Nobody’s saying anything, but I can tell what everyone’s thinking.
The same as me.
Why have you abandoned us, Doug?
Looks like me and Dad are cactus.
Dunno why I’m even telling you this, Doug.
Habit, I guess.
At least it gives my brain something to do instead of panic.
Brains don’t panic as much when they’re up to their necks in work.
That’s what Gran reckons.
I’m gunna listen to her more from now on.
I reckon I should have listened to her more when she was trying to tell me about you.
Anyway, I’ve listened to her about brains, which is why I gave mine a job to do while we were waiting for the helicopters to arrive.
I made it try to cheer me up and make me forget about the rain running down the back of my neck by thinking that at least Carla wasn’t in my queue saying ‘I told you.’
Then I looked at the other queues.
She wasn’t in any of those either.
‘Dad,’ I said, ‘Carla and her mum aren’t here.’
Dad looked at me with a grim wet face.
‘Neither are the Wilkinsons or the Malleys,’ he said, ‘but we can’t worry about them, Mitch, we’ve got our own problems.’
I looked at him and Mum and Gran.
The only problems I could see were that Dad’s green garbage bag raincoat was a hopeless fit and Mum was sad about leaving her computer and dartboard behind and Gran was grumpy because she’d spent all her savings on water and now we were up to our knees in it.
‘Should have spent it on beer,’ she was muttering.
I told Dad about Carla’s mum’s ute and how it never started properly if condensation got into the carby.
‘That’s just a few drops of water,’ I said. ‘Imagine what a flood’ll do.’
‘Mitch,’ said Dad, ‘forget it.’
I couldn’t.
‘Carla’s mum wanted to buy a new ute,’ I said, ‘but the bank wouldn’t lend her the money.’
Dad looked like he wished he was somewhere else.
Africa or somewhere.
Then he had a muttered conversation with Mum.
Mum nodded.
Gran slapped him on the back.
I was so dazed at seeing this that I was slow off the mark when Dad started sloshing his way across the oval.
‘Wait,’ I yelled, splashing after him. I’m coming too.’
He started to send me back, then something made him change his mind.
Perhaps he thought if I came, Doug, you’d be coming too.
Big joke.
We went over to where Dad had tied the four-wheel drive to the war memorial with the winch cable to stop it being swept away.
Dad untied it and we headed out of town towards Carla’s place.
The road was hard to see under the water but Dad knows the district like the back of his clipboard so we were right.
For a while.
Then I noticed something.
The water wasn’t just splashing up onto the bullbar any more, sometimes it was foaming over the bullbar onto the bonnet.
‘Slow down,’ I said to Dad.
‘We’re only doing twenty k’s,’ said Dad. ‘It’s not us.’
I knew what he meant.
The water was getting deeper.
Normally at that stage I’d have asked you to keep an eye on us Doug, but there didn’t seem much point.
Instead I tried to keep Dad’s spirits up.
‘These four-wheel drives are great, aren’t they?’ I said. ‘The way they keep going through anything.’
Dad grunted.
The engine coughed.
The four-wheel drive stopped.
Dad’s been out there fiddling under the bonnet and swearing for ages now.
I’ve been up on the roof for a squiz around but all I could see was water.
The rain’s stopped but the water’s still rising.
Another third of a gearstick and it’ll be over the car seat.
I blame myself.
I should never have got Dad to try and do a rescue.
Oh well, Doug.
Or Doug’s secretary.
Or Doug’s answering machine.
Or whoever’s listening.
If anyone is.
Which I doubt.
At least Carla’s not here to say ‘I told you.’
‘I told you.’
As soon as I heard Carla’s voice I spun round.
And banged my head on the roof of the car.
I’d forgotten I was sitting on the back of the seat.
My eyes went funny for a bit and I could have sworn there was a boat coming towards us.
A blue and yellow boat.
With a huge outboard motor.
And a highly trained State Emergency Service rescue team.
Then my eyes cleared and I saw what it really was.
A blue and yellow boat.
With two oars flapping.
And two people arguing.
‘I told you we were going the right way,’ Carla was shouting. ‘There’s Mitch’s dad’s four-wheel drive. We must be close to town.’
‘So where are the houses?’ yelled Carla’s mum. ‘Where’s the Gas ‘N’ Gobble?’
After me and Dad finished telling them how pleased we were to see them and we climbed into the boat, and Mrs Fiami finished scowling and moved some kitchen utensils to make room, and Dad knocked one of the oars into the water and I grabbed it, and Dad sat down and knocked the other oar into the water and Carla grabbed it, Mrs Fiami sighed.
‘My late husband was a fisherman,’ she said. ‘He’d have got us to town easy peasy.’
Dad stood up and knocked a frying pan into the water.
‘Sorry,’ he said.
I grabbed at it, but it sank.
Dad peered at the row of fence posts sticking out of the water.
‘We go that way,’ he said.
Mrs Fiami showed us how the oars worked.
She and Carla took one.
Me and Dad took the other.
We started rowing.
