The Peco Incident (12 page)

My whole body went rigid. Nick’s eyes opened wide. His mouth gaped, but nothing came out.

Brio and Roost looked at each other and laughed — loud and long.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Brio when she’d recovered, ‘your secret is safe with us.’

‘Yeah,’ agreed Roost. ‘We’re very happy that you showed Shreeves up for what he really is.’

I was trying to think of ways to deny it when Nick asked, ‘How did you know?’

‘It was pretty easy, really,’ said Brio. ‘First up, we knew we hadn’t done it, although I wish we had. That didn’t leave many others. Everyone we came across seemed to want to ignore the dead sparrows, hoping they’d go away. You were the only two who showed any interest whatsoever. It didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to work it out, did it, Roost?’

‘Nah, it was dead easy,’ said Roost. A pause. ‘Hey, did you see the news last night?’

We shook our heads.

‘You should have watched. Your photos have gone global. The whole world now knows what it’s like in a battery farm. This is really going to change things everywhere.’

‘Those photos are pretty horrible,’ said Brio. ‘But what was it like for real?’

Nick shook his head in disgust at the horrors he had seen. ‘It was gruesome,’ he said. ‘Wasn’t it, Danny?’

But I wasn’t admitting anything. Not to these people. Instead, I turned to Brio. ‘I thought you were going to Australia?’

She gave me a knowing smile, recognizing that I was changing the topic. ‘Still are,’ she said. ‘We heard today that we’ve got a booking on Boxing Day. So, one more day and we’re off. It’ll be good to get away from this place and its filthy disease.’

‘What are you doing for Christmas Day?’ I asked, determined to keep the conversation away from anything to do with bird flu.

‘We’re going to have breakfast on the beach, and then we’ve been invited to a barbecue,’ said Roost. ‘Should be good. Never had a barbecue for Christmas before. At home it’s usually so freaking cold that you wouldn’t dare go outside.’

After that we talked about New Zealand Christmases for a while, and never got back to the photos. At the first opportunity, we said our goodbyes and left.

C
hristmas Day dawned cold, windy and wet. So cold that it was snowing on the mountains inland. I looked out the window and wondered if Brio and Roost were still planning to have breakfast on the beach.

For our breakfast we made pancakes: I did the mixing, and Nick did the cooking. After smothering them with maple syrup, we delivered them to Mum and Dad, who were still in bed. This was followed with coffee, which I think Dad in particular appreciated, as he had a bit of a sore head after his evening down at the pub.

Gift time was just before dinner in the middle of the day. The gifts that our family exchanged seemed miserable in comparison with what Nick and his parents gave. A big parcel from Aunty Yvonne had come in the post a few days after Nick
had arrived. In it was the latest game console for Nick and a hand-held one for me. I’d never received a Christmas present like it before: a gift that was brand-new and in its original box was almost unheard of in our family.

I could see that Mum was a little put out by the gifts. I’d often heard her say that Nick was spoilt stupid, and I gather she considered these gifts supported that view. I felt a bit embarrassed when I handed Nick the carved pendant of Harriet, but his reaction when he unwrapped it made me feel much better.

‘Look at that, Harriet,’ he said holding the pendant up to the real bird sitting on his shoulder. ‘That’s you!’

‘Hello!’ said Harriet to her carved image. ‘Who are you?’

After we’d finished laughing, Nick put the pendant over his head and arranged it so that it sat nicely at the top of his chest. He turned to me. ‘Thank you so much, Danny,’ he said. ‘Now she’ll be with me wherever I go. Thank you!’

Midway through the afternoon Mum got a call from the hospital. Murph was being taken out of isolation. Tests had not found any hint of the H6N3 virus in his body. Although he was still seriously ill with emphysema, there was no reason why he couldn’t have visitors. Mum and Dad decided it would be good to go and see him and try to cheer up his Christmas.

While they were getting ready, another phone call came through. This was from the Ministry of Health to say that Nick
and I were clear of the virus too. We pretty much knew that already, but it was good to have official notification. It meant we could start living a normal life again, which started straight away by going with Mum and Dad to the hospital.

Murph looked to be asleep when we walked into his room. He seemed much smaller than I remembered. His skinny body scarcely made a mound in the bed. There was a drip connected to his left arm, and oxygen tubes up his nose. Neither seemed to make much difference to his breathing, which was just as noisy as usual. However, his face was no longer the horrible purple colour we’d seen when we found him collapsed in the aviary.

‘Hello, mate,’ said Dad. ‘How’s it going?’

Murph gave a little shake of his head. ‘Bloody awful, mate,’ he replied. ‘I haven’t had a fag for five days.’ He raised the arm attached to the drip. ‘I could save them a lot of money on painkillers if they’d just let me have a fag instead of this stuff.’

Mum looked around at the patients in the other three beds. ‘They might object, though,’ she said.

‘Ha!’ replied Murph. ‘Can’t see that happening. None of them have said a thing since I was brought in here. They’re all either unconscious or dead.’

