Hills End Page 8

  ‘What did I tell you?’ said Paul. ‘Six heads are better than one.’

  ‘I haven’t got six heads,’ said Maisie.

  The sun climbed higher and higher through the long and hot hours of the morning. The sky was so clear and so blue that it seemed impossible for yesterday to have been real. The great rock valley in front of them was filled with shimmering vapours and steam, but the water still flowed from the mountains, and although they watched the forest fringe half a mile away not a living thing stirred. There were no distant whistles or cooees. They could have been the last people on the face of the earth.

  Why hadn’t anyone come from Hills End? It was eerie, this silence, through the long, long hours of the morning.

  Sometimes they talked about things that didn’t matter, but most of the time they sat tensely, straining their ears, and always waiting.

  Even the older ones began to feel younger and younger, smaller and smaller. Even Paul, who tried so hard to be a man, began to think how marvellous it would be if his father appeared at the edge of the forest to wave his familiar wave. Paul was hurt that his father hadn’t come. Why hadn’t he come? Why hadn’t he tried? Poor little Gussie! He knew what she’d be thinking. She’d be wanting her father, too. She thought he was the most wonderful man in the whole wide world. She’d be so terribly hurt to think that he had failed her.

  And they were getting hungrier and hungrier and Harvey was bothering them all the time for something to eat. They just couldn’t make him understand that he had to wait. Harvey argued that he’d rather be hungry later than hungry now. In the end they gave way and ate what they had, which was very little, and perhaps it was the wisest thing to do. At least once the food was gone they couldn’t think about, or want it, and Harvey had to stop nagging.

  At about midday the water was still rushing across the rock pan and still no one from the township had appeared at the forest fringe. They didn’t say it aloud, but they were sure that Butch and Miss Godwin were dead. They were frightened and very, very worried. Why hadn’t someone got through? Surely search parties were out? Surely they knew where to come? Everyone had known they were going to the caves. Perhaps over the distance and over the rumble of water on the rock pan it was expecting too much to hear voices or whistles or cooees, but why hadn’t they come? Again and again they put to themselves that one unanswerable question. They couldn’t get beyond the question to the reason.

  ‘You know,’ said Adrian, ‘I remember my dad talking one night—to your father, I think, Paul—they were talking about what the children would do if they were left on their own to fend for themselves. You know what they said? They both said the same thing.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘They said we’d die.’

  Paul shifted uncomfortably and found his eyes drawn to Frances. He suddenly thought how nice she looked, and how terrible it would be if she died. He began to feel a little sick.

  ‘What made you say that, Adrian?’

  ‘I dunno.’

  ‘Do you think we have been left on our own to fend for ourselves?’

  ‘I dunno.’

  ‘You don’t really think it, do you, Adrian?’

  Adrian hid his face in his hands. ‘I said I don’t know.’

  Paul began to lock and unlock his fingers and he could feel sweat on his forehead. It was hot, of course, but it wasn’t that sort of sweat. He could feel the fear inside him mounting up; an awful feeling of aloneness began to shake him. He looked at Frances again and she was sitting with her back to a rock, sitting very stiffly, and one big tear was rolling down her cheek.

  He looked away hastily, embarrassed, and saw Maisie and Gussie holding hands so tightly that their knuckles were white. Harvey was sniffling, trying hard to be the tough little fighter that he usually was.

  ‘Perhaps it wasn’t the best thing to do,’ Paul said slowly, ‘to sit here and wait. Perhaps we should have tried to get across to the other side. Do you think we should try now?’

  ‘They’ll come for us,’ whispered Gussie. ‘I just know they’ll come.’

  ‘What do you think, Adrian?’

  Adrian shook his head. ‘I don’t think we could get across. I still think Maisie’s idea is the best.’

  ‘We came into this cave yesterday morning. We’ve been here for more than twenty-four hours.’ Paul sounded calm enough, but he was trembling at the brink of hysteria. ‘We’ve got to do something. We can’t sit here. You know what I think? I think something terrible’s happened. I think everyone’s dead but us.’

