Mission Dragon, page 6
“To China.”
He put the bottle to his lips. Even though his body wanted him to tilt it back and glug it all down in one go, he went more slowly. He let a little into his mouth and swilled it around, feeling it coat his tongue and the back of his throat. Then he gargled a little, and moistened his lips. And only then did he swallow it. His eyes closed, savouring the feeling.
“Like gold, isn’t it?” The other two nodded, then raised their bottles and together they drank.
As Beck slowly drained his bottle his thoughts were moving on to the next job. Protection, rescue, water – they had now ticked three of the four essentials off the to-do-list. The fourth was easier done in the daylight. He checked his watch, even though he could already see the sun heading for the horizon. They only had about an hour of daylight left.
Ju-Long took the bottles back to their filling station at the foot of the cliff and re-inserted the dripping rope strands.
Meanwhile, Beck was picking his way through the unused pieces of wood. There was a carved round piece about the width of a broom handle– straight and about as long as his arm. He hefted it in his hand experimentally. It had a good weight to it – not too heavy, but strong enough to carry the force of any thrust that he made. It wouldn’t bend too much under force.
“Okay.” he said. He looked first at Ju-Long, then at Jian. Jian so badly wanted to be doing something useful – something that he could safely do with one hand and which wouldn’t wear him out. “Jian, how do you fancy taking the first shift at the signal beacon?”
Jian smiled happily by way of answer. It was something useful that he could do without pain.
“And Ju-Long – we’re going to need some sort of a shelter up there, so we don’t get burnt up by the sun. Maybe not this evening, but certainly tomorrow.”
“We can make one,” she said diplomatically, and Jian lowered his eyes. They all knew it would be more accurate to say that she could build one, with Jian’s assistance. She picked through the wood and held up a couple of pieces. “These as supports, and some of the net as a roof, covered with leaves.”
“Perfect. Look out for the dragons – take a good stick with you. And then, we’ll need a fire to cook our dinner, back here at camp.”
“But we don’t yet have any dinner to cook,” she pointed out.
“Nope.” Beck grinned and hefted the piece of wood. “That’s my job.”
Protection, rescue, water… and food.
Chapter 16
The gully in the rocks was as long and as wide as Dolphin had been, and waves surged in and out. Ju-Long had discovered the natural inlet on her exploration of the shoreline, and showed it to Beck. At low tide it would be dry but now, at nearly high tide, it was all covered in seawater. Fronds of seaweed beneath the surface swayed back and forth with the swell. Fish were silhouetted against the pale gravel as they glided to and fro with casual flicks of their tails, and crabs crawled slowly from crevice to crevice, just below the waterline.
Beck lay on the rocks and held his hand directly above one, so that even if it sensed his presence, it wouldn’t be able to bring its claws up to bear on him. Then he grabbed swiftly down and snatched it out of the water.
He held it from behind, so that its claws and legs could wave helplessly but not hurt him, and then he quickly put it out of its misery, cracking the shell and levering the top half off with his knife. Ju-Long could do this much better than he could – as he had discovered in their previous adventure, when her Tai Chi crab-cracking skills had amazed him – but she already had enough to do.
The bottom half of the shell contained a glistening mix of firm, white crab meat and the sticky, wobbly pile that was its guts. He took a pinch of the guts between thumb and forefinger and flung it into the water at the top end of the inlet. Then another pinch, a short distance away.
“Here, fishy, fishy…” he murmured.
If the three of them had just wanted to exist on crab meat, they could probably do that. But they wouldn’t get much energy from crabs this small. That’s why Beck had bigger game in mind. Fish – and not just the little tiddlers that he could see down there. Fish had a good sense of smell and would be able to sniff this out from a couple of hundred metres away. Yum, free crab guts, they would think. And when they came…
He had pulled off his top and kicked off his trousers, to stand in just his shorts. Now he picked up his spear and gave it a final check.
The shaft was the straight piece of wood he had found earlier. He had sharpened one end into a point, but that wasn’t all. He had retraced his steps after they had all come ashore, to find the dead bird. Even back then he had thought it might come in useful – now he knew how.
He had twisted the head off the neck so that he just had the skull and the beak. The two halves of the beak were strong and pointed – when it was alive, the bird would have dived head first into the water at high speed, and the beak was designed to take that force and to grab the fish the bird was aiming at.
Which was why Beck had firmly fastened it to the end of the spear with a whip knot, tugged tight. The spear now had three prongs – the two halves of the beak and the sharpened wooden end. Triple the reach and triple the killing power.
And now he just had to wait…
But not for long. The first sign was when the small shoals of tiddlers flicked their tails and discreetly vanished. Something large was moving up the inlet.
Beck picked up the spear as the fish came into view. From up here, distorted by refraction in the water, he couldn’t make out exactly what it was. But it was a good half a metre long, and that was all he needed to know.
He took the spear in both hands and aimed it carefully down at the water, a little below where he could see the fish. The human eye always assumed light travelled in straight lines, but in fact the light would bend when it came out of the water and into the air, so the fish’s position would be a little bit in front of where it seemed to be.
