Mission Dragon, page 5
At the moment, it was dragon-free, but Beck had no idea how long that would last.
“Do you know how many?” Ju-Long asked.
“There can’t be many on an island this size,” Beck said. “More than one, obviously, because they’ve got to breed. Maybe a small family of them. Any more than that, and they’d eat up all their resources. And probably each other.”
“Resources, yes,” Ju-Long said. “They must have food. If they can eat it, so can we.”
“They probably swim and catch fish. Or crabs. Or birds,” Jian suggested.
“What I want to know is, can we live on the same island as them safely?” Beck asked. “If they’re used to having to fight for food, and they decide it would be easier to take a bite at us…”
Jian and Ju-Long looked at each other.
“What I want to know,” Jian said, “is, can we eat them?”
“What?” Ju-Long and Beck said together, as though he had just said something really odd. Jian looked from one to the other in surprise.
“Well?”
“The one thing I do know about them,” said Beck, “is they’re endangered. In China, anyway. They’re on the China Species Red List.”
“And Beck won’t kill an endangered animal,” Ju-Long explained, in response to Jian’s baffled look. “When we were in the gorge, he wouldn’t even kill a turtle for that reason.”
“We won’t need to kill them – we’re smarter than that,” Beck said. “If they can eat fish and crabs, so can we,” he added to reassure him. “So, did you find any sources of water?”
While he explored the interior of the island, Ju-Long had been finishing off her exploration of the edges.
“Just more like this.” She pointed at the dark marks on the cliff at the top of the beach. “And these.” She held up two full, unopened bottles of a fizzy soft drink. Beck’s eyebrows went up.
“Okay. These will do nicely.”
Jian’s face lit up as Beck took the bottles and began to unscrew the lids. Then he almost shouted, “no!” as Beck held them upside down and their contents gurgled out to the ground. The drink fizzed and bubbled as it disappeared into the gravel. He stared at the stain on the pebbles.
“Why did you do that?”
Beck grinned.
“Trust me, this is all chemical and it would only make you thirsty again. The whole point of companies selling fizzy drinks is to make you want to buy more fizzy drinks. Whereas…”
With these and the bottle he had found earlier, they now had three – one each. He gathered them all up and headed to the top of the beach.
The dark stain of water dribbled over a small ridge in the cliff face, and then fell half a metre to the beach. There wasn’t enough to make a decent stream that would flow down the beach – it all just disappeared into the gravel – but it was perfect for what he wanted. He pushed each of the three bottles into the gravel, base first, to hold them up. Then, one by one, he cut three lengths of rope from the net that were a bit longer than the distance from the ridge to the mouths of the bottles.
He laid the three lengths side by side on the ridge, holding them in place with small stones. The lengths each dangled down into a bottle, and he made sure that the ropes went well into the bottle mouth.
Jian and Ju-Long had followed him, out of curiosity. They peered closely at his handiwork, and then Jian laughed. It was the first sign of happiness he had shown since Dolphin went down and it was nice to hear.
“Oh, very good!” he said.
The water that trickled down the rock face was now trickling down the rope instead. Surface tension made it cling to the fibres and gravity kept it heading downhill. And so, it slid down the rope, drop by drop, and into the bottles. It would be their own personal water bank.
“These are half litre bottles,” Beck estimated. The labels were long gone but he recognised the size. “So, in about an hour we’ll each have half a litre to drink. Over six hours, we’ll each get our three litres of water a day. Now, let’s see what else we’ve got…”
*
By the time the first hour was up, and the bottles were full, Ju-Long and Beck had scoured the island, plundering the treasures they had found on their first venture. Jian, to his frustration, had to sit and wait. He tried to come with them, at first, but then he stumbled and went white as even that small bump jarred his arm. After that he agreed, fuming, that it would be best to sit and wait quietly.
They went in different directions and had to make a couple of journeys to bring back everything they found – thanks to the typhoon, so much had been washed into the sea and was still swirling around, waiting to be washed up wherever there was a shoreline. Jian happily made himself useful by sorting it all into two piles.
The first pile was just bits of wood. There was a lot of it, ranging from small branches to a large chunk of a fishing boat that had probably been wrecked and smashed up by the typhoon. It consisted of a long, flat section of planks nailed together, which must have been almost a quarter of the hull. It would never be a boat again but it would be a handy source of material, and not just for burning. Beck could already think of a couple of other uses.
The other pile was all kinds of assorted garbage. The typhoon must have ripped most of it off the mainland and the sea currents had brought it here. Among the items that Beck could immediately think of a use for…
Five more flip-flops, of different shapes and sizes. They were all made of bubble-filled foam, so had floated easily. There was not one pair among them, which made Beck wonder if there were a lot of one-footed Chinese on holiday somewhere.
A metal saucepan. Jian had seen a small metal tube sticking out of the gravel of the beach and pulled on it – it turned out to be the handle. It was full of soaking wet grit, but that was easy to rinse away.
A sheet of tough, clear plastic, clouded by scratches.
And several more plastic bottles, which Beck set up to fill alongside the ones already in the water bank.
