The autumn air was tinged with the threat of winter before we saw Alex again. Our paddocks, grassed and greened from the rains that had finally set in after the storms, were once more feeding our stock, and the work load was lighter. And we were no longer as resentful of visitors.
(more…)
The rain swirled gently round us and we turned our faces to it; cupped our hands to capture it. We tossed our helmets aside. I ran my hands over my head, through my hair, lifting it from the scalp, letting the cool air in. A truly marvellous feeling! But the wind was strengthening, the storm building and rumbling towards us. This south side of the hill was exposed; when the full force hit we’d be drowned rats. We scrambled the many metres to the crest, clutching at damp straws of tussock for support, enjoying the smell of grass in earth.
There’ them young tigers now.
“We’ve got to think this out carefully,” I said as we stood by the separated formation, the snapped column.
“If bushrangers were here before us, I mean, like in 1820 or 1830, they probably couldn’t write. Instead, they’d leave markers. And, at a guess, the markers would be pieces of broken flowstone.”
Grot! I was all grot, inside and out, when I woke. My head ached, particularly across my forehead, my mouth and teeth were steeped in sludge and I felt sick. I hurt all over, stank like a rabbit burrow and was cold. My fingers fiddled with the lamp switch. Nothing happened. (more…)
“It’s hopeless really! Quite gross! We have no idea what we are looking for. A hole. A scratch. An open doorway. In the floor. The wall. Maybe we have to fly up through a chimney in the roof!’ (more…)
“I’m scared. Really scared, Fox.”
The exertion of turning Alex made my head throb. Despite the helmet I could feel a lump forming low on the back of my skull. Gingerly I touched it. About the size of a duck egg and probably the same, rinsed-out blue colour. But it wasn’t tacky; I wasn’t bleeding. Alex’s eyelids fluttered then slowly lifted. His eyes were darkened, glistening with pain, flicking with fright. I was reminded suddenly of Stella, the mare which had cracked her forelegs in a wombat burrow collapse last summer. The same wild look in her eyes then was in City Boy’s now. But people can be helped; Stella had had to die.
“Where does it hurt most?” I crouched on the floor beside him. The wall still crumbled slightly, dust curled round us. I took hold of his hand. My sympathy was genuine but I also figured I should count his pulse rate. Though what I could do about it I couldn’t imagine. His hand was clammy and beads of sweat were breaking on his pale forehead.
“Near my hip.” His voice rasped. He was breathing quite fast too.
“I think we have to keep him warm,” I looked up at Fox, frowning.
“We’d best get him clear of this wall first. I don’t like the sound of it. And the dust could stir his asthma. I hope he brought that puffer thing he uses.”
“I did. In my pack. Don’t need it yet.”
It was only then that we looked about us.
“Wakadoo!” Fox and I exclaimed, almost in unison.
We were in the most magical space imaginable — except for the terrible problems we faced.
The wall we had come through was earthy beneath the marble slab and we now stood in a large, apparently rambling cavern. Ahead, and to our right, the other walls glistened and glowed white in the lamplight, curving and flowing away from us in wide arches and folds. Beyond and below, tips of white spears hung above globs and columns rising from the floor and amid boulders. Silent and still it looked; yet vibrantly alive. An exquisite ice sculpture.
“We can explore later.” Fox wrenched my thoughts back to the immediate problem of moving Alex, making him warm.
I deliberately turned to check the remaining wall. It, too, glistened, but only in small roundish areas; mostly it was dark, heavy, filled with rugged boulders reaching into the blackness. Jacques was perched on one, chin tight on knees, head down.
“Over there would be a better place for Alex,” Fox nodded towards Jacques and I agreed.
But moving Alex was not easy. There was no pretence: he was in extraordinary pain. His teeth bit into his lips, blood oozed, but he used his arms and feet to help us. He could move his legs, sideways anyway, but whenever he tried to lift himself he screamed, sweat poured off him and he fainted.
“We’ve got to slide him,” I gasped.
“Maybe we should pull him. By the shoulders. So he doesn’t have to move his hips.”
