Robyn Hogan

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.
Jacques’ mother had stayed with us for a while after his death. It turned out his proper name was Matthew. Matthew Dodd. In his schizophrenia, the awful illness that invaded his mind, bringing disorder to his thinking, he identified with Jacques Chabert, a French speleologist. (I’d been right about the Frenchness of his name!)
Mrs Dodd said such identification meant the person thought he or she was the other someone. Not necessarily all the time but often quite strongly. Jacques Chabert — the real one — once lived in a cave in France, near Nice, for five or six months without seeing daylight. Apparently, when Fox stressed the name “Jacques”, it caused her son to assume that persona and behave fairly rationally.
“Matthew was only a little boy when his hero became news,” Mrs Dodd told us, “and he used to prattle on about living in a cave.”
She was knitting a jumper for one of her grandsons and I was sitting on the back step nearby, drying my hair in the sun. The needles clicked quickly and the garment grew in her hands.
“He wanted to map our caves. But all we saw in his notebook were squiggly lines and strange symbols.” I was being careful not to sound critical, keeping a quiet, sad tone in my voice.
“But, my dear, he was doing a beautiful job. The Speleological Society says his records are a most useful foundation. And they are going to acknowledge his work by naming that complex of caves after him.” She paused in her knitting and looked at me intensely, her eyes the same compelling blue as Jacques’.” am so proud of him, Amy. He had so much to give. And he fought so hard to be normal.”
She talked and talked about him during her stay. And about her other children. He had been special to them all. Her hands were always busy, knitting, sewing, peeling potatoes for Mum. It was like having a grandmother to stay. And she wanted to know every little detail about Jacques that we could give her.
“Harvesting your memories,” she told us, “to store away in mine.”
Nancy, though, was still a pain. Typically, she waltzed into our house one Sunday unannounced.
” just knew you’d be home if I decided to call,” she twittered.
Alex trailed behind, clutching a cardboard box.
“Please excuse Alex’s clothes.” She affected a shudder. “Those worn jeans and faded sloppy shirt make him look like a poor relation.”
“Seems all right to me,” I chimed in before Mum could say anything. Nancy swept her eyes over me, making me know she thought I was a dag. I glared back.
“Here, you two,” Alex said as he shoved the box at us.
The weight in it shifted as we took it. And the box was warm. WE lowered it to the floor and lifted the flaps back.
A small puppy was trying to stand. Round and black, with little brown paws, he whined and wagged his skinny ship of a tail. Fox picked him up.
“It was all Alex’s idea. I told him country people don’t like having dogs chosen for them. But he insisted. He’s becoming very stubborn, as difficult as his father.” Nancy was ranting on but Alex just stood there, watching us, as miserable as ever we had seen him.
I glanced at Fox but the puppy’s bright red tongue was licking at his face. And he wore such a silly grin as he stroked the tossing head, I knew I’d always be that dog’s second best friend.
“He’s lovely,” I said to Alex and his face relaxed into a little smile, his eyes still wary.
“He’s the best kelpie pup I could buy. His pedigree goes back nearly fifty years.”
“Oh!” I had pushed Fox’s hand aside, demanding a turn fondling the pup’s ears, soft and silky in my fingers. Particularly the tawny tips. “Absolutely beautiful!” I was smiling and laughing with excitement. Then I stuck my hand out to Alex. “Thanks a million!” I whooped, as we shook.
“Yeah, thanks,” and Fox, juggling the pup, tried to shake hands too.
Alex was smiling broadly now. “His father is an all-rounder and his mother, great in the yard.”

He was still a smug, know-all City Boy but I didn’t mind. I think I’ve got some pretty nasty traits too.
“And a good eye runs in the family,” Alex added, looking a little nervous. I had a feeling he didn’t understand what he was talking about but let it pass.
“Alex had to pay for the animal himself. Took quite a slice of his savings. I just didn’t approve of his idea of a gift for you so I made him got it alone.” Nancy’s lips were set in a prim line. She would have to be the meanest mother of all time.
Fox kicked the box aside and moved closer so Alex and I could stroke and pat the wriggling pup easily.
“You said, once,” Alex was still a bit nervous, “that you hated dogs. But a working dog was the only present I could think of for you two.”
“Yeah, some dogs. City dogs. Town dogs. Useless dogs.” Fox growled. “They form packs and rampage through the country tearing at and killing sheep. We hate those dogs. Every farmer does.”
“And,” said Dad, who had come to inspect the pup, “we haven’t had the spare cash to buy a quality animal of our own. Havem’t had a dog since old Jess died last winter.”
He took the pup from Fox and set the little fellow down on the floor. Paws skidded, the ridiculous tail, a white tuft on its end, waved wildly and yaps rang round the room. We all laughed.
“This one’ a good ‘un,” Dad declared. “And just what Amy and Basil need.”
City Boy beamed. But Nancy wanted more of the action.
“Of course, I didn’t wish to give you any sort of present,” the mouth thin, words clipped, “after all, my precious son nearly died. And the other boy did die. I won’t forget that in a hurry.”

I felt Dad stiffen; Mum was out of my sightline. I wondered if she had heard.
“It was my fault,” Alex spoke savagely. They had had this argument before, I guessed, by his tone.
“Alex’s injury, his hospitalization, has been a big interruption in my life.”
Nancy did not want to shut up and Mum, dear soft Mum, had had enough.
“It seems to me, Nancy,” she said, sweet as jonquils, “that you’ve always treated Alex as an interruption in your life. That you have no idea what a brave and loyal young man he is.”
Nancy was pink with anger, her painfully arched eyebrows almost disappearing in her hair. Alex shuffled. The pup, having decided which were Fox’s feet, was chewing on his sneaker, mock growling.
I put my hand on Alex’s shoulder. “Y’know Alex, you didn’t have to give us anything. By rights, we owe you.” I was speaking softly, away from adult ears.
“You included me.”
His simple reply brought a flush of shame to my face and I felt the loneliness in his life.
“And we will again,” I found myself promising, sincerely meaning it. I nudged Fox’s attention with my foot.
“Hey! Let’s call the pup ‘Sandy’? After Alex but not so we’ll get them both mixed up when he comes to stay next hols.
“Yeah! ‘Sandy’ would be great!” Fox was on his haunches, grinning, helping the pup chase his own tail. “Okay with you, Al?”
