Beginner's Luck (7 page)

'It's a dumb idea because bunyips can't use tinopeners,'
Shelby told Blue, as she walked around the
edge of the clearing, looking for a path, even a narrow
one. So far she hadn't seen anything but thick scrub
and the occasional burrow. Her voice sounded very
loud in The Pocket's silence.

She'd stashed the tomahawk next to one of the
brick supports of the shed. She didn't want to carry it,
but she didn't want the (bunyip) person to find it
where he or she had left it either. It must be a he, she
decided.

'And bunyips wouldn't wear flannos. I don't think
they wear
any
clothes.' Shelby thought back to the
illustration in the picture book. 'Sometimes they wear
pants.'

She drew the reins through her fingers as she
looked into the bush. It was thick with lantana at the
bottom. She could see sprays of their pretty pink and
yellow flowers. Above the lantana was a canopy of
vines. She heard another crash, and Blue jumped,
making her jolt too. 'It's just a bird.'

She nodded her head in reassurance, and wondered
whom she was trying to convince.

The trouble was that it wasn't a completely dumb
idea. She'd seen a show one day that said there were
myths and tales about half-human beasts in most
cultures – sasquatch, giganto, yeti. There were others,
but she couldn't remember what they were called. If it
was
just a silly story then why would every culture in
the world, without knowing about the other stories,
have made up a creature that was so similar? Why
wouldn't one be a giant centipede, and another a
talking iguana? Besides, adults said that the Matchstick
Town didn't exist either, and here it was all the
time, right under their noses.

Shelby could remember quite vividly the movie she
had seen at Erin's place six months ago, where the
Bigfoot ate some plane crash survivors one by one,
leaving a trail of limbs and guts behind it. She had
flashbacks of the particularly grizzly scenes. She shut
her eyes tightly.

'I'm only . . .' She started to speak, but her voice
sounded really loud – loud enough that (something)
someone would be able to hear her – and so she whispered
the rest. '. . . scaring myself.'

She decided not to think about it anymore. Instead
she imagined finding a path that led straight back to
Gully Way. She would cross the road, and go back to
the paddock. There would be delicious sausage sandwiches
and cold cans of soft drink. She would find the
lady with the clipboard and explain about the camera
and how she'd found the Matchstick Town. They
could come back together. They might even be able to
persuade the old guy who bought the helmet to come
along. He looked like he could handle a bunyip, or a
swagman.

'Then we'll collect the prize money and we'll
both
be safe,' she whispered to Blue.

She was almost at the end of the loop now, and a
few metres away she thought she saw an opening. It
was overgrown, but the ground underneath was definitely
furrowed into a path. Shelby smiled. 'There,
see?' She pushed the branches aside and led Blue
along it.

'It's probably a poet,' she assured him. 'Poets definitely
wear flannelette and spend time by themselves.'

The branches arched over the top of them, making
it dark, like a leafy cave. The path was slightly uphill.
After a while Shelby's calves started to complain.

'Not long now,' she promised Blue.

The track twisted left and right. Shelby had to lift
her knees up high to make her way over the roots that
protruded from the soil, and at the same time she held
her arms up to move the branches away.

She tried to hold the branches back for Blue too,
but sometimes they flicked in his face. 'Sorry,' she said
after a particularly prickly stem flipped back and hit
him in the forehead. Blue put his ears back and pursed
his lips.

A few metres ahead the trail turned again and she
found herself face-to-face with a steep rock wall. It
was whittled into layers like stairs and there were
mosses and ferns sprouting out of its damp surface.
Thick vines hung over the side like knotted rope.

Shelby tilted her head back. It wasn't so steep or
high that she couldn't climb it with hands and feet,
like a monkey. She let go of Blue's reins and scrabbled
up the rock face till she could see over the edge. At the
top the path continued on through the scrub. It was a
way out, but only for her. She would have to leave
Blue behind. She wasn't willing to do that, because
(the bunyip might eat him) he was her best friend and
she couldn't just abandon him here.

Shelby sighed. The trail was too tight for him to
turn around, and so she urged him backwards until
there was enough space for him to face the other way.

They made their way back to the clearing. Blue
kept his head low, looking as dejected as Shelby felt.

