Devils in Danger, page 11
After three or four minutes, more devils arrived and again, after several tentative sniffs, they approached the carcass. By now, the scarred devil was happily munching away on the meat around the wallaby’s hips and only made a couple of low growls when the new devils joined in the feast.
‘That there is Jack,’ whispered Leon after the five-minute silence was up. ‘He was rescued a couple of years ago after being hit by a car and he’s taken to life here very well. The other two are brothers, bred by one of our partner facilities down near Hobart. That shy little one hiding in the grass is Poppy, one of four females here at Dining with Devils. Devils can travel up to eighteen kilometres a night, looking for food,’ he explained. ‘So we don’t expect all of them to turn up at once. Watch out, here we go.’
Another large devil had raced in from the bushes, his mouth crocodile-wide as he charged into the spotlight, lunging at the scarred devil.
The scarred devil quickly opened his mouth too. He bared his sharp white teeth, exposing his pink tongue while he screamed. That’s when the war began. The newcomer screeched back. The scarred devil lunged forwards and squealed again.
‘See how they don’t actually bite each other,’ said Leon. ‘Their teeth are out there, that’s for sure, but they’re only bluffing, pretending to bite. Many people think devils pass on the dreaded facial tumour disease when they fight, but if you look carefully, they barely touch each other at all.’
He was right. The two larger devils were circling each other like boxers, never losing sight of each other’s jaws but, unlike boxers, not making any contact. Eventually, after one last vicious lunge from the newcomer, the scarred devil admitted defeat. He scampered off the platform without a second glance.
‘So, how long do the devils live for?’ asked the man in the Florida T-shirt. ‘That fella with the scars looks pretty old.’
Leon nodded. ‘About five years or so. That guy is roughly four, we think, and could live for another couple of years.’
‘So, how’d he get those scars if they don’t actually bite?’
‘Many of the devils get scars while mating,’ Leon said. ‘The male grabs hold of the female’s back, biting her behind her neck and, in retaliation, she bites him back. It’s one of the reasons so many of our females get devil facial tumour disease just before they give birth to imps.’
He went on to explain what DFTD was, but I hardly heard a word. Maybe that’s what had happened to Fern? She’d been bitten by a male during mating and that’s when she got sick.
There were now about six devils feasting on the dead wallaby, sticking their noses into the carcass then lifting their heads and crunching happily on the meat and bones.
Leon told us that devils could eat forty per cent of their body weight in half an hour, so it didn’t take long for them to demolish the wallaby in front of us. When there was nothing left, the remaining devils wandered sluggishly away, as if walking was too much effort with such a full tummy.
I couldn’t help thinking about Benjamin and Bella. Insurance populations were an awesome way to keep devils safe for the future, but what about Fern’s precious joeys? What if they got DFTD like their mother? Would they die too, after all she’d done to care for them?
I could hardly bear the thought.
Chapter 21
The weather was growing warm and the days longer as the summer holidays approached. Grade Five was nearly done. Benjamin and Bella were eight months old now, and growing stronger by the day, while Fern had become horribly thin and weak. She still went off to search for food, but spent longer and longer sleeping. April said Fern would probably wean her babies soon, which meant they’d leave the den. But for the time being, the joeys spent hours wrestling and squealing and barking. Now that our neighbours understood, we didn’t get any more complaints, but I couldn’t stop worrying about Fern.
As part of their play, the joeys insisted on climbing on their mum’s back, even though they were the strong ones now. They’d hang on, making Fern carry them around the yard, until one day, they’d fought over their positions for so long, she looked ready to collapse.
Poor Fern. I couldn’t stand it anymore. I had to find something to distract them. I ran inside to my room and glanced up at my soft toy shelf. Should I choose my bilby from Missy? Or my echidna? What about the soft koala we’d bought at Tasmania Zoo?
Eventually I made my choice. ‘Here you go.’ I gently offered my white-and-yellow pelican to Benjamin and my turtle Shelley to Bella. Benjamin snatched his gift and ran straight under the trampoline, but Bella wasn’t quite as brave.
‘Go on, take it.’ Shelley was one of my softest plush toys, so I knew Bella would like her. ‘It’s just for you.’
