‘Oh, love, you look white!’ Mum said when he arrived home from school. ‘Are you sure you’re not coming down with something?’ She cupped her hand to his forehead.

  ‘I’m just really tired,’ Spencer replied. ‘And hungry.’

  ‘Ham and cheese toastie? Smoothie? What’s your poison?’

  ‘A toastie would be awesome, Mum, thanks.’

  ‘Can I have one too?’ Pips yelled from her spot on the sofa, under her favourite blanket and with a tower of cushions behind her back.

  Mum smiled. ‘Coming right up! You guys are cooking dinner tonight, right?’

  Spencer smiled back weakly.

  ‘Tomorrow, then,’ she said.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Beef stirfry, à la Spence.’ Refuelled, Spencer gathered what he needed from his room. This was Mission: Take Two. Mission: Succeed. Mission: Get This Done Once And For All. This time he put Fluffnut in his backpack on top of a thick wad of newspaper, with a plastic bag underneath that. He pulled a cunningly saved toastie crust from his pocket and offered it to him — Fluffnut grabbed it with his stiff little front paws and held it, nibbling hungrily.

  Next, Spencer grabbed his warm jacket, since it would be close to dinnertime when he’d be riding home. He went out the back and pressed his thumb down on each tyre. Both pushed back strongly at him. He didn’t say goodbye; he reckoned he’d be back before they’d even noticed he’d gone.

  The ride out to Arrow Beach was slower this time, with more cars and people on the roads and paths. The sun was shining and Spencer felt his calf muscles cramping up on the back of the previous night’s workout. He pushed through the tightness, remembering his cross-country training with Mr Petrich, the strategies for pushing through pain, the rhythmic breathing, the self-talk. But more than anything, he was determined to get Fluffnut back out where he belonged. Toastie crusts and lettuce leaves weren’t going to cut it for much longer. An animal like this needed to be in its proper environment. He needed to be in nature. And where the boys had taken him last night had seemed perfect. Thinking back over it Spencer was sure they’d crossed paths last night with some family on a spotlighting walk, or uni students doing research or something. He and the boys had just been a bit paranoid because it was night time. After all, this was Skippers Cove: Community in Nature — that’s what the car rego plates said.

  In the distance, Spencer heard the sound of a motorbike, or a quadbike. He couldn’t say why, but it unsettled him.

  20

  Spencer leant his bike against the same peppy tree as last night. He took a breath and looked across at the bush. It was that coastal mix of olive-green and grey-green, with crusty limestone sand weaving underneath and in between. Above him, the sky was blue, and he could hear the calls of seagulls. He breathed in and patted the bottom of his backpack. This is it, Fluffnut. Yes, this was the spot.

  He walked in the direction of last night’s mission, walked as confidently as he wanted to feel, and observed the small crushing of limestone under his sneakers. There were narrow gaps leading between the bushes, and he followed them. He didn’t see — or hear — anyone or anything else.

  Spencer kept going in, determined to find a safe, far-away spot for Fluffnut. He went in and in and in until he came across a thick cluster of bushes with leafy branches that reached right down to the ground. To Spencer, this looked like an excellent place for a small thing to hide. He pushed away memories of the night before, the torches flashing in the darkness, told himself he was being stupid when he wanted to look back over his shoulder. He looked back. And saw nothing. No, you big doofus Spencer, he thought, that wasn’t a twig snapping under someone’s foot, that was the bush, making bushy, twiggy sounds. Man, he was losing it!

  Spencer crouched down and pulled around his backpack. He reached in and held Fluffnut tenderly, though Fluffnut clearly didn’t enjoy the experience as much as he did. It was a good sign that the little potoroo wanted to get away, Spencer knew that. Fluffnut didn’t seem very frightened of him anymore, just cautious. Which was reasonable. It was as though he almost sensed that Spencer was on his side.

  Spencer checked for the red loom band, and saw it still on his ankle, if potoroos had ankles. With both hands around the grey-brown furry body, Spencer reached into the bush-clump as far as he could and placed his soft friend carefully down on the ground. Fluffnut sat there like a statue, though Spence reckoned his own work in that department — in his bedroom in the middle of the previous night — was better.