Grunting and gasping we somehow managed to move him away from the rubble and dust which continued to fall. Vaguely I registered that, every time he screamed, more wall fell. It was probably wrong to move him at all but seemed better than risking burial. Although, come to think of it, we were all four buried in a sense.
“He said he had a jumper,” I remembered.
         ‘Yeah.’ Fox was delving into Alex’s backpack removing tucker and stacking it neatly against a square-sided boulder. His tidiness almost annoyed me; I would have pulled everything out willy-nilly. The jumper, a pale yellow, was the softest, finest knitwear we had ever seen. Such pure wool had to be warm. But was it enough?
         Together we helped Alex lift head and shoulders and slipped the jumper on, pulling it down his body as gently as we could.
         ‘I’m thirsty,’ he croaked.
         ‘Bet you are,’ I said, trying to sound cheerful and reached for a juice pack. ‘Bet we all are.’
         ‘Try water, Ame,’ Fox advised.
         I looked at him, questioning his words.
         ‘We need to empty a bottle for Alex to use when he wants a leak.’ And Fox grinned. Probably at the look of distaste which must have spread over my face. I certainly felt the idea of using a drinking container as a urinal pretty obscene.
         ‘Be practical. You and I might find a dark spot to go in but Alex here is at our mercy.’
         ‘Yours,’ I blushed but, hopefully, in the lamplight, my colour change did not show. Besides, if I had as much dirt on my face as Fox had on his, nothing would show.
         Unscrewing the cap I held the water bottle to Alex’s mouth. He dribbled a little but mostly he gulped the liquid down. It crossed my mind that he was going to need plenty of fluid. I rubbed my dirty hand over the opening and drank a few mouthfuls. I resisted the temptation to take a long draft for myself. When I offered the water to Fox he, too, took only a small amount. Jacques was sitting away from us, mumbling fiercely. I ignored him and re-capped the bottle.
         After Fox finished unpacking Alex’s backpack he turned to mine, then his own, packing the food systematically against the rock.
         ‘He’ll need more warmth. Let’s try and use the packs. Three beneath and one over the painful area.’
         Pulling the buckles clear we managed to ease the packs into a crude form of insulation mattress for Alex. I reached for Jacques’ pack. Suddenly he was aware, switched on again, and grabbed it away.
         ‘No! You can’t have it. They can’t have it. They’re after all the information they can get but there’s no satisfaction for them when they deal with me. I won’t give in. I’ll die rather than tell them.’
         I sighed. ‘He’s really off, Fox. You know, off his rocker,’ I whispered. Actually, I only mouthed the words, hissing slightly, but Fox nodded.
         ‘We’ll wait awhile.’
         ‘Hear them! Hear them!’ Suddenly Jacques was stomping around. His lamp was off and he pushed out to the edge of our circle of light and began shouting and punching at the darkness beyond. ‘Come and help me fight! They’ll torture us all if they catch us!’
         He raced back across the floor. The wall spilled further rubble, a few rocks rattling towards him.
         ‘There they are. We’ll have to block them.’ He scooped up some fallen stones and began pushing them into the wall.
         ‘Stop him, Fox,’ I gasped. ‘Everything could collapse on us.’
         ‘It’s okay Jacques. Jacques, old fellow, it’s okay. They can’t get in. You have fooled them this time Jacques.’
         He stepped back, unevenly, lifting his knees high.
         ‘Yes, yes. Stopped them dead. I might be a madman but they are the fools.’
         He gloated, walking, in small circles, towards the boulders. He made me frightfully nervous.
         ‘Would you like a drink?’ Fox was coping; I was speechless.
         ‘Is it a party we’re at? I wondered why there was so much noise.’ He strode over, shoved his face close to Fox’s. ‘Good party, is it?’
         ‘Yes, Jacques. Great party, Jacques.’
         ‘Great,’ I groaned softly, sarcastically.
         ‘Shut it,’ Fox hissed under his breath at me as he handed the water flask to Jacques. He took a long pull, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down his throat as he drank, then handed the bottle back. Yawning, he retired to a corner and slouching down, seemed to fall asleep instantly.