Bella’s shiny black nose twitched and her whiskers fanned forwards to touch the toy, until finally she eased Shelley from my hand. I was sad at first – Shelley was so special – but when I saw Bella race off, flicking the turtle playfully left and right as she ran around and around the Hills Hoist, I knew I’d done the right thing. Nanna would’ve been proud of me. She’d sent Shelley to make me feel something, and I was definitely feeling now.
The toys did the trick. Fern could finally have a moment of peace as she rested in the sun. Eventually, Bella fell asleep under the trampoline with Shelley tucked under her nose, and even when Benjamin, who’d lost interest in his pelican by now, waddled over to lie next to her, she didn’t let go of her prize.
There was only one week of Term Four to go when Noah asked me a question I was dreading.
‘So how long now?’ he asked when I’d popped over to update him on Fern’s joeys.
I didn’t know whether Noah meant how long till Fern’s DFTD got the better of her or how long till the babies found their own place to live. Both made me sad. Fern’s tumours had grown so huge that they completely covered her lips and part of her cheek. Her mouth was so swollen and sore that her eyes were squashed aside by their bulk, and her coat had become rough and dull. We’d had to leave out more bowls for her, so that she didn’t have to search for water, and she spent longer and longer sleeping in the sun, her ribs rising and falling as her breath rattled in and out.
Seeing her next to her energetic joeys, Fern’s growing illness was painfully clear. She’d become so thin it seemed impossible she could live much longer.
By December, Fern was so weak that she no longer left the den to look for food. Bella and Benjamin had to go off on their own, without her. The timing couldn’t have been worse: two young devils, travelling around Dodges, just as visitor numbers swelled ahead of Christmas. I spent every waking hour worrying. Would the tourists take as much care as the locals? Would our little joeys be safe out there on the roads?
On Christmas Eve, the footy club always hosted a carols night on the beach, but this year, instead of hurrying to get a good spot for our fold-out chairs, Mum and Dad sat me down at the kitchen table.
‘Killarney,’ Mum began. She wore her shiny red Christmas T-shirt and her favourite jingle bell earrings, but her eyes and mouth were grim.
Fern hadn’t moved in two days. She’d refused to drink the water we’d set out and just lay in her favourite cradle of dirt. Her eyes were permanently closed, her breathing shallow. Even when her babies climbed all over her, calling and growling and sniffing, she’d remained motionless, with only the occasional movement of a whisker or twitch of her nose reassuring me she was still alive.
‘We’re so sorry, poss,’ said Dad. He’d changed out of his gaudy Christmas shirt and put his carolling beers back in the fridge. ‘There’s not much more we can do.’
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. After everything we’d done to keep Fern and her joeys safe, Fern was going to die.
‘Dad and I thought you might want to say goodbye, in case … you know.’
I’d been about to put on my red felt Santa hat, but now I twisted the fake white fur trim in my hands. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. Fern was part of my life.
‘Look at Benjamin and Bella,’ said Dad, reaching a hand over mine. ‘They’re both super strong and healthy, thanks to you.’
‘I’m sure, like Dad and I, Fern is so proud of what you’ve achieved,’ added Mum.
A hot tear rolled down my cheek. I padded over to the one-way glass and lay with my cheek against its cool smooth surface. ‘What good has it done?’ I murmured. ‘It’s all been a waste. They’ll probably just die too.’
‘Killarney, sweetheart. Fern’s raised two beautiful healthy babies. I wouldn’t call that a waste.’
I didn’t answer. My heart hurt too much.
But I looked up when I heard Dad tiptoeing over to our brightly decorated Christmas tree. ‘We were going to save it for tomorrow,’ he said, retrieving an awkwardly shaped parcel from under the lower branches, ‘but we thought maybe you might like it now?’
He pushed the package, about the size of a mini netball, towards me. When I sat up and peeled away the red-and-green wrapping, my breath caught in my throat. Like Fern, the soft toy devil had black fur but, unlike Fern, she had white points on the tips of her ears and only one baby in her pouch, not two.
I ran my hands over her back, feeling Mum and Dad’s worried gaze on me. ‘Since you gave your pelican to Benjamin and your turtle to Bella,’ Mum explained, ‘we thought, you know, maybe it was time for a new furry friend.’
