Hunting Elephants Read online

  Table of Contents

  About the Author

  By the Same Author

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Hunting

  Elephants

  JAMES ROY was born in western New South Wales in 1968, and spent much of his childhood in Papua New Guinea and Fiji, adventuring by day and reading books at night. Then, one day, tired of reading books by dead people, he decided to start writing his own.

  Since his first novel was released in 1996, James has written a number of critically acclaimed works of fiction and non-fiction for young people, including the CBCA Honour Books Captain Mack and Billy Mack's War, and the CBCA Notable Books Full Moon Racing, A Boat for Bridget, The Legend of Big Red and Town. In 2008, Town also won the Ethel Turner Prize for Young People's Literature in the NSW Premier's Literary Awards.

  James lives with his family in the Blue Mountains. He enjoys trying to make music and art, doesn't like olives very much, and hasn't entirely abandoned his dream of sailing around the world.

  Also by James Roy

  Almost Wednesday Full Moon Racing

  Captain Mack

  Billy Mack's War

  Town

  Hunting

  Elephants

  James Roy

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity, including internet search engines or retailers, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including printing, photocopying (except under the statutory exceptions provisions of the Australian Copyright Act 1968), recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of Random House Australia. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author's and publisher's rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  Hunting Elephants

  ePub ISBN 9781864714661

  Kindle ISBN 9781864717228

  Original Print Edition

  A Woolshed Press book

  Published by Random House Australia Pty Ltd

  Level 3, 100 Pacific Highway, North Sydney NSW 2060

  www.randomhouse.com.au

  First published by Woolshed Press in 2008

  Copyright © James Roy 2008

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  Woolshed Press is a trademark of Random House Australia Pty Ltd.

  All rights reserved.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity, including internet search engines or retailers, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying (except under the statutory exceptions provisions of the Australian Copyright Act 1968), recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of Random House Australia.

  Addresses for companies within the Random House Group can be found at www.randomhouse.com.au/offices.

  National Library of Australia

  Cataloguing-in-Publication Entry

  Roy, James.

  Hunting Elephants.

  ISBN: 9781864711707

  Version 1.0

  A823.3

  Cover illustration, cover and internal design and typesetting

  by Stella Danalis, Peripheral Vision Design

  This project has been assisted by the Commonwealth Government through the Australia Council, its arts funding and advisory body.

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  For my mum Barbara,

  and my sister Michelle

  With much love

  One

  Harry was dying. He knew it. He could feel it. His lungs were bursting, and soon he'd have to take a breath. But that breath wasn't going to be cool, welcome air, but freezing, unforgiving water. And you can't breathe water. You just can't. Everyone knows that.

  It didn't seem fair. He was far too young to die. Since Joel went, Harry had thought a lot about the fact that he'd die as well, one day. He'd wondered whether his brother would be waiting for him with a smile and a hug, wearing a Holden jacket, in whatever place it is you go to once you pass away. And he'd thought that seeing his brother again would make the dying almost OK. But he'd never really thought about how it would happen, except he'd expected to be a bit older than this.

  There was so much he'd never done. He'd never driven a car, never kissed a girl – not properly, anyway. He'd never been to Hawaii to see a real volcano, to Universal Studios to see a pretend shark, or to Uluru to see the world's largest monolith. He'd never been with his dad to Mount Panorama to watch the V8 Supercars, even though they'd talked about going for years. Harry wasn't ready to stop living yet. But it looked as if he wasn't going to get a choice. Because as soon as he opened his mouth to fill his screaming lungs and that icy water rushed in, it'd be all over. He'd be dead.

  He reminded himself not to panic, no matter what. Easy to say, hard to do. He attempted another wiggle, but the rock against his shoulders was holding him tightly. And when he tried to lift his head, the back of his helmet collided with the roof of the tunnel, all plastic and hollow-sounding. He dug the toes of his boots into the mud to push himself forward, but when they slipped, and he sensed his last gasp coming, he finally gave in and panicked. He wanted to scream and arch his back. Maybe he'd have enough strength in that last, desperate moment to do something superhuman, like lifting the mountain of rock the two or three centimetres required to let him slip through the gap to that beautiful, fresh air further into the cave.

  Then hands were fumbling at his shoulders, feeling for him, gripping the heavy fabric of his overalls, before slipping off and returning for another grab. Hurry! he thought. Just hurry! Get on with it! Grab me and pull!

  And finally the hands did grip and hold, and Harry felt himself being dragged forward, sliding through the water, pulled up the slight slope into the cavern by Mr Greene and a couple of the other boys. He collapsed face-down on the damp floor and sucked in a huge breath, felt the wonderful air burst into his lungs. It looked like he wasn't going to be meeting Joel today after all.

  Mr Greene wasn't happy. 'Harry! What the hell do you think you're doing?'

  'Trying not to drown, mainly,' he panted.

  'What was the last thing I said to you?'

  Harry tried to catch his breath, but his lungs were still aching. 'I honestly don't remember. Try not to drown?'