  It was out. He’d said it. He’d tried and tried not to say it, but he couldn’t call it back, and Gussie’s wail would have melted a heart of stone.

  ‘No!’ shrieked Frances. ‘We mustn’t cry!’

  Gussie shook all over and fought down her despair. She wasn’t frightened for herself—not then, anyway—she was thinking of her mother and her father and her baby brother. She felt destitute. Her whole world had vanished, because if that was what Paul thought it must be right. Paul was so sensible, so level-headed, and she was such a scatterbrain. Paul wouldn’t have said it if he could have held it back any longer.

  Little Harvey sat quite still, his eyes full of tears, his mouth open, drawing great shuddering gulps of air. All he wanted to do was to howl and suddenly he couldn’t stop it. Frances dashed to him and held him tight, but couldn’t bring herself to judge Paul too harshly, because she had been the one, yesterday, who had told Paul to face facts and admit them. Probably it was best that they should get it over and be done with it, because Paul and Adrian were surely right. Something terrible must have happened.

  She was wiping Harvey’s tears away when she looked up sharply and found that she was not the only one who had become alert. The boys, too, were looking to the sky, keenly aware of the sound that she herself had heard.

  ‘It is!’ Paul cried. ‘It’s an aeroplane!’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Can’t see it. Can anyone see it?’

  They crowded towards the lip of the ledge and Adrian had sense enough to bellow. ‘Easy. You’ll have us over the side.’

  ‘I can’t hear an aeroplane.’

  ‘And neither can anyone else. You’re making too much noise.’

  They listened again and it was unmistakable—the roar of a big aeroplane somewhere, flying high.

  Gussie squealed. ‘There it is!’

  She pointed high into the north-east and one by one they picked it up, flashing in the sun.

  ‘What sort is it, Adrian? You know all about aeroplanes.’

  ‘I think it’s a Lincoln.’

  ‘One of the bombers?’

  ‘Yeah. That’s what it is, all right. A Lincoln. The Air Force.’

  ‘Golly! What would the Air Force be doing away out here?’

  ‘How should I know? I wish we could make a signal or something.’

  ‘How could we make a signal? We’ve got nothing that’ll burn.’

  ‘And no matches, anyway.’

  ‘And he’s miles and miles away. He’d never see.’

  ‘He’s turning, isn’t he?’

  ‘Yeah. And I can’t hear his engines any more. Can you?’

  They listened again and they could hear them, but they were burbling, making a funny sound.

  ‘Ooh!’ said Harvey. ‘He’s going to crash.’

  ‘He’s gliding, stupid. That’s what he’s doing. Coming down!’

  ‘Are you sure, Adrian?’

  ‘Of course I’m sure. You can see for yourself. He’s circling round and round.’

  Maisie shouted, ‘We’re going to be saved. Hooray! Hooray!’ And then her voice faded. ‘Are we? He couldn’t see us, could he? He’d never see us. He’s miles and miles away.’

  ‘Too far away all right,’ said Adrian. ‘You know where I think he is? I think he’s going down to look at the town.’

  Paul grunted breathlessly. ‘That’s what I think, too. And it’s never happened before, has it? It’s never happen
ed before because nothing terrible has ever happened before.’

  They were very quiet again and they watched the aeroplane come lower and lower until it passed from their sight, until they heard its engines roar again, until they knew that it was circling the town at a very low altitude, going round and round and round.

  One by one they sat near the lip of the ledge, and they were pale and frightened and unhappy. They knew now beyond the last doubt that something was wrong with their town, because the aeroplane went round and round and round and they didn’t see it again for nearly half an hour. Then it rose up above the forest and went down through the valley in the south, no more than three miles from them, and vanished, following the course of the river, or the road that led to Stanley.

  8

  Return to Danger

  ‘We’ve got to go,’ Paul said flatly. ‘And no argument.’