‘Thank you,’ I murmured, scrunching away the paper. ‘She’s lovely. She’s really lovely. But do you mind if I take her to my room?’
I closed the door and lay on my bed, holding my present close. Deep painful sobs swept over me, one for every day since I’d found Fern.
It wasn’t that I wasn’t grateful for Mum and Dad’s gift. The toy devil was beautiful.
It was just that she wasn’t Fern.
‘I promise I’ll look after your babies, Fern,’ I whispered. ‘I won’t let anything or anyone get in my way.’
Fern finally lost her battle with DFTD at 8 pm that night, two hundred and fifty-four days from when I’d first seen her. Oblivious to their mother’s passing, her joeys played chasey for a while, before heading off to find something to eat.
‘I’m so sorry, poss,’ said Dad as we stared through the glass at Fern’s lifeless body. ‘I’ve called April. I thought we should let her know.’
Despite it being Christmas, April arrived early the next morning. ‘She was a brave young mum,’ she said once she’d carefully wrapped up Fern’s thin body. ‘Goodness knows how horrible she felt, but she hung in there, making sure her babies were strong enough to cope on their own.’
I blinked, my eyes sore from crying. But then, as if losing Fern wasn’t bad enough, April delivered another painful blow. ‘There’ve been reported sightings of two young devils,’ she said just before she drove away. ‘Possibly Bella and Benjamin, crossing Old Forcett Road.’
I gasped. Old Forcett – the main road that led from Dodges to Hobart – had a speed limit of eighty kilometres an hour. There was always roadkill along that stretch.
‘We need to do something!’ I insisted once we’d waved goodbye to April. ‘We have to keep Bella and Benjamin safe.’
Dad frowned. ‘A road’s a road, poss. Not much we can do about that.’
‘What if we asked the council to put in speed bumps?’ I suggested. ‘To slow the traffic down?’
Dad shook his head ‘Speed bumps in an eighty zone? Don’t think so.’
I sighed, my shoulders heavy. ‘What about a change in speed limit? From eighty to, like, forty? That would be worth a try.’
Now it was Mum’s turn to shake her head. ‘I think Old Forcett’s a state road, not a local one, which means, well, I don’t think the state government can do anything in a hurry.’
I looked at Mum in surprise. State government? Local government? ‘How do you know all this stuff?’ I asked.
Mum smiled. ‘I’m not just any old hairdresser, you know.’
‘What about a fence?’ I asked. ‘To stop the devils crossing.’ I thought a little longer. ‘Hang on. What about a virtual fence? Like those things we saw in Bicheno?’
Dad scratched his nose. ‘You mean the ones in the reserve? The posts and alarms we saw from the mini bus?’
‘Yeah. The Night Owls. They’d work, wouldn’t they?’
Mum frowned. ‘But didn’t they cost something like two or three hundred dollars each?’
‘A hundred and sixty, with forty units needed for each kilometre,’ I reminded her. ‘Which would mean we’d need about thirteen thousand dollars to cover two kilometres of road.’
‘Nothing wrong with your maths, young lady,’ said Dad. ‘Hope you’ve got some wealthy friends!’
I spent the rest of the Christmas holidays, in between keeping an eye out for Benjamin and Bella, researching Night Owls and how we could get some. April said some roadkill hot spots could apply for grants to put Night Owls in, but that not many grants were approved.
Which wasn’t going to stop me. While others splashed at the beach, I sat at our laptop, my new plush devil perched on my lap, as I scrolled through pages and pages of ways to raise money. We owed it to Fern to keep her family alive. We had to get the Night Owls. I’d promised Fern I’d keep Bella and Benjamin safe.
Chapter 22
I smiled as Bones stuck her nose in my hand, but it wasn’t her I’d come to see. Or Noah. I needed to talk to Grannie Annie. Term One of Grade Six hadn’t long started when I finally thought of a way to fund the Night Owls. I found Grannie Annie in the kitchen, wearing a pink-and-yellow polka-dot scarf while she bagged up thin green asparagus spears.