Beck studied the piles of debris as he sipped from one of the full bottles and savoured the feel of clean, cool water refreshing his system.
“Funny, isn’t it,” he said thoughtfully. “One man’s trash is another man’s treasure. To us, these could all be life or death. But their original owners probably won’t even miss them.” He paused. “Except maybe the five people who don’t have a matching flip-flop.”
They all chuckled.
“So, how will the flip-flops be useful to us?” Ju-Long asked, not quite believing.
Beck grinned. “Oh, I can think of a way…”
Chapter 13
Beck stepped back and admired his handiwork. A wooden tripod stood on top of the rocky promontory on the edge of the island.
“Pretty good,” he murmured, “and we can keep adding to it, as well.”
This was the second element of Protection, Water, Rescue and Food. They would never be rescued if no one saw them here. The promontory would be their signal point. Up here they could light a fire, a beacon – not for light or warmth, just to be seen.
Beck had picked all the bits of wood he wanted from the pile on the beach. It had taken him several trips to get everything up here – the signal point and the beach were almost on opposite sides of the island – and everywhere he went, he kept himself braced to fight off any hungry dragons. But this was where the signal fire had to be. It was high up, on the edge of the island where there would be nothing to obscure it. And it was more likely that vessels would pass by on this side, where there was nothing but open water, than try to sail between the islands.
The tripod was a little taller than he was. He had lashed two planks together at one end, first tying a simple hitch knot around both of them, then wrapping the rope several times over the knot, top to bottom and left to right. Then he had wedged the third plank into the groove between the first two at the top, and tied that one in place as well.
He had stood the tripod up, and built a small platform about half way up. First he had tied three slightly shorter pieces of wood, each one across two of the legs like horizontal struts to make a triangle. Then he could lay more wood across these to build the platform itself.
But a fire, of course, needed stuff to burn. He had a collection of dry sticks that he had gathered up from the undergrowth behind him, and with his knife, he whittled the bark away into dry shavings that would act as the tinder – the bit that he actually set fire to. He piled it up into a light, fluffy heap on the platform. Air could circulate freely all around it, and once he applied flame, it would lick its way through the mass in seconds.
On top of that, he laid the kindling – the sticks that he had shaved down. They would catch fire off the tinder and give energy to burn the fuel. At least, that was the theory.
If this was a camp fire, or a cooking fire, the fuel would be a couple of logs, or at least larger pieces of wood. They would burn slowly, but surely, releasing their heat over hours.
But instead of wood fuel, Beck carefully laid the flip-flops on top of the platform. He didn’t want heat, he wanted smoke – lots of it. The artificial foam would give off thick, black clouds of the stuff – choking and foul, but very visible. Grey or white smoke could easily get lost in the sea haze, and anyone on a passing boat could simply miss it. But there was something about black smoke that immediately told a watcher this wasn’t natural. The eye wouldn’t just filter it out. It would be about as visible as it could be.
Beck squatted down on his haunches and fingered the two halves of the fire steel that hung around his neck – the other personal item that he carried with him everywhere, together with his knife. It could light a fire almost anywhere. He gazed out to sea, and thought.
Jian had suggested trying to keep the fire burning, 24/7. It might increase the chances of being spotted, he had pointed out. But they would have to be constantly replenishing it, Beck had replied, which would be so time consuming, taking up energy that could be better used in looking after themselves. The tripod itself would burn through eventually and need replacing. And those flip-flops would only burn once.
So, they had all agreed that the better option was to leave it until it was absolutely needed – when there was a boat sailing near, or an aircraft flying low. If they spotted either of those then they could run to the signal fire and have it blazing in minutes. Then at night they would keep their normal fire burning, right where they would sleep.
So, the last step for this signal fire was to protect the beacon against the weather. If it rained, the fire pile would soak through. He had passed a palm tree on the way up here, so he headed back to it and cut off an armful of fronds, as long as his forearm and about half as wide. He went back to the beacon and laid them around the pile on the platform, overlapping, so that any rain which fell on them couldn’t find a way in. The leaves were natural gutters, each folded lengthways into a V-shape, and rain would be channelled down them.
Last of all, he tied a couple of strands of net rope around them to hold them in place.
“Sorted,” he murmured. Now it was time to go down and see how the others were doing at the job he had left them with, and work out a watch rota. Beck noticed how thirsty he was – he had finished off the bottle he had brought with him. But he knew the other bottles in the water bank should have topped up by now.
He picked up his shirt and dusted himself down with it, before pulling it back on. It had been hot work, so he had taken it off and rubbed earth over the top half of his body. The point had no trees to provide shade, and the sun still beat down on it, even though by now it was getting on for five p.m. – two hours to sunset – and the earth made a crude but effective sunblock. The factor was somewhere between fifteen and yuk, but all you needed was an extra millimetre of something to take the force of the sun before it hit your skin.
He turned to go, but froze like a statue where he stood. Beck found himself staring in terror at two of the dragons, side by side, cutting off his way from the point.
Chapter 14
“So, most definitely not alone,” he said softly.
