Early the next morning, I snuck out to the veranda to look for the cassowary chicks. I needed to know if they were okay before Dad woke up.

I stood with my ear towards the rainforest. A hot, sticky wind spun high in the palm leaves, whirling them this way and that, but I couldn’t hear any peeps. Just clicking geckoes and whining cicadas and then Walter’s LandCruiser as it rattled up the driveway.

He waved as the car crunched to a stop.

‘Hey, kiddo, what’s happening?’ he asked, pulling out two big cans from the boot. ‘Your dad around?’ Dark clouds hung heavily in the sky behind him.

‘He’s still asleep, but he’ll be up soon,’ I said, crossing my arms to hide my pyjamas. Lucky they weren’t the Spider-Man ones I used to wear last year.

‘Okay, no worries. I’ve just popped over to bring him some more fuel.’ Walter nodded towards the garden beds and the paddock next to the shed. ‘Looks like you’ve been busy.’

‘Yes, we have,’ I said, watching as he glanced over at the trees near the swamp.

‘Tell me, do you have anything unusual to report?’ he asked. ‘You know, like any visitors you weren’t expecting?’

‘Visitors?’ I frowned. Why would visitors come through the swamp? ‘No, just you. Oh, and Abby. Why?’

‘No reason,’ said Walter lightly, turning his attention back to the cleared paddocks. ‘Looks like you and your dad are on a mission, though. You’ll have the place ready for sale in no time.’

A mission at Mission Beach? I’d have laughed if I wasn’t worried Dad would be awake any second to send me back to my room. I took a deep breath. I needed to ask Walter something. Something important. ‘You were good friends with my grandad, weren’t you?’ I began.

Walter tipped his head to one side. ‘Mission Beach is a small town, son. Everyone pretty much knows everyone. Except maybe the backpackers. They tend to come and go. Why d’you ask?’

‘Well, it’s about the accident. I was wondering …’

‘Accident?’

‘Was there really a monster cassowary? The biggest one in history?’

Walter laughed. ‘Abby said she’d been talking to you. Gotta watch that one. She has a shocker of an imagination!’

‘No, not just Abby. I read a newspaper article, too. It said a vicious cassowary called Big Blue attacked a man, and that Grandad—’

‘Big Blue is a beautiful bird, Flynn, one of the most handsome cassowaries I’ve ever seen. Your grandad loved that fella.’

‘Is a beautiful bird? You mean Big Blue’s still alive?’

‘Yep, sure is. We see him in the forest near the rehab centre from time to time. But don’t get too excited.’ Walter’s eyes crinkled. ‘He hasn’t caused any mischief for a while, touch wood. Probably decided it was time he moved on.’

I glanced behind me. No sign of Dad. ‘Did Big Blue do something to my grandad?’ I asked, keeping my voice low. ‘Is that why Dad’s so worried about how dangerous it is around here?’

Walter’s smile dropped. ‘I think you should probably ask your dad that one,’ he said, firmly.

I felt like lava was suddenly bubbling in my chest. ‘But Dad won’t tell me!’ I exploded. ‘It’s like he thinks I can’t handle any scary stuff, but I can! I’m old enough to hear the truth!’

Walter scratched his head. ‘Well, is that so?’ he said. ‘Doesn’t want to share the scary stuff, hey? Perhaps that’s because when he was a little tacker, he was afraid of his own shadow. Wouldn’t say boo to a post. It sounds like you’re more like your grandad. A good egg you are, just like him.’

I looked at him, my eyes wide. ‘I am?’

‘Yep.’ Walter nodded. ‘You sure are. You and Barney are just the type of people our cassowaries need. Now listen,’ he said. ‘Abby told me you and your dad are still no shows for the working bee tomorrow. Any chance you could come for just a couple of hours? We’d appreciate another pair of hands with the cyclone on the way.’

I sighed. ‘No. Dad says we’ve got too much to do around here.’ I chewed my lip. ‘Unless …’

Walter raised his eyebrows.

Bang. The screen door slammed behind me. Dad walked over, his hair standing up and his face creased.

‘G’day, Steve.’

‘Walter. What’s happening?’ Dad scratched sleepily under his T-shirt at his chest.

Walter waved a hand at the cans he’d unloaded from his boot. ‘Brought you round some fuel. You hear the latest about the cyclone?’

Dad nodded. ‘Yeah, worst luck. I’ve got enough on my plate without a blower chopping the place up. Let’s hope it stays out in the ocean.’

‘Too right,’ said Walter. ‘I knew I should have organised the working bee earlier.’ He glanced towards the paddock behind the house. ‘Top job, by the way.’

‘Yep. One down, three to go.’

Walter sucked his cheek. ‘Yeah, well, s’pose it’ll look good in the sales brochure.’

Dad smiled. ‘Yep.’

‘I mean, if that’s what you want.’ Walter glanced over to the thick row of trees bordering the banana plants. ‘Shame to see it all go, though. I remember your dad planting them.’

Dad’s smile faded.

‘The developers aren’t exactly going to leave the trees, are they?’ said Walter. ‘No room for cassowary corridors when there are houses to build.’

I took in a sharp breath. But the cassowary chicks lived there!

‘Don’t start, Walter. Don’t start.’

There was an awkward silence, filled only by the rosellas squawking in a nearby bush.