She had an idea. It was something she used to do
in the early days when she was lost in the Gully. She
would let Blue choose his own path and, given half a
chance, he would head for home.

Shelby turned Blue loose. 'Go home, boy,' she said.

Blue looked at her, blinked, then bent his head and
began to graze.

'You don't know where we are either.'

She sat down on the grass and wrapped her elbows
around her knees. Somewhere in the grass nearby a
cricket started to chirrup. She looked up at the sky.
The sun was settling behind the treetops. It would be
dark soon, more quickly in The Pocket than outside
because it was surrounded on all sides by rock walls.

Her parents had made a rule that she had to be
home by dark. She should be heading home now,
quick smart if she wanted to make the curfew.

'You want to know something, Blue? I think we're
in pretty big trouble.'

The longer Shelby sat there on the grass, the more she
thought that it was possible that she'd been wrong
about the tunnel. She'd thought it was impassable an
hour ago, but that was before (the bunyip) she hadn't
been able to find another way out. Attempting it
seemed a more attractive option than staying in The
Pocket waiting for the darkness.

She stood up, brushing her hands together. 'I'm
going to have another look. Wait here.' She patted
Blue's rump on her way past, and headed across to the
other side of the clearing.

The mossy ground sank under her boots and she
could see the mud squishing around the sides of her
soles. It was slippery, and when she put her hand
against a boulder to steady herself, she could feel the
brittle lichen sticking to her fingers. She pushed her
way through the tough palm fronds. Nearby a frog
started to croak, and was presently joined by another.

Soon she was out the other side at the edge of the
billabong. Up above her, the streetlights along Gully
Way flickered for a moment and then stayed on. She
could see their reflection in the still water. Cars rushed
past on the roadway. Their headlights lit the foliage
on the tops of the trees as they passed by. The sound
of the traffic was loud and comforting.

People
, she thought. They were so close. She
wondered if any of them ever looked over the edge
and noticed The Pocket down here.

Shelby could see the lip of the storm water tunnel
at the top of the slope. The mouth was dark and
uninviting, but civilisation was not far away on the
other side.

I'll go for help
, she decided. She would climb up to
the mouth, head through the tunnel and run back to
the stables. Lindsey's mum would know how to get
Blue out.

Sitting there at Lindsey's kitchen table, all her
thoughts of bunyips would seem ridiculous. She'd ring
her mum and tell her about it as a joke. Her dad
would think it was really funny. Shelby smiled as she
thought about him laughing. He would poke fun at
her for ages, and that would be great. It was so much
better for him to laugh and joke than be cross or
worried.

She wondered what they would do when she didn't
come home. Would they think to ring Lindsey's mum?
Would Lindsey tell them about the race?

As she climbed up the steep slope the brambles
tugged at her clothes, but she pushed through, not
caring if they snagged. She moved the prickly branches
away with her hands. She could feel the thorns digging
into her skin, but that wasn't important now. She was
in a hurry.

The soles of her riding boots slithered over the
soil. With each step she had to grip with her toes, and
dig in with her hands. Her calves had been sore
before, but now they ached.

When she had climbed halfway, she clambered
across sideways, like a crab. Nearly there. It was hard
work because on this part of the slope her feet sank
into the earth, just as Blue's hooves had, and each time
she tried to move her foot, the clay sucked at her
soles. She had to splay her toes when she lifted her
feet to keep them from coming out of the boots.

The concrete lip was just above her head. Pushing
with her feet, she stretched up and grabbed it with her
left hand. The ball of her right foot slid in the clay,
sending a clod down the steep slope and into the billabong.
It made a 'ca-loomp' sound as it hit the water.
Shelby dug in her foot further up and then looked
over her shoulder at the ripples in widening circles on
the surface of the water.

The cement was rough under her hand, which was
already tender from all the thorns she had brushed
past. She held on with the tips of her fingers, and felt
the muscles of her shoulder complain as they bore
most of her weight. Shelby pushed again with her
foot, trying to find a better grip. Her foot slipped
again. She scrabbled against the clay surface, but her
boots were too slippery. She tried to grab something,
anything, with her other hand, and found a thick
clump of fibrous grass. She was losing her balance.

I'm going to fall.

