Blacky Blasts Back by Barry Jonsberg Page A

approaching helicopter told me they’d enlisted help.
    We got the tent down in thirty seconds, brushed away the remains of the camp fire and found shelter among the trees. The thrumming of the blades swelled to a roar, then faded. I let out my breath. I hadn’t realised I’d been holding it.
    I made to go back out to the clearing, but John Oakman took me by the arm.
    â€˜Why, Mucus?’ he said.
    It was a fair question. I knew that. And I knew he deserved an answer. I just couldn’t give him one.
    â€˜I can’t tell you, John,’ I said. ‘Sorry. But me and Dyl can’t go back. Not yet. We have something important to do. But you can, mate. Stay here in the clearing, light another fire. Put on plenty of green leaves. The smoke’ll bring the helicopter back. You could be eating breakfast in an hour.’ The thought of breakfast made my stomach rumble again.
    John fixed me with his eyes. They were light blue. I hadn’t noticed the colour of his eyes before.
    â€˜No,’ he said. ‘Go with you.’
    â€˜But, John . . .’
    â€˜Go with you.’ His tone wasn’t firm. It was set in concrete. There was no point arguing.
    I stashed the tent away in my backpack. Ten minutes after waking, we were ready for another fascinating trek in the wilderness. Blacky once more led the way. The three of us trailed behind him. We didn’t talk. We were still tired. No. Weary. Starving. The day stretched before us and held no promise.
    â€˜People!’ whispered Dyl. ‘I hear voices.’
    I almost bumped into him. I had been walking asleep and everything in the outside world had merged into a dream. Now I stopped. John, in turn, almost bumped into me. I had no idea where Blacky was. It took a moment or two for me to focus. Dyl was right. Voices. There were people ahead.
    Dylan padded softly forward, put his head around a tree. John and I followed.
    We had stumbled upon a clearing and in its centre were two mounds of camping equipment on legs. Two familiar mounds.
    Our tiger hunters had obviously stopped to have lunch. Remnants of food were scattered across a picnic blanket. George and Gloria stood about ten metres away from the blanket. They were examining a map.
    â€˜What should we do, Blacky?’ I whispered. ‘Skirt around them? We could head into the forest, then circle back. They wouldn’t hear us.’
    I have no idea what Blacky’s response would have been because at that moment the tiger hunters turned their backs to us. Tombstone Teeth tapped the map and pointed into the bush. Dyl, meanwhile, slipped out from behind the tree and headed straight towards them. I tried to catch his arm but it was too late. I couldn’t even call out.
    What an idiot! He was going to blow everything.
    Dyl moved almost soundlessly across the intervening ground, and stopped at the picnic blanket. Then I realised what he was doing. Food!
    What a genius! He was going to save our lives.
    Now, I don’t want to give the impression I think stealing is okay. It isn’t. But we were starving and they obviously had plenty of provisions. My conscience was rumbling. But my stomach was rumbling louder.
    Dylan crouched at the blanket for a few seconds then spun away and raced back. I held my breath. My face must have been so purple you could have mistaken me for an eggplant. Only when he slipped behind our tree did I let my breath out. Dyl grinned triumphantly and held out a large bottle of cola.
    What an idiot !
    John and I stared at him.
    â€˜I’m going to kill you, Dyl,’ I whispered.
    I even went to put my hands around his neck, but John stopped me. ‘No, Mucus,’ he said. ‘Can’t kill Dyl.’
    This struck me as generous from someone whose life’s ambition was to suffocate people. I looked upon John with renewed respect.
    â€˜ I kill him,’ he continued, reaching for Dyl’s neck with his hands. Dylan probably wouldn’t