Hills End Read online

  Suddenly she was there, on the wide ledge that formed the opening to a cave, and Paul was smiling at her and Adrian seemed unusually subdued.

  ‘Well, well, well,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Here we are.’

  Harvey, Gussie, Maisie, and finally Frances came up on the ledge behind her. The girls were flushed and excited, full of their achievement because not too many girls had got as far as this before. They had been surprised to discover that the way up was far less dangerous than they had been told. Of course, they had had to be careful, but no more careful than in climbing a tree.

  Miss Godwin was still fluttery and was finding it difficult to conceal her distress. All she wanted to do was sit down, and she never knew how she resisted the yearning. She was a brave soul and a far better leader than she gave herself credit for. They never dreamt that she was frightened, never imagined the state of her mind.

  ‘Now, Adrian,’ she said, ‘we’re in your hands.’

  ‘Have you brought a torch, Miss Godwin?’

  ‘Of course. Of course. Always prepared.’

  Adrian wished most fervently that she hadn’t been. That had been a possible way out for him—no torch—and even now perhaps if the torch were small enough he might contrive to flatten the battery; but no, Miss Godwin’s torch was an electric lantern, six volts, and its power would last for days.

  ‘Is it very far in, Adrian?’

  ‘No, miss. So long as we find the right cave it’s only a few yards.’

  ‘Goodness!’ Miss Godwin was rather stern. ‘You have no doubt that you can find it?’

  ‘Oh, no. It might take a little time, but I’ll find it.’

  ‘Very well. As I said, we’re in your hands. Take the torch. We don’t know how soon we’ll need it. The sunlight won’t last for ever.’

  It was Gussie who was left behind. She was so enthralled by the great rock bed lying beneath her that these silly caves pitting the face of the bluff seemed unimportant. She had climbed high, right up here, and the view was the reward, the depth of space, the impression that she was sitting in an aeroplane looking over the side. She was sure she could see the pool where Butch had stopped, sure she could see him lying in the shade. She simply didn’t notice the sky until suddenly there were no shadows.

  She glanced up, and the sun had vanished behind the strangest looking cloud she had ever seen. It seemed to have reached out of the north like a big black arm and closed its hand round the sun.

  ‘Ooh,’ she said. ‘Look at that.’

  She turned, and there was no one to look. They’d all gone.

  ‘Oh, bother!’ she said. ‘Wait for me. Wait for me!’

  At a minute to twelve Frank Tobias switched on the wireless for the midday news. He was certain that if this great mass of ugly cloud meant anything at all there would be reports of its progress in other regions. Wireless reception was always difficult at Hills End and, despite the fact that the people had raised their aerials to considerable heights, it was the exception to listen in comfort. Short-wave transmissions from Radio Australia and from countries to the north of the continent were easier to pick up than ‘local’ broadcasts. The nearest ‘local’ transmitter was fully two hundred and fifty miles away. When Frank switched the set on he realized he was cut off even from that comfort. Reception was not marked by the usual fading but by an alarming crash of static. He hastily switched it off again.

  Already the first gusts of cold air were swirling dust-clouds through Hills End, loose sheets of iron were clanking, windows were rattling, and everywhere dogs were wailing.

  The foreman was now very ill at ease. There were too many things about this sky and the atmosphere that he didn’t like. He had not been able to subdue his initial alarm. He told himself repeatedly that Hills End had weathered many storms in the past, but no matter how often or how earnestly he called himself a fool his fears welled up again.

  He ran from the office up into the main street, and began racing from house to house, shutting every window and door.

  Butch woke up with an uneasy, unhappy feeling. He felt cold, even frightened, and didn’t know why it should be.

  He sat up, realized quickly enough where he was and why, but couldn’t understand the gloom. At first he thought he must have slept through to the evening and was hurt that the others had forgotten him, had gone home without him; he was even apprehensive of walking those miles back through the rugged bush, alone, in the dark.