City Boy glowed, bright as a sunset, with happiness.
Fox stood up, relaxed and decisive. “And we’ll get the very best of advice for Sandy’s training. We’ll learn how to manage him properly.”
“You mean there are some things you two have to learn?”
And we three laughed together. Sometimes we like visitors.
The End

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’s them young tigers now.’
          Mick Gray’s voice boomed across the plateau even before we had time to stand upright. He was quite some distance away but his eyes were as sharp as his words were loud and slow. It was the bright blue of police uniforms we actually saw first. That police would be searching for us should not have surprised us but it did. I had deliberately avoided talking about who might be looking. Every time, down there, when I started to think about the chaos we might be causing I felt I’d fall to pieces. We both put our energies into escape; hopes of saving ourselves. The hard work involved did not allow us too much time for speculation.
          And our job was not yet finished. Though I would have preferred ti was Dad or Mum we met first. They might be furious but they would listen kindly. By the scowl on Fox’s face I think he wished we had been a little more cautious in our approach, too.
          We trotted through the rain, lighter beneath the tree canopy, feeling smaller and smaller as the four police officers and Mick Gray strode towards us.
          ‘Told you they’d been mucking round this here spot the last few days,’ Mick bellowed, adding, ‘where’s your lanky mate?’ Jaw jutting out, greasy hat pushed back on his head, he was enjoying himself. He would go on at us about this trip forever; never let up even when we grew old. That was his way. We faced one eternal, noisy hassle with him.
          As we met up, two officers slipped behind us. I suppose it was only their training but I shivered. The wind was becoming harsher, the rain colder but I shook because I was scared. A different feeling to the terror of being trapped; the fear of meeting suffocating foul air. Confronting our actions was not going to kill us. I knew that. I didn’t expect it would be a happy pushover either.
          Fox stiffened beside me. I shot him a sidelong glance, beneath my hair, and he nodded ever so slightly. I was spokesperson.
          One police officer, a woman, had taken out a small pad, flipped it open and was poised, ready to write. Another officer was talking quietly into his radio. We both jumped as Mum’s voice crackled back.
          ‘They’re safe!’ And she started crying, wailing and choking on tears, through the black machine in his hand before he flicked a switch.
          ‘We can call off dredging the creek now,’ he growled at us. I suppose it isn’t fun searching for lost people and I felt a real criminal.
          ‘Okay. Now the formalities. Who have we here? Names?’
          I swallowed hard. ‘I’m May Smith and this is my brother, Basil.’ This is going to take forever if they were going to start with such basics. I rushed on. ‘And our friends, Alex Snow and Jacques Something French are trapped in a cave below this hill.’
          The woman was writing furiously.
          ‘Didn’t know there were any caves this side of the Gorge. Any of you ever heard of caves round this here place?’ Mick Gray stuck his oar in.
          Anxiety, the problem of getting Alex out and the dreadful looming nearness of the real storm following the drizzle, not to mention Mick Gray, made me cross.
          ‘There are – and it doesn’t matter whether you have heard of them or not!’ My voice was rising, becoming hysterical. I clenched my hands and concentrated on speaking to the woman notetaker.
          ‘Alex is injured, cannot move his hips. His legs seem all right. But his breathing is awful; he’s real sick, I mean.’
          The radio crackled again and the policeman in charge of it called up an ambulance.
          Suddenly the storm was upon us. Lightning flashed, wind roared through the tree tops, thunder crashed and rolled. Then rain poured down in sheets, thick curtains of white water.
          ‘Look out! They’re after us! Run! Run!’
          Jacques came screaming through the blinding rain, running, barefoot, hair wild. He shot past us, zigging and zagging in a strange, lop-sided gait, his arms flailing against the downpour.
          ‘They’ll never catch me! Never!’
          His voice screeched and tore the air like cockatoos as he fled pas us. He sprang up over a boulder, running as swiftly as a cat, and leapt out and over the cliff.
          ‘N-e-v-e-r!’ pierced the rain and the wind in the long wail as the whitish wall of rain closed behind him.
          Mouthing expletives the police began tearing off after him. Mick Gray, who knew the country, lumbered back down the creek facing slope, avoiding the cliff face. He would get to Jacques first.
          Then there were other shouts coming through the trees. Blurring blue figures running. And Mum and Dad.
          We four came together in one great hug, sopping wet, water and tears pouring over, round, down us. Washing the dirt and dread away.
          ‘Sorry,’ I gulped.
          ‘You are safe. That’s all that matters.’
          I pulled back. ‘It’s not all. There’s Alex. And he’s hurt. And sick.’ I croaked out between sobs.
          ‘That’s under control.’ Dad eased us as a bunch to stand together. It’s hard to talk, especially looking up, in rain. That was easing too. Another summer thunderstorm. And no more a drought breaker than the earlier ones.
          ‘We saw the man come up behind a boulder. Apparently a cave doline. We found your helmets. And the string. That was good thinking.’   ‘Too narrow to get Alex through.’ Fox spoke for the first time since our rescue.
          ‘They’re digging it out now. And the ambulance will be here any tic. They’re pretty experienced at cliff and cave rescues, you know.’
          ‘Yeah.’
          Dad squeezed our shoulders, his strong hands biting in, warm, comforting.
          ‘You’ve done all you can. It’s up to the experts now.’
          A couple of police officers sauntered up. The rain had stopped though water dripped through the trees. Everyone was so wet it didn’t matter.
          ‘He’s dead. Smashed his head on a rock in the creek bed.’
          I felt my face go soft, relaxed for him. ‘He’s escaped them,’ I said calmly.
          ‘Who? Who has he escaped?’ One officer was quick to snatch at my words.
          I looked him square in the eye, feeling totally mature. ‘The demons in his head.’ The demons in his head.’ The policeman frowned, peering hard at me but I held my ground. ‘He was mad, you see. He said so.’
          ‘But no fool,’ Fox added.
 

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.’
          ‘Yeah.’ Fox lit a match. It burned brightly. We moved past, our eyes searching the floor, neither of us knowing what broken flowstone might look like.
          A couple of metres in and Fox lit another match. Still okay. The floor had the look of set mud, a little orangey in colour, and rose slightly away from us into what seemed to be a narrow passage. A narrow, winding passage as we soon found out. Every dozen or so steps Fox lit a match. At first we didn’t realise they were burning brighter, that, as each one went out, it took our eyes longer to adjust. Until it was too late. Fox’s lamp, our only lamp, faded completely.