Dad soon got the hang of it and we stopped going round in circles and headed off in the direction he told us.
Why am I telling you this, Doug?
When you’re not even listening?
Just to let you know that we can look after ourselves, thank you very much.
The Wilkinsons were amazed to see us, partly because they’re both over seventy and they don’t get many visitors, and partly because of the boat.
‘Amazing,’ said Mr Wilkinson as we helped him off his roof. ‘Don’t see many of these little beauties this far from the sea.’
‘I hate it,’ said Mrs Fiami.
‘Are you keen on fishing?’ asked Mrs Wilkinson as Dad lifted her into the boat.
‘I hate it,’ said Mrs Fiami.
She explained she’d only kept the boat as evidence. Something to do with Mr Fiami’s life insurance and a mongrel insurance company.
While Dad explained to the Wilkinsons that there wasn’t room for all their carpets and chickens, I had a word to Carla.
She’d hardly made a sound since we got in the boat and I could see she was upset about something.
‘Is it Roald and Enid,’ I asked quietly, ‘and the others?’
Sheep hate water even more than mayors do.
Carla shook her head.
‘They’re on our roof with the last of the feed,’ she mumbled. They’ll be right.’
She bit her lip.
‘We left the photo album behind,’ said Mrs Fiami sadly.
Carla’s eyes glinted.
‘With the only photos of her dad,’ continued Mrs Fiami. She gave a sigh. ‘It’s probably history by now.’
Carla looked away.
I didn’t know what to say.
Dad stood up and knocked a hall rug into the water.
‘Sorry,’ he said.
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He peered at the fence posts.
‘The Malleys’ place is this way,’ he said.
I thought of you, Doug, and how quickly you’d get us out of this.
Then I grabbed an oar and tried to think of a way to tell Carla that I know how she feels about being dumped.
The Malleys were amazed to see us too.
They stood on their roof and aimed rifles at us.
‘Don’t you bank buggers ever give up?’ snarled Mr Malley.
Dad explained it wasn’t an eviction, it was a rescue.
Mr Malley didn’t look impressed.
Mrs Malley told Troy and Brent to stop snivelling.
Troy and Brent both went bright pink because they’d been hoping me and Carla wouldn’t notice.
When they all got into the boat I could still see tears on Troy and Brent’s cheeks.
While Dad explained to Mr and Mrs Malley that there wasn’t room for all their guns, I gave Troy and Brent a sympathetic look.
‘We’d have been OK,’ mumbled Troy, ‘if Dad hadn’t accidentally shot the fuel line in the ute.’
Mrs Malley cuffed him round the head.
Dad stood up and knocked a double-barrelled shotgun into the water.
Mr Malley howled.
Dad didn’t say anything.
He just squinted at the fence posts.
We’re on our way to town now.
The boat started leaking about halfway there.
Not a lot at first, but then more.
‘It’s the planks,’ said Mrs Fiami. ‘Some of them are a bit rotten.’
Everyone grabbed kitchen utensils and started scooping the water out.
Except me.
I’d had a thought.
A top fisherman like Mr Fiami must have kept stuff in his boat to repair leaks.
Plastic sealant and stuff.
I had a hunt around under people’s feet.
Then Dad gave a yell.
The metal thing that kept his oar in place had popped out of the wood.
Mr Wilkinson grabbed it before it could fall in the water.
‘There’s a brick somewhere to knock it back in,’ said Mrs Fiami. ‘In the cabin, Mitch.’
I crawled into the little cabin and found the brick.
It was dirty pink with black bits.
I passed it down to Dad and hoped he wouldn’t notice.
Then I realised Carla had been crouching next to me the whole time.
She took a deep breath and cleared her throat.
‘When the bank wouldn’t lend us money to buy feed,’ she said quietly, ‘I got very ropeable.’
She glanced nervously at me, and then at Dad, who was banging the metal thing in with the brick.
Dad looked like a man who was worrying about saving ten people from drowning, not worrying about broken windows from the past.
‘Sorry,’ said Carla softly.
I squeezed her arm to let her know I’d have done the same thing if my dad had drowned and my sheep were starving.
Then I saw something.
Behind Carla’s head.
A sort of hole in the cabin wall.
It wasn’t a rotten hole, it was a cut hole.
The sort of hole a person would make if they were looking for somewhere to store tubes of plastic sealant and their boat didn’t have any drawers.
I stuck my hand in there, hoping it wasn’t where Mr Fiami had stored the fish guts.
It wasn’t.
Inside I felt something hard and square.
After a bit of juggling I lifted out a metal box that looked exactly like a tool box.
It was locked with a padlock.
Jeez, I thought, this must be really expensive plastic sealant.
Carla tapped me on the shoulder and handed me the brick.
For a sec I thought she was offering it to me to keep and chuck through her window when the flood was over.
Then I twigged.
I started whacking the padlock with it.
After a few whacks, the padlock broke and the lid flipped open.
Inside the box were some small metal hooks and a plastic bag and some sort of pistol.
