Forest Spirit (14 page)

They sped on, continuing the rest of the way in silence. Jim frowned. Evelyn Grimshaw's mood had not lightened. Creases lined her forehead and her lips pressed tightly together.

She skidded to a halt outside the general store, which also sold petrol. He opened the car door and slid out. He said his thanks, then stood watching as she sped off, revving the motor hard. The engine screamed. The spinning wheels kicked up a shower of gravel and dirt that made him step back.

‘She's in a hurry,' he said aloud. ‘Too much of one. I don't like it. Something's not right.'

A sudden thought came to him. A reason for her strange behaviour. He wondered why he hadn't thought of it earlier. She had been outwardly polite and friendly at first, then her manner had changed – but only after he had told her about the lights, the footprints and the car. For some reason the news had upset her. A normal reaction from a normal person would have been sympathy, even concern, for his dilemma – not a sullen, almost hostile withdrawal. He took a deep breath as he came to the only logical conclusion, the only explanation for her odd behaviour.

Somehow, Evelyn Grimshaw was involved; somehow she was responsible for last night's strange happenings.

He shuddered as a coldness, like a sliver of ice, slid down his spine. Earlier feelings that the kids would be safe left him. They could be in grave danger.

The nerves in his body screamed in a growing panic. He had to get back to camp. But how? He didn't know anyone here except Reg, and he wasn't back yet. If he approached someone for help, for a ride back to the camp, the likelihood of their believing his story would be slim; after all, it was based on accusing Evelyn Grimshaw of vandalising his vehicle. For what reason? He didn't know. It all sounded a bit shallow. Even to him. Besides, his fears were only a perception, a gut feeling. Evelyn lived here; she was known to the locals, whereas he wasn't; Evelyn would be believed, he wouldn't, simple as that. The nearest police station was miles away. If he rang them, they'd take ages to get here. Even then, they'd be hard pressed to believe his story.

Standing on the kerb of the main street, clutching the empty fuel can, he lifted his eyes and stared over towards the mountains. He had never felt so alone or helpless.

He shook his head slowly from side to side. ‘Reg,' he whispered, ‘hurry up.' He turned and walked towards the shop, unable to stop the sudden tremor in his hands.

Jars looked over towards Wombat Track where it disappeared like a long, dark scar into the forest. Quenton had been gone for well over an hour. She frowned, then turned away. She walked towards the lake where Snook was fishing and cupped her hands to her mouth. ‘Snook,' she yelled, ‘he's not back yet! We'll have to go and find him.'

Snook stopped what he was doing. ‘Hang on,' he caIled back. ‘Be with you in a minute.' Jars watched as he packed up his fishing gear. She waited with rising impatience as he picked his way over the rocks towards her.

‘What's up now?' Snook asked as he drew near. ‘That idiot not back yet?'

‘No, and I think we should go and find him. He's been gone for a long time.'

Snook nodded. ‘Yeah, but one thing's for sure. You're not going anywhere. You've already copped it for being in there.' He pointed towards the forest. ‘I'll go get him. Here, stick these somewhere and I'll head off.' He handed over his rod and tackle box. ‘I don't reckon I'll be too long. That little wimp wouldn't have gone too far. He's too lazy for that. I'll most likely find him under a tree somewhere, feelin' sorry for himself.'

Jars nodded reluctantly. ‘I suppose you're right, but don't be too long. If you can't find him, come back and we'll wait for your dad.'

‘Oh, I'll find him. Like I said, he won't have gone too far.'

As Snook trekked deeper into the canopy of the forest, he began to worry. He had been walking for a good half hour without seeing any sign of Quenton. He had been sure he would find him just a short distance away.

Quenton was offended – that was obvious. In his mind, Snook and Jars were ganging up against him. In a way, he was right, but as usual, he had exaggerated things. He couldn't take a joke; that was his problem. Fancy getting all heated up over a little lizard. He should think himself lucky we let him hang out with us, Snook thought. Snook continued to walk along the narrow track, listening and watching. He heard the voices first. Instinctively, he crouched and crept slowly forward.

There, in a clearing, set back from the lake, was a man, and sitting on the ground with his back leaning against a rock, was Quenton.

His hand and feet were tied and from the streaks on his face, Snook could see that there had been tears. The man, who wore a navy blue singlet, tattered shorts and brown work boots, towered over Quenton. Great slabs of loose flesh drooped from his arms and his belly bulged over the top of his shorts.

Snook, who had been holding his breath, suddenly breathed out. ‘Bloody hell, Quigley's been kidnapped by a bloody giant.' On hands and knees now, he inched further forward, hoping to catch the gist of what the man was saying. When he was close enough, he crawled under a large fern, its dry fronds partly shielding him from view.

Parting the fronds slightly, he watched, listening.

‘Uh, don't you cry no more little boy. I – I don't like it when you do that.'

‘Wha-what do you want me for? I haven't done anything.'

‘Hector said we, ah, gotta keep you here till our sister comes with the boat. Then we gotta get the birds loaded on the ah, boat.'

Snook's mind raced. So, they were poaching birds. He'd heard about that – how poachers captured the birds then sold them to breeders and even to people overseas for lots of money. He had also heard that a large number of the birds, hidden in stockings and stuffed into suitcases, died – from suffocation, and, he supposed, from fretting. ‘Mongrels,' he mouthed, ‘nothin' but greedy mongrels.'