  ‘Go on,’ Spencer said, ‘on your way, little fella. You know, scurry off into a hole or something.’

  Fluffnut hopped a couple of centimetres away from him but wasn’t doing a very convincing job of native-animal-overjoyed-to-be-set-free-after-cruel-imprisonment.

  ‘Go on!’ Spencer said again, and leaned back a little, rocks crunching under his heels as he shifted his weight. Fluffnut hopped again, and looked back at him. ‘That’s it,’ Spencer said. ‘You’re okay.’

  He nodded and watched him disappear completely. Oh Fluffnut, he thought. It’s been fun hanging out with you.

  And that was it. Spencer’s job was done. Mission: Success! He pushed himself up off the ground and dusted his knees and bum. He looked down into Fluffnut’s cluster of bushes to see if he could see him, but he couldn’t. It was done.

  He stretched and headed back towards the track, ready for the ride home. Spencer turned as he went, taking in one last look at Fluffnut’s new home, and saw two men standing not far away. They were looking directly at him, and not in a friendly way. Two sets of aggressive, staring eyes. One guy had a mean-looking mouth.

  ‘Oy!’ Spencer heard. ‘It’s that kid again. Get him!’ And then there was turmoil and thrashing in the bush as they blundered towards him. He swore he could feel them coming.

  He bolted in the direction of his bike. He couldn’t see them but he could hear them getting closer.

  And then Spencer felt a huge weight come down on him from behind, forcing him down. ‘I’ve got him!’ a voice yelled. Spence’s neck hit the ground in an awkward, stretched-out position and he felt grit smear into the skin of his jaw. Then something was shoved over his head and there were arms and hands over him, pushing him roughly through the bush, this way and that, pushing his head low, a voice grunting, ‘Keep going, ya dog,’ and finally, the sound of thick plastic, then metal, and Spencer being forced down onto his knees and pushed into something.

  And then silence. Dark silence.

  21

  Spencer didn’t move — not a micro-nano-particle — for a long time. He was glad for the silence, because it meant relative safety from the men. He prayed they’d stay away.

  He wasn’t much into praying. There had been one time before, but you know, it wasn’t a regular thing for him. And he knew it wasn’t really in the spirit of things to only pray when you were in a ridiculous amount of trouble, but he hoped that if anyone or any force was listening right now they’d be kind and forgive him his disloyalty. Because with something over his head and his body wedged into a weird space and two men who wanted him to disappear who knew where, Spencer needed all the help he could get, worldly or otherwise.

  After a little while, once he felt fairly confident that they were no longer around, he stretched out his legs. He couldn’t stretch his arms because they were tied together behind his back. He scrunched and unscrunched his fingers, which were tingling. He shook his head, to see if whatever was covering it would come off easily, but no joy there. It was a sort of heavy hood or fabric bag. It was hot and confined with his head covered, and he struggled to keep calm once he realised he couldn’t easily get it off.

  Spencer felt sweat crawling like a spider down the side of his face.

  He tried to breathe slowly. Panicking would make things worse, he knew, but the urge to free his head in particular was so great that he was only a few grunts away from a total meltdown.

  In through the nose, out through the mouth, Spencer, he heard Mr Petrich’s voice say from somewhere beside him, his always-even, always-calm voice. Spencer turned his head to listen for it before he realised it was coming from within himself, in a tiny, urgent whisper.

  In, in, in; out, out, o-u-t.

  In, in, in; out, out, o-u-t.

  But this was no cross-country run — how he wished that was what he was doing right now!

  How much time had passed? What time was it now? Spence tried to think, to focus. He’d left home after afternoon tea, probably about four o’clock. It had taken him about thirty-five minutes to get to the bush, then maybe ten minutes of walking in and around, then maybe ten minutes saying goodbye to Fluffnut.

  Fluffnut! Thank god he’d released him! At least he was safe.

  Then he’d been caught by those men and put in here. All that time was blurred. Mum and Dad would have expected him home by now. Dinner was usually about 6.30, 7 pm. It was dark at seven. They’d get very worried if he wasn’t back by then. If he wasn’t home by 8 pm they’d go ape.