  He set the example himself, heaved Miss Godwin’s haversack onto his back and looped the strap of his schoolbag through his belt. Then he looked at them all, and waited.

  Adrian stared down into the rock pan. ‘I don’t think we can get across.’

  ‘We’ll never know if we don’t try! And haven’t you thought that they might need us in the town more than we need them here?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Frances, ‘I’ve been thinking that myself.’

  ‘What could we do,’ said Adrian, ‘a bunch of kids? That’s what they call us. When we tried to help at the fire the year before last they sent us home. Even told Miss Godwin to go.’

  ‘It wasn’t because they didn’t want our help,’ Frances explained quietly. ‘They didn’t want us to get hurt.’

  Adrian scowled. ‘I reckon grown-ups are a lot of crumbs. Nag, nag, nag at a fella all the time. Always interfering. Why should we have to cross the rock pan?’

  Frances was shocked.

  ‘Oh, it’s all right for you, Frances. Your father’s not the boss. Your father’s not the preacher. You don’t know what it’s like being lectured all day long.’

  Paul was frowning. ‘You’re talking through your neck. If you’re scared why don’t you say so? Why start abusing everyone?’

  ‘I’m not scared.’ But he was. ‘What am I supposed to do,’ he whined, ‘when my father says we’d die if we had to fend for ourselves? If that’s all he thinks of us why should we care?’

  ‘All the more reason why you should. To prove that he was wrong.’

  ‘Your father said it, too.’

  ‘So what?’

  Adrian shivered in his fright and his frustration; but there was more to it than that. He didn’t hate his father. He didn’t hate anyone. He didn’t want to go back to the town because he was terrified of what he might find. If everyone were dead he didn’t think he could face it.

  ‘Come on, Adrian. Let’s go.’

  He couldn’t get out of it. They would have called him a coward, and in his heart he cared very much about what people thought of him.

  ‘All right. But don’t blame me if someone gets drowned.’

  At 1.30 p.m., Eastern Time, Hills End featured once more in the afternoon news broadcast. The same pleasant young man, in the same air-conditioned studio, in the same capital city more than a thousand miles away, was perturbed enough to raise an eyebrow before he reached for the sheet of paper bearing the next story. This is what had raised his eyebrow:

  ‘The big timber and cattle-raising district in and around the Stanley Ranges has emerged as the worst-hit centre in yesterday’s disastrous cyclonic storm. Fourteen inches of rain deluged the area in a few hours, destroying roads, communications and property over a wide area. Not a bridge between Stanley and its outlying districts appears to have survived, and this is complicating rescue operations.

  ‘Extensive flooding of low-lying land has caused heavy stock losses. Many farms and stations are completely cut off and the final extent of damage cannot be estimated. The entire adult male population of Stanley, under the direction of Police Sergeant Crabb, is at present engaged in rescue work or urgent repairs to bridges, roads and property. Further rain is predicted for later today. Contact between Stanley and the outside world is being maintained through the Flying Doctor Service radio transmitter.

  ‘Early this morning fifty searchers, led by Police Constable Fleming, headed into the ranges to attempt to reach the ninety men, women, children, and infants marooned on the road between Stanley and Hills End. Their location is not known nor are any details of their condition to hand. Early reports indicated that the rescue party was being hampered by landslides, washaways, flooded streams and fallen timber, and was proceeding on foot at only a few hundred yards an hour.

  ‘A Lincoln bomber of the RAAF surveyed the area this morning and a message received a short time ago stated that no trace of human survival had been seen along the road. Dense timber made detailed observation impossible except in the vicinity of the township of Hills End. Most of the weatherboard dwellings and buildings appeared to be damaged and all were deserted. The only life observed was several roaming dogs and a crazed bull, which took fright at the approach of the aircraft.

  ‘A mystery centres on the mill-hands certain to have been left on duty in the township early yesterday when the rest of the population began the journey to the annual Picnic Race Meeting at Stanley—cancelled, this year, for the first time on record. Of these men remaining on duty, probably two or three in number, no trace has been found. No signals were observed. No bodies were seen. Gravest fears are held for the safety of all persons concerned. The search is continuing.