I tried to look casual as I leant against the countertop. ‘You know how Fern and her joeys have been scaring off the possums from the community garden?’ I began.
Grannie Annie stopped bagging to adjust her hearing aids. ‘I beg your pardon?’ She’d been counting exactly twenty spears into each bag and now she held one aloft, trying to remember its number.
‘Aren’t Tassie devils like real-life scarecrows?’ I continued. ‘Scaring possums away?’
Grannie Annie used her asparagus-free hand to push her scarf further up her forehead. ‘I guess if you put it like that. I suppose we could credit your devils for the fact I’ve got more vegies than ever before.’ She tipped the spears out of the bag and started counting them all over again. ‘One, two, three … And?’
‘Well, I was wondering …’ I took a breath as I glanced quickly around the kitchen. Six more buckets of asparagus sat by the bench, waiting for Grannie Annie to bag. ‘Would you consider selling any extra vegies for a fundraiser? But only if you’ve got some spare,’ I added, knowing that she definitely had lots spare.
‘Eighteen, nineteen, twenty!’ Grannie Annie plopped the last asparagus spear in the bag. ‘Well, I guess I could sell a few,’ she conceded. ‘The coriander’s growing like a weed. And the eggplants and chillies … well, we’ve had a bumper crop this summer. What are you fundraising for?’
‘Night Owls. For along Old Forcett Road,’ I said. ‘They’re a new virtual device to stop devils getting hit by cars. That way we’ll have more …’ I made inverted commas with my fingers. ‘Scarecrows in the future.’
Grannie Annie smiled. ‘More devils, fewer possums? Sounds pretty good to me.’
I raced home to tell Mum and Dad. ‘I’ve started a fundraiser!’ I yelled.
It was Saturday morning, so Dad had already left for the club, and Mum had her soothing salon music playing. Her first customer, Mrs Dwyer, sat all caped up in Mum’s salon chair while her youngest son, Josh, bounded towards me.
I groaned. Josh wore a paper bag with cut-out eyeholes on his head and brandished a wooden spoon like a sword.
‘Slice!’ he cried, swooshing the spoon in the air. ‘You’re dead!’
‘Mu-um!’ I complained, as Josh wrapped himself around my legs.
‘Doosh, doosh, doosh,’ Josh bellowed.
‘Come here, Joshy love,’ soothed Mrs Dwyer, balancing her wool and knitting needles in her lap so she could reach for her son. ‘Leave poor Killarney alone.’
For once, Josh listened to his mum and let go of my legs. ‘What’s the fundraiser for, Killarney?’ she asked.
‘For these special alarm units,’ I explained, ‘to keep devils and other wildlife off the road. But they cost a lot of money, so I need to raise thirteen thousand dollars.’
Mrs Dwyer’s eyebrows rose. ‘Goodness!’ she said as she and Mum exchanged glances. ‘And how are you going to raise this tiny fortune?’ Mrs Dwyer asked.
I told her about Grannie Annie and the vegies while Mrs Dwyer picked up her knitting.
Which gave me a brilliant idea.
‘How many scarves could you make in a week?’ I asked her.
The sheep farmer frowned. ‘Well, you know I love to knit. Maybe seven? Or possibly eight? I’d be happy to donate them for you to sell.’
I grinned. If I sold each scarf for ten dollars, I’d make hundreds of dollars from Mrs Dwyer’s knitting.
I took a breath. My fundraiser was really happening. In fact, after I’d explained the Night Owls to Missy, we agreed I’d start charging for braiding hair, and even Noah offered to pay me for walking his dog.
Meanwhile, Benjamin and Bella hadn’t returned since they’d left on Christmas Day. Which April said was good – they needed to find a place of their own. But I missed them. Their den was quiet and empty, too quiet and too empty. Only a few old rags, a lone shoe, Shelley the turtle (with one missing flipper) and the toy pelican remained. I had my journal, of course, and a few photos of their cheeky faces, their silly games, but it wasn’t the same.
By the start of the Easter holidays, I still hadn’t raised enough to pay for the Night Owls. ‘Here’s an idea,’ suggested Noah one day when I’d been whinging about how long the fundraising was taking. ‘Why not upload that video?’