  He didn’t think he could put his mum through anything stressful again — not after the glider accident with Dad. Mum’s nerves had been well frazzled by that. It had taken her months to let him go out on his own again, even just to Charlie’s place or down to the oval, a block away. He couldn’t put her through something like that again. Something like this. Couldn’t happen. Again.

  22

  ‘So, Pips, what’s for dinner tonight, then?’

  Pippa looked up from her homework at Mum, who was rummaging in the fridge. Her cheeks reddened. ‘Ummm … We could have omelettes?’

  ‘Hmm … We’ve got a red capsicum, and half a green.’ Mum held up the warped green blob as evidence. ‘And cabbage, celery and—’

  ‘Do we have any ham or cheese?’

  Mum stood up. ‘No ham. Yes cheese. I don’t think this cabbage would pass any kind of kitchen health inspection.’ She looked at the capsicum in her hand. ‘Nor would this.’ She shut the fridge door, dropped the offending items into the organics bucket for the worms, and then went to the pantry, swinging the doors wide. ‘Not sure I feel like a cheese and celery omelette …’

  Mum’s phone twinkled. She went over to it.

  ‘Okay, it’s Dad, saying he’ll be home in twenty minutes. Great. Maybe he can make dinner tonight.’ She murmured her message as she texted him: ‘Can you cook tonight? I am in a recipe black-hole.’ She put the phone down. ‘Right, I’m off to have a shower.’

  Pips nodded and went back to her homework. Five minutes till Make It Pop. Get to work! she told herself. She plucked a pear from the fruit bowl and clicked down the lead on her pencil.

  ‘Hel-lo,’ Dad called, coming in the sliding door. ‘Earth to Gray Family.’

  ‘Hi Dad,’ Pips called from the sofa, eyes not shifting from the screen.

  ‘Where are the others?’

  ‘Mum’s in the shower. Spencer … Spence went out a little while ago, I think. Not sure where.’

  ‘He’s late,’ Dad commented, but nobody heard him.

  He pushed off his shoes and looked at the kitchen. ‘Right. Let’s get this show on the road!’ And he walked to the fridge and opened the door with his special kind of positivity.

  23

  By trying different positions, Spencer realised he was in some sort of box about two-thirds his full body length. That is, he couldn’t lie down flat. He could touch the sides of the box easily when he rolled from side to side. So it was a shortish, narrowish box. A bit like a coffin, he thought, feeling the blood drain away from his face.

  Focus, Spence, he told himself. There are no voices just now — focus on that! Focus on getting something done now, while they aren’t here.

  There were other sounds; there were the tinily comforting sounds of birds that lived along this stretch of coast. He wasn’t sure what they were all called, but his mum or dad would often point as they went on their enforced family bushwalks and say things like, ‘Look, love, isn’t that a tawny-crowned honeyeater?’ or, ‘Hey, a brown falcon!’ and then get into an insanely long and boring discussion along the lines of: No, that’s got a black underbelly, the one we saw definitely had a grey underbelly, so it can’t be the eastern whatever, it must be the western whatever. As painful as those conversations were, Spencer allowed himself a moment, now, to think about Mum and Dad. And Pippa. He bet she was watching Make It Pop right now. He had never ever wanted to watch that show with her, until now.

  Spencer tried to refocus. He sucked air in through his nose, and realised as he did so that the air at his head end was very cold; very fresh. There must have been some sort of hole or window or gap in … the coffin.

  He moved by wriggling on his back, hard up to the fresh-air end and pressed his face against it. This bit wasn’t wooden like the rest of the box. This was made of wire. Like the stuff Dad used around the vegie patch to keep the neighbour’s cats from climbing in. It was like a small window. He could poke the tip of his bag-covered nose into one of the spaces.

  Fresh, fresh air.

  24

  ‘Oh, thanks, love,’ Mum said to Dad as she came into the kitchen. ‘Sometimes it’s just so hard to think of what to cook.’

  Rory opened his arms to give her a hug. ‘No problem. How was your day?’

  ‘Fine, thanks. Yours?’

  ‘Busy. Mrs Doyle had a heart attack, right in the surgery waiting room.’