‘Righto,’ said Walter with a scratch of his belly. ‘I’ll leave you to it. I think Flynn has something to ask you.’

I dipped my head. I’d wanted Walter to ask Dad about the working bee, not me.

‘How much do I owe you for the fuel?’ asked Dad.

‘Just make it fifty,’ said Walter, opening the driver’s door. ‘Oh and before I forget, a mate will be round Monday to fix your windscreen. Might see you tomorrow, hey, kiddo?’

‘What’s on tomorrow?’ asked Dad after Walter’s LandCruiser had rattled off.

I cleared my throat, wanting my voice to sound confident and mature. Walter said I was a good egg. Now I just had to prove that to Dad. ‘The working bee, remember?’ I said.

Dad snorted. ‘Have to give you points for trying, Flynnie. We’re still not going. Now, are we getting dressed today or what?’

After I was dressed and we’d eaten breakfast, Dad pushed on his hat. ‘There’ll be no running off today,’ he said. ‘Is that clear?’

‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Anyway, I’ll be with you. I’m coming to help you in the paddocks.’

Dad nodded as he pulled on his boots. ‘Okay, good. I want to tackle the middle paddock this morning. We’ll have to move fast if this cyclone’s going to hit.’

I strode out to the shed in front of Dad. By the end of today, he’d think I was practically an adult. I had to show him I could go to the working bee with or without him and he could tell me the truth about Grandad.

Dad spent the morning slashing and spraying weeds, while I picked up the oversized plastic bags that were used to protect the bananas. After one whole year of lying among the plants, they were covered in sludgy leaves and stale, stinking mud. I found out the hard way that they made great hiding places for spiders and snails. Probably snakes, too.

‘Ready for lunch?’ asked Dad after a few hours. I wiped the moisture from my top lip. The sky was still thick with clouds, and the air was heavy and close, like at home before a thunderstorm. My head was so hot it felt like I’d stuck it in the oven.

‘Not yet,’ I said, even though my arms and legs were aching.

‘At least let’s go in for a drink?’ Dad’s work shirt was drenched with sweat.

‘Nope, I’m right.’

We worked for another hour and by that time my stomach was rumbling and my throat was parched.

‘Come on, mate. You’ve worked like a trooper. Shall we call it quits?’

‘You can,’ I said, standing next to the pile of blue plastic that was now higher than me. ‘I’m going to finish the whole paddock first.’

Dad tipped up his hat to wipe the sweat from his forehead. ‘Look, Flynn, I get it. I hadn’t realised what a hard worker you are. Let’s call it a truce and get something to eat.’

‘No thanks.’

‘Is this about yesterday?’

I didn’t answer. Instead I grabbed the next bag and yelped as a toad jumped onto my foot.

‘Is it that friend of yours? Abby? Flynn, is she putting ideas in your head?’

‘No, Dad! It’s not about Abby!’ I flung the wet, half-disintegrated bag onto the pile.

‘Well, what is it, mate? I’m not telepathic. You have to fill me in or I can’t help you.’

I picked up another bag, but Dad snatched it away. ‘Flynnie. Stop!’ he ordered, moving it out of my reach. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Dad, stop calling me that! I want to go to the working bee, and I want to know what happened to Grandad Barney. You can’t keep hiding things from me!’

There was a loud rustle beside us and Dad jumped. But when nothing followed, he let out a long breath. ‘Flynnie, Grandad Barney’s dead. Nothing I can do will change that. ’

‘Dad! Don’t call me Flynnie!’

‘Sorry, Flynn. Why don’t we go inside, hey?’

‘No, I don’t want to.’ I kicked a piece of plastic that had blown off the pile.

‘Stubborn, aren’t you? Just like your grandad.’

‘I wouldn’t know,’ I mumbled.

‘What was that?’

‘You don’t even care what happened to Grandad Barney, Dad!’ I shouted. ‘Just like you don’t care about cassowaries. Have you thought about the cassowary we hit? What if he had a family? If you cared, even a bit, you’d take me to the rehab centre Grandad Barney built, and you’d ask the rangers about the cassowary. But you won’t. Because you’re scared.’

‘Flynn! What’s got into you?’

‘It’s true! You’re scared of them. You jump every time you think you hear one. They’re only birds.’

‘Cassowaries are not just birds,’ Dad growled. ‘They’re the most dangerous birds in the world. They can …’ He narrowed his eyes, inspecting my face like he was seeing it for the first time.

I glared at the pile of plastic bags. ‘Dad, I didn’t even know Grandad. Or why he loved cassowaries so much.’ My words came out like hiccups, all up and down and squeaky. ‘That’s why I want to go to the rehab centre. To find out who he was.’

Dad stepped closer and put his arm around me. ‘Look, I’ll admit,’ he said, ‘I am a little over-­protective sometimes. You’re my son, Flynn, and I love you.’ He squeezed my shoulders. ‘I guess I have been away too much. I hadn’t realised how grown up you are, and … well, if it really means that much to you to see Grandad’s centre, then …’

I blinked, determined not to cry.

‘The truth is, it won’t do me any harm either,’ continued Dad, releasing my shoulders. ‘When it comes to cassowaries, it’s just …’ He sighed. ‘It’s not that I don’t trust you, Flynn, you know that, don’t you? Cassowaries and me … well, it’s a long story, and a little hard to explain right now. But how about we take one step at a time, and start by going to the working bee.’