          ‘AT least there’s been only one passage so far. No forks, no divides. We’ll have to go back for the torch. But we shouldn’t get lost.
          It was eerie, stumbling along in the horrid blackness, even though we knew it was safe enough. It seemed far more curving than I remembered and we kept colliding with the walls. For ages and ages we bumped our way along. Until a faint glow of light beckoned.
          Alex was awake, his lamp on. That was a relief. Jacques had discarded his light, and his helmet, long ago. And we certainly hadn’t had time to look for it as well as everything else we had to do. Jacques seemed to meander around the chamber in the dark. If Alex hadn’t been awake I don’t know what would have happened to us. It didn’t bear thinking about. And the power in his lamp must be getting low too.
          Time was definitely running out. For all of us.
          After a brief word to Alex – his throat was so sore he could barely speak – we set off again, trailing the string. His cheeks were scarlet, burning, but he understood the plan. This time we tied the string’s end round his wrist, taking the ball with us. He really didn’t have the strength to help us more.
          ‘When we get out we’ll give some good jerks on the line. Then you’ll know rescue is on its way.’
          He forced his swollen lips apart in a brave smile before whispering, ‘Good luck.’
          ‘thanks,’ we replied brightly but, under my breath, I muttered, ‘we’ll need it.’
          As we passed near its previous resting place I pulled the bracelet from my pocket and, curling it neatly, placed it in the rocky niche, patting it a gentle farewell. It somehow seemed a good luck thing to do.
          We moved quickly, confidently, at first then decided we had better begin the foul air checks again. We couldn’t tell how far we’d come before. And we still didn’t know what sort of guide signs we were looking for.
          The passage widened, the ceiling dropped and we were in a small cave. The torchlight beamed into three openings running off it; four including the one we entered by.
          ‘Okay. Now’s the test.’ Fox was jaunty. He lit a match. It flared brightly. There was no sign on walls or floor that pointed a direction. None that we recognised as a pointer anyway. ‘We’ll try left to right.’
          I was about to crawl into the left hand passage when Fox stopped me. Lucky me. The match would not light. The head broke off the first one while he was trying but, when the second stayed dead too, we decided to scrap that opening and try the next. Matches flared into life in it and in the third entrance too.
          ‘Well, two possibles.’
          ‘Yeah. But which?’
          ‘The bushrangers, or whoever, must have left some indication of the route.’
          ‘We’re missing something, Ame. Something bloody obvious, I bet.’ When next he spoke it was almost a whine. ‘What is it, Ame? You think things out better than me. You must find the clue.’
          I didn’t answer but a warm glow brightened me briefly. We crouched, in the dark, Fox tapping the matchbox gently on the torch case. Cardboard on plastic. Not much louder than flowstone forming.
          ‘Of course!’ I jumped up. ‘The way we’ve come – that has to be marked. Or they would never have found their way back in.’
          ‘Yeah!’ The torch flashed on and we screened the passage exit in minute detail. Nothing.
          ‘Wait a minute,’ I said, exasperation honing my wits. ‘A bushranger. Hiding. He wouldn’t exactly leave EMOH RUO over the door.’ Together we ducked back into the passage. ‘and he was probably a metre six or eight tall’
          ‘Plus arm length.’ Fox shone the torch above our heads. A dull white knob protruded out of the wall, too high for us to touch but within a man’s reach. Its shadow flaked across the opening and now, when we looked, there were grains, crumbs, of whitish chalk lying on the hard floor to the side.
          We whirled round. Another piece of flowstone jutted out high above the further passage. We were on our way!
          The pass was mercifully short and we were in another cave, longish, with quite a high ceiling. Tree roots flowed across, tendrils trailing into space. And, to the right of our heads, just before we were able to stand straight again, a knob of white jutted in the light.
          But no other guiding mark cast a shadow.
          ‘The path doesn’t have to be straight ahead.’ I tried to keep hope in my voice. The area was strewn with boulders and great blocks of rock. Unless we could find the mark it would be another horrid long search. I was conscious of being frightfully tires. Hungry and thirsty too. And sick of the whole rotten business.
          Fox strobed the area systematically, the torch beam riding up and down. I strolled around the rocks, only gradually becoming aware of a change in atmosphere.
          ‘It smells different here. And,’ I paused in disbelief, ‘it’s not as cold. Or, rather, not that seeping cold.’
          ‘Is that it?’
          The marker was almost hidden behind a tree root, a broad, snaking bulge turning the light back, protecting the clue. Perhaps the root had been but a lazy thread when the flowstone piece had been jammed into the wall.
          We dashed towards it, hands outstretched, but there was no obvious break in the earthy, pebble-studded surface.
          ‘Water. I can small water.’
          ‘Well, dampness anyway.’
          ‘We have to believe the next opening is here, in a straight line below the peg. Otherwise, why put the peg there?’
          I ran my hand along the floor in the dark. Fox was streaking the torchlight above, tracing the tree root.
          ‘It’s wet. Water! Fox, please, shine the light down here!’
          I was yelling, laughing, almost crying. My mind knew even before the fact was proved. We were as close as dammit to the outside world.
          I scooped and scraped at the mushy leaves and, before Fox had the wretched torch focussed accurately, I could see light, glorious, natural light. And air, sweet smelling, rain laden air, wafted through the crevice.
          Fox was down beside me. We were digging like wombats. Leaves, pebbles, soil, even a gecko lizard, were tossed out behind us until the opening was wide enough.
          I flattened, put an arm through, then one shoulder, and, not caring about grazing my face, I forced my body under. And out! Onto a damp, smooth, grey boulder. The very one we had scrambled over the first time we’d come seeking Jacques. I rolled aside, giving Fox room.
          I have never seen him so filthy nor his teeth and eyes so bright. He grinned. ‘Made it!’
          I tugged hard, several times, on the string before setting the now slight, misshapen ball down.

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.
          ‘Damn and blast!’ I muttered into the darkness. I must have passed out with the light on. And there was no response to my words; the others had to be sleeping. I knew they were still there by the animal like murmurs surrounding me.
          I lay stiff and quiet, letting self-loathing wallow over and through me. Gradually, though, my thoughts settled into niggling fragments. Eyes wide open, I explored them in the blackness.