  Then something told him that he had not slept very long at all. He just didn’t feel as though he had slept for hours, and the peculiar popping sounds that he had been listening to were enormous raindrops hitting the rocks. The sky was black and fierce and in the distance was the unceasing roll of angry thunder. That was why he was uneasy, and he was cold because an icy wind was blustering round him.

  Butch scrambled to his feet because he could see that the sky was going to split apart. He knew that when the rain really started it would be a deluge. And as soon as he was on his feet he remembered his blisters and his new shoes and that it was almost half a mile to the bluff where Miss Godwin and the others would be. Butch didn’t know which way to run. He had to get his shoes on somehow, because his feet had always been the tender sort, the sort that didn’t take too kindly to carrying their owner without a good slab of leather between skin and ground.

  He’d never get to the caves. If he went on he would be caught in the open. If he turned back he might have time to scramble into the shelter of the forest. Those huge raindrops were popping more often and he could see jagged lightning flashes striking between earth and cloud.

  No. He couldn’t go that way, because it was dangerous under the trees when the lightning struck; yet it was terrifying in the open. Each was as bad as the other. Why hadn’t he hobbled on with Miss Godwin? Then he’d be cosy and safe inside the caves. Oh, why had he worn his new shoes? If only he’d changed into something old! He couldn’t get them on. He couldn’t stand the pain. Even his toes seemed to be swollen now.

  He started whimpering. He might have been almost as big as a man, but in so many ways he was only a little boy. He tucked his shoes under his arm and first went one way, and then another, and then back to the rock beside the pool. Soon he was sobbing and he wriggled in hard against the rock on the sheltered side and down came the rain with a horrifying clap of thunder. In seconds he was drenched to the skin.

  5

  The Storm

  ‘Goodness!’ exclaimed Miss Elaine Godwin. ‘What was that?’

  She knew what is was, really, but she was so accustomed to putting questions to children that she felt obliged to ask.

  ‘That was thunder,’ said Frances.

  ‘Thunder, indeed. I hope we’re all not going to get wet on the way home.’

  She wasn’t thinking that at all. Her only thought was her fear of descending the bluff. If rain came with the thunder the footholds would be like glass and somehow she was sure it was raining; although these caves were warm, there was in the air the touch and smell of water or ice.

  ‘Children,’ she said. ‘I think we’d better go back to the entrance to see what’s happening.’

  ‘I’ll go, miss,’ said Paul. ‘I know my way. I’ll only be half a minute.’

  ‘Thank you all the same, Paul, but we must keep together. We have only the one torch, and I don’t wish to be left in the dark, nor do I wish you to be stumbling alone in the dark. Lead the way, Adrian.’

  ‘Fancy a storm on a day like this!’ said Gussie. ‘Ooh!’

  ‘Yes, Augusta?’ said Miss Godwin. ‘What did you mean by that tone of surprise?’

  ‘I must have seen it coming. I saw a cloud. The funniest cloud you ever saw.’

  Miss Godwin shivered. ‘What was funny about it, Augusta?’

  ‘It was like a big black arm, reaching across the sky, taking hold of the sun.’

  ‘You should have told me, child.’ Her voice was so sharp that they were surprised. ‘Hurry on, Adrian. If there’s to be a
storm we must get out of here.’

  They followed the beam of the torch, this way and that way, but Miss Godwin was bustling so busily on Adrian’s heels that she confused him and he took the wrong turning. He wasn’t certain in his mind that he was wrong, but the doubt was there, and Paul said, ‘Not this way, Adrian.’

  ‘We’ll leave that to Adrian, shall we?’ snapped Miss Godwin.

  ‘But he might be right, miss,’ stammered Adrian. ‘I—I think he is right.’

  ‘Nonsense. I distinctly remember this chamber. Hurry on.’

  But Adrian knew he didn’t remember it, not from any of his journeys in here, and when the pale whiteness of old bones moved into the beam of the torch he was certain he’d never set foot in this cave before.

  He heard the sharp intake of Miss Godwin’s breath close to his ear, heard the squeal from Harvey and the gasp from Paul.