         Stealthily I reached again for his pack and began quietly removing the food things. The light caught the glint of something silvery in the base of the bag. It was wedged in firmly but my finger slipped under and I eased the neatly folded, compressed material out. Fox took it from me and shook it open.
         ‘It’s a space blanket. Perfect for Alex.’ I dropped the backpack and took the light metallic length in my hands. ‘We can wrap it round him.’ Jacques had been right when he claimed he had brought good gear.
         Of course we had to disturb Alex all over again to ease out the packs we’d placed under his for warmth. And it was awfully painful for him as we manoeuvred the cloth. But it fitted him from head to foot and folded over, making a nice cocoon round his body and a flap for his head.
         He drank a few more sips of water then floated off, closed eyes sunken in deep, dark hollows. His face, grimy and streaked, looked anxious even as he slept, breathing rather rapidly. I rolled up a backpack and slipped it under his head but left his helmet on.
         Fox jerked his head at me and moved away, towards the white flowstone. I picked up a container of sandwiches and followed him.
         Opening the box I silently took one and offered the others to him Quince jam. It tasted good even with the dirt that seemed to coat my mouth. I suddenly realised I was hungry. Dreadfully hungry. Fox was too, because, wordlessly, he reached for another.
         We stood, trying to take in the beauty and complications of the formations in front of us, as we ate. I was conscious of being incredibly weary but too entranced to rest.
         A thick white deposit, metres wide, dripped over one area of rounded rock, like icing over and down the sides of a cake. To the left of it another section, close woven, but lacy looking, and curving like a shawl, draped along a ridge, and ran back, away from our light. All around was hung with stalactites; thin, short, circular, long, jagged smooth. A forest of icicles, Needles, wispy, silken threads, part finished tapestries, broken chandeliers, strings of beads. Every shape and texture imaginable. Even faces, profiles. A kaleidoscope of pictures teased our imaginations. At first it seemed silent then the faintest tinkle, like the clink of fine glass, or frost melting in grass, reached us. It smelt a little like frost too.
         We shivered in the coolness.
         I felt Fox look at his watch. ‘What time is it? I didn’t want to move; interrupt the cave’s spell.
         ‘Five,’ he said softly, carelessly.
         Suddenly we both realised what he had said.
         ‘Five!’ We turned to each other, registering horror. We had entered the complex just on eight. Nine hours ago. And we were trapped, with an incredibly beautiful marvel of a wall, a madman, an injured boy – and coldness creeping round us.
It seemed to take absolutely ages for the dust to clear though, I suppose, like all moments of horror, terror, time drags forever. I was trembling all over but particularly inside me, my guts felt like half set jelly being stirred.
         Alex was slouched, head, chest and arms hanging out of the wall, his mouth open, skin a greyish white even through the covering of fine red dust.
         He groaned.
         I felt the air rush out of me. I must have been holding my breath. ‘ABC,’ I thought. (After the wombat burrow episode I had checked up on First Aid tactics.) With relief I realised ‘A’, airway, was okay and Breathing – yes, his chest was moving, actually, heaving, in and out. I couldn’t remember what ‘C’ stood for but if ‘B’ was there ‘C’ didn’t matter any more. I was sure of that much.
         He lifted his head, groaned, and looked at us with utter surprise. If the situation had not been so terrible we might have laughed but not even a nervous giggle could we raise.
         ‘We’ll get you out. Just lie still.’ Fox’s voice was frightfully unsteady, squeaky with panic. ‘We need something as a lever. We’ll have to lift the rock and pull you free.’
         Turning to Jacques we picked him out on the edge of our light beam standing on one leg, back to us, his hands pressing against his neck, awkwardly over his hat and up into the air.
         ‘He’s no use,’ I muttered. But the rungs of the tied on ladder shone in the light and we shared the thought that flashed at us.
         ‘Let’s hope it’s strong enough.’ Fox strode over the Jacques. ‘We need the ladder.’
         Jacques stopped mid-stretch and turned round. ‘Have they come for us? We are defeated,’ he whined.
         ‘Not yet. C’mon. Let’s have the ladder.’
