Vulture's Gate Page 7

  13

  THE HIDDEN VALLEY

  Callum kept a close eye on the Daisy-May’s sensors, and while Bo focused on the road he watched to make sure they were safe. When the monitors indicated another vehicle approaching, he tapped Bo on her thigh. She steered the bike off-road so they could wait in sheltering scrub for the strangers to pass. It slowed their progress and the days slipped into weeks but they didn’t want to risk making contact with anyone. Red sand was replaced by sandy yellow soil. Occasional gum trees began to pepper the roadside. Finally the country turned from desert scrub to forest.

  One warm afternoon after a long day of travel, they found a sheltered dry riverbed in which to camp. Bo lifted Mr Pinkwhistle out of the pannier and set him on a rock to soak up the last of the day’s sunlight before sending him out to hunt. Callum was anxious that they start scouring the surrounding country for succulents to feed the Daisy-May’s still and was glad to see the roboraptor disappear into the scrub.

  They returned to camp as darkness fell with only a small string bag of plants, to find Mr Pinkwhistle waiting for them, pawing the ground miserably and loudly gnashing his metal teeth. He’d been unable to catch anything for their dinner and he let out a whirr of embarrassment when Bo stroked his spine.

  When Mr Pinkwhistle was calm again, Bo pulled the top from her water flask and licked the last drops from its rim. Then she flopped down in the sand and stretched out on her back. ‘I don’t think we’ll make it at this rate. We’ll starve before we reach the city.’

  ‘When we get to Vulture’s Gate, there’ll be plenty of food,’ said Callum. ‘My dads will make sure of that. The Colony has storehouses full of stockpiled food.’

  ‘But we’ve still got hundreds of kilometres to go and we’ve almost no food and no water. We spend so much time travelling or looking for plants for the still that we don’t have any time to find food. Mr Pinkwhistle can’t do all the hunting by himself. We need to stop and make a camp for a while.’

  ‘No way! We have to keep moving!’

  Bo sighed and pulled Mr Pinkwhistle onto her lap. She opened up his chest and checked his sensors as she spoke. ‘Didn’t you say your fathers used to buy supplies? Isn’t that what people who can’t hunt do? You’ve got gold. We should use it to purchase something.’

  ‘Who from? Outstationers? You think we can simply roll up at an outstation and trade? They would eat us for breakfast. We’re probably a gazillion kilometres from any Colony outposts. There was one my dads used to go to on business. It was an old port, so stuff came to it from the sea. But it was bad news. Heaps of pirates and cutthroats. I was never allowed out of the Colony compound when we went there. You wouldn’t want to walk around somewhere like that with a fistful of gold. Like I said, we have to do this alone. We can’t trust anyone.’

  When he looked across at Bo, he realised she had stopped listening and was busy studying Mr Pinkwhistle’s sensors.

  ‘Look at this,’ she said, pointing at a luminous glowing circle on the monitor.

  ‘What’s it mean?’

  ‘It’s a big body of water, maybe a dam or lake, but there are tanks as well. And some sort of power source. That means there must be people there. Not ordinary Outstationers or anyone like that Dental and Floss. Whoever is up there, they’re jolly well organised. But there’s something queer about it. I can’t see any movement.’

  Suddenly, the screen went dark and the green light disappeared. Mr Pinkwhistle let out a low growl and shifted from one foot to the other, leaving a trail of little red scratches on Bo’s thigh.

  ‘Something’s blocked the signal, but I did get a fix on where it is. It’s a valley, inside a circle of hills somewhere over that way,’ she said, gesturing into the darkness. ‘I can put the coordinates into the Daisy-May and we could be there and back again in no time. If there’s water, there should be good hunting. At least we could fill our flasks.’

  Callum frowned and rested his hands on his grumbling stomach. ‘What if there’s someone there? It could be dangerous.’

  ‘We won’t know unless we spy them out.’

  The next morning they followed a winding trail up the side of a mountain. As they rode closer to the top, the path became heavily overgrown.

  ‘This is taking us nowhere,’ said Callum. ‘We’ll never get the Daisy-May through this scrub.’

  ‘Maybe we could climb to the top of the hill and just see if there really is anything down there. I don’t understand why neither Mr Pinkwhistle nor the Daisy-May has readings on it any more. It’s as if there’s a blanket across the whole valley. Something about this place gives me the willies. It’s claustrophobic. All this green. It’s suffocating.’

