as I grabbed hold of the mattress. ‘Here we are again.'

R
escuing Blowhard wasn't easy. Hanging onto the side of the mattress to prevent it floating away with one hand and indicating for him to unzip his sleeping bag and climb out of it with the other, wasn't working. Needless to say, like Blowhard, I was doing a fair bit of yelling. ‘Are you hurt, Mr Blowhard?' I shouted into his ear, wondering if that was the reason he wasn't moving. He shook his head. ‘If not, you'll need to get out of bed and do a bit of paddling. It's not far to the shore.'

Still hanging on to the mattress and shivering and getting colder by the minute, I watched as Blowhard finally decided to make a move. Grunting and squirming and still in his pyjamas with the tiny brown bears on them, he wormed his way out of the bag and crawled hand-over-hand towards me. It must have been the weight transference that did it, for suddenly the mattress started to rock – violently.

‘Oh, oh,' I heard myself saying as I watched the scenario unfold before me. Then the inevitable happened; like a bull seal, Blowhard toppled slowly over the side into the lagoon.

Leaving the mattress to float away on its own, I reached out, grabbed Blowhard by the collar and then, with a lot of heaving, pulling and urging, half dragged, half guided him to the shore where Snook, hands on his hips and with a bemused look on his face, was waiting. Shadow was there too, grinning and wagging his tail. Such excitement!

With Snook helping to support the now very wobbly Blowhard, we stepped onto dry land. Shadow raced up to me as if I'd been gone for a year and Blowhard, suddenly finding his strength, threw his arms in the air and bolted as fast as his shaky legs would carry him back towards the creek. Snook and I just looked at each other. ‘He'll be goin' back to that van he calls
Rex
,' Snook said. ‘Good riddance if you ask me.'

‘I think he was feeling embarrassed,' I said. ‘I think Mr Blowhard realised that he'd done the wrong thing – camping close to the river like he did, ignoring all the warning signs about flooding. But to tell you the truth, there's something else that's puzzling me.'

‘Oh? What's that?'

‘There was something else out there in the lagoon besides Blowhard.'

‘Yeah? What?'

‘Bones. I think there are bones, or something very much like them out there. I could feel them with my bare feet when I was trying to rescue Blowhard. They felt round and smooth. Some felt longish and others short. It felt like they were part buried in the mud. It's very muddy out there. You have to drag your feet with every step.'

‘Okay,' Snook said. ‘It's my turn to get wet. You look bushed, so I'll go check it out for you – as soon as I build a fire. You need to dry off. Just lookin' at you standin' there drippin' all over the place is makin' me shiver.'

I didn't argue, but all the same, following up on my gut feeling that there were bones out there should be my job, not Snook's. I was about to tell him there was no need for him to get wet and that I'd check out the bone situation, when he changed the subject completely.

‘You know all the visions we've been havin',' he said, as he went about lighting the fire. ‘Well, this place looks like them. The one you're lookin' at.'

‘Oh?'

‘Just think. At one stage – according to our vision – after the big dinosaur raced out of the jungle, he was runnin' along a mountain ridge.' Snook pointed to Ghost Mountain. I reckon that's the mountain he was runnin' on. Then he made his way off the ridge and down to a gorge that goes black in the afternoon, like this one does. And get this, he then followed a windin' river to a lagoon. I reckon that's Snaky Creek and I reckon he died in Mucky Lagoon.' Thumping me on the arm, he almost shouted, ‘Did you hear me? He went to a lagoon … like ours, where you reckon there are bones.'