  ‘And there goes her confidentiality!’

  ‘Whoops, I must have been sleep-talking,’ said Dad.

  ‘Dad? When’s dinner? I’m hungry,’ Pips called lethargically from the loungeroom.

  ‘Well, it’ll be quicker if you come and give me a hand.’

  ‘Isn’t Spencer back yet?’ Mum said. ‘I thought I saw him heading off on his bike a while ago.’

  ‘Not as far as I can tell,’ said Dad. ‘Or he’s back and has gone into hibernation in his room.’

  Mum furrowed her eyebrows. ‘He went to Charlie’s, I think. They’ve got a big project going on. It’s half past six. That’s pretty late for him. I might just check with Una to see that he’s on his way.’ As she keyed her text message into her mobile, she said, ‘He’s got lights on his bike, hasn’t he?’

  ‘Don’t know,’ said Pips, looking at Dad, who knew all that stuff.

  Dad chopped down hard into a wedge of pumpkin.

  ‘Love?’ Mum said. ‘Lights on Spence’s bike?’

  ‘Errr …’ He threw her a guilty look.

  ‘Oh, Rory! It gets dark early at this time of year! He doesn’t have bionic vision, you know!’

  ‘Yes, I have been meaning to get onto bike lights for the kids.’

  Mum’s phone made the lightsaber ringtone that Spencer had attached to Charlie’s mum’s number. She breathed out heavily to emphasise her displeasure of the bike-light situation and read the message. She read slowly, in silence, and looked up. ‘He hasn’t even been at Charlie’s this afternoon.’

  Dad straightened up. ‘It is a bit late, isn’t it?’

  ‘Maybe they went to Leon’s instead?’ Pippa suggested helpfully.

  Mum was already onto it, and she was using both thumbs to type this time. Once she was finished, she put the phone down on the counter and stared at it for a minute. ‘Right, let’s lay the table, Pips, while we’re waiting.’

  Pippa groaned. ‘It’s Spencer’s turn.’

  ‘Well Spencer’s not here, is he?’ Mum snapped. ‘And I need your help. Come on. Right now.’

  Dad looked out the kitchen window. Then he looked at Mum’s mobile phone, pressed a button to wake it up. He put down the knife.

  ‘I think we’d better call Leon’s, Suze,’ Dad said. ‘I’ll do it.’

  Mum dropped the cutlery on the table and went to the door. She slid it open anxiously and stepped out into the cold night.

  25

  Spencer pushed against the wire with his bagged-up head. His feet pressed against the other end of the box, giving him extra power. His arms were trapped uncomfortably under his back.

  He felt the wire give a bit, stretch outwards, under the pressure he applied. He pushed and pushed against it, until he thought he might explode the whole box from the inside out. The more he thought about it, the more he realised that this enclosure was quite similar to the one he’d found Fluffnut and the other animals in.

  He stopped, relaxed his body, lay still and floppy for a few moments to find some more strength. He focused his thoughts. This was all he could do: try to escape. If he could get out he’d be able to stand up at least, and maybe he’d be able to get the headpiece off.

  Spencer redoubled his efforts. He wiggled his body further up to the wire end so his head was bent up awkwardly against it. He stretched out his legs and found good solid spots for his feet. And he arched out with all his might, forcing his head fully into the wire, bearing all the load he could through his knees and feet and head. The bag provided a good barrier for his noggin against the wire,

  he realised, and he pushed even harder. His face burned with the effort and was slick with sweat. He made the kind of noises he’d heard animals make in distant paddocks. And then something popped. Something split; and there was suddenly a great wave of cool air around his head, and wire cutting into his skin despite the hood, but who cared! — he was closer to freedom, with half his head now poking out of the box.

  He gave one last shove with his legs and burst right out the wire end. He barely noticed the wire pricking into his neck, the blood beginning to flow. He forced his shoulders through the hole like some kind of action hero, then brought his feet close to his bum and broke out the rest of his body, landing in the limey sand, under what felt like a bush.

  And Spencer stayed there on the ground, sucking in fresh air, resting his neck and head and knees and feet and back and hands and arms. And then he began to make a plan for what to do next.

  26

 

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