  ‘It might be a Colony outpost. They can do things like that, blanket signals and all.’

  They parked the Daisy-May in the shelter of trees and covered her with bracken. Bo slung her string bag over her shoulder and set Mr Pinkwhistle down on the ground so he could scoot ahead of them, forging his way through thick ferns. As the bush grew denser, Callum’s hope that the valley might be a Colony outpost flickered and died. There were no border guards, no fences, nothing but wilderness as far as the eye could see.

  When they reached the crest of the hill, Bo climbed onto a high rock to survey the valley. For a moment she was silhouetted against the blue and then she crumpled, screaming. A flock of white cockatoos swept down from the sky and attacked her, tearing her hair, and pecking until they drew blood. She huddled in a ball, paralysed with terror.

  Callum jumped up beside her and tried to bat the birds out of the way. ‘Hit them, Bo. Hit back!’ he shouted.

  Why didn’t she fight? How could she be so courageous about everything else but let birds defeat her? Clumsily, he caught a cockatoo by its feet and used it to beat the others away. They shrieked and dived harder in a rush of feathers and wings, pecking his face and arms until they bled. Flecks of blood splattered their white wings. Suddenly, a thunderous noise dispersed the flock. Callum turned, still clutching a squawking cockatoo by its feet.

  ‘Let go of the bird, sonny,’ said their rescuer, squinting through the viewfinder of his gun. ‘Let her go or I’ll shoot you right through your nasty little heart.’

  14

  MOLLIE GREEN

  Callum released the bird and it flapped away to join the rest of the flock. Slowly, with one arm still raised in surrender, he reached down to Bo and helped her to her feet. She was trembling and her face was drawn and pale.

  ‘You boys, you’re trespassing,’ barked the hunter. ‘How’d you find your way to my valley?’

  ‘We didn’t mean any harm,’ said Callum.

  The hunter lowered his gun and eyed them both warily.

  ‘You’re young tackers to be wandering alone. You got men with you?’ he asked, narrowing his eyes and scanning the bush.

  ‘No, only us two,’ said Bo, her voice still shaky from the shock of the bird attack. ‘I’m Bo and this is Callum.’

  Callum elbowed her sharply in the ribs but she ignored him.

  ‘Tell him nothing,’ he whispered into her ear. ‘He’s not a Colony man.’

  ‘He saved us,’ replied Bo, turning back to the hunter.

  Callum didn’t like the look of him. He had a thick cloud of frizzy silver hair tied back in a ponytail, a long beard and a dark, nut-brown face. There was something wild in his pale eyes and his mouth was down-turned in a bitter expression.

  ‘We need only water and fuel,’ said Bo. ‘Cactus juice for a peyote bike. Enough to reach Vulture’s Gate.’

  ‘We’re not asking for favours,’ added Callum. ‘We can pay you.’

  ‘Money’s no use to me,’ said the old man, spitting at Callum’s feet. There was a long silence and then Bo stepped forward and held her hands out, her palms turned upwards.

  ‘Please, sir,’ she said. ‘We shall be terribly grateful. Please.’

  ‘Long time since I’ve heard anyone say please,’ said the old man. ‘Thought that word had gone out of
the dictionary.’ He looked them up and down and then spat again onto the rocks. ‘Hand over all your weapons and we’ll do a deal. I’ve got a still. Make me own juice from corn. Power most of me engines with it. Should work for a peyote-bike.’

  Callum grabbed Bo by the arm and pulled her back as she unhitched the knife and pistol from her belt. ‘Don’t give them to him. Let’s keep going.’

  ‘We can’t keep going if the Daisy-May hasn’t any juice and we have no water.’

  ‘Then set Mr Pinkwhistle on him,’ whispered Callum. ‘We’ll jump him while he’s distracted, tie him up and steal what we need.’

  ‘No. That’s not fair. He looks like my Poppy. I’m sure he won’t hurt us,’ said Bo, pulling free. She turned to the old man, offering up her string bag. Callum wanted to slap her.

  ‘I have a roboraptor as well but I’m not handing him over,’ she said. ‘He’s too precious.’ She whistled and Mr Pinkwhistle came loping out of the bush to stand beside her. The old man stared at the roboraptor in surprise.