  His ears rang as Mr Greene slapped the side of his helmet, hard, knocking it slightly crooked. 'What's this thing on your head?'

  'A helmet.'

  'What's it doing there?'

  'Protecting my head.'

  Mr Greene sighed heavily. 'Hang on. All right, just stop back there for a second, guys,' he called to the others, further back in the passage, on the other side of the water-filled squeeze. The beam of light from his helmet lamp showed exactly where he was looking – straight at the puddle of muddy water that had almost been Harry's final resting place. 'Now, Harry, what did you just say this helme
t was for?'

  'To protect my head.'

  'Ordinarily you'd be right. But I told you to take it off before you went through this sump, didn't I? Do you remember that?'

  'I think so.'

  'You think so. And do you remember why? Does anyone remember why I said to take your helmets off?'

  'So we could turn our head to the side and breathe,' said Wesley Faye, who always seemed to know these things, and was never afraid to show what an excellent listener he was.

  'Exactly,' said Mr Greene. 'At the moment, this is a partial sump, meaning that the water doesn't quite reach the roof of the passage. Which means in turn that if you rotate your head to one side, you can still breathe. As long as what? Anyone?'

  'As long as you don't have your helmet on,' said Wesley, who could be such a helpful cherub.

  'Exactly – thank you, Wesley. Because if you keep your helmet on and you get a bit stuck, what happens?'

  'You can't breathe,' one of the other boys replied.

  'Yes. Which means you what, Harry?'

  'You drown,' Harry muttered.

  'That's right. You panic and drown, or you start to drown, then you panic, and then you drown. So, boys at the back, what are you doing right now?'

  'We're taking our helmets off,' replied a voice that sounded quite a bit like Michael's.

  'Exactly. Mr Littlemore, can you make sure they're taking their helmets off?'

  'Check, Mr Greene,' Mr Littlemore called.

  'And boys, if you do get a bit stuck, just keep calm, turn your head and breathe. There's more than enough room if you don't freak out.'

  Harry turned over, sat up and shook his head. What an idiot, he thought. If I'd just listened.

  'Harry. You OK?' Mr Greene was squatting down beside him now, and his voice seemed a lot calmer.

  'Yeah, I'm fine, I guess.'

  'Hey, do you have any idea how much paperwork we'd have to fill out if you drowned on a school-run camp?'

  'A lot?'

  'Yes, a lot. Plus I'd have to tell your parents, which would suck. You sure you're all right?'

  'Yeah.'

  'It's scary, isn't it?'

  Harry nodded. 'Yeah, it's heaps scary.' He was holding it together – just – but the waver in his voice was threatening to give him away. 'I didn't think I'd get stuck. I mean, look at me – I'm half the size of most of these guys.'

  Mr Greene tapped his helmet. 'It wasn't the size of your body – it was the size of your noggin, Harry. Anyway, I'm just glad you're OK. Sam Finnane, did I say you could climb up there? Down, now.'

  As Mr Greene stood up and went to sort out Sam, Harry wiped the last few drops of muddy water from around his eyes. In the beam from his helmet light, he could see that his hands were shaking. He really had believed his last breath was going to contain nothing but muddy cavewater. He shivered, and it wasn't just due to his wet clothes. Looking around the cavern, he saw the strange dimply rock walls that were constantly damp, and the dark shadows of other passages, their entrances guarded by stalactites and stalagmites, like teeth in a gaping mouth, and he shivered again.

  His attention was caught by a movement near his feet. A helmet was emerging from the flooded passage, its lamp bouncing a beam around the roof of the cavern. The helmet was attached to an arm, and the arm and shoulder were followed by Michael's filthy face, flushed with triumph. He clambered out, looked around, then crawled over to Harry, grinning widely. 'That's unreal, huh?' he said, wiping his face on his shoulder before putting his helmet back on and buckling the chin strap. 'What happened to you?'

  'I got stuck. I thought I was going to drown. I didn't take my helmet off, did I?'

  'Dopey.'

  'That's not the worst bit. We've got to go back yet.'

  Michael focused his lamp on the passage. It was Ricky's turn to come crawling out of the muddy water. He looked like a swamp monster in some horror film.

  'Back through there?' Michael said. 'You'll be okay.'

  Harry sighed.

  'Awesome!' Ricky shook his afro like a wet dog and poured the water out of his helmet. 'I want to do that again!'

  Great, Harry thought, wondering why he, out of the entire group of boys, was the only one who didn't enjoy breathing water.

  'That was the best thing I've ever done, easy,' Michael said later, when he and Harry were safe in their tent, hunkered down and warm in their sleeping bags, bellies full of nachos and hot chocolate. 'I've decided I want to be a professional speleologist.'

  'A what?'

  'Speleologist. A cave expert.'

  'Don't you mean spelunker?' Harry was usually better with words than Michael.

  'No, a spelunker's a person who goes caving just for fun. A speleologist is someone who studies caves. I asked Mr Greene.'

  'Oh. And he knew that, did he?'

  'Yes. He's officially a nerd.'

  'And you want to be one of these speleo-thingies when you grow up?'

  'Correct.'