          Jacques knew what had made us sick and gasping. “Foul air barrier”, he had said. Did he know how to deal with it? ‘Please God,’ I prayed softly, ‘wherever you are, let Jacques be rational again.’ Tears began running down my face and into my ears and I almost gave myself up to wholesale howling. With big, gulping breaths I forced my mind back to the issues.
          The thick stalagmite. The one in the poorer flowstone area. There was something puzzling about its formation. Picturing it, I stared hard at my mental reconstruction. It was really a column! At one with the stalactite above. A broken column! In this windless, undiscovered tomb of a cavern, a solid block of leached limestone had been broken, a stick removed. The little glistening nose on the roof end and the fresh puddle forming on the stalagmite were beginnings, new deposits after the break.
          But there was something more teasing at my mind. In the corner of my eye I had noticed a gold colour. In all the sparkling silver and white there was a curl of gold. I felt sure. The whole area was so fantastic I was unlikely to imagine extra details.
          I had to look. The thought that the awful gas, or whatever it was, might spread, worried me but I needed a proper look. And I hoped Fox had some life left in his lamp.
          ‘Wake up, Fox. Wake up.’ He moaned. ‘Switch your light on.’
          I could hear him fumbling then the wretched blackness split open.
          ‘I’m sick. I feel dreadful.’
          ‘Same here. We’ll be better once we move.’ I stood up. ‘C’mon. My light’s had it. We have to move together, using yours.’
          ‘It’ll probably go on the blink soon, too,’ he grumbled, not moving.
          ‘Are you two okay?’
          I ignored Alex’s husky words and crouched beside Fox, my jeans, stiff with dirt, crackling softly. ‘I think that one of the formations has been broken.’ My tone was fierce, willing my hunch to be the truth.
          ‘Big deal.’ He closed his eyes and turned off the lamp. Then he knocked me as he suddenly moved to sit up, the light came on again. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered, an automatic response because his next words surged with interest, excitement. He added, rapidly, ‘I know which one you mean. And – if it’s been broken – someone’s been here before.’
          Quickly we crossed the cavern.
          ‘Broken. Definitely. But when?’
          ‘It could be centuries ago. Maybe Aborigines used these caves in the dreamtime. I doubt if someone was here last week. Unless,’ I looked up quickly, ‘Jacques was.’
          ‘Yeah. Depends how fast those blobs are made. I think they might have taken quite a while. What happened to the broken off bit? There’s nothing like it lying around.’
          ‘Jacques?’
          ‘Maybe. But I doubt. He’s irrational but not a secret hoarder. At least, I don’t think he is. I mean, if he broke it off, where is it now?’
          I remembered the other puzzle. ‘Fox, can you shine the light more to the right?’
          ‘Why?’ He directed light further over but I couldn’t find what I was looking for. I tried to think of where I had been standing the first time and stamped my foot crossly. It’s always damn difficult searching for something when another person has control of the light. And Fox was swishing it round so I felt sick, my queasy stomach turning, my head buzzing. I closed my eyes, nearly toppled over, and opened them again, hoping I wasn’t going to faint.
          ‘That it?’ Fox demanded sharply.
          Gold and blue twinkled on a dry, dusty ledge well over towards the main flows. But at an angle. Stepping carefully, we selected a pathway to the spot.
          ‘Wakadoo! Jewellery!’ We spoke together, surprise and awe making us whisper.
          It tinkled, jangled softly, as I draped it across my fingers.
          ‘A bracelet.’ I spoke slowly, my voice full of wonder and admiration. ‘And that’s Wedgewood.’ I felt as if I was smiling all over as I pointed to the medallions slotted along, holding together, half a dozen gold chains. ‘The same stuff as Mum’s special cake plate. You know, the blue one with the raised white pictures.’
          ‘Yeah.’ He took an end so the bracelet was spread in full across our two hands, the lamplight concentrated on our find. ‘Zodiac signs. Little white star signs set on blue china.’
          ‘Lion. That one’s the lion. Leo. And a ram. What’s that one?’
          ‘Dunno. Aquarius, maybe.’
          We ran our fingertips over the beautiful little moulded pictures. Our filthy nails hid each briefly as we explored.
          ‘It has the same feel as Mum’s plate, too. Sort of grainy – different to the usual plate finish. And the chains. They must be gold. Different patterns. Oh! It’s so pretty.’
          ‘Catch seems sound enough.’ Fox slipped the ornament off my hand and fastened it. The circlet, as dainty as a flower, hung from his index finger. He jiggled his hand the chains, separated at intervals by the Wedgewood pieces, tinkled sweetly. ‘Doubt if it was left here accidentally.’
          ‘No. But it proves people have been here before us.’ I suddenly felt very well, energetic. ‘White people. Recently.’
          ‘Or one person has been.’ Fox withdrew into his thinking face, tossing the bracelet up and down in his hand.
          ‘It’s twenty past five,’ I said, angling my watch to catch the light from Fox’s lamp. ‘Is that time day or night?’
          He stood still, frowning. ‘Must be morning,’ he replied, slowly, ‘the third morning.’
          We stood silent, looking at each other, aghast, weighing up, in our individual ways, the problem anew.
          ‘We’ll be found,’ I declared. ‘Others have been here before us. Mum and Dad will read your map and find us.’ I finished on a high, choked note and swallowed hard. ‘Let’s show this to Alex. Get his opinion.’
          ‘That’s a change. Coming from you.’
          ‘He wants to help. Fox. And he hasn’t been enchanted by the flowstone.’
          ‘Enchanted? Bullcrabs!’
          ‘I think,’ and I used the words reluctantly, ‘He’s thinking clearer than we are.’
          But Alex was not well. He must have used his last strengths worrying about us. We could not rouse him. And his breathing had a rattling, moist sound to it; a bluish tinge flicked round his nostrils and lips.
          ‘We can’t wait to be found, Fox. We have to get out.’ My own breathing was shallow, my heart pounding. Indeed, I could feel pulses throbbing in my neck and a sweat breaking out. Just from looking at Alex.
          ‘Yeah.’
          ‘Last night, just before I slept, Jacques said something about a,’ I hesitated, seeking his exact words, ‘a foul air barrier.’ It must be a usual thing. Maybe we just have to pass through it. Maybe it indicates a way out.’
          ‘Jacques is mad.’