Dad chuckled. ‘Apart from fags, is there anything you want?’

‘Nah, mate. Nothing for me. But you can do something back at the house. The birds need checking out.’

Mum, Dad and Nick all looked at me, clearly nominating me as the one to tell him.

‘They’ve gone,’ I said, quietly. ‘The same day you came in here.’

He sighed and closed his eyes. ‘What about Harriet?’

‘I’m looking after her,’ answered Nick before I had the chance.

Murph’s eyes opened. ‘Is she OK? No sign of the sickness?’

‘None,’ said Nick. ‘She’s great!’ He lifted the pendant I’d given him. ‘Look what Danny made for me.’

When Murph focused on the bone carving, his eyes watered. He reached up a hand to touch it and rub it with his fingers. ‘That’s good,’ he said. Then he smiled at me. ‘That’s real good.’

Soon afterwards, we left.

The news that night was mostly Christmas cheer and goodwill to all. However, they did find a spot for the bird-flu epidemic, probably because that was mostly good news as well. They reported that the unnamed suspected victim had been found to be clear of the virus. This led officials to believe that this particular strain of H6N3 could not infect humans.

They also showed a brief clip of Colin Saxton saying that BIRT believed the epidemic was waning, if not already over. No sick or recently dead birds had been found for several days. They were winding back their presence in the area, and would return only if new cases were discovered.

All in our house were pleased for everything to be over,
particularly Dad. Now, there was little chance that anybody would worry about the source of the photos, especially with the summer holidays underway. It looked like we were finally in the clear.

That was something to be celebrated. Mum brought out some fancy desserts she’d made, and we sat around the table planning what we’d do over the next week before Dad had to go back to work.

We started with each person creating a wish list. Mine was the usual mix of going swimming, renting movies, visiting a wildlife park — the sorts of things I knew we could afford. But Nick’s was full of things like bungee jumping, white-water rafting, jet boating, dolphin watching. As soon as he read his list out, I knew those sorts of things were never going to happen. But that’s when Mum made a big revelation: Aunty Yvonne had sent money for just such events. To me, the amount involved seemed like a fortune. If this was what it was like to be spoilt stupid, then I was quite happy to end up stupid.

By bedtime, we had the week all planned out. First up was an early morning visit to Allans Beach so that Nick could get a decent photo of the penguins: in the morning it was easier to get close to them, as they were hungry and keen to get out fishing. But if you wanted to see both the little blues and yellow-eyed, you had to be there at daybreak, which meant getting up at four o’clock. Mum and Dad said they’d drive out later in the morning and we’d have a breakfast barbecue on the beach. It all sounded perfect, and I went to sleep excited that the real holidays were about to begin.

S
ince Harriet had moved into our bedroom, she’d been our alarm clock in the morning. As soon as there was enough light for her to see, she’d start crunching on seeds. Then, with her breakfast finished, she’d start making squeaking noises until one of us got up and let her out of the cage. After that it was impossible to get any more sleep, because every time you dozed off she’d perch by your ear and screech, ‘Give us a kiss! Give us a kiss!’ Eventually one of us would get up and take her out to the lounge so the other could have a lie-in.

On Boxing Day morning, however, we got our own back.

Nick’s phone alarm woke us at four. It was pitch-black in the house. I turned on the bedside light and began to get dressed. That’s when Harriet woke, and she sure was grumpy. She looked at me and gave a noise that could only
be described as a snort. Then her eyes moved to Nick, and she snorted again.

‘We won’t be long, Harriet,’ soothed Nick.

Snort!

‘It’s all right. Just go back to sleep.’

She gave another snort, before ruffling her feathers and pulling her head in closer to her body. But she didn’t tuck it in under the feathers as per normal. Instead, she kept her eyes free so that she could continue to glare at us.

I laughed. ‘OK, Harriet. We’re going. You can sleep in as long as you like now.’ I then turned out the light.

Her reply was yet another snort.

It was both exciting and scary riding in the darkness to Allans Beach. The dim light from our torches made every tree and shrub on the side of the road take on a different form, as if each was some creature preparing to leap out at us. Nick didn’t help either. He insisted on telling horror stories: vampires, werewolves, hellcats, zombies, ghosts — they were all included. By the time we got there, I think he was beginning to scare even himself.

There was a different sort of horror waiting for us in the car park, however: Brio and Roost’s van was still there. As this was the day they were meant to be going to Australia, I thought they’d be well clear of the peninsula.

We turned off our torches and kept as quiet as possible as
we wheeled our bikes past the van to a hiding place behind a pile of stinky rubbish bags. Only when we were over the stile and walking through the paddock did we begin to relax.

I chose a track that led up to the slope to the hide that Brio and Roost had made. From it we should see the little blues coming down off the hill, and also the yellow-eyeds emerging from the lupins. The only thing that might prevent Nick from getting a good photo was the low light level. Although the sky was clear of clouds, the sun was still well below the horizon.