  'If you grow up.' Harry frowned into the darkness. 'I think I might do something that keeps me above the ground. Like flying planes. Being a pilot would be cool.'

  'Or an astronaut, maybe,' Michael suggested. 'Yeah, you can be the astronaut, and I'll be the ... whatever the opposite of astronaut is.'

  'That'd be a terranaut, probably,' said Mr Greene from out the front of the tent. A disc of green light bounced around on the fabric of the door as he spoke. 'How are we in here?'

  'We're good, thanks,' Michael replied. 'My mattress is too thin, but apart from that ...'

  'You OK, Harry?'

  'I'm fine. I'm glad we didn't have to come back out through that stupid sump thing. Did you know it was there?'

  'The sump? Of course I did. But I also knew there was that alternative route out of the cave. There's no way I'd have taken you in there otherwise. But you don't get that in all caves. Most have only one way in and one way out.'

  'I'm glad this wasn't one of those,' Harry said. 'I couldn't have gone back through that puddle, even if I'd taken my helmet off.'

  'I wish we had,' Michael said. 'It was heaps scary, but I still loved it.'

  'It's funny, isn't it?' Mr Greene said. 'Some of us enjoy getting on top of that feeling of claustrophobia, and others hate it. Anyway, after the girls get here tomorrow, I'm going to take all those who want to do more caving, and Mr Todd is going to stay here and do abseiling with the rest of you.'

  'I'm there!' said Michael. 'Crawling through caves is my new career.'

  'Yeah, well the abseiling sounds like more my thing,' Harry replied. 'No more caves for me.'

  Harry slept well. No dreams. He woke feeling well rested, even with such a thin mattress to protect him from the cold, lumpy ground.

  He was warm, cosy, perfect. He could smell bacon frying over a eucalypt fire. Bellbirds whistled, shrill and clear, and a couple of boys were talking near his tent, their voices just a low murmur.

  He stretched and looked to his right. Michael had already gone, leaving his sleeping bag behind like a silkworm's cocoon.

  It was cold out of his sleeping bag, and the cuffs of his jeans were still damp around his ankles, which made him feel even colder. His jacket and beanie helped, but he still stuffed his hands deep in his pockets for warmth once he'd rezipped the door of the tent.

  Mr Greene was at the fire, poking bacon around a huge frying pan with a fork. 'Andrew, put the sticks down and walk away from the fire,' he was saying to Andrew Kaye. 'You too, William.' The boys dropped their sticks and stepped back a metre or so, but they were still gazing longingly at the flames.

  'Morning, Harry,' Mr Greene said. 'Cereal is over there on the table – help yourself.'

  'Yeah, I will in a minute,' Harry replied, standing close to the fire, enjoying the warmth on his face.

  'Did you sleep OK?'

  'I slept fine, thanks.'

  Mr Greene straightened up and massaged his left knee. 'I wouldn't have let you drown, you know.'

  'I know. I guess I'm
just not very brave.'

  'I'm sure that's not true.'

  'If I was brave, I'd go back for more this afternoon.'

  'Did you enjoy caving?'

  Harry pursed his lips. 'Not really,' he said after a moment or two. 'I don't see the point in it.'

  'Not interested in exploring, Harry?'

  'Not if it means dying in the process.'

  Mr Greene grinned. 'Well, you know, exploring's not for everyone. But just because you don't want to explore doesn't mean you're not brave. It simply makes you less ... prone to self-destruction, maybe.'

  'Yeah, maybe.'

  Harry loaded up a bowl with Nutri-Grain and milk, before wandering over to join Michael and Ricky, who were perched on a log with their own bowls.

  'Sleep?' Michael asked him.

  'Yup. You?'

  'Yup.'

  'Yup,' Ricky echoed.

  'Sweet. Caving today?'

  'Yup.'

  'Yup,' said Ricky.

  'Not a chance,' said Harry.

  Two

  How much dirt can stick to one body? It collected in small swirls of sand and mud on the floor of the shower, and gathered reluctantly around the plughole. Harry closed his eyes, enjoyed the hot water spraying hard against his neck and his back. Yes, abseiling and camping in the bush was pretty good, but this was better.

  He remembered Joel's last shower. He'd been there, helping him with it. Joel had been stuck in bed for days, and the nurses tried on every one of those days to convince him that a shower would make him feel better. 'You'll feel a million bucks,' said Joel's favourite nurse, Katie, but he kept refusing.

  But then, late one afternoon, he'd agreed, on one condition. 'I want Harry to help me.'

  Katie had seemed surprised that he'd finally given in. 'Are you happy to help him, Harry?'

  'Sure.'

  While Katie helped get Joel into the shower, Harry took off his school shoes and rolled up his trousers. Then he went in there.

  His brother was naked, except for his undies. Harry hadn't seen him without clothes on for months, and it shocked him. Joel had always been quite a bit smaller than average, but now he was tiny, malnourished. His thighs were so thin, his shoulders and injection port protruding, his stomach sticking out with the swelling of his organs, and his barrel chest showed every rib as he panted for breath.