         ‘You’re in league with them. You’re one of them.’ He was backing away, arms out in front, palms holding Fox at bay. ‘They never could have found me without you. Spy!’ he spat out viciously.
         I felt like ranting at the stupid man and Fox must have realised. He shot me a silencing glance.
         ‘Jacques. You’re a great explorer, Jacques. There’s been an accident. Jacques, we need the ladder.’ Fox spoke slowly, calmly.
         As if by magic Jacques responded. He immediately began unfastening the ladder, fingers working quickly, and handed it to Fox. But he didn’t say anything and he didn’t come forward to help us.
         ‘We’ll use it in its folded position. I think that will be large enough. For starters anyway. What do you reckon is the best way?’
         ‘Try with a point, a corner.’
         ‘Yeah. Then if we get it wedged in we may be able to turn it.’
         ‘I’m up on my knees a bit,’ Alex offered, softly, ‘I think, if I straighten them I’ll be flatter. But I won’t until you’ve got the wedge in.’
         We stared at him, totally surprised. He was tougher than we had realised. A further thought occurred to me. Could his legs be paralysed? Perhaps he wasn’t in any pain, couldn’t feel? But I bit back the suggestion and flashed a quick plea heavenwards.
         ‘Just hold in there, mate,’ Fox reached into the squeeze, running his hand down Alex’s back to the blockage. His fingers curled along the line of rock. He looked up at me, sideways, hope brightening his eyes. ‘I think it might be all rubble.’
         ‘Can we just pull the dirt and rock away?’
         ‘No,’ he drawled and I knew he was thinking rapidly, ‘be too risky.’
         Quietly he edged a ladder corner into a softish patch and eased it in. There was a faint crunching of moving stone and dust puffed.
         ‘Are you ready to heave him out, Ame?’
         I wasn’t but I realised we couldn’t expect Alex to just slide out by himself. I moved so his head butted into my stomach and put my arms round his chest. Saying nothing he placed his arms round my waist, holding me firmly.
         ‘We’ll move on a count. When I say “threeâ€. And be quick.’
         I checked the space behind me, the lie of the floor and flexed my knees ready to take the impact. From the corner of my eye I noted Jacques sitting, hunched into himself, his headlamp off.
         I think we three were aware we probably had only once chance. We did not mention it though. Our leader seemed aware of nothing.
         ‘One. Two. Three!’
         Fox shoved and lifted, Alex straightened and flattened and I pulled, stamping backwards. Grunts of exertion tore from me; my heart felt strained to burst, my brain black. The ground rushed up around me. Next thing I knew I was lying like a beetle, uselessly clawing the air. But Alex, solid, heavy Alex, lay on top of me. He was free.
         ‘How’s tricks?’ I said, then giggled hopelessly. So much so Fox had to kick me, gently but, even so, in the ribs, to tap me back into reality. Alex, once free, had fainted quite convincingly, on top of me.
         He came to as Fox was trying to lift him off me. Fox’s face was pale, clenched, determined.
         ‘Gently. He’s injured.’ I forced the words. I really wanted to go to sleep; to wake up in my own soft bed in the magic moment before the alarm rings.
         ‘Sure,’ Fox said.
         ‘I’ll slide out from under,’ I offered, still sounding dopey.
         To this day I don’t know where my wisdom came from – maybe my subconscious had learnt more at First Aid than I claimed credit for.
         I braced my arms. I sniffed the air, for blood I think, then, steadying Alex about the hips, I slid free and turned, it seemed in the same movement, to look at him. He was, of course, on his face and, obviously, unconscious again. I glanced at Fox.
         ‘I think we should have him face up. I scrambled to my feet. ‘We’d best turn him together. You take his hips and heels, I’ll manage head and shoulders.’
         Turning him was a bit easier. Especially compared to pulling him out of the wall. That had slipped again. Crumbled noisily. Closing that passageway forever.
         That we were trapped had not yet occurred to me. To any of us.