  ‘What the hell is that?’

  ‘My grandfather made him. He’s a biomechanical robotic predator. We hunt together.’

  ‘Do you have to tell him everything?’ exclaimed Callum.

  ‘Your mate is doing the right thing,’ said the hunter. ‘I like a boy who’s upfront. Means I can trust him.’

  He knelt down beside Mr Pinkwhistle and studied him closely. Callum wished the roboraptor would attack. ‘He was a clever man, your grandfather. I worked on trying to revive robotic slugs when I was young but the know-how was lost. I’ve got a Slugbot on my workbench and all he does is sit there. Never thought you could improve on the remnant technology.’

  The old man stood up again, using his rifle like a walking stick as if his limbs ached.

  ‘Now, I used to make kids call me Mr Green. But you can call me Mollie if you like and we’ll get down to business. Show me this bike of yours and I’ll see if I can help you out.’

  Bo led the way over the hill to where the Daisy-May lay hidden in the bush. Callum couldn’t believe how stupidly she was behaving. There was no way of knowing whether they could trust this man. Within minutes of finding the bike, Bo and Mollie were engaged in a serious conversation about mechanics while Callum stood by, quietly fuming.

  After she had explained the workings of the Daisy-May to Mollie, they climbed down into the hidden valley. They passed through thick stands of bamboo, a clump of banana palms, an orchard crowded with low apple trees and finally a long stand of trellises covered by vines heavy with strange fruit. By the time they reached the bottom of the valley, Callum’s mouth was watering.

  They came to a small village of bark-and-timber huts surrounded by a bank of solar panels with a windmill spinning busily above the roofs. Mollie Green pushed open the door to one of the huts and gestured for the children to come inside.

  While Bo followed Mollie into the hut, Callum stayed near the door, looking around warily.

  ‘This is perfect!’ exclaimed Bo appreciatively as she ran her hand along the benches and examined the neatly arranged kitchen implements. ‘My grandfather would have loved it here.’

  Mollie Green smiled. ‘All the comforts, more power than we can use, water as sweet as nectar. Bloody paradise. We want for nothing.’

  ‘We?’ asked Bo. ‘You have family here?’

  Mollie Green looked away. ‘You fancy a cuppa, boys?’ he asked, turning on a solar kettle and reaching for a battered old tin canister.

  ‘So where is everyone?’ asked Callum. He didn’t like the way the old man had dodged Bo’s question.

  Mollie turned his back on them and started spooning brown, stick-like tea into the teapot.

  ‘All gone now. My boys, they left, silly buggers. Thought they’d find themselves a girl out there somewhere. My brother went away too. My wife . . . that was a long time ago. We came here to keep her safe. She died giving birth to our last boy. Saved her from the plague but I couldn’t save her from Nature’s revenge.’

  ‘But then why don’t you shoot all the birds?’ asked Bo.

  ‘What for? There’s no more womenfolk or baby girls to worry about. Without the birds, there’d be plagues of locusts, insects out of control.’

  ‘But there are still girls in other places. If you don’t shoot the birds, they’ll die,’ insisted Bo.

  Mollie Green laughed. ‘You’re a dreamer, just like my boy Ted. Thirty years ago, he went out searching, hoping to find a wife. Reckon he’s searching still. But there are no more women out there. That’s what we did to ourselves. You get used to it, sonny. You and that mate of yours, you can settle down together somewhere, hide away from the bad ’uns and the crazies. If you’re rich enough, you can buy yourself a little boy out of a jam-jar from that Colony mob. But you won’t ever find yourself a wife. Those days are gone.’

  ‘I don’t want a wife,’ said Bo. ‘I’m a— ’

  Callum knew he had to stop her. ‘Shut up, Bo!’

  ‘Oh, what!’ said Bo, her hands on her hips. ‘You may think I’m peculiar, but it doesn’t mean everyone in the world will.’

  ‘Keep it to yourself. You don’t understand anything. You have to learn to keep your big mouth shut.’

  ‘Don’t talk to me like that.’

  Mollie Green looked quizzically from Callum to Bo.

  ‘Now what’s all the fuss?’

  Before Callum could stop her, Bo turned to Mollie.