They didn’t look pleased to see him, and it was mutual. Their front legs were braced and their heads were raised up. Beck tried to figure out if it was the way they just liked to stand, or if they were about to charge. It was the first time he had got a clear look at one, since the first had been mostly hidden in the bushes. The smallest was about as long as he was tall. Its body seemed to be slung between its legs so that it was hanging from its thigh and shoulder joints, rather than balanced on top of them, like a mammal would be, but the legs themselves were powerful and muscular, and long claws dug into the dirt.
One of them hissed. It didn’t keep coming, but it didn’t take a step back either.
Reptiles didn’t have expressions. Beck had found this before. Snakes, crocodiles – you couldn’t tell what they were thinking by looking. So, he had no idea if these ones fancied a feast of fourteen year old boy, or were afraid of him, or were maybe just annoyed that he had taken their space…
He looked again at the point, and tried to picture it through lizard eyes. Lizards were cold blooded, and they got their energy by sunning themselves. They would choose somewhere nice and exposed, preferably rocky so it would absorb the sun’s warmth.
Somewhere like the point. Well, duh. He had nicked their lounging spot.
“Okay, so I kind of barged in, didn’t I?” he muttered quietly. “Well, it’s big enough for all of us. I won’t bother you if you don’t bother me. Deal?”
The other lizard hissed, and they both flicked their tongues at him. Beck hoped they weren’t smelling him to decide if he was edible.
Beck slowly bent down and picked up one of the spare pieces of wood. He gripped it at one end in both hands, poised, ready to defend himself if he had to.
“I’ll be off now.” Beck spoke softly and calmly. “Lovely to have had this chat. But I’m going to have to come back. We need to keep watch for rescue from up here during the day. Just warning you both.”
Slowly, always keeping himself turned towards them, he sidled his way off the point. It brought him to within a couple of metres of the pair. They didn’t move, didn’t even turn their heads to follow him, but he had a feeling their eyes swivelled in their sockets, tracking him all the way.
Okay, whoever was on watch would need to make sure they protected themselves, from dragons and from the heat of the sun.
He set off back to the beach, keeping the stick at the ready all the way. Now he knew there were at least two dragons on this island; there could be more.
Their situation was getting worse by the hour.
Chapter 15
“Do you remember what I said about the Chinese space station?” Ju-Long asked. It took Beck a moment to remember, but then he laughed.
“Oh, yes. Of course.”
They were back at the beach, gazing at the results of Ju-Long and Jian’s handiwork. This was where they would be spending their nights.
The undergrowth that covered the island came down to the top of the beach, and a tree right on the edge had stuck a pair of thick branches out across the gravel, side by side and almost horizontal, about a metre off the ground. With Jian passing her things one-handedly, Ju-Long had used the section of the fishing boat and other bits of wood to build a platform, laid across the two branches and tied in place with more lengths from the rope net.
Then she had taken the four longest poles they could find and jammed them into the beach, so that they stuck up above the platform, one at each corner. She had tied crosspieces to the tops of each one, using the same sort of diagonal lashing that Beck had used on the beacon, so that there was a square frame above the platform. Then she had tied the last few of the long pieces of wood at spaces across the frame to make rafters.
Meanwhile Jian had cut palm fronds which she could lay over the rafters, overlapping, like Beck’s protective layer on the beacon, but on a larger scale. Jian had also arranged more fronds on the platform itself, as a very basic kind of futon to make sleeping there slightly more comfortable, and he had arranged some cut-off branches along the seaward side of the platform to make a primitive windbreak.
They would only spend time on the platform when they slept, so they would be lying down. The windbreak would keep the breeze from the sea off their bodies. It might only make a difference of a degree or so, but even in these subtropical seas, that difference could be vital. Beck had suggested one other way to keep warm up on the platform: to build a fire on the gravel, directly beneath their camp. The other two had looked at each other, concerned, but Beck had reassured them that it would work.
Beck suspected that all this exercise had taken more out of Jian than he was prepared to admit. He was definitely cradling his hurt arm, though it was still supported by its sling, and his skin had an unhealthy pallor to it.
“Yup,” Beck agreed with a straight face, “that is definitely the next best thing to a space station. If it was at a slightly higher orbit – like, several hundred kilometres above the earth – then I don’t think I could tell them apart.”
Jian was looking baffled.
“Space station?”
“When we were going down the river gorge,” Ju-Long explained, “Beck and I built a raft from bamboo poles. I felt as proud of that as I do that China has built a space station.”
“Tiangong-1,” Jian agreed with a proud nod. “I see.” He held his good arm out. “Well, if your raft was Tiangong-2, welcome to Tiangong-3!” he announced. His smile seemed force but Beck was sure the intent was genuine, and he was glad. Jian would continually have to pull himself up to being his old self, and Beck admired his positivity and courage.
“Congratulations on being the first Young Pioneers in space,” Beck laughed. “Let’s celebrate with a drink.”
He picked three of the bottles from the water bank and carefully removed the dangling lengths of rope before handing them out one at a time, to Ju-Long and Jian. He took the last one himself and raised it in a toast, with a wry smile.