The dawn was clear and hard, the sky silver and green as we set off. Our backpacks were rammed full with sandwiches (vegemite, peanut butter and quince jam), a chocolate cake, caramel fudge, date loaf, apple juice packs, water bottles, a cold chop each, all in containers, and plums, picked fresh from our trees, dropped in to fill the spaces. Cooking four chops had been a bit of a hassle. Mum had been roving around and I had to keep myself between her and the griller and use a little cunning and speed.
         I was still worried about letting them know, leaving a hint, of where we were. Just in case. Eventually I decided to leave a partly written essay on my desk. Mum knew I was into fantasy so I began writing about a cave and put a monster in it. I repeated the word ‘cave’ so often I knew it would annoy her – if she read it. I only learn later that Fox, who always covers his tracks, had, on this occasion, left the better clue.
         The heat of the day was already belting down, the wild animals holed up, their feeding finished, and the birds carolling into silence as we arrived. Only the crows cawed.
         ‘Going to be a scorcher of a day,’ Fox commented as we met up with Jacques.
         ‘Yes. It would seem so. But it could be quite cold underground.’
         I stopped in the middle of removing my backpack. ‘Could it?’ A niggling fear stirred in my stomach. ‘How cold?’ I demanded.
         ‘Cold enough for a sweater or two,’ he answered casually, handing our gear to us.
         ‘Well that’s fine, that is!’ I was close to shouting. ‘Now he tells us!’ and I looked to Fox for support.
         ‘I put a jumper in,’ City Boy chimed.
         It took a big effort on my part not to wipe the smug look off his face with my bag. Instead, I just sneered, ‘Yeah? Well, we’re tough, acclimatized, we’ll be right.’ But I was as nervous as a grasshopper; Jacques was clad in two pullovers.
         ‘At least you’re all wearing boots,’ he said, as if that made up for less clothing elsewhere.
         What else had he forgotten to tell us?
         By this stage Fox was all loaded up, looking cheeky. He checked his lamp and patted the coil of rope fastened round his upper torso and grinned at me. My anger melted as I joined in his excitement. The helmet felt just right, not heavy but reassuring, on my head, the lamp was to focus. The rope, sashed across right shoulder to left waist, added real swagger. Alex struggled a bit getting his in place and neither of us offered to help him.
         ‘We’ll go straight to the bottom then lift up into the flattener I showed you.’ Jacques, who was tying the string round a jutting rock as he spoke, sounded assured, professional, our leader. ‘You, Alex, will come directly after me. And you, Fox come up the rear. That will be our order of progression throughout the expedition. I will guide you, particularly you, Alex, until you have the right idea. Whatever you do, don’t panic. Take everything quietly, smoothly.’
         We had described our previous experience in minute detail to Alex and, with caution, he descended reasonably easily. Before we slipped through the doline we pushed the packs in and, once inside, knotted them up and dropped them on a rope down the chimney. Our climb down was easy and much more fun with lights. And the crunchy stones at the base winked in a delightful mixture of colours and sizes as we landed on them.
         The ball of string sat at an angle on Jacques’ waist from where it could feed out easily. He bent and looped it round a stone embedded low against the rock wall.
         ‘I could squeeze through and tie it outside this bottom entrance if you like,’ Fox offered.
         Jacques shook his head. ‘They could be waiting out there for us.’
         I groaned inwardly. If Jacques was going to talk about being spied on again today I might be tempted to biff him one. His next words, though, were quite rational.
         ‘I’ve had a bit of a look in that flattener and it goes a considerable way at a slight incline and angling to the right. At least as far as I’ve been. I didn’t go to the end.’
         ‘How do you know there’s anything to see then?’ Although it was Alex who spoke the same thought had also occurred to me.
         ‘That’s the adventure, the true thrill of exploration.’
         Jacques had a point. If we wanted to know where we were going we could join a local club and go crawling and dangling in the mapped caves of Bungonia Gorge. Which was, of course, what we should have done rather than risk our lives in this manner.
         ‘I’ll go first, then Alex, same as before. You’ll have to push your packs in front of you. The passage starts out at about 20 centimetres in height but only for a metre then improves to 30 to 40.’