  ‘I’m a girl. Callum thinks it’s queer. He says I’m a freak.’

  Mollie Green didn’t respond. He put one hand on the bench to steady himself. The colour drained from his face and the tin canister fell from his hand to the floor, scattering black tealeaves across the dark pressed earth.

  ‘So you think that I’m a freak too,’ said Bo. She turned to Callum, but he couldn’t meet her gaze. He put his head in his hands and groaned.

  Mollie stepped towards Bo and bent down so his face was level with hers. He was staring at her hard, as if he couldn’t quite believe his eyes. Then he reached out and gently stroked her cheek.

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Of course I’m sure. But I’m not going to prove it to you,’ said Bo.

  Mollie Green pulled a chair out from the table and sat down heavily.

  ‘No, you don’t have to prove it to me. I believe you. Praise be, I believe in miracles.’

  15

  NATURE’S WAY

  For the rest of the day, Mollie Green tiptoed around Bo as if she was made of glass. He took small notice of Callum. It made Callum feel he was nothing more than Bo’s shadow.

  Mollie insisted that the children stay in one of the empty bark huts, each with a room of their own. ‘You’ll need to build your strength if you’re going all the way to Vulture’s Gate.’

  On the first night, Callum dragged the mattress from his bunk and into Bo’s room. He set it down on the floor beside her bed and straightened out the worn blankets.

  ‘I’ll step on you if you put it there,’ said Bo.

  ‘Maybe,’ answered Callum. ‘But you’ll be safer.’

  ‘Safe from what?’

  ‘Him,’ said Callum.

  ‘You mean Mollie?’ Bo laughed out loud. ‘He’s not going to hurt us. I told you. He’s like my Poppy, except he’s shorter and rounder. He’s not an Outstationer. We’re not his prisoners. We can go any time we like.’

  ‘Tomorrow?’ asked Callum.

  ‘Maybe,’ said Bo evasively. ‘I need to sort out the problem with fuel and the Daisy-May. It may take a few days.’

  Callum didn’t want to fight. He humped the blankets over his shoulder and lay down with his back to her.

  In the morning, they woke to find a tray on the small table by the door of her room. There were two cups of warm tea, a slice of toasted seedbread smothered with honey, and a plate of sliced fruit.

  Throughout the day, Mollie produced pieces of cake, slices of fruitbread and other treats from his kitchen. When they weren’t eating, he
showed them all the technology that he used to farm the valley. Every time Callum tried to drag Bo away for a private conversation, Mollie would find another device to explain, another gadget with which to impress her.

  First, it was the blanketing device he had designed that was automatically triggered whenever a scanner tried to read the terrain. Then they spent an hour comparing his Slugbot with Mr Pinkwhistle. Callum tagged along while Mollie gave Bo a tour of his computer lab, where he had cobbled together working machines from a dozen forms of old technologies. He even showed them how he monitored the boundaries, explaining how he had seen Bo and Callum coming before they had crossed the rocky crest of hills.

  The only moment of satisfaction Callum felt was when Mollie tried to take Bo into the aviary where he kept his sentry cockatoos. She stood behind Callum and refused to go near them. Finally, Mollie gave up and took the children into the kitchen where he laid out a platter of fresh fruit and poured them both a cup of strong black tea.

  ‘Plenty of men still afraid of birds,’ he chuckled. ‘That’s why I trained those fellas to attack.’

  ‘They don’t scare me,’ said Callum.

  ‘Shouldn’t everyone be afraid of birds, especially me?’ asked Bo.

  ‘Lot of misunderstanding about the avian flu. It didn’t pick favourites to begin with. Millions died and then, when they thought they had it under control, it mutated. That’s when all the women and the little girls began to disappear. Even the women that survived, they lost the ability to bear girl children. My wife and me, we had five sons. Every time we conceived a baby girl, she miscarried. There’s been two generations of boys with no sisters, men with no wives.’

  ‘But there’s me. And I must have had a mother.’

  ‘Maybe womenfolk in your family developed a gene that’s resistant to bird flu. Your grandfather probably took you bush to save you, Bo. He must have kept your mother and your grandmother in hiding too. Women that could have babies were kidnapped and if baby girls were born, they were taken away by the government, until the government fell to pieces.’