          ‘Yes, I know.’ I looked at Fox, pleading, ‘but he does know about caving. And he sounded okay last night.’ Fox stood silent and I became impatient. ‘We could at least try to find out about it,’ I snapped.
          ‘Yeah.’ He continued to just stand, nodding, and I felt like slapping him until I realised he was thinking in his deep, quiet way. ‘Old Jacques,’ he said, when I was about at screaming point, ‘seems to respond to his name. Said over and over, softly, coaxing. As if it reassures him. Sets him in time and place.’ He looked up and, though his face was fairly shadowed, I knew he had reached a conclusion. ‘We’ll talk to him gently, calmly, using his name a lot.’
          I nodded agreement.
          ‘And don’t go getting shirty if he doesn’t co-operate first up,’ Fox cautioned.
          He passed the bracelet back to me and I stuffed it into my hip pocket.
          We found him sitting, in his folded up fashion, on the heap of rubble. The wall through which we had crawled and Alex had become stuck, was now a spill, like truck-delivered garden topsoil. And looked far less stable.
          I stretched a hand out to Fox. ‘Don’t go too close. It doesn’t look safe.’
          ‘We’ll have to get him off.’
          Jacques seemed unaware of our approach; made no movement even when the light first flushed out his presence. I silently prayed for him to be sane; praying a desperate wish. But I let Fox do the talking.
          ‘Hi! Hi, Jacques!’
          The figure wriggled a little, soil slipping round him, and I bit back a gasp of fear.
          ‘We need to talk, Jacques. Need your advice. Come and get a drink and we’ll have a yarn.’
          In slow motion he lifted his head. His face, ages old, looked wretched.
          ‘They’ll get us. They’ve taken the maps. We’ll be next.’ He spoke quietly, rationally. Gone was the usual note of agitation which crept in when he mention “they”. He sounded resigned, defeated.
          ‘Maybe Jacques. Maybe. Come and get a drink,’ Fox coaxed patiently.
          Wearily Jacques slid down the dirt slope, causing it to spill out further. We two stepped back quickly, nervously, and went to our supply corner. Alex did not stir as we rummaged nearby for food and drink. Our supplies were almost finished. I slid one juice pack into position for Alex and handed the other to Jacques, willing Fox not to comment. After all, there was still a little water left for us.
          Jacques attacked the drink, tearing at the box with his teeth and I wondered again if he had been starving himself; whether there was a stash of supplies, hidden and ignored, somewhere in the darkness. Fox waited until Jacques, sucking noisily, drank. Then he talked, using the man’s name with monotonous frequency.
          ‘Jacques. About this foul air. How does it work, Jacques?’
          ‘CO₂’
          We were both a bit slow to understand, to realise what he had said. Even so, the information wasn’t a lot of help.
          ‘Carbon dioxide,’ Fox murmured, ‘that’s the stuff people breathe out, isn’t it?’ he frowned at me.
          ‘Beats me. I failed Science. But I think so.’
          Jacques drew close to us, whispering energetically. ‘They put the gas in our way. So they can hold us here. But Old Jacques has a trick or two up his sleeve.’ He grinned in a harsh, forced way and nodded, sagely. ‘Brought matches, didn’t we?’
          What was the connection? Why don’t I listen to useful things at school? By the frown twisting Fox’s forehead I knew he had regrets too. But I doubted if he would show his ignorance. I know I’m dumb so there’s not much point in trying to conceal it.
          ‘How do matches help with foul air?’ I spoke slowly, clearly, so as not to distract Jacques from the main point. ‘I mean, do they eat it up or something?’
          ‘Won’t burn,’ he snapped.
          That made us think deeply, watching Jacques finish swilling the last of the juice. Fox eventually said, ‘Then we can tell where the foul air is before we suffer the effects.’
          ‘Doesn’t get us through it, though,’ I quipped.
          Jacques had moved away, but remained within the light circle, and was doing his head pressing, arm stretching antics. He was often saner, more sensible, after them and I hoped his exercises would work again this time.
          They did.
          ‘The barrier can move. What you ran into before could have shifted by now.’
          ‘But it must be somewhere.’ I was becoming cross.
          ‘Yeah,’ Fox agreed calmly before turning back to Jacques. ‘People have been in here before us –’
          ‘—They have?’ Jacques interrupted, animated, excited. His mood swings were becoming more alarming. ‘How do you know?’
          ‘We found a piece of woman’s jewellery, a bracelet.’ AS Fox spoke I pulled the ornament out of my pocket, swinging it for all to see.
          ‘Probably stolen. Bushrangers most like.’ He wandered away, his interest and excitement gone.
          ‘It must be some time ago,’ Fox projected his voice, trying to re-involve Jacques. ‘They broke a column and there is quite a bit of new deposit on the ends.’
          That worked. Our leader was back, eyes bright. ‘Is the way out marked?’ he snapped, face close on Fox’s.
          ‘I—I don’t know. How would it be marked?’
          But, even as he asked, the answer dawned for both of us.
          ‘Broken bits of flowstone!’
          I whirled off to investigate, stuffing the bracelet back in my hip pocket. Fox, practical Fox, dropped down and, scrounging in the supplies stack, picked up the box of matches, before catching up with me.
 

‘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!’
          I was sucking on a juice pack and the anger and horror I felt, when I stopped think, was becoming unbearable. It was now close to noon; we had been searching for four, going on five, hours for an exit. Ignoring Jacques, but going on the hunch his instincts might have taken him to the likeliest area for a doline, we had searched all round him. Heads down, like sheep trailing across a paddock in the midday heat, we checked the base of each and every boulder. Tentatively, we pushed at each one in case something loosened. We hone our light on every side of every blasted one, seeking a fissure, a rift. But they sat there, like teddy bears at a picnic, silent, docile, smug.
          My finger tips, ragged and raw from shuffling stones, could hardly hold the juice pack and I was hungry, tired and shaking with anger and frustration. As I leant against a rock the fringe of lamplight caught the sparkle of the flowstone. It glistened, as dazzlingly bright as the snows of Narnia in the time of the White Witch, beckoning.
          ‘Maybe we’re searching the wrong side.’ I waved a hand towards the white wall. ‘If that is actually flowing it must be coming from somewhere,’ I said crossly.
          ‘Yeah. But it looks too slippery to scale. And it’s more an ooze than a flow.’
