The Tooth (12 page)

With the explosion still ringing in my ears, I left the stallion and ran up the path.

‘Mits!’ I shouted into the headset. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Mike, are you there?’ called Dad. I could sense the concern in his voice.

There was no answer.

‘Mits!’ I yelled, this time at the top of my voice in case his headset wasn’t working. Still no answer.

‘Dad, I’m on my way up there,’ I said, trying to keep calm.

‘OK. We can’t get up without the crane.’

At the top I ran towards the truck, worrying about Mits. If he’d been close to the compressor when it blew, he could be badly injured…or even worse.

When I got to the truck, there was no sign of Mits: he was neither on the back of the truck nor on the grass beside it. I rushed around the back—still nothing. Then to the other side, and there he was, lying face-down in the scrub.

‘Mits, are you all right?’

Nothing.

I gently rolled him over. He was unconscious, yet there was no sign of any injury.

‘Tim,’ called Dad, ‘have you found him?’

‘Yes! He’s been knocked out.’ Then I saw an eye flicker. ‘Hold on, it looks like he’s coming round. Mits, are you all right?’

He moved his head slightly to one side. ‘No! I’m as sore as hell.’

‘Did anything hit you?’

He stretched a little. ‘No, I wasn’t anywhere near it when it blew.’ Then he gave a little smile. ‘I just got such a fright, I fell off the deck.’

‘Is he all right?’ asked Dad.

‘Yes, Dad. He seems all right. He fell off the truck.’

‘OK. Get to the crane and bring us up.’

By the time they arrived, Mits was standing. I think his pride was hurt more than anything. Both Karen and Dad gave him a full examination and declared him to be OK.

Mits might not have been too badly damaged, but the compressor definitely was. The pressure gauge had blown out of the top and smashed into the safety cage. A gaping hole was left in the pressure cylinder. It would be impossible for us to fix.

‘How many holes have you drilled?’ I asked.

‘Six,’ replied Dad. ‘That’s going to have to be enough. What do you think, Karen?’

She shrugged glumly. ‘I don’t think six splitters are going to be enough, but we’ll just have to try. What else can we do?’

The splitters were the tubes that went down the drill holes. Each of them had about forty metal fingers that could be pushed out against the rock surface and would—it was hoped—eventually break the rock. The power came from a pump which forced hydraulic fluid into the tubes.

I took over from Mits as the man at the top to control the crane and the pump. Mits went down with the others so they could keep an eye on him. It was several hours since he’d been
in the canyon and seen how high the water had risen. ‘Hell!’ he exploded as he reached the bottom. ‘That’ll be over my head. The end of the container is beginning to float.’

I heard Dad grunt in frustration. ‘How much?’

‘About the length of my hand.’

Dad grunted again. The last thing we needed was any part of the container floating. The idea was that we would drop the rock in the container and it would slide to the other end. But if the end was floating, then the rock might push the container out of the way and not go in at all.

Karen said in a calm voice, ‘Bill, worrying won’t fix it. Let’s just get on with the splitters. If it’s too late, it’s too late. But at least we will have tried.’

Half an hour after the explosion, we were back in action again.

At first the hydraulic fluid pump worked away quietly. It got louder as the pressure increased, and I could see the hose vibrating with the pressure. Karen said the whole thing should take about ten minutes or so.

Twenty minutes later, the pump was really labouring. Yet the sound continued to change, suggesting that something was still happening.

Dad’s voice came through the headset. ‘Stand back from that pump, Tim. I don’t like the sound of it.’

I climbed off the truck—I wasn’t going to fall off the deck like Mits. A moment later, there was a snapping sound and the pump was racing.

‘Turn it off! Turn it off!’ screamed Dad. I didn’t even need the headphones to hear him.

As the pump died, I asked, ‘Has it split?’

‘No. The hose has.’ His voice showed that he was now
resigned to failure. ‘Has anyone been splashed with fluid? Mits? Karen?’

‘No,’ they replied in unison.

‘Good. At least that’s one bit of luck. That stuff can be dangerous in the wrong places.’

‘Can it be fixed?’ asked Karen.

‘What’s the point?’

‘The point is to give it our best shot,’ she said firmly.

After a long pause, Dad said, ‘There’s some hydraulic gear up in the truck. I suppose I can give it a go.’ He didn’t sound convinced. Then in a brighter tone he added, ‘Bring me up, please, Tim.’

The repair proved to be reasonably simple. Mr Smithson’s demolition friend had provided a full hose-repair kit. He’d probably had the same problem himself many times. Fifteen minutes later, we were ready to start. ‘OK, Tim: fire it up. Let’s give it another go. At least we must be running out of things that can go wrong.’

Unfortunately, we weren’t. As I leaned over to start the oil pump, I heard a booming voice from a hand-held megaphone down in the canyon. It was a male voice, rude and hostile. ‘What the hell are you lot doing here?’