A faint crackling sound came from behind, disturbing his thoughts. He spun around.

Hector Grimshaw, gripping a cage in one hand and a .22 rifle in the other, grinned down at him. He placed the cage on the ground. Snook saw that it held a pair of birds, parakeets.

Hector's grin turned into a sneer. ‘So, two down, one to go.' He raised the rifle, pointing it at Snook. ‘Get on your feet, then you can tell me where the girl is and what she knows.'

Snook wriggled from beneath the fern and scrambled to his feet. He brushed some dead leaves from his jeans, then, with a look of defiance, eyed Hector up and down. ‘Go and bite yer bum.'

Hector's mouth opened and closed and his dark eyes narrowed to slits. Nobody ever talked to him like that, except perhaps his sister from time to time. He turned his head and spat from the side of his mouth. He waved the rifle in the direction of the camp. ‘Pick up that cage; you can carry it. Then get moving. You can join your little fat friend. Between the two of you, you can tell me a few things I would very much like to know, like what made you come snooping around here. If you don't co-operate, well, I have methods that might just persuade you.'

Snook couldn't see Hector pat the long-bladed knife in his belt.

Jars threw some sticks on the fire. She sat on a log, watching the flames rise. Sparks crackled into the air and blue smoke eddied about her.

In the heart of the fire, glowing embers began to form shapes. She saw the buffalo, saw the bodies of her parents and brother, saw the splashes of red blood.

She hated the buffalo.

Jars shook her head and forced herself to look away from the fire. Swivelling, she glanced across the clearing. She bit her lip. Snook had been gone for a very long time.

She stood and threw some more sticks onto the fire. It was something to do. She walked over to the edge of the forest and peered through the dull light. She listened, hoping to hear the voices of the boys. There was only silence.

Shadow, sensing her anxiety, whimpered and rubbed his body against her leg. Jars reached down, patting his head. ‘It'll be okay. My uncle should get back soon. Then we can go and find them.' Shadow's tail gave a halfway wag. ‘I hope he does,' Jars said, patting the dog. ‘I'm really worried.'

Jars rubbed her arms. The cloud cover had brought a chill to the late afternoon. She walked over to their tent to find her jacket – a bomber jacket, her aunt had explained when they'd bought it two days ago.

When she came out of the tent, her eyes once again focused on the trees and Wombat Track. ‘What are we going to do, Shadow?' she said when the dog came to her side. ‘I'm not allowed to leave the camp. That has been made perfectly clear. But Snook and Quenton have been gone for ages. What if they're in trouble? What if something's happened to them?'

Shadow let out a sharp bark and ran towards the track. He turned and raced back. ‘You think we should go and find them, don't you? Well, I think you're right. Let's do it. If I get into strife again, well, so be it.'

Feeling both relieved and guilty for disobeying her uncle, Jars entered the woods. Dark shadows shivered and bobbed around her. The dog, grinning at the prospect of a new adventure, trotted at her heels, ears pricked.

The track was becoming familiar; its twists and turns; the occasional obstacles of overhanging branches and fallen trees; the birds she had seen earlier, still flitting from bush to bush, twittering and squabbling among themselves and an area she knew better than any other, the place where Quenton had dashed out of the undergrowth with panic in his eyes. That's when she saw it. Quenton's camera.

It lay beside a native pine, its brown case barely visible as it blended in with the bark of the tree. She raced over and picked it up. Now all I have to do is find its owner, Jars thought … and Snook.

She was about to return to the main track when she saw a familiar figure. It was the wombat, and as before, it urged her to follow. ‘The cave,' Jars whispered to herself. ‘It wants me to go to the cave again.' She hesitated. What if she missed the boys? They'd return to the camp and find it empty. Then they'd probably start worrying about where she was. But going to the cave seemed important. Gritting her teeth, she decided. ‘C'mon, Shadow, I think the Forest Spirit wants to see us.' Looping the strap of the camera over her shoulder, Jars and Shadow hurried to catch up with the wombat, which had forged ahead, barely visible in the shadowy light.

At the entrance of the cave, Jars froze. On top of the large boulder, like sentries, were two black snakes. They hissed and flicked their tongues as she drew near. They hadn't been there before. She wondered whether the snakes had been sent for by the cave's ghost … to protect the cave and its secrets? Nah, that was too way out. But still … She let the thought drift in her mind.

To enter the cave she would have to squeeze past them. She guessed that they were tiger snakes, the deadliest snakes in Tasmania. The ranger had told them that. Not that she was afraid of snakes. The words of her parents came to her … ‘Don't be scared of them, just give 'em a wide berth, then they won't hurt you.'

Without a sideways glance, the wombat waddled past as the black, unblinking eyes of the snakes watched him disappear from view. That's when Jars understood. ‘Don't ask me how, Shadow, but the snakes are expecting us. Normally they'd have slithered away. They would have been frightened of us. But they're not. That's obvious. I reckon it's safe to pass.'

Not entirely convinced of her reasoning, she took a deep breath, then, careful not to make any sudden movements, she wriggled past. Her eyes never left the two snakes, which lay still and silent barely an arm's length from her face. She crawled through the opening and into the cave, closely followed by Shadow, who barely glanced at the snakes.

Finally inside, she reached into her pocket and took out her torch. She switched it on and made her way towards the carving on the wall. Once there, she shone the torch onto the figure. She studied the swirls, animal tracks, and jagged circles with renewed interest. This time she wasn't afraid.