  ‘Wait!’

  Miss Godwin took the torch from Adrian and directed it across the floor of the cave to a ledge. There were many bones, huge bones, and kangaroo skulls twice as large as any they had ever seen, and on the walls beyond were red hands and black hands and white hands and drawings of animals and devil men.

  Miss Godwin sighed, a deep, shuddering sigh, and Gussie cried out, and Paul was so ashamed he wished the ground would open up and swallow him.

  Adrian was panting in wonderment, in amazement, in absolute elation. They were here. The drawings were here. And they’d called him a liar. That prim and proper Paul had called him a liar and he wasn’t a liar at all.

  ‘I’m sorry, Adrian,’ Paul murmured. ‘Golly, I am sorry!’

  Adrian couldn’t trust himself to speak, and neither could Miss Godwin. She was too overcome even to consider that Paul’s remark confirmed Frank Tobias’s story and that all her fears as to the real motives of the children were without foundation.

  Frances, strangely, was a little saddened. She had believed Adrian yet she was sorry that Paul had been proved wrong—and Gussie was all confused. She had been so sure that Adrian had been lying. So very, very sure, because Paul had been so sure.

  Suddenly all were talking at once, and Miss Godwin had to raise her voice to a shout. ‘Be quiet!’

  She waited a few moments. ‘That’s better. That’s very much better. Now, no one is to touch a single thing. Before we make any examination I want to photograph everything just as we find it…Adrian, this is the most wonderful, wonderful discovery. My only regret is that I didn’t come a week ago. Imagine it, children—Hills End will be famous. We’ll have anthropologists coming here. Great scholars from all over the world. Children, children, this is the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to us. Oh dear, I—I’m really so excited. I’m all of a flutter. Adrian, my boy.’ She thrust her arm round him and hugged him tight. ‘Why didn’t you tell us about the bones, too? Didn’t you think they were important? They’re the bones of the giant kangaroo—and the diprotodon, I think. Adrian, Adrian, these animals have been extinct for tens of thousands—perhaps hundreds of thousands of years…Goodness me, I’m all of a flutter! I—I cannot believe my eyes. I’m going to wake up in a minute. Oh dear, dear, dear!’

  ‘You won’t wake up, Miss Godwin,’ said Paul. ‘It’s real. Really and truly real.’

  She sighed again, a shivering and breathless sigh. ‘Take the torch, Paul. Shine it on my haversack. I—I must get my things.’

  She was trembling so much she could hardly undo the straps and she took out her camera and her tripod and her flashlight fittings, and suddenly heard the thunderclaps again and felt the cold air that was rapidly expelling the warmth from the caves.

  She looked up with a troubled frown and slowly stood erect, leaving her precious equipment at her feet. ‘First of all,’ she said, ‘I think we’d better take a look at the weather. We mustn’t lose our sense of proportion. These drawings will be here tomorrow—next week—they’ll remain. We must take a look at the weather.’

  ‘Now, miss?’

  ‘Certainly, Adrian. But we must make sure that we don’t lose our cave. It took a long while to find it, even though you were sure you knew where it was. Now, what shall we do?’

  ‘I’ll go, miss,’ said Paul. ‘I said before it would be all right.’

  ‘No. We stay together. While you’re with me you’re my responsibility.’ She paused then and could feel something like a cold hand touching her. There was Christopher—Butch—out there, somewhere in the storm. If it were a storm. It might only be sound and harmless fury. There had been no warning of a storm. This was some trick of the weather. Some local disturbance…‘Now what shall we do? Of course, what we want is a ball of string. That’s it. A ball of string. Always be prepared, children. That’s the division between the foolish and the wise.’

  She took the ball of string from her haversack, tied the loose end round a heavy stone, and directed Paul to proceed in front with the torch while she laid out the string behind her.