I froze, thinking it had been directed at me.

Then I heard Karen. ‘Good afternoon to you, too,’ she said in a polite voice. I saw Dad creeping to the edge to have a look, so I followed. He turned and put a finger to his lips.

‘I asked you what you are doing?’ repeated the male voice.

When I peered over the side, I saw a boat out in the water, still with its motor idling. We must’ve been too busy to hear its approach. There were two men in it, both wearing luminous
orange jackets. They had the appearance of security guards.

‘We’re from the museum and we’re removing some fossils before the canyon gets flooded,’ replied Karen pleasantly. ‘We have all the necessary signed papers.’

This stopped the man for a moment. He said something to his partner, who shrugged and shook his head. ‘We don’t know anything about that.’ A little of the rudeness had gone from his voice.

I heard Dad say, ‘Try and get rid of them, Karen. We’re running out of time.’

‘I have the papers up in my van,’ Karen shouted. ‘Come ashore and I’ll show you.’

It was a good move, for they plainly didn’t want to come ashore. ‘Look,’ said the man, a lot more reasonably. ‘We’ve got to make sure that nobody gets trapped by the lake. We’re expecting the level to rise two metres within the next hour. Get out of here now. It’s far too dangerous to stay.’

‘OK,’ said Karen, her voice reflecting her disappointment. ‘We’ll leave now. Thanks for telling us.’

The man lowered the megaphone a little, before thinking of something else he wanted to say. ‘Hey, you don’t know anything about that dead horse along there, do you?’

I stiffened. ‘What dead horse?’ I whispered to myself.

‘What dead horse?’ asked Karen as if she had heard me.

‘There’s one on the path. It’s just that there’s a big opening ceremony tomorrow afternoon, and the last thing we want is a dead horse floating down to the dam.’

‘It’s nothing to do with us,’ said Karen. ‘But we’ll contact the people and tell them to get rid of it.’

That satisfied the man. ‘Thanks. If you can do it quickly—it’s almost floating already.’ He slipped the motor into
gear. ‘See ya,’ he added and they cruised away as quietly as they had come.

When they were out of view Dad said, ‘You’re not really going to pack up and leave are you, Karen?’

‘What else can we do?’ she answered. ‘The man says we have to go.’

‘But we’re almost finished,’ said Dad, puzzled. ‘You’re the one who said we had to give it our best shot.’

‘Well, we have and it’s now over.’

‘Just because somebody says we have to?’ He was on the verge of getting angry.

Then I heard Karen laugh. ‘No, Bill, of course I’m not giving up. No way am I giving up! I’m getting this dinosaur into that box even if it kills me. And no jumped-up security guard is going to stop me.’

‘Atta girl,’ replied Dad, chuckling. ‘Tim, fire up that pump and let’s get going.’

As soon as the pump was in action I lowered Dad to the bottom, and then sneaked off to see the stallion. I didn’t want to believe that he had died; not after all I had done for him.

From the top of the path I could see that the men in the boat had been right about him being almost afloat. Half his body was now lying in shallow water. And he certainly looked dead. As I moved down the path, I told myself that lots of animals look dead when they’re resting. Just because he was lying flat, it didn’t mean too much. By the time I’d reached the bottom I’d almost convinced myself.

However, close up he did look dead: his eyes were closed and there was no sign of movement. Except, perhaps a slow
swelling of his chest. I leaned forward and put my hand on his side, hoping to feel his heart.

The reaction was explosive. His head whipped up and around at me; his mouth opened seeking something to bite. I scrambled back out of range. He certainly wasn’t dead. In fact, he was more alive than at any time after going into the ongaonga. Plus there was now no doubting he was a wild animal—one who would damage me if he could.

Then his feet started moving. He was going to get up. From the look in his eyes, I knew he would have a go at me. I backed into the nettles hoping they’d offer some protection. His front feet gained a hold, and soon he was sitting. Next he was on his feet. I wriggled deeper into the bushes. The stings were a small thing compared to the fear I felt.

He advanced towards me, snorting and pounding his hooves. Then he plunged forward into the ongaonga. It took only a moment before he realized what was happening. The memory of his earlier trip through the stinging bushes returned and he screamed in terror, rearing back onto the path.

For a moment he stood, with eyes dancing around crazily. This was no longer just a wild animal. This was one who had suffered more at the hands of humans than his heart and soul could bear. He had been hurt to the brink of becoming crazy; alongside my fear, I also felt sorrow and anger for what we humans had done to him.

As I watched, he calmed a little and began to turn in a circle, reviewing his situation. It didn’t take him long to decide that going up the path was the best option. When he was well on his way, I crawled out of the bushes and followed. It was time to get back to the truck before Dad found that I was missing.

Unfortunately, Dad had already been trying to contact me.

