The Cry of The Island

Chapter Eight

The Air Of Kings.

The night felt slower than usual, none of the boys could sleep as all were awake and speaking to keep their minds occupied.

"This is the first night in a while without fire."

He looked round guilty at the two boys standing by. This was the first time he had admitted or that they didn't have one. Kiwi tried to lift the mood up.

"If only we could make a radio!"

"Or a plane—"

"Or a television!"

The boys chuckled.

They all led down in the shelter, which still stood, though battered. The bed leaves lay within, dry and noisy to the touch. The boys were all burrowed under the leaves. Kiwi, Hendrix and Atticus all lay in a line. For a while there was the continual creak and rustle of leaves as they tried for comfort.

"Hendrix."

"Yeah?"

"All right?"

"S'pose so."

At length, save for an occasional rustle, the shelter was silent. An oblong of blackness relived with brilliant spangles hung before them and there was the hollow sound of surf along the reef. Atticus settled himself for his nightly game of supposing...

Supposing they could be transported home by jet, then before morning they would all get dropped off at their respective airports. They would go by car; no, for things to be perfect they would go by train; all the way around the country to every bodies drop off point.

His mind skated to a consideration of a tamed town where savagery could not set foot. What could be safer than the bus centre with its lamps and wheels?

All at once, Atticus was dancing round a lamp standard. There was a bus crawling out of the bus station, a strange bus...

"Atticus! Atticus!"

"What is it?"

"Don't make a noise like that—"

"Sorry."

From the darkness of the further end of the shelter came a dreadful moaning and they shattered the leaves with their fear.

Hendrix and Kiwi, locked in an embrace, were fighting eachother.

"Kiwi! Kiwi!"

"Hey—Hendrix!"

Presently all was quiet again.

Hendrix spoke quietly to Atticus.

"We got to get out of this."

"What d'you mean?"

"Get rescued."

Despite the crowding blackness, Atticus sniggered.

"I mean it," whispered Hendrix. "If we don't get home soon we'll be barmy."

"Round the bend."

"Bomb happy."

Atticus pushed the damp tendrils of curly hair out of his eyes.

"You write a letter to your friends."

Kiwi considered this solemnly.

"I don't know how they are now. Live quite far out from a city. You'd be lucky to find a pillar-box. Or a mailman."

The success of this tiny joke overcame Atticus. His sniggers became uncontrollable, his body jumped and twitched.

Kiwi rebuked him with dignity.