And, the fish was moving, which added to the challenge. Beck had to make his best estimate as to where it was now, and where it would be in a second’s time.
He could see how deep the gully was and so he knew he wouldn’t be jumping head first onto rocks. There was no time to hesitate.
He braced himself, and dived.
Chapter 17
The triple-pointed spear end was the first thing into the water, followed a fraction of a second later by Beck himself. He was using the same trick as the beak’s original owner, diving head first, legs up, aligning all his weight and momentum with the spear to drive it down.
Water roared in his ears and salt water bit into his eyes. All he could see was confused shades of light and dark, with no way of telling what was a rock, a fish or anything else. He had to trust to the accuracy of his dive and that was all.
He felt a shudder through the shaft of the spear as it hit something and he thrust further down, intending to impale it or pin it against the bottom of the inlet before it could wiggle free. It grated against the bottom of the inlet. Well, he either had the fish or he didn’t – there would be no second chances at this stage. He kicked upwards, back to the surface, blowing a cloud of bubbles as he went.
His head broke the surface and he lifted the spear out to check – but he could already feel it was too light. He pulled a face as he lifted it up to check. Sure enough, the three prongs were completely bare.
“Oh, well,” he said with a grin. He fingered the rope that fastened the beak to the shaft. “At least the knot held and the prongs aren’t broken!”
It was a basic lesson for any kind of hunting or surviving. Just do something once and you probably won’t get anything. You need patience, you need persistence, and you need to stay positive and hopeful.
He chucked the spear up onto the rocks and levered himself out of the water.
It took two more tries and more crab guts, but the patience was worth it.
On the second try he felt the spear hit the fish, and he felt the fish fighting back. The spear shook as it wriggled, and when he came up to the surface, the fish was gone. There was a small red cloud in the water, which meant he had gashed it, which he regretted because while he wanted to kill the fish for food, he didn’t want to cause it unnecessary pain along the way. Very probably another fish would now take it, and make a better job of it than he had.
But hopefully the blood in the water would attract more like it into the inlet. The crab guts could only go so far.
The third time, he had the hang of it. You catch a fish on the end of your spear and the fish tries to swim away from it, so the secret was to keep the spear moving at all times. Keep pressing down, or up, but keep pressing forwards. Don’t pull the spear back. If the fish tries to get away, just make sure the spear is following it. Don’t give it a chance.
He needed both hands to guide the spear as the fish thrashed at the end. It was strong and powerful and heavy. Beck ground the spear against the rocky bottom and held it there, even though he could feel his lungs pressing against his ribs, until he felt the fish grow weaker. Then he quickly twisted around in the water, still keeping the spear moving, giving the fish no time to slip away.
He broke the surface with a whoop and hurled the spear onto the rocks, clambering quickly out after it all in one movement. The fish lay, impaled, flapping, gills gasping for breath, until he hit it firmly on the head with the handle of his knife.
It was a triggerfish – a body shaped like a flattened oval, a lot taller than it was wide, and fins on the rear half of its body, just in front of a small but powerful tail. Its mouth was also small, but Beck knew it could have delivered a powerful nip if it had got free.
And it was a good size – almost the size of his upper torso. Plenty for three hungry teenagers to eat.
He shook as much water off his body as he could, then pulled his dry clothes on and slid his fingers into the fish’s gills to carry it back to the camp.
The sun was right on the horizon, and the sky to the west of the island was a glowing shade of pink. On the eastern side of the island, where the camp was, there was no sun at all now. Every colour around the beach was turning a shade of grey.
Ju-Long and Jian were back from the signal point, their duty done for the day. Ju-Long had also built a good fire on the beach, ready for the spark that would light it. Beck silently held his hand out to Jian. His fire steel usually lived on a chain around his neck, but he had loaned it to Jian while the other boy stood signal duty. Now Jian tugged it from around his neck with his good hand and passed it back to its owner.
The fire steel consisted of a rod of a substance called ferrocerium, and a flat metal plate. You hit the rod with the scraper plate, and sparks flew off it. It could light a fire just about everywhere except underwater.
Beck knelt down to prepare to strike sparks into the fire. Ju-Long had built it in much the same way as he had built the fire on the signal platform. A mass of tinder: dried leaves, weeds and twigs. Kindling: a small pyramid of larger twigs and sticks. And fuel: not flip-flops but washed up pieces of wood. It had been days since the last rain and everything had been dried out by sea breeze and sunshine.
Then Beck changed his mind.
“Jian, come and light for us, buddy.”
Jian looked at Beck nervously.
“You sure? I haven’t used one of these fire steels before.”
“Good time to practice, then,” Beck replied. He wanted Jian to feel both valued and needed, and Beck also knew that nothing built pride and confidence like lighting your own fire from scratch.
Jian leapt to the task and, with Beck holding the rod and Jian the striker in his one good hand, together they started to strike sparks. The fire caught in seconds. Yellow light began to flicker inside and the wood began to crackle and snap, as air and steam trapped inside its fibres expanded and burst out into the open.
Jian smiled at Beck. “Awesome!” he added, as he returned the fire steel to Beck.