Carla opened the bag.
I examined the pistol but it wasn’t a sealant gun.
The plastic bag didn’t have sealant in it either, just an old notebook.
‘Mitch, Carla,’ yelled Dad. ‘Bail out some of this water or we won’t make it.’
We’ve been scooping water for hours.
That’s why I’m telling you all this, Doug or the man in the moon or whoever’s listening, to take my mind off the pain in my arms.
And to block out Troy and Brent’s sobbing.
And to let you know we are gunna make it.
I just want to say, Doug or the man in the moon or whoever, that we would have made it.
If it hadn’t been for the tidal wave.
When we reached town it was almost dark, but we could still see the roofs in the main street.
I felt like cheering, even though I had blisters from rowing and arm cramps from scooping.
Then Mrs Malley screamed.
For a sec I thought she’d seen a relative or a helicopter with dry towels on board.
Then Mr Malley screamed.
So did Troy, Brent and the Wilkinsons.
I spun round.
Moving towards us from the direction of the river, faster than ten cattle trucks having a drag, was a wall of water.
Roofs were disappearing under it.
‘Hang on!’ yelled Dad, and then it hit us.
Suddenly we were powering down the main street so fast that if Sergeant Crean had been on board we’d have been booked for sure.
And then just as suddenly it had gone, and we were left spinning round and round, all still screaming.
I opened my eyes.
The main street had gone too.
The only bit of town I could see was the diving board tower.
Water was pouring into the boat.
‘Row,’ yelled Dad. ‘Head for the diving board.’
We all rowed frantically using oars, saucepans, rifles and hands.
Somehow we got there.
Dad made us all clamber onto the steps before he’d leave the boat.
For a sec I thought he’d left it too late.
‘Dad!’ I screamed as the boat sank.
Dad jumped for the steps.
He clanged onto them.
Once the steps had stopped shaking, and we had too, we climbed slowly up to the top.
Diving boards aren’t made for ten people, so it’s pretty crowded up here.
We’re just sort of huddled together in the dark, listening for helicopters.
We haven’t heard any yet, but they could have been drowned out by Troy and Brent’s sobbing and Mrs Wilkinson’s asthma.
And the noise of the water swirling past.
The diving board gives a shudder every now and then.
I haven’t said anything, but I keep thinking about how crumbly the concrete is at the base of the steps.
I think Dad might be thinking about that too, because he muttered something a while back.
He had his arms round me, and he must have forgotten his mouth was so close to my ears.
‘OK Doug,’ he said, ‘I give in. Get us out of this and I’ll believe in you.’
I’ve been holding my breath for ages.
But you’re not getting us out of it, are you, Doug?
We’re on our own, aren’t we?
Well stuff you, Doug.
You had your chance and you blew it.
Now I’m gunna save us.
I just wish I didn’t have to dive into that dark swirling water.
If I can hold my breath long enough to get down to the kiosk and back, I’ll be right.
If.
Best not to think about it, as Gran says when she’s eating tripe.
Stand up quickly before Dad realises what’s going on.
 
; Arms.
Legs.
Quick focus.
And dive.
Oh no, my head’s too far back.
My tummy’s sticking too far out.
I’m doing a belly fl—
I must have blacked out.
The belly flop must have winded me.
I don’t get it.
I’m in the water, but I’m not sinking.
I can feel the current dragging at my feet, but I’m not moving.
What’s this round my chest?
Arms.
Strong arms.
I can hardly breathe.
Doug?
You at last?
Is that you whispering in my ear?
Telling me I’m a stupid bugger?
No.
It’s Dad.
He wants to know if I’m ok.
I can’t speak.
Partly because Dad’s squeezing so hard.
Partly because I’m crying.
Funny thing with us humans, Doug.
Mostly we cry when we’re sad.
But sometimes we cry when we’re happy.
I’ve just told Dad my plan.
‘The Stegnjaaics’ old inflatable plastic swimming pool,’ I said. ‘If nobody’s shifted it from where I left it, it’s down there in the kiosk with all the empty plastic bottles. We could use it as a raft.’
Dad sighed and I felt his hot breath on my ear.
‘It’s got a huge rip in it,’ he said. ‘I checked it out the day the Stegnjaaics dumped it at the tip.’
We’re floating in the blackness.
While Dad treads water I’m trying to think of another plan.
I can’t.
My brain hasn’t got another plan in it.
Not to save Dad.
Not to save anyone.
Not even to save me.
Suddenly drowning doesn’t seem so bad after all.
Me and Dad, together.
Hang on.
Dad’s body has just gone rigid.
‘Empty plastic bottles?’ he’s saying. ‘What empty plastic bottles?’
Dad’s a hero.
The Malleys and the Wilkinsons have been going round the campsite telling everyone how Dad saved us.
How he kept diving down into the pool kiosk and coming up with empty plastic bottles.
How he made us stuff the bottles inside our clothes until we could float.
How he tied us all together with strips of inflatable plastic swimming pool and towed us away from the diving board just before it collapsed.