I’d left my headset on the tray of the truck. As I arrived back, I heard Dad’s voice screaming from it. ‘Tim! Tim! Where are you?’

I picked it up. ‘I’m here Dad.’

‘Where have you been?’ The tension was back in his voice.

‘I was getting the stallion out of the water.’

‘What?’

Then Karen came to my rescue. ‘Is he still alive?’

‘Yes. He’s up the top now, but it’s best to keep clear of him, because he’s very angry.’

That allowed Dad to calm a little. ‘Don’t you leave again without telling us. We need somebody up there to turn the machinery off if things go wrong.’ I agreed and we all settled down to listen to the working pump and wait.

Five minutes passed, ten…and still it pumped. Yet the changing pitch told us that the pressure was slowly increasing. There was still hope that it would work, although Mits’s continuing reports about the floating container dampened that hope a little. If or when the dinosaur did break free, it might not end up where we wanted it to.

The pumping had just about reached the same stage as earlier when something went wrong again. This time it was the Basinhead Gang. They were back.

I had been looking for the stallion when I first saw them walking towards me. There was no mistaking who they were: Sam Mason and Cousin Damien. The man was carrying a pitchfork and Mason had a shovel. Both were wearing a look that said they were there for revenge. They sauntered slowly towards me, as if rushing would take all the pleasure out of what was about to happen. My stomach began to churn and my gut tightened.

I spoke into the headset. ‘We’ve got trouble,’ I said in a broken voice. ‘Mason and his other cousin are here.’

‘Give me a moment and then bring me up,’ replied Dad. ‘Don’t panic and don’t stop the pump. No matter what: don’t stop the pump. It must almost be done.’

As the man got closer, he took the pitchfork off his shoulder and held it pointing to the front. Sam Mason did the same with the shovel. Soon they were alongside the truck.

‘Is this the kid?’ Damien asked Sam.

‘Yeah, that’s him.’

Damien studied me for a while, looking me up and down. ‘This weedy looking thing?’ he asked, plainly unconvinced that I could harm anybody. ‘You sure this is him?’

‘Yeah! That’s Tiny Tim.’

The man moved forward with the pitchfork pointed right at me. ‘You damn near killed my brother, Tiny Tim. He’s lying in a hospital because of you.’

I wanted to say that it wasn’t me, but my mouth wouldn’t work. My heart pounded and my breathing was short and jerky. All I could see were the needle-sharp prongs of the fork.

‘You got anything to say, Tiny Tim?’

Still I couldn’t speak. Then the headset broke in. ‘Bring me up, Tim.’ It was enough to snap the spell. I leaned towards
the crane control. Suddenly the pitchfork was in my way.

‘Don’t touch it.’

I stopped. ‘What do you want?’ I asked.

‘You, mostly. But we’ll make a few modifications around here first.’ He plunged the pitchfork at the control panel, smashing some of the buttons. ‘Now we don’t have to worry about them down there, do we?’

Next he spiked one of the rear tyres. He was moving towards a front tyre when he half-tripped over the hydraulic hose. He stopped and watched it vibrating for a moment. I’ve no idea what went through his mind, but he decided that whatever the hose was doing, it had to stop.

‘Turn it off.’

‘No!’

The pitchfork turned around to me. ‘I said: turn it off.’

I jumped back. ‘No!’

Now he knew that the hose was important to us. For a while he looked at the pump, trying to find something he could attack. Then he turned back to the hose and pressed the pitchfork against it. ‘If you won’t stop it, I will.’ He shifted his hands ready to force it down.

‘Stop!’ I yelled as loud as I could.

To my surprise, he did. ‘What?’

‘The fluid! It’s concentrated acid. You’ll kill us all.’

I could almost see his brain ticking over. He didn’t believe me, but he wasn’t sure. Meanwhile the pump was groaning more than ever. Something would have to give soon.

‘Acid?’ he said doubtfully. ‘What do you use acid for?’

I hesitated for a moment. ‘Um, to dissolve the rock. So we can get the fossil out.’

Sam Mason snorted. ‘He’s lying.’

‘Yeah, I can see that.’ He adjusted his grip on the handle. ‘We’ll soon find out what’s in it.’

At that moment the headset burst into life. ‘Are you there Timothy?’ It sounded like Grandad’s voice. The different voice stopped the man yet again.

‘Grandad?’ I said, puzzled. ‘Where are you?’

‘At Pounamu.’

‘And you can hear us?’

‘Yeah, I just fiddled with the transmitter and found I could get through.’

Before I could make further comment, I felt the prick of the pitchfork pressing into my stomach. My heart rate jumped up another couple of notches.

‘Get rid of him,’ whispered Damien.

Grandad continued. ‘I wanted to tell you that the police have just left here and will be with you soon.’

