Darkness Be My Friend (12 page)

"You bloody idiot!" I wanted to yell. "Put that cigarette out."

I nearly climbed down from the tree and grabbed it from his hand. Already there were all the signs that we were in the middle of a long dry spell; already the fire danger was serious. And here was this idiot playing with matches. Didn't he know any better, at his age? Any rural five-year-old knows it's safer playing with gelignite than matches in bushfire weather. I'd been sweating enough before this; now there was one more thing to worry about.

Another man, a very small guy in army uniform, came trotting into the clearing. The officer looked at him and then nodded at the cigarette and the bark. He said something, with a little laugh, and although I didn't know his language I knew with total certainty what he said. It was: "If we don't find them, we can always burn them out."

Now I nearly fell out of the tree in shock and fear. If these turkeys deliberately started a fire, we were in bigger trouble, more desperate trouble than ever. We'd
either stay in our trees and be burned alive, or we'd jump down and be shot. I just couldn't tell if the officer was serious. If he was serious, all I could think was, "These guys have no idea what they're dealing with." I was panicking, finding it impossible to think properly any more.

The small guy trotted away again. I'm not sure what he'd wanted, but I suppose he just reported that he couldn't find us or something. I stayed where I was, of course, though I was getting stiff and achey as I cooled down from our mad run.

I wanted badly to move but it looked like being a long time before I could.

I hadn't been right about many things that day but I was right about that. I'd say it was three hours before I got a chance to move. The officer walked away out of my sight a few times, but I didn't dare move then because, for all I knew, he may have been standing on the other side of the tree where I couldn't see the ground at all. The helicopter swept past four more times, once very close again, the other times close enough. Each time I flattened myself and shrank, like a rabbit when a hawk goes overhead.

The only nice thing that happened was that the horses went past. I had time to look at them properly now. There were seven of them, and they still seemed pretty relaxed about what was happening in their home paddock. They looked well cared for, too: carrying plenty of weight—too much—and with their coats well brushed. They glowed, the way horses do when they're in good nick. They stopped for a nibble occasionally but they were soon gone.

By then every limb and every bone of my body was groaning with a terrible dull ache. I was cramping up in both legs. I was desperate for some exercise. And at last I did get a brief go. A whole group of people started coming in, a couple at a time. There might have been a dozen altogether. I couldn't see any of them but I heard their voices all right: they made enough noise.

They were reporting in, I think, or maybe planning their tactics. I didn't care what they were doing but as the first ones arrived the officer walked quickly over in their direction. And there didn't seem to be a helicopter around. I grabbed the chance to stretch each leg, then my arms, and waggle my head. I pushed my shoulders up and down, then rotated my bum a few times.

I went to stretch my legs again, but as I did I brushed a big loose piece of bark with my right shin.

I grabbed at it but too late.

"Too late," I thought in despair. And as if that wasn't enough, when I grabbed at the bark I knocked off a long piece of dead wood, and it and the bark and some twigs and leaves and more dead stuff all went floating down together, with me helplessly watching.

I was ready to scream. I was ready to jump. I sobbed out loud with the bitterness and unfairness of it all. I didn't know what to do, which way to go. I felt the most terrible sickness in the guts. The bits of rubbish fell and fell, knocking into branches on the way down and it was like I was watching my death in slow motion with me utterly unable to do a thing. And because I was so obsessed by the shower of wood I hadn't even noticed the clattering frenzied roar of the helicopter banging on my ears again. But I did notice the fresh tornado of dust
and debris that went billowing through the trees as the chopper slowly scoured the treetops for the sixth time.

I guess my little waterfall of bark and wood didn't get noticed in all the storm of rubbish. That helicopter, so determined to find and kill me, saved my life.

When I realised that they weren't coming after me, that no one was standing at the bottom of the tree firing up through the leaves, I clung to the branch I was lying against and said a full-on totally religious prayer. I even wondered if somewhere in Heaven Robyn was keeping an eye on me. I wouldn't be surprised. I don't know if we're all born with a guardian angel, but I figured I probably had one now.