         He twisted his body a little, righting the equipment, then, pack straps between his teeth jumped up the wall. Spiderman-like, he groped his way to the slit. There he paused to take the pack from his mouth and push it in before sliding in himself. Smoothly, effortlessly, expertly. City Boy was a lot more awkward. Fox and I laughed as, half-in, half-out, his feet slipped off the wall and his legs dangled uselessly. Like trousers from a clothesline. Then he was in and I allowed him several minutes to leave room for me.
         The passage floor was dusty and soft and I kept my distance behind the boots labouring ahead of me. Actually, it was pretty easy going, particularly once we were in the larger part, and I quite enjoyed the earthy smell. Once it became wide and high enough for us to crawl instead of wriggle I could turn my head and talk to Fox. Mainly, we just grinned at each other. It seemed ages, though, before I noticed the boot soles in front become heels and legs and walk aside, out of my vision.
         ‘We can stand up in a minute,’ I passed back to Fox and spurt crawled the last metres.
         We were standing on the floor of a wide chamber. Musty, cool, earthy – and wondrous. Roots clung and wound along the ceiling, some fibres hanging free, lost and still, above us. Nothing stirred. It felt like being at the beginning of time and we were part of the spell.
         Jacques, of course, recovered first and, taking out his notebook and pencil, sat down, back against a wall. He started drawing, adding to some lines already on the page. Fox walked over for a closer squiz. Jacques immediately clasped the book against his chest and crouched over it, glaring, his headlamp picking up the puzzled expression on Fox’s face.
         ‘Seems we can explore with him but not see his records,’ Fox muttered as he returned to my side.
         ‘I’m thirsty. I need a drink.’ City Boy had opened his bag and was pulling out a fruit juice.
         ‘Good idea,’ Jacques agreed, amiable again. ‘Then we’ll check out this cave.’
         The liquid washed the dust down and we took special care not to drop any cardboard tags or the straws. We had formally resolved we would leave no rubbish, accidentally or deliberately.
         We began to look round the cave. Moving independently. Although I noticed Jacques peered closer at the floor and Alex wandered rather aimlessly. We two examined the walls. We were all looking for signs of a further passage, an internal doline, that would lead us on.
         And Fox found it.
         Beneath a root stripe and beyond a triad of loose, hunched boulders, lay a further root, thick, half-buried in soft, red soil. His lamp picked out the shape and curve. It plunged downwards, disappearing into the rock face.
         ‘Here, Ame,’ he called softly, ‘what do you make of that?’ He shone his lamp along the ridge of root and focussed on a spot about a metre above the floor.
         ‘Looks promising,’ I bluffed.
         ‘Yeah.’ We clambered over the boulders and he ran his hand along the rootline. Sensitive but firm. Like stroking a horse. Soil crumbled away at first then a decent hunk slipped off, away. A slide, probably three metres long, the root a low lying banister that crossed over near the base, appeared. The floor seemed to extend reasonably level at the perimeter of our light. We called Jacques and Alex.
         ‘Great!’ Jacques tied a loop into the string, marking the distance across the cavern then, on bottom and heels, slid down. Simple. Making sure we had all the gear we followed.
         ‘Disneyland must be like this,’ I laughed as I scrambled to stand on the floor of the next cavern and move out of Fox’s way.
         We were now in a thin, high slot, a little over a metre wide. Solid walls rose up beyond the range of lamp light. As one we gasped. The walls were beautiful. Black, or a deep, dark blue-grey, streaked with pearly white rivers and splashes of pale and heavier orange. Maybe the light worked some magic but the effect was breathtaking. I reached out tentatively. The surface was dry but with a clammy feeling, like an old person’s skin.
         ‘What is it, Ame?’
         ‘Marble.’ I looked at Fox and his eyes were wide with wonder, the pupils black pools behind the light. ‘I wonder how thick it is.’
         ‘And how long it has taken to make.’
         ‘Hear them?’ Jacques spoke sharply, ‘they’re coming down to get us. We’re trapped. You weren’t careful enough. Now we are cornered.’