The pitchfork pressed harder—anymore and it would pierce the skin. ‘Ask him: how long?’

‘How long, Grandad?’ I asked, trying to keep the fear out of my voice.

‘Oh, they should almost be there. A minute or two, three at the most.’

I looked at Damien. ‘Get rid of him,’ he snarled.

‘Goodbye, Grandad.’

‘Yeah! See you later, Timothy.’

For a few seconds, the only noise was the groaning pump. Damien was plainly working through his options. Now there was fear on
his
face. Now,
he
was the one who didn’t know what to do. Yet, still he held the pitchfork at my belly.

Then the pump gave three final grunts and stopped. For a moment, there was an eerie, whistling noise which seemed
to come from all around. When it died, there was silence for a second before the air was split by a tremendous crack from the rock below. The overhang had parted from the cliff. Next came the crash of rock on metal as the dinosaur hit the container. There was enough time for me to hold my breath and hope, before the canyon was filled with the most unearthly screech you would ever hear. The rock had slid to the end of the container, just as we had planned.

Sam Mason and his cousin looked as if they thought the dinosaur must have come alive. Damien dropped the pitchfork. He’d had enough. ‘Let’s get out of here!’ he yelled, heading off into the scrub. Sam needed no further invitation. He threw the shovel aside and plunged after his cousin.

From below, I heard the laughter and cheering of success. ‘We did it, Tim! We did it!’ It was Dad.

‘Yeah! I heard!’

‘Are the thugs still there?’

‘No, they’ve taken off. With all that noise, I think they’ll be running forever.’ I looked up to see where they were. ‘Oh no!’ I screamed.

‘What’s the problem?’

‘They’re running towards the stallion. If they get too close, he’ll attack them.’

As I watched, the man almost blundered into the group of horses. He saw them at the last minute and veered off. Sam Mason can’t have been looking where he was going, for he ran straight at them. The man called out and Sam looked up, but it was too late—the horse was already onto him.

‘The stallion’s got Mason,’ I yelled. ‘I’m going to help.’

‘No!’ shouted Dad. ‘Don’t risk your life for that lot. They’re not worth it.’

I didn’t answer. I was thinking more of the stallion than Sam Mason. If the horse became a killer, he would never be returned to the wild: saving Mason might also save the stallion.

By the time I got there, Sam Mason was on the ground with the stallion standing over him, pawing at the ground. The horse’s eyes were burning with hate; Sam was screaming in pain. His right arm was sitting at a horrible angle. A muddy hoof print showed where he had been struck by the horse. Damien Williams was standing nearby looking at the scene in horror.

I started talking. It was enough to distract the stallion from the boy on the ground. He turned to me and started sniffing the air. Maybe he recognized me, for the pawing stopped.

Still I talked. I had to get the horse to step away from Mason. I started singing ‘Kaimanawa Horses’. He lifted his head a little and readjusted his feet. I kept singing as I backed away. He took a couple of steps towards me. Sam stopped screaming. It was working. Just a little bit more and Sam would be safe. I moved onto the second verse.

Then I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye. It was Damien moving in to help Sam. ‘No!’ I said softly, but urgently. ‘Not yet! Wait!’

The stupid man didn’t listen. He kept coming. Now my connection with the stallion was broken. I tried singing louder, but it no longer worked. Damien bent over towards Sam. He grabbed him under the armpits to haul him away. Sam shrieked in pain. The horse jumped to one side catching me with its shoulder, knocking me to the ground. For a
second or two he looked down at me as if wondering what to do. Then Damien moved Sam again and more frightening screams filled the air. It was too much for the stallion: his nostrils flared and his eyes fired with hate. This time the hatred was directed at me.

He reared high above me, balancing for a while, before crashing back down with his front hooves. One caught the side of my head, bringing bright flashes as pain seared through my brain. Again he reared, balancing even longer, as if making sure of his target. This time I was ready for him. As his hooves smashed down, I rolled to one side. A hoof thudded near my head, but there was no contact. For a third time he reared, balanced and struck, and again I managed to roll clear. Only this time I felt my clothes snag on the bracken. Now I was tied to the ground. If he attacked again, I would be dead.

The stallion sensed that it was time for the kill. He whinnied before raising his hooves and balancing high on his hind legs. He seemed to stay there for an eternity as I struggled to roll free. I watched in terror as he threw his weight forward and the hooves began a downward arc towards my head.

Yet, they never got there. There was a thunder of hooves and a rush as another horse leapt out of nowhere and rammed into the stallion, knocking him aside. Hooves pounded all around me, yet nothing made contact.

A moment later, the stallion was gone. But not the other horse. I sensed it still standing above me. I opened my eyes, and there was Phoebe. She moved closer and brought her head down to be next to mine. I raised my arm and weakly rubbed her nose. Then everything began to spin as my eyes flickered and I slipped away into unconsciousness.