Shelby's fingers slid off the edge of the tunnel. She
could feel her nails scratching against the concrete.
She slid down half a metre. Her tee-shirt rode up and
the rough ground rubbed against the skin of her
stomach. Her fingers dug desperately into the clay, but
they wouldn't hold, instead making narrow rake
marks in the soil. Then she was falling – her arms
wheeling in the air, as though she was trying to backstroke.

Again?
she thought. Her eyes widened in surprise.

Her back hit the water first, driving all the air out
of her lungs. She looked up and saw the streetlights
clear and white at first, then suddenly pale green and
wavering through the liquid. The water was cold and
she breathed it in. She choked on it, coughing under
the water. She tried to hold her breath, but she could
feel the gritty water in her mouth. Her mouth opened
and closed like a fish as she swallowed water – still
she was plunging down.

Something solid and slimy rubbed against her hand
and then moved away with a flick – something alive.
She closed her palm and gulped more water, still
diving downwards. Shelby could feel bubbles coming
out of her nostrils. Her eyes stung and she closed
them.

I'm drowning.

She thought about Blue stuck in The Pocket. He
would last a little while, but eventually he would
starve, with his saddle – that she had been too busy
and scared to take off – rubbing sores on his thin,
bony body.

Her boot hit something. She struggled, trying to get
herself upright. Both feet were now touching whatever
it was. It wasn't flat. It could have been a submerged
tree trunk. She pressed against it and felt it give
beneath her weight. She started upwards.
Too slow.
She had to work harder. Shelby pushed with her arms
in wide arcs. Her boots felt heavy, as though they were
dragging her downwards. She opened her eyes and
could see the lighter surface above her. The water was
murky.
Bacteria
, she thought. She shut her eyes again,
squeezing the lids together tightly. She swam harder.

Shelby bobbed to the surface. She tried to breathe
in but her mouth was full of water. She choked and
coughed. Warm water rushed out of her nose and
mouth. She took a ragged breath again, but no air
seemed to be going inside. She coughed again.
Have to
get to the edge.
She paddled with her arms and kicked
hard. Her throat was sore and the back of her nose
stung. She spluttered, making a panicked gargling
sound.

Finally she reached a spot where her feet touched
the ground. She stood up with her head and shoulders
out of the water. Her ears were ringing. She rubbed
her face, coughing and spluttering, and then, before
she could stop it, she vomited. Hot water flooded out
of her mouth.

Shelby took a deep breath. The air rushing into her
lungs had never tasted so sweet. She stood still for a
moment, taking a few more breaths. She waded
towards the edge of the billabong, swinging her arms
as the water streamed off her.

She heard something from the scrub. It sounded
like the bleat of a sheep – a short 'maa', and then
nothing. She stood still for a moment, listening, and
looking into the shadowy bush at the edge of the billabong,
but she couldn't see anything except trees and
the choking lantana. She knew that kangaroos
grunted, but she wasn't sure what sounds their joeys
made.

Then she felt something curl around her leg and
flash away.
Eels
, she thought. She had a vision of the
ugly snapping things she had seen at the aquarium and
it made her shiver. She waded again, faster this time.

At the edge she flopped on her stomach and lay
still, trying to get her breath back and coughing up
mouthfuls of water. Shelby could feel the dirt and
grass from the ground beneath her sticking to her
cheek, and the cold breeze blowing across her
wet skin. She blinked. Her eyes were stinging and
watering. She could feel the hot tears running down
her cheek.

A million maybes rushed through her mind. Maybe
she should have climbed to the top, and used the fence
to move across, and then dropped into the tunnel
from above, inside of trying to haul herself up from
the bottom? Maybe she should have climbed to the
top, stood at the fence and tried to wave down a
passing car? She could have explained the situation to
them, and they could have gone for help.

She should have asked Lindsey to come with her.
Shelby could have climbed down into The Pocket
while Lindsey waited with the horses at the other end
of the tunnel. If she'd done that she would be home by
now, sitting on the lounge watching television and
eating ice-cream. She'd have five hundred dollars
towards Blue's agistment.

Instead she was lying here on the edge of a billabong,
covered in cuts and bruises, hungry, tired,
dirty, soaked and half-drowned – possibly in the
vicinity of a crazy lunatic.

And it was getting dark.

Shelby started to cry.