  ‘A RAAF spokesman commented that no landing facilities for aircraft are available in or remotely near Hills End and that the landing strip at Stanley is under two feet of water. He added that helicopter operations are at present unlikely, the urgent airlift of the native population of Valdi Island, threatened by volcanic eruption, having drawn all serviceable helicopters to northern New Guinea.

  ‘An announcement from Canberra, just received, states that the Commonwealth Government has voted £100,000 for immediate relief in the distressed area.’

  The children wriggled down the face of the bluff as carefully as they had climbed it those many hours before. It wasn’t difficult. They were agile and they were young. What was a test of courage for Miss Godwin was all in the day’s play for children.

  They were frightened, but not of the bluff. Even the torrent foaming across the rock pan had lost its terrors, because their thoughts were reaching out beyond it. It was the unknown that was frightening them now, not the physical dangers before them. A heavy weight seemed to be inside them. They couldn’t smile any more or relieve their worries by chattering about other things. Even Harvey couldn’t summon his cheeky grin, and little boys like Harvey are not easily squashed. If the aeroplane had not come they might have invented a reason for the things that puzzled them, but not one was too young to understand now. The aeroplane would not have come if everything had been all right.

  The fear was, ‘If we really and truly are alone, for ever and ever, what shall we do? What will become of us? Where shall we go?’

  They crossed the rock pan without harm, sometimes following Adrian, sometimes following Paul, sometimes Frances, or hand in hand through the more perilous and faster-flowing waters. They battled across like little Britons, but they came through safely because the rock pan had ceased to frighten them. They were given the opportunity to learn that fear, not danger, was their greatest enemy. If they had been more awake to the present they might have realized that courage was more than a virtue—they might have seen that courage was common sense. Perhaps they were too young. Perhaps they were too miserable to learn anything.

  They struggled into the forest, not knowing that the crossing of the rock pan was something to be proud of. Their spirits were low. Four and a half miles of steamy, sticky, and tangled forest stretched ahead of them. When they had come the day before they had followed the path that had been tramped by erring children for ten years. This afternoon it
was there in part only, in places washed away, in places smothered by fallen timber, and in the gullies submerged beneath streams they had never seen flow before. They leapt some of the streams, anxiously waded through some, and scouted others up hill and down until they found bridges of broken trees or could climb across overhanging boughs. Soon their clothes were filthy and torn.

  At a quarter to four by Adrian’s watch it started raining again; steady, solid rain, but not accompanied by the violent winds and thunder of the day before. Hail didn’t fall and the rain didn’t roar as though its one desire was to destroy them, but in a very short time they were drenched and cold and the forest floor turned into a gloomy vault that was not at all friendly. The light was weird, as though belonging to another epoch in time or perhaps to another world. Once, from a hilltop, they caught a glimpse of the upper reaches of the bluff far behind them, with cloud swirling round it like smoke. It was low cloud such as they saw in the wet season, that sagged out of heavy skies and sometimes stayed on the mountain-tops and in the gullies for days.

  They plodded on and on. They knew they were heading in the right direction, but they had long since lost the old path and were gradually forced lower into the valley towards the road, to avoid washaways and landslides. There were times they had to wallow calf-deep through mud. They had seen storm damage before, but nothing like this. Never had such a volume of wind, hail, and rain struck their mountains so fiercely and in so few hours. Spread over a week the dry land would have absorbed the rain, but too much had come too quickly, and now it was raining again.

  Two thousand yards to the south of the town they reached the road. They were very, very tired, but not too tired to read the story it told.

  ‘Golly!’ groaned Paul.

  It was pitted with deep holes and the wheel-ruts had been cut to ditches by fast-flowing water. And water still flowed, red with earth, in the direction of the invisible township, ever cutting deeper into the surface of the road, until diverted by fallen boulders or snapped trees, or cascaded over the side towards the river. It simply wasn’t a road any more.