It was a while before I became aware again of what was happening in the clearing. For half an hour or so I didn't care what was going on. It was only gradually that I started to realise that our troubles weren't exactly over. We were in the most deadly peril still. It was late afternoon and the sun was shining through the treetops with its last burst of energy and warmth before it retired for the night. I could see no movement in the clearing but, of course, I couldn't rely on that. My limbs were sorer than ever and now I badly needed to go to the toilet. I didn't dare move, though, after what happened last time. I looked again at the other trees, trying to see Fi and Homer and Kevin, wondering how they were going in their little nests, wondering if they were as scared as I was. I wished I'd shared a tree with one of them.

From across to my left I heard a whistle, a sharp shrill sound from someone with two fingers in his mouth. I scanned the hillside opposite but couldn't see who'd
made it. Then it was repeated to my right and I heard it echoed away across the plateau. It was obviously some sort of signal and it got a response because, after a while, I saw a number of people moving slowly towards a place near the clearing. I think they had a meeting, because when the breeze blew my way I heard voices. One time they seemed to be arguing, another time a voice sounded like she was giving orders. I didn't know what was going on. I couldn't hear the helicopter any more, so that was good news.

The sun took ages to go down. Typical of the time of year. The whole situation reminded me of an old flickering film, where you see glimpses of the action, then long periods of nothing but grey static. But you had to work out from watching the little bits of action what was going on. It wasn't guesswork—you had to use your brains, every bit of intelligence you had—and knowledge was power, so the more knowledge you had, the more powerful you became.

Of course, power wasn't really the big issue. This was all about earning the right to stay alive.

I watched for another hour, before it got too dark. In that time I saw only one human being. It was a woman walking slowly along in the open, looking around her. She carried a modern-looking rifle and she held it at the ready position. I would have thought she was on her own, except that just as she was almost out of sight she said something to someone ... I think. I was almost sure that she turned a little to one side and spoke. It was difficult to tell in the dusk. Maybe she was talking to the horses, because a few minutes later they came wandering into view for the second time, moving towards
better clumps of grass maybe, and stopping to graze every few metres.

And I did hear the helicopter again. For fifteen minutes, even two helicopters. Both of them were further away, except for one sweep that came close enough for me to feel again the loud chattering was almost on top of me.

I didn't see it, though. Just felt it and heard it, and that was enough. But it seemed the search was being scaled down as night came on. I guessed they would throw a cordon around the area, maybe run patrols through it, and then start the full search again at dawn.

My bladder was bursting and I didn't think I could wait much longer. As soon as it was dark I knew I had to take the risk and start down the tree. I prayed there would be no one in the clearing below, no soldiers waiting with rifles in their hands and expressions of wolfish delight on their faces. I moved as slowly and ponderously as a koala, but as quietly too, inching down, feeling cautiously for my footholds, stopping and listening after each downward move.

The scariest bit was the last three metres. I felt very vulnerable. I had absolutely no way of defending myself, and this was the time when they would find it easiest to see me. I could get shot in the back and die without even seeing the face of the person who shot me. I tried not to think about what that would feel like, but I'd imagined it often enough in the past. I figured it'd be such an impact that my whole body would go into shock: it would shut down so quickly and suddenly that I wouldn't actually feel a lot, it'd be over in seconds.
That was the only consolation I could offer myself.

When my feet touched the ground I dropped instantly and whipped around, trying to get an immediate look at the clearing. But the pack on my back hit the trunk of the tree and knocked me sideways. As well, I was suffering from not having moved properly for so many hours, so I couldn't get up again easily. The result was that I didn't get a good view at all. Instead I had to struggle to get upright. True to form, I was not the athletic jungle fighter but still the awkward koala. Nothing had changed.

When I did manage to get my balance I crouched on my haunches to take a good look at the clearing. For a few minutes I actually forgot my bladder. I wouldn't have believed it possible a moment earlier, but I guess it's just another thing fear does for you.