          Nevertheless, we dragged out weary feet across the cavern and stood where we had the evening before, doing nothing but gaze in wonder. Time floated by as we searched the lines and patterns with our eyes. Stalactites beckoned and winked, some curving at mischievous angles, others hanging straight and stylish. The light caught those hanging metres behind. Fine as cobwebs, thick as thighs, tangled as trees, the forest stretched back.
          There were stalagmites too, though far fewer, thicker, conical rather than needles and spears like the stalactites. And columns formed where the more delicate stalactites matched up, joined onto, fused into, the bulkier deposits rising from the floor. One would-be column was not quite complete. I pointed it out to Fox.
          ‘How long do you think it will take to join up? A month? A year?’
          ‘Probably centuries.’
          ‘Then we must be careful not to damage any. How awful to take so long to grow and be so fragile.’
          ‘Get back! Lay low! Here they come!’
          We whirled round. Our light showed Jacques jumping up and down on a block of stone, waving his arms. He had discarded his helmet and his boots and his hair flung wildly with his movements. His eyes, staring, caught in the light like a possum, seemed to glow red. To our left earth slid and spilt and the smell of dust made me sneeze. The wall began to rumble, stones to roll.
          ‘Noise does it.’ I could barely force the words out, I was so scared that, this time, we would be buried.
          Fox sped across the cavern. ‘Shut it,’ he ordered.
          ‘They’re after you too, you know. You won’t escape them either.’
          Stones rattled and more wall sighed as it fell.
          ‘Quiet,’ I hissed.
          ‘Hush, man. Hush Jacques. Softly now Jacques.’ Fox changed tactics, spoke as if he was approaching a trapped animal. ‘Soft, Jacques. Jacques.’
          It worked. The lanky man’s arms stilled then, pressing his hands to the sides of his neck, he slowly, silently, stretched them above his head. Up and down, quietly, in the lamplight. His body gradually loosened and, sinking to a sitting position, he folded himself up, hands clasped round knees, chin resting on them.
          The breath I was holding eased out in a long sigh.
          ‘Do you think he’s eaten at all? We left him the cake but, maybe, he hasn’t touched it. I haven’t noticed him eating – or drinking.’ I spoke softly, searching my memory. ‘That could send him a bit crazy. If he hasn’t eaten, I mean.’
          ‘Yeah. But he’s got bigger problems than that.’
          ‘Meanwhile,’ I said as I turned towards our supplies, ‘speaking of which, we haven’t eaten much either.’ I checked my watch. ‘Three o’clock! Fox, we’ve just spent three hours looking at that wall. Doing nothing. Not even thinking. That’s haunting!’
          ‘Yeah.’ He shuddered, ducked down and picked up the pack of lamb chops. I took one and, with the first bite, I realised how ravenous I was. I had sprinkled the meat liberally with pepper and salt at cooking and the strong savoury flavour was exactly what my body craved.
          ‘It’s not long ’til dark again,’ Fox spoke between bites. ‘We’ll finish these, have a swig of water and concentrate on finding a way out past the decorations.’
          I nodded, gnawing round the bone, slipping my tongue in for the marrow. ‘Maybe we can get round, you know, behind, and not do any damage. We haven’t looked at the far side corner at all.’
          ‘Come to think of it, Ame, we’re being quite stupid. We should have checked the whole area out first, not just start in on one spot expecting success first up.’ Disgust thickened his words. ‘What’s got into us? We don’t usually attack a problem without proper thought.’
          ‘Maybe the white wall has cast a spell on us.’
          It was the wrong time to be flippant. Fox glared at me, and, between clenched teeth, snarled, ‘Cut that fantasy junk.’
          ‘Sorry,’ I muttered, head down. It was the very worst place and time for we two to quarrel and I felt guilty. But we were both getting awfully nervy. He, too, must have felt some shame. When next he spoke it was in his jaunty manner, though a little force.
          ‘Let’s get on with a proper check out now.’
          ‘Sure,’ I replied, bent over, looking closely at Alex.
          He was asleep or unconscious but his breathing was not as rapid, his colour a bit brighter. And he had eaten and drunk. I shifted fresh supplies near him. He really was tough. Looking after himself. No complaining, no whining.
          ‘We’ll get us out,’ I whispered, as much to reassure myself as City Boy.
          His eyes opened. ‘Isn’t there some way I can help?’
          ‘You’re helping just fine. Looking after yourself as you are.’ I was getting soft but, somehow, I felt a nicer person. ‘We’re going to make a systematic, thorough search for a way out. Beginning now.’
          ‘How about,’ he hesitated slightly, ‘ how about I hold the ball of string?’
          Of course! The string! I grinned relief and admiration. At least Alex was paying proper attention to our entrapment. I scuttled for the string, tied an end through my belt and handed the tightly wound ball to him.
          ‘Just run it out free,’ he directed, ‘and, if there’s slack at any time, I’ll wind it back.’
          ‘Well, if you feel strong enough. I mean, you might want to sleep. Or something.’
          ‘And you might get tangled up if we don’t keep the line direct.’
          ‘Sure.’ I was grateful and it suddenly occurred to me that Alex was more resourceful than either Fox or I had given him credit for.
          We approached the wall of sculpture warily, not saying anything, avoiding any chance of verbal conflict. But determined not to be sucked in again by its intriguing beauty. Directing light past it we noted the decorations thinning out. Smaller, slighter formations. The thickest stalagmite here was no more than about 10 millimetres across and scarcely a handspan high. Its surface was jagged, dry looking except for a moist, shining rosette a little to left of centre. Above, with a gap of close to two metres, hung a stalactite, a sparkling little nose winking on its jagged, chalky downface. There was something different about these two formations, something deadish. But I pushed speculation aside. We had to get on with our task, not drift in dreams.
          Beyond, a wide passage opened to our lamp.
          ‘Beauty,’ Fox whistled, grinning. And I knew I wore a wide, silly smile in agreement. My heart thumped with excitement.
          We skirted the formations and trotted confidently along keeping to the far wall, allowing the string, as Alex had suggested, to run free.
          It was easy walking. An adult would have had to bend but not us. So, when my breath became hard and heavy I stopped, puzzled. A straining pain filled my chest. Then balls of fire erupted in my head and hammers thundered behind my eyes. I reeled, feeling sick, hot, sweaty.
