A Croc Called Capone (13 page)

I could see his point. I told Dyl what was going on. Perhaps he could figure a way out of the problem.

He could.

‘Let's go, Marcus,' he yelled, already scrabbling at the lock on the pool gate. I sighed and followed. I'd just have to put up with Mum's anger later. And – maybe – finding Cy would the best defence against it.

Maybe.

After half an hour of following Blacky through the bush, I was completely lost. Actually, I was lost within two minutes. There's something about the bush that makes it difficult to get your bearings. It's probably to do with how the landscape doesn't change. Mangrove trees, palms with sharp, spiky leaves that trail the ground, marshy ground punctuated by pools of water. Get through that and exactly the same is in front. It's like walking the wrong way on an escalator. Your legs keep moving, but the scenery doesn't alter.

‘How much further, Blacky?' I called.

‘Nearly there, tosh.'

Dyl and I made our way around a mass of mangrove roots and suddenly found ourselves in a clearing. The water was deeper here. In fact, small hummocks of earth poked, like islands, above the waterline. This was not friendly country. Without wading up to our waists in brackish water there appeared to be no way through. I thought about those limb-chomping bugs Blacky had mentioned. They were probably gathered here in gangs, rubbing their hands in anticipation and getting dibs on particular arms and legs.

On that cheerful note I spotted Cy.

She sat on one of the islands, thirty or forty metres away, staring straight ahead. Motionless.

‘Cy!' I yelled. I waved my arms above my head.

She gave not even the slightest sign of having seen or heard me.

‘Siobhan!' I tried. In the past she'd refused to respond to Cy, though I thought it unlikely she'd be quite so fussy under these circumstances. Still nothing. Dyl and I glanced at each other. There was no choice. Bugs or no bugs, we waded towards her.

At least we made it with all eight limbs attached.

I knelt in the mud beside Cy. She still hadn't made a movement. Her eyes stared blankly ahead. I tried waving my hands in front of her face. She didn't so much as blink. When I pushed against her arm, she rocked slightly like one of those toys with a weight in the bottom, and then went back to staring at something beyond my vision. To be honest, it was spooky.

Cy was a mess physically as well. Her clothes were soaking and her face was streaked with mud. The elephant-dung hair-do had come unravelled and fell in clotted strips around her face. But it was her eyes that worried me most. They were glazed, blank, as if no one was home.

‘What are we going to do, Dyl?' I said.

‘Get help, mate,' said Dyl. ‘I don't fancy our chances of carrying her. What
is
that hound barking at?'

I hadn't noticed Blacky's absence. He was off somewhere to our left, barking like a mad thing. We turned in that direction and saw him swimming towards us. Twenty metres behind came Murray Small.

Help had arrived, though it wasn't the help I would have chosen under ideal circumstances.

Murray took over immediately. As he was an adult and a child doctor, I supposed that was fair enough.

He took Cy's pulse. He peeled back an eyelid and stared into one unseeing orb. Dyl, Blacky and I waited. Finally, Murray turned towards us.

‘Her vital signs are good,' he said. ‘But she's in shock and suffering from exposure. We need to get her back immediately.' He held her hand. I noticed that he stroked it gently with his thumb. ‘But I don't really understand. Spending all night out here must have been dreadful, but it shouldn't account for this condition. The girl is catatonic.' He noticed our puzzled expressions. ‘Almost paralysed, as if the mind has shut down the body,' he explained. ‘What I don't understand is the fear that produced this reaction.'

‘Ah. I might be able to help you out with that,' said Dyl.

We eyed him expectantly.

‘Behind you,' he said.

Murray and I turned.

Murray's eyes probably came out –
boiiing
– on stalks. I know mine did. I didn't check for synchronised eye-popping because one thing held all my attention. Actually, seven things.

Saltwater crocodiles. Six huge crocs, advancing slowly towards us – and another that wasn't so much huge as monstrous. They fanned out until we were surrounded. The largest slithered up onto the mound where we stood and stopped a couple of metres away. No one made a sound. I think all of us would have
liked
to scream, but terror had stolen our breath.

‘Allow me to make the introductions,' came Blacky's voice in my head. ‘Al, this is Marcus. Marcus, Al. I think you have already met his drongo sidekick, Dylan. Oh, and the humungous slaphead is Murray. The guy who shot your brother.'

‘Incidentally, tosh,' said Blacky. ‘You might be interested to know that it's not only killers like Murray who are a threat to Al and his mates. The cane toad, introduced to this country by humans, remember, is poisoning many animals in its relentless march across the Territory …'

‘Blacky,' I yelled in my head. ‘Spare me the environmental sermon, man. I am just about to be eaten by a crocodile and I don't want the last words I ever hear to be your drivel. All I want, frankly, is to give you one last vicious kick up the bum.'

‘Charming,' he replied, all offended.

If I had had time or energy, I'd have taken him to task about his attitude.
He
was offended?
He
was sulky? I mean, we had followed him in good faith and this was our reward? To be the special on the crocodile menu? Humans on toast. Marinated in a tasty sweat sauce. I only hoped they would have room afterwards for a dessert of flatulent dog. Because a penny had dropped. He
knew
why Cy was petrified with fear. He
knew
the crocs had been waiting for us. Blacky had led us into a trap.

His silence confirmed my suspicions.