  So they came again towards the opening, towards a world of frightening sound and vivid lightning flashes, of bitter cold, of violent wind, of torrential rain and hailstones. The hailstones struck the ledge and bounced and were as big as golfballs. They couldn’t approach the opening. They had to stop well back, clear of showering ice and wind-driven rain. The world beyond was like a block of frosted glass—water, ice, and wind in a mass through which they could not see.

  That cold feeling that had reached for Miss Godwin crept through her until she was filled with the chill of horror. She clenched her hands tightly and began to pray, saying nothing aloud, but pleading in silence. This wasn’t a storm. It was a calamity. One hailstone alone could kill the unsheltered boy if his head were unprotected.

  Someone was pulling on her arm. It was Gussie, screaming at the top of her voice, trying to make herself heard above the roar.

  ‘Butch! Butch! Butch! Butch!’

  ‘Yes, dear. Yes, dear.’

  Miss Godwin did not know what to do.

  When the rain began Frank Tobias was caught at the far end of the township, at Rickard’s place, trying to drive the cows to the barn. The calves and the bull he had to forget. They had to care for themselves. But the cows in milk were the providers for everyone in the town, for the babies and the children. They were almost as precious to the town as human life itself. He couldn’t drive them to the barn. They wouldn’t go. In the evening at milking time they made their way of their own accord. In the middle of the day they dodged him and he couldn’t catch them. He didn’t know them by name. They didn’t trust him.

  The heavens split apart and rain and hail fell from the clouds. A mighty wind roared up the valley, and sheets of iron were blasted from rooftops. Chimneys collapsed. Outbuildings vanished. Trees split like sticks, and Frank Tobias couldn’t reach shelter. He couldn’t stand up. He was beaten into the ground. Again and again he tried to run. Again and again he was stunned and driven back to the earth. He couldn’t see in any direction for more than twenty yards. He couldn’t draw a breath without pain. Crashing ice and water were as near to solid as they could be. ‘It’s the end of the world,’ he kept telling himself. ‘The end of the world. The end of the world…’

  Then he knew that he must have crawled to a ditch and was rolling into it, and that was the last that poor Frank ever knew. As he rolled a huge ball of ice struck his unshielded temple.

  He slid into the ditch, face downwards, and already water was flowing through it, towards the river.

  * * *

  Butch had curled himself into a ball of fat, legs tucked up, face to the rock, elbows held in, chin on chest, and with his schoolbag placed as a shield across the nape of his neck and held in place by two pudgy, frozen hands.

  Butch thought he was going to die and he was too frightened to think of anything else. He merely existed and waited and felt the bitter contact of ice piling up against his back. He didn’t dare take a peep. He kept his eyes tightly closed and tried to lock himself up in safety behind a wall of darkness. Bu
tch did not realize that he was a very lucky young man. The rock that had shaded him from the midday sun now formed for him the line of defence that saved his life. He was in the open on the rock pan, where no trees could fall, where no sheets of iron or debris could whistle murderously through the air, and where the killer ice could not strike him before first hitting the ground.

  His only danger was the danger he could feel but could not see. The hailstones were piling up against him, higher and higher. He might be buried alive in ice before he realized it.

  In the cave Miss Elaine Godwin endeavoured to face the problem of the immediate future. She was very frightened and it was difficult for her to consider her peril reasonably. She tried to argue that there was nothing she could do for Christopher, that he would have to look after himself, but poor Christopher was so slow-witted. He was a dear boy, but so very, very dull. He wouldn’t have sense enough to do the right thing. It was even possible that the poor child was scrambling up the bluff now, or he could be lying unconscious in the open in a deepening pool of water, or he could be bleeding to death from the savage wounds inflicted by ice. More than any other child at present in her care this one boy was her responsibility. She had been happy enough to leave him behind because she hadn’t wanted him to climb the bluff at all. When he had called she had been going to order him to wait at the bottom. Christopher, so dull, was also so clumsy. But he was obedient and courteous and gentle. If he had been ordered to stay at the bottom he would not have argued. It was his simple trust in her, so often revealed in the past, that seemed to reach out from the wildness beyond the cave seeking the friendship and comfort of her hand.