It was all quiet in the clearing. For about ten seconds, anyway. Then I heard a noise. It was a typical bush noise, the sound of another koala, or a possum coming down a tree at nightfall to begin its evening prowl. Only this was no possum. It had to be a human possum, a Fi or Kevin or Homer possum. But I didn't wait to see which one. There was something more important to worry about. I fumbled at the buttons of my jeans, hoping I'd be able to get them down in time.

It was a close call, but I made it.

Only then—and it took a while—did I bother to see who was coming down the tree. Whoever it was had nearly reached the ground. I just hoped I hadn't made as much noise as him or her. But I snuck over there, walking as quietly as I could. It was Homer. I went to
hug him but he wasn't interested. He had his mind on the same thing I had. Only when he finished was he ready for a reunion.

Then I could hear Kevin and Fi climbing down, too. Homer and I kept our eyes on the darkness around us hoping desperately we wouldn't see some fatal movement.

Reunited, we had a quick whispered conversation. Our whispers were so quiet, so brief, that the whole conversation reminded me of butterflies, touching slightly and lightly on each leaf.

"We've got to get out of here," Fi breathed in my ear.

"I know. But there might be patrols."

"We've got to risk it," Homer said, in his low rumble. "It'll be too dangerous here tomorrow."

Kevin didn't say anything. The only other comment was mine, and it was unnecessary.

"Keep very quiet."

I didn't blame them for the looks they gave me.

Was I breathing? I wasn't sure. I actually put my hand to my heart to check. I thought I felt something, so I resumed staring into the darkness. If only I had the eyes of a cat. If only I had high-beam headlights instead of eyes. If only I could be home, a year ago, coming in after
setting up the shed for the next day's shearing and heading straight for the shower.

But this was one of those times when I had to be tough with myself. Strict and stern. I forced those soft weak thoughts out of my head and stared even harder through the night. If there was the slightest movement I wanted to see it before an enemy saw me. To my right and left Homer and Fi, and further across Kevin, were doing the same thing.

We'd worked out our plan. Take ten steps, stop, get the go-ahead from the others before moving again. It had to be a definite hand motion from the others before you went on. If they stood still, you assumed it was because they'd seen something.

So when I took my umpteenth ten steps, stopped, looked across at Fi and saw her frozen to the spot I felt my face go hot and prickly. I knew I was breathing now. I too froze, partly out of terror, partly so Homer would know there was a problem.

I didn't actually see him stop but I felt that he had.

I turned very gently and slowly so I could get a better look at what Fi had seen. It was difficult, of course, because of the darkness. I felt like I was staring so hard I might damage my eyes.

In fact I saw nothing. It was my ears that gave the clue. The crunch of feet on rough ground. I'd heard it a few times now in this war, and each time it was with the knowledge that these might be the feet bringing death. I kept thinking it should get easier, this constant staring in the face of death, but it never did.

We all stood like statues. There was nothing else to
do. We couldn't run away, and we had no weapons so we couldn't charge at them. It was a paralysing feeling. I don't know if Homer or Kevin even saw the patrol, but Fi and I did. Three shadowy figures, walking slowly past. Their heads were turning from side to side, their rifles held ready: they weren't relaxed and casual like some patrols we'd come across, at other times and in other places.

And still we stood. I think they must have reached a point which was the limit of their territory, because five minutes later back they came, as silent, as wary, as deadly as before.

When they melted into the darkness again we melted in the opposite direction. It was funny, we did it by osmosis or telepathy or something. We just all headed the same way, without a signal or word being needed.

We kept going in that direction. Same slow careful strategy. We crossed the open grassed area again. I got the biggest shock of my life when, with a sudden silent swish of their hoofs, the horses loomed up. This time they were really friendly, crowding into us, looking for sugar or oats or attention. It terrified me, and I spun around frantically, hoping no one was coming up on us and using the horses as a distraction. But no one was there.