         His words echoes into silence. Nothing moved. Little silvery grains twinkled in the walls and we could hear each other breathing.
         ‘There’s no one after us.’ Fox spoke in the reasonable tone he uses when planning farm work with Dad. But his words triggered something awful in Jacques. He went beserk.
         ‘We’ve got to move on. Move on before they catch us. We’re trapped. Rats in a hole.’
         All the while he was gabbling he was kicking and thumping at irregularities in the walls and floor. A pebble patch in the sandy floor heaved and slipped beneath his wild attack. He dropped down and, crouching over the area, began clawing at the stones feverishly, muttering anxiously. A hole began to form, then a narrow squeeze, running more or less under the main floor, became apparent. Jacques eased his body in, his hard hat and shoulders forcing rubble aside, hips, legs and feet slithering after, as smooth as a snake. Then his light shone back through the slot. It was less than a metre to the next cave.
         ‘Hurry! Hurry, damn you!’
         Without stopping to think, I’m sure, Fox dived into the squeeze. I grabbed the packs, pushed them in, and followed him. We both forgot the basic discipline; Alex was left to come last.
         He was fatter than us, quite solid, and the passage gap narrow. His head and shoulders struggled through but he lost rhythm of movement and his hips and buttocks became wedged. His face, red with embarrassment, scowled at us. He placed his hands either side on the walls and heaved, writing and grunting. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead and he swore quite expressively.
         The rumble was faint at first, as if someone else was moving in the passage, but, as it became louder, a spill of loosened cobbles and dirt fell round us. Then the wall shifted and settled, anchoring and burying half of Alex.
         His scream was short and sharp. And once only.
To be continued
‘Well, what about it? Did you enjoy that?’
         ‘Too right! But it’s a bit of a shock.’
         ‘Specially in the dark,’ I grumbled.
         ‘That section is only the beginning, the easy part.’
         We were standing on the bank of the dry creek bed, the part water swirls over in times of heavy rain. Grass, still green here and cropped by the kangaroos, wallabies and wombats, spread outwards and down to the stoney edges of the creek. Now that we knew of the cave, of this entrance, our exit, at the base of the cliff face, the area looked different. My arms were folded in what I hoped was a casual manner. I was trying to contain the excitement rippling through me, fluffing out ideas inside my head like birds their feathers.
         ‘Have you been in more sections?’ My tone seemed, to me, to carry a note of envy.
         ‘Not yet. Only that chimney is safe alone. But the cave goes up, back and beyond.’ He shrugged his shoulders, ‘Or, I think it does,’ and he smiled, sweet and cautious.
         I relaxed. Jacques was being quite normal. Maybe pretending something was after us was his way of making a joke.
         ‘It is my plan to map this area but I can’t do it alone. I’ve been waiting for some friends of mine to come but my time is running out.’ His rich voice was rational, warm, a little sad.
         Fox bent, pulled a stray blade of longer grass, carefully stripped it back and began sucking on the sweetish stem base. Dad’s always telling him not to do that – animals might have pissed on it – but it seems to help him think.
         ‘Could we really be counted in?’ Fax asked slowly, disinterested-like.
         ‘That’s what I wondered.’ Jacques took a few restless paces back and forth then seemed to gather himself together. ‘Rules are you need four for safety in any expedition; two to be experienced. Well, there’s only me with experience but you two, I’ve watched you, you are strong, have stamina and pull together. I don’t go much on your friend but, between us, we should be able to push him into line.’
         Perhaps I was wrong about his age: he sounded at least twenty-four now.
         ‘Yeah,’ Fox drawled in a pensive, pondering way.
         ‘I’ve brought good equipment. Old Jacques and his team don’t take risks. We have respect for the natural world.’
         ‘What sort of equipment would we need?’ Fat chance we had of getting hold of anything more than some fencing materials.