          Stumbling backwards, the pain eased a little and I leant against the wall, retching. It seemed an eternity before my breathing ceased to hurt and the ache in my head settled to a dark, throbbing blue. With sticky, trembling fingers I wiped the sweat from beneath my eyes, out of the runnels round my nose and adjusted the lamp.
          Fox was crouched over, near my feet, his breath rasping like a blunt saw gnawing through hardwood.
          I touched his shoulder. ‘Back,’ I croaked, forcing the word along a raw feeling throat.
          We stumbled half blind, nausea curling over us in great yellow swirls, out of the passageway and staggered over to Alex. We sank down, eyes closing, minds passing off into exhaustion.
          In my last flicker of consciousness I heard Jacques speak. In his sane, rich, capable voice.
          ‘Met up with a foul air barrier, did you?’

‘I’m scared. Really scared, Fox.’
          ‘Yeah.’
          ‘What are we to do?’ I was barely whispering and panic was like a thorn in my throat sharpening my next words. ‘What can we do?’
          Fox touched my shoulder in a brief, friendly way. ‘Calm. We, you and I, must stay calm.’ His voice, too, was spikey.
          Some minutes passed as we stood, side by side, staring at a natural wonder and organizing, controlling our thoughts. Mine rolled round, roved over, the awful problems posed by the blocked wall, Alex, Jacques, but avoiding, deliberately refusing to acknowledge, the tomb-like atmosphere of our environment.
          ‘There has to be a way out.’ Fox’s words had a contrived, positive ring. As if he had been rehearsing them
          A silly notion occurred to me and I began giggling helplessly, maybe hysterically. ‘Perhaps it’s marked EXIT in green neon.’
          Fox grinned. ‘Yeah.’ Then added, seriously, ‘it stands to reason, Ame, that there is a way out because, up to now, there’s been enough passages and slots and squeezes. That first part had two openings, one top, one bottom, of the hill. The whole area must be a series of holes and openings. Why wouldn’t this cavern have two, maybe three, ways out?’
          It was a long speech for Fox but, if it was his purpose to calm me, it worked.
          ‘Do you think we’re on the other side of the hill?’ With self control uppermost again I spoke normally. ‘I’ve got no idea where we are.’ That was a stupid thing to say because it made me feel like crying. I clamped my mouth tight and swallowed hard.
          ‘Point,’ was Fox’s comment and he fell silent again.
          ‘Sick. Going to be sick,’ Alex interrupted our thoughts.
          I spun round, a needle of pain shot through the swelling on my head but I raced to him. He was struggling to sit, or, at least, lift himself up a little and turn to the side. I shoved the now empty sandwich container, which I realised was still in my hand, under his jaw just as he heaved. Keeping my hand steady I turned away, swallowing the gall that rose in my own throat, forcing my mind to think of other smells. Like the sweat on a horse after a fast gallop. The acid tang of squashed ants. Anything that would hold down my own nausea.
          ‘Thanks.’
          I turned back to Alex, slumped again on his make-shift pillow. Even his lips, moist and sticky, were white and great beads of perspiration broke and ran down his face.
          Carefully, I put the container down and, wriggling a little along the ground, reached for the water.
          ‘Here. rinse your mouth out.’
          He looked at me weakly, rallied and lifted enough to sip, swill and spit before falling back, closing his eyes.
          I stood up wondering how best to dispose of the much. The crumbled wall was on the edge of my light. I walked over, scooped out a hole with my boot heel, and tipped it in, covering it swiftly. But I did remember and forced myself to look at it. First Aid rules. No blood. Coming back to Alex I set the container near him. He might need to us a dish again, though I sincerely hoped he wouldn’t. For all our sakes.
          ‘I’m sorry,’ he rasped, his eyes begging me not to hate him.
          ‘You can’t help it,’ I answered softly and saw relief relax his expression. ‘Just hope it doesn’t happen again – for your sake.’ I couldn’t quite believe this was me, tough Amy, speaking. ‘Soon as the old tum settles a bit I’ll get you some juice.
          ‘Thanks.’ He even tried to smile.
          If anyone had asked me the day before how he would have reacted I would have said: screaming, red-faced asthmatic mess. We had sadly judged him without attempting to know him. You couldn’t help but admire his self-control since the accident. Maybe I was being humble rather than gentle when I tried to help him. We had unpacked his puffer, the drug he inhaled for his asthma, and I tucked the little plastic cartridge into his hand ready for his use.
          ‘It’d be dark outside by now,’ Fox strolled over to me, ‘it might be better to rest the early part of the night and start searching for a way out when we wake.’
          He didn’t add, but it was obvious from his face, he was tired. I felt heavy with weariness too.
          ‘Old Jacques is still asleep. He might be okay again when he wakes. And be able to find our way out. We really need his experience.’
          He began to settle himself, lying down, pushing an empty backpack behind his head. I took an apple juice pack, slipped the straw off, pierced the top and crept to Alex.
          ‘Ready for a drink now?’
          His eyes opened slowly. I placed the straw between his lips. His hand clasped the packet and he sucked a little.
          ‘Leave it with me. I’ll manage. You get some rest.’
          ‘Sure. Switch your lamp off when you’re ready. We’ll have to begin rationing everything, including light.’
          As I settled down beside Fox I said, ‘They will have missed us well and truly by now.’
          ‘Yeah.’
          We had switched off our lamps. The darkness was blacker than I could believe. Still, heavy, cold, nothingness.
          ‘I tried to leave a clue. Mum might find it. But I doubt if it will mean anything to her tonight.’ I wriggled a bit. The lump on my head throbbed when I lay on it so I had to turn on my side. ‘It’s so obscure it will probably be days before she realises it is even a clue.’
          I was inwardly cursing myself for a fool, a smarty-pants fool.
          ‘I left a clue too.’
          I was so surprised I couldn’t find a reply.
          ‘It shouldn’t be too difficult to understand. But I wish now I had drawn my own map.’
          Words still failed me but I felt a spark of joy. A map. Dad was great with maps. They’d find us. And the string. That would lead them in.
          ‘Don’t get your hopes up too high.’ Fox had read my thoughts, or felt my relief, through the darkness. ‘All I did was pencil our approximate position on a Bungonia Recreation Area map. Bit stupid really. Doubt if it will mean anything to anyone.’