Ju-Long and Jian sat on logs and huddled around it, letting the warmth soak into their bones. Beck laid the triggerfish down on a rock and deftly sliced it open down its belly from mouth to tail, taking care not to puncture the guts. He stuck a finger into the gash and hooked it around the inedible mass of stomach and intestines, then pulled them all out in a sharp tug and dropped them into the pit he had dug out of the gravel for the purpose. Without the dragons around, he would have just chucked everything far away into the bushes, but he didn’t want to attract carnivorous visitors to the beach. Now he could safely cut the fish open and carve off slices of glistening, white meat.
“Here.” Beck passed each of them one of the fish’s eyeballs. “Plenty of fluid and highly nutritious.” He smiled irrepressibly.
Jian took his without a fuss. Ju-Long politely declined hers, with a wry grin.
“Two eyes, three of us – and the one who caught it surely deserves the prize.”
“Ha! If you insist. Thanks.” Beck popped it into his mouth and felt it burst into thick, salty liquid as he bit down. He grimaced. Okay, it was nutritious, but not the tastiest meal. He kept chewing – which took a while – until he felt able to swallow it, and washed it down with a chug from his bottle.
After that, they impaled the slices of fish on sticks and held them out to the fire, letting the heat from the flames do the magical work of turning raw flesh into food. There would be plenty here for second helpings, too. They sat happily in the fire’s circle of warmth and light, driving back the subtropical night that had fallen quickly over the island. The temperature had only dropped three or four degrees, Beck estimated – enough for them to notice, not so low as to be a problem.
The stars had emerged as the blue of the sky faded to dark. There were no clouds to obscure the million little diamond pinpricks scattered above them, in layers that were light years deep, but it always amazed Beck how so many sources of light up there could still produce so little light down here on the ground.
Deprived of sunlight, the sea no longer sparkled blue. It was black and mysterious, unknowable. A sliver of moon cast a silver sheen on the horizon but, nearby, only the gently breaking waves showed any sign of life as they caught the flickering light from the fire.
Jian suddenly drew a breath, staring at the ground. It was obviously the prelude to saying something that still went unspoken. They looked at him and waited.
“Today…” Jian began eventually. He pulled a face. “Today has not gone exactly as planned. But, thank you, Beck. And Ju-Long. For all your help.”
“Nothing was your fault, Jian,” Ju-Long assured him. He pulled another face, more sceptical. Beck was sure he didn’t agree with her. He still blamed himself for losing Dolphin.
“Well, we have each other,” Beck said. “Someone once told me that a survivor needs the three Fs to get along. Family, faith and food. Okay, we’re not technically family, but it feels like it. Or even friends instead. It’s still an F.”
“I have faith,” Ju-Long said. “Faith in us and faith that we will survive. I know what skills we all have. We are all healthy and we have brains. We can take charge of our situation.”
“And the food is smelling good.” Jian waved his stick, and sniffed. “Maybe another minute.”
“And out here I would rather have my friends – you two – than my family, to be honest,” Ju-Long said with a laugh. “My parents are wonderful – but they would be panicking like crazy right now!”
“I think my father could cope,” Jian said, and Beck remembered the capable Mr Zhou, who had held the expedition together while they were stranded on the ledge.
“And, Beck,” Ju-Long said, “I know your parents are dead and you live with your uncle. What about any brothers or sisters – do you have any?”
“No,” he confirmed with a sad face. And then: “Well – not anymore.”
They looked at him in surprise – almost as much surprise as he was feeling. Why had he suddenly started thinking about this? He almost never did. He had always known about it – his parents hadn’t been the kind to hide stuff from him – but he couldn’t remember the last time he had mentioned it to anyone except Uncle Al. If at all.
“I was one of twins,” he explained, to answer the question on their faces. “I had a baby sister born at the same time. Only, she died. I only know about her because my parents told me. They had time to name her Dian Rachel Granger, after Dian Fossey and Rachel Carson, who were two women my mother really admired. But then she got ill. She only lived for a day.”
He gazed without any focus into the fire. Somewhere at home, he knew, there was a photo album – a very slim photo album – containing the only evidence Dian had ever existed. Maybe he would look it up when he got back home.
“Of course, I don’t remember her at all. So, yeah, basically I’ve always been an only child –”
But he had no more time to talk about it, because a sudden weight slammed into his back and knocked him from his seat, head first into the fire. He twisted in mid-air to avoid the flames and landed sprawled in the sand. His stick and his slice of fish went flying.
Jian and Ju-Long scrambled to their feet, and Jian dropped straight back onto his knees again with a shout of pain, clutching his injured wrist as the sudden movement jarred his bones.
From a distance of only a few inches, Beck found himself looking into the gleaming eyes and gaping jaws of a dragon.
Then the dragon lunged.
Chapter 18
Beck flung himself out of the way, arms and legs scrambling, so that when he hit the ground he immediately launched himself even further out of biting range.
But it wasn’t him that the dragon was aiming for. Its jaws seized on the dropped lump of cooked fish. Then it scuttled forward and gulped up the bits of fish that Jian and Ju-Long had dropped onto the sand. It downed them in one swallow while Beck stared at it in disbelief.
“Back right away, guys, and keep your eyes on him.”
