Hills End by Ivan Southall Page A

than three miles from them, and vanished, following the course of the river, or the road that led to Stanley.

8
Return to Danger
    â€˜We’ve got to go,’ Paul said flatly. ‘And no argument.’
    He set the example himself, heaved Miss Godwin’s haversack onto his back and looped the strap of his schoolbag through his belt. Then he looked at them all, and waited.
    Adrian stared down into the rock pan. ‘I don’t think we can get across.’
    â€˜We’ll never know if we don’t try! And haven’t you thought that they might need us in the town more than we need them here?’
    â€˜Yes,’ said Frances, ‘I’ve been thinking that myself.’
    â€˜What could we do,’ said Adrian, ‘a bunch of kids? That’s what they call us. When we tried to help at the fire the year before last they sent us home. Even told Miss Godwin to go.’
    â€˜It wasn’t because they didn’t want our help,’ Frances explained quietly. ‘They didn’t want us to get hurt.’
    Adrian scowled. ‘I reckon grown-ups are a lot of crumbs. Nag, nag, nag at a fella all the time. Always interfering. Why should we have to cross the rock pan?’
    Frances was shocked.
    â€˜Oh, it’s all right for you, Frances. Your father’s not the boss. Your father’s not the preacher. You don’t know what it’s like being lectured all day long.’
    Paul was frowning. ‘You’re talking through your neck. If you’re scared why don’t you say so? Why start abusing everyone?’
    â€˜I’m not scared.’ But he was. ‘What am I supposed to do,’ he whined, ‘when my father says we’d die if we had to fend for ourselves? If that’s all he thinks of us why should we care?’
    â€˜All the more reason why you should. To prove that he was wrong.’
    â€˜Your father said it, too.’
    â€˜So what?’
    Adrian shivered in his fright and his frustration; but there was more to it than that. He didn’t hate his father. He didn’t hate anyone. He didn’t want to go back to the town because he was terrified of what he might find. If everyone were dead he didn’t think he could face it.
    â€˜Come on, Adrian. Let’s go.’
    He couldn’t get out of it. They would have called him a coward, and in his heart he cared very much about what people thought of him.
    â€˜All right. But don’t blame me if someone gets drowned.’
    Â 
    At 1.30 p.m., Eastern Time, Hills End featured once more in the afternoon news broadcast. The same pleasant young man, in the same air-conditioned studio, in the same capital city more than a thousand miles away, was perturbed enough to raise an eyebrow before he reached for the sheet of paper bearing the next story. This is what had raised his eyebrow:
    â€˜The big timber and cattle-raising district in and around the Stanley Ranges has emerged as the worst-hit centre in yesterday’s disastrous cyclonic storm. Fourteen inches of rain deluged the area in a few hours, destroying roads, communications and property over a wide area. Not a bridge between Stanley and its outlying districts appears to have survived, and this is complicating rescue operations.
    â€˜Extensive flooding of low-lying land has caused heavy stock losses. Many farms and stations are completely cut off and the final extent of damage cannot be estimated. The entire adult male population of Stanley, under the direction of Police Sergeant Crabb, is at present engaged in rescue work or urgent repairs to bridges, roads and property. Further rain is predicted for later today. Contact between Stanley and the outside world is being maintained through the Flying Doctor Service radio transmitter.
    â€˜Early this morning fifty searchers, led by Police Constable Fleming, headed into the ranges to attempt to reach the ninety men, women, children, and infants marooned on the road