Mister Cassowary by Samantha Wheeler Page A

confetti across the lawn.
    â€˜Peanut? Jumble? It’s me, Flynn.’
    Crack. I swirled to my right. A huge branch split from a tree and crashed to the ground. I pushed back against the door. Maybe I’d imagined the peeps? I’d better get back inside.
    â€˜Peep. Peep. Peep.’
    There it was again! I looked to my left. Peanut! He was huddled under a fern that was growing close to the kitchen door. ‘Here, little guy,’ I whispered, squatting down beside him. He kept his head down as I scooped him into my arms and hugged him close. His heart hammered against mine.
    â€˜Where’s Jumble?’ I asked, peering under the fern. ‘Is he in here too?’
    The kitchen door slammed open.
    â€˜Flynnie! Are you crazy? What are you doing outside?’
    I fumbled with Peanut, trying to keep my back between him and Dad. ‘Dad, I—’
    â€˜Come inside! Quick! It’s too dangerous out here.’ Dad marched over, grabbed me by the shoulders and yanked me inside. Then he rushed to the radio and began flicking through stations. He didn’t notice the damp yellow lump I had clutched against my T-shirt.
    Unable to find a clear channel, Dad began barking out instructions. ‘You go wait in the bathroom!’ he shouted, while jamming old towels under the doors. ‘And fill the bath with water. Grab the torches on your way. I’ll bring a mattress in shortly.’
    â€˜A mattress? But the bathroom’s tiny. We can’t sleep in there.’ How would I hide Peanut from Dad in the bathroom? And what about looking for Jumble?
    There was a loud crash outside the kitchen window.
    â€˜Flynn! This isn’t a ride at the Ekka. This is serious. I haven’t got time to argue! Just go to the bathroom and shut the door.’
    â€˜Where are you going?’ My heart thumped. I didn’t want to go to the bathroom. I wanted to go look for Jumble.
    â€˜Flynn, NOW!’
    Keeping my back to Dad and Peanut close to my chest, I ran down the hall to the bathroom and crouched on the floor beside the bath. I turned on the taps and then reached down and kissed Peanut’s head. He smelt damp, like a wet school jumper. Where was I going to hide him? In the cabinets under the sink? But then how would he breathe? A shower cubicle might have worked, but Grandad Barney’s shower was only a nozzle over the bath. Maybe the dirty clothes basket? I stood up to check it out, with Peanut squirming wildly in my arms.
    â€˜You’re okay, little fella,’ I murmured. ‘You’re safe in here with me.’
    But what about Jumble? What would happen to him all alone out there? I’d seen pictures after cyclones, and there wasn’t much rainforest left. Houses were shattered, and trees were ripped and beheaded, looking like matchsticks jammed into the soil. Jumble would be killed for sure.
    I lifted the lid off the clothes basket. Although it was made of plastic, there were holes in the lid for Peanut to breathe. It was perfect. I leant down to stash him inside but, as I did, he wriggled out of my arms. ‘Poor little guy,’ I soothed, as he hopped onto the bathroom tiles. ‘You’re missing Jumble.’ I reached out and stroked him as he pecked at my toes. His feathers, although wet, were soft and reassuring. Touching him seemed to calm him down, and made me feel better, too. I smiled as he pecked my toe again. ‘You’re hungry.’ I rummaged through the box of food Dad had placed on the bench next to the sink. Under the Spam and baked beans, I found three boxes of sultanas. I quickly grabbed one, and tipped the entire box into the wash basket. Then I placed Peanut inside. I’d just lowered the lid when Dad burst through the door.
    â€˜Dad!’ I yelped. ‘I wasn’t doing anything. I was just,’ I glanced at the half-full bath, ‘filling the bath.’
    Dad pulled a mattress through the doorway, leaned it against the