          A hollow thud and slap of flesh startled me and echoed round the chamber. He must have punched a fist into the palm of his other hand. He did that when he was really thwarted. ‘Damn and blast. How inefficient, how useless,’ he growled.
          ‘It’ll help, you’ll see,’ I said, trying to soothe him. ‘Let’s sleep now. My eyes won’t stay open any longer.’
          And, to our surprise and despite the sombre cold, se slept soundly.

‘I’m scared. Really scared, Fox.’
          ‘Yeah.’
          ‘What are we to do?’ I was barely whispering and panic was like a thorn in my throat sharpening my next words. ‘What can we do?’
          Fox touched my shoulder in a brief, friendly way. ‘Calm. We, you and I, must stay calm.’ His voice, too, was spikey.
          Some minutes passed as we stood, side by side, staring at a natural wonder and organizing, controlling our thoughts. Mine rolled round, roved over, the awful problems posed by the blocked wall, Alex, Jacques, but avoiding, deliberately refusing to acknowledge, the tomb-like atmosphere of our environment.
          ‘There has to be a way out.’ Fox’s words had a contrived, positive ring. As if he had been rehearsing them
          A silly notion occurred to me and I began giggling helplessly, maybe hysterically. ‘Perhaps it’s marked EXIT in green neon.’
          Fox grinned. ‘Yeah.’ Then added, seriously, ‘it stands to reason, Ame, that there is a way out because, up to now, there’s been enough passages and slots and squeezes. That first part had two openings, one top, one bottom, of the hill. The whole area must be a series of holes and openings. Why wouldn’t this cavern have two, maybe three, ways out?’
          It was a long speech for Fox but, if it was his purpose to calm me, it worked.
          ‘Do you think we’re on the other side of the hill?’ With self control uppermost again I spoke normally. ‘I’ve got no idea where we are.’ That was a stupid thing to say because it made me feel like crying. I clamped my mouth tight and swallowed hard.
          ‘Point,’ was Fox’s comment and he fell silent again.
          ‘Sick. Going to be sick,’ Alex interrupted our thoughts.
          I spun round, a needle of pain shot through the swelling on my head but I raced to him. He was struggling to sit, or, at least, lift himself up a little and turn to the side. I shoved the now empty sandwich container, which I realised was still in my hand, under his jaw just as he heaved. Keeping my hand steady I turned away, swallowing the gall that rose in my own throat, forcing my mind to think of other smells. Like the sweat on a horse after a fast gallop. The acid tang of squashed ants. Anything that would hold down my own nausea.
          ‘Thanks.’
          I turned back to Alex, slumped again on his make-shift pillow. Even his lips, moist and sticky, were white and great beads of perspiration broke and ran down his face.
          Carefully, I put the container down and, wriggling a little along the ground, reached for the water.
          ‘Here. rinse your mouth out.’
          He looked at me weakly, rallied and lifted enough to sip, swill and spit before falling back, closing his eyes.
          I stood up wondering how best to dispose of the much. The crumbled wall was on the edge of my light. I walked over, scooped out a hole with my boot heel, and tipped it in, covering it swiftly. But I did remember and forced myself to look at it. First Aid rules. No blood. Coming back to Alex I set the container near him. He might need to us a dish again, though I sincerely hoped he wouldn’t. For all our sakes.
          ‘I’m sorry,’ he rasped, his eyes begging me not to hate him.
          ‘You can’t help it,’ I answered softly and saw relief relax his expression. ‘Just hope it doesn’t happen again – for your sake.’ I couldn’t quite believe this was me, tough Amy, speaking. ‘Soon as the old tum settles a bit I’ll get you some juice.
          ‘Thanks.’ He even tried to smile.
          If anyone had asked me the day before how he would have reacted I would have said: screaming, red-faced asthmatic mess. We had sadly judged him without attempting to know him. You couldn’t help but admire his self-control since the accident. Maybe I was being humble rather than gentle when I tried to help him. We had unpacked his puffer, the drug he inhaled for his asthma, and I tucked the little plastic cartridge into his hand ready for his use.
          ‘It’d be dark outside by now,’ Fox strolled over to me, ‘it might be better to rest the early part of the night and start searching for a way out when we wake.’
          He didn’t add, but it was obvious from his face, he was tired. I felt heavy with weariness too.
          ‘Old Jacques is still asleep. He might be okay again when he wakes. And be able to find our way out. We really need his experience.’
          He began to settle himself, lying down, pushing an empty backpack behind his head. I took an apple juice pack, slipped the straw off, pierced the top and crept to Alex.
          ‘Ready for a drink now?’
          His eyes opened slowly. I placed the straw between his lips. His hand clasped the packet and he sucked a little.
          ‘Leave it with me. I’ll manage. You get some rest.’
          ‘Sure. Switch your lamp off when you’re ready. We’ll have to begin rationing everything, including light.’
          As I settled down beside Fox I said, ‘They will have missed us well and truly by now.’
          ‘Yeah.’
          We had switched off our lamps. The darkness was blacker than I could believe. Still, heavy, cold, nothingness.
          ‘I tried to leave a clue. Mum might find it. But I doubt if it will mean anything to her tonight.’ I wriggled a bit. The lump on my head throbbed when I lay on it so I had to turn on my side. ‘It’s so obscure it will probably be days before she realises it is even a clue.’
          I was inwardly cursing myself for a fool, a smarty-pants fool.
          ‘I left a clue too.’
          I was so surprised I couldn’t find a reply.
          ‘It shouldn’t be too difficult to understand. But I wish now I had drawn my own map.’
          Words still failed me but I felt a spark of joy. A map. Dad was great with maps. They’d find us. And the string. That would lead them in.
          ‘Don’t get your hopes up too high.’ Fox had read my thoughts, or felt my relief, through the darkness. ‘All I did was pencil our approximate position on a Bungonia Recreation Area map. Bit stupid really. Doubt if it will mean anything to anyone.’
          A hollow thud and slap of flesh startled me and echoed round the chamber. He must have punched a fist into the palm of his other hand. He did that when he was really thwarted. ‘Damn and blast. How inefficient, how useless,’ he growled.
          ‘It’ll help, you’ll see,’ I said, trying to soothe him. ‘Let’s sleep now. My eyes won’t stay open any longer.’
          And, to our surprise and despite the sombre cold, se slept soundly.

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 “three”. 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, wi