         ‘We’re fully equipped.’ He looked us both up and down as if he didn’t trust us completely then swung off along the cliff face beckoning with his arm. About four metres along the sheerness of the cliff was interrupted by a low, attached off-shoot. He had converted the far side into a storage bay, a light tarp covering his possessions. Lifting it, he picked up one of the two rucksacks pushed close into the rocky corner. He took a swipe over the surface of the jutting rock using the bag as a tool and cleaned off the animal dung. Sitting, he unbuckled the pack and, bending forward, shook the contents onto the grass. Helmets, head lamps, another torch, coils of nylon cord, a ball of string and a ladder, neatly folded on itself, of wire with aluminium rungs.
         ‘See! Plenty of gear. Planned for four.’ He sounded pleased with his goodies but his face continued to express a sadness. Indeed, he had only smiled that once that I could remember.
         Fox pounced on the items, checking them out. ‘This is great Jacques.’ He picked up a helmet, fastened a lamp to it and slapped it on his head, pulling the chin strap firm. ‘What do you say, Ame? We give it a go?’
         Jacques began repacking the gear. That we would have a light each and a rope gave me some confidence. I was also pretty sure our parents would slam a veto on. And there was the question of Alex. I watched Jacques, crouched over, scrabbling in the second rucksack. ‘We could get lost down there, couldn’t we?’ I challenged.
         He shook his head and, reaching for the ball of string, tossed it up and down. Somewhere, at the back of my mind, I remembered a story, an old tale, of someone, a god or goddess maybe, escaping a labyrinth by spooling out a thread along the passages, tracing the pathway taken.
         ‘I’ll also be making a map and I have a compass direction calculator.’
         ‘Yeah? Show us how it works.’ Fox was excited and committed now. I could tell by the shine in his eyes, the quick, eager movement of his head. I knew, too, I’d give in. We’d be going caving.
         ‘No!’ Jacques shouted and stood rigid, arms clasped to his chest as if he was folding himself in. ‘We can’t risk them knowing we have it. Ssh.’ His voice dropped but remained fierce, hissing. ‘Don’t mention it again or they’ll hear. They’re after all the information I have, you know.’
         Stunned and silenced we regarded him with our mouths hanging open. What were we getting ourselves into? Jacques didn’t seem to notice our reaction. And when I think about it, we never did see that compass. Either of us.
         ‘Food, though, that’s what we need.’ He shifted suddenly from tension to ease, flinging his arms wide, his voice calm. ‘Could you be the caterers/†As we nodded solemnly, still stunned, he continued, ‘plenty of energy foods, juices, sandwiches.’
         ‘Fair enough,’ Fox agreed after an interval of thought.
         ‘Sure,’ I added, softly, on my breath. I was worried.
         ‘We will meet here early tomorrow.’
         Fox removed the helmet, examined it carefully before handing it back, nodding his agreement.
         ‘Not tomorrow,’ I butted in. ‘You might be organised but we aren’t. It’ll take us at least a day to get the food ready.’ Fox looked at me with scorn but I defended my position. “Energy foods†means cakes and biscuits; they will have to be made,’ I said sharply.
         There were a lot of aspects of this proposal I was not happy with and I needed a bit of distance. As I’ve said before, I worry round and round; Fox just goes for the eye. ‘Make it the day after tomorrow and we could manage.’
         As it turned out, arranging for a long day excursion picnic was a snitch. We had been working hard and I think Mum was feeling a bit guilty about Alex. He was so tired, always falling asleep as soon as he sat down. But enlisting City Boy proved quite difficult.
         It was, of course, only reasonable that he was wary of us and we had to kindle his trust somehow. And we hadn’t bothered to find out anything about his likes and interests so we had nothing to use as a lure. He’d been with us nearly a week now so that just shows what selfish little pigs we are. So, we tried butter and jam. Buttered him up with praise and apologies then laid the making-up on heavy. At first he was as suspicious as a cornered cow but we gradually soothed him. We even risked telling him we were going caving, calling it ‘pot-holing’ as the locals do. It seemed he could keep a secret; he hadn’t once told on us. I suppose he had been a see-saw between his dad and mum all his life so was in the habit of not passing on information. We would have liked him to be a bit more grateful to us for including him but then, you can’t have everything. And Jacques did stress we had to be four.
         A pity Jacques didn’t stress a few more things. We were really quite ill-prepared.
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