I flicked my eyes away from Al. Murray and Dyl hadn't budged. Cy looked as though she'd never budge again. Now all of us were paralysed by fear. If the others were like me, they
wanted
to run and scream and probably poop their pants, but their bodies had gone into shut-down mode. I felt particularly bad for Dyl. Just how unlucky was he? It's not many people who survive a swim with a croc, only to be eaten by the same croc the following day. More proof, I guess, that Dyl is a disaster magnet.

I didn't give Murray more than a fleeting thought. Partly because there was a poetic justice in his probable end, but mainly because I was too worried about myself. I hadn't been on this earth long. I wasn't keen to leave it while I had still so much life to live and so much to do.

‘Al isn't going to eat you,' said Blacky. ‘I already told you this, tosh. He just wants to talk. And if you'd agreed when I'd first asked, then he wouldn't have had to set this up. Of course, your sister's friend here made it easier by providing herself as bait. But in the end, all this is your fault, mush.'

‘Whaaat?' I was really tempted to argue.
My
fault? Of course. How silly I'd been, not wanting to be alone with a five-metre man-eating saltwater crocodile. Only got myself to blame! But then Blacky's first words registered.

‘Are you sure he's not going to eat us?'

‘Well, he
said
he's not going to eat you and me, tosh. I can't answer for the others, but if I was Murray I wouldn't be planning to read any long books.'

‘Then tell him the only way I'll talk is if he lets everyone else go. And what do you mean, “he
said
”?'

Blacky sighed.

‘He's a croc, boyo, not a Tibetan monk. I don't think we can be a hundred per cent certain he always keeps his word.'

That was comforting. But it didn't alter things. I suppose I didn't have much more to lose. If Al really wanted to talk, then he would have to agree to my terms. He obviously needed something from me and maybe I could make him pay a price for that. Or maybe he'd eat all of us, which was probably what was going to happen anyway. And, listen, it wasn't me being a hero, like everyone said later. I just thought it was a waste of life. True, I might have negotiated that only Murray got eaten. You could argue the world would have been a better place. But for me it was all or nothing.

‘Tell him, Blacky,' I said. ‘The others leave. I stay. And then we talk. If not, he won't get a peep out of me. This is nonnegotiable.'

‘I'll tell him, tosh. But before I do, think this through. If he agrees, what are you going to say to your serial-killer mate? “Don't worry, I've struck a deal with the head honcho. You can toddle along while I chew the fat for a while?”'

He had a point. I could tell Dyl, but Murray was a different matter. It was unlikely he'd pick up Cy and wander off, secure in the knowledge an eleven-year-old kid had negotiated safe passage with an estuarine croc. As it turned out, Murray solved the problem for me.

‘Marcus,' he hissed. ‘Listen to me. Listen closely. I have a plan. It might not work, but it's the best I can come up with. When I shout “Now” I want you and Dylan to grab Siobhan. Pick her up. And run. As fast as you can.'

‘And this will help, how?' I asked.

‘I am going to attack the crocodiles, draw them away from you. With luck, they will all go for me and give you guys a chance.'

It wasn't much of a chance. Murray knew it. I knew it.

‘So you are going to sacrifice yourself for us?'

‘I'm a doctor,' he said. ‘I have spent my adult life saving children. Anyway, as I'm sure you, of all people, understand, there's a kind of irony in this.' He tried to smile but it came out wrong. Twisted. ‘From the hunter to the hunted. Maybe it's what I deserve.'

‘Okay,' I said. ‘Just give me a moment to get my head around this.'

‘Tell Al my conditions, Blacky,' I thought. ‘And tell him I am not prepared to bargain.' The answer came almost immediately.

‘Al agrees,' said Blacky. ‘He says he admires your guts.'

‘Tell him he's welcome to, provided he admires them from a distance.'

I whispered into Dyl's ear, explained what I was going to do. ‘Help Murray get her out of here,' I added. Dyl nodded. I instructed Blacky to pass the plan on to Al. Now I could only hope. And trust that the word of a crocodile was worth more than the word of many a human.

‘Okay, Murray,' I said. ‘Let's go for this. Count down from ten. When you get to zero, we'll grab Cy and make a run for it. Ready?'

Murray was petrified. Who could blame him? His eyes filled with tears and his whole body shook. But he didn't stop rubbing Cy's hand, even as he stared at the crocs surrounding us.

‘I'm not all bad, Marcus,' he said. ‘I want you to know that. You would have got your Christmas present.'

‘No one's all bad,' I said. ‘Or all good. But we need to keep that bad side in check.'

He just nodded.

‘Ten,' he said, and his voice was shaky. ‘Nine, eight, seven, six.' His voice became stronger as the countdown continued and he stopped trembling. ‘Five, four …'

And on four, I jumped to my feet and ran.

I splashed through water, waving my arms and yelling. I kept my eyes fixed firmly on the next mound, about thirty metres away. I was terrified, I have to admit. At any moment I expected to feel a jaw clamp down on my leg, sharp teeth slicing through skin and muscle. Even above my own noise, I could hear the slither and splash as the reptiles followed. Out of the corner of one eye I could see a couple of the crocs flanking me, their cold eyes fixed upon mine.

It was the longest thirty metres of my life.

When I finally clambered up onto the bank, tired, stressed and sopping wet, I was amazed by two things. One, that I was still alive and two, that Dylan was right on my heels.