Dad was rubbing sunscreen on his face when I found him in the kitchen the next morning. I hadn’t asked him any more about Grandad Barney last night or about what he’d seen in the bushes. He’d been quiet and frowny all evening, so I hadn’t even complained about having jam sandwiches for dinner.

We’d gone to bed early, and even then it felt like I’d hardly slept. When I had, I dreamt of black feathered birds lying still on the side of the road.

If only they were just dreams.

‘Here, have some sunscreen,’ said Dad, squeezing a dollop on his hand and reaching for my nose.

I turned my head away. ‘Let me do it myself, Dad,’ I said, offering him the palm of my hand instead.

Dad shrugged and handed me the tube. ‘Well, don’t forget the back of your neck,’ he said, still hovering.

I stepped away and lathered my face with cream. ‘Are we starting with the clean-up today?’

‘No. We should walk into town first, before it gets too hot. I want to see if we can get the windscreen fixed, and we need some groceries. Here, I’ve made you some toast.’

He’d buttered four pieces with jam. I didn’t tell him I made my own breakfast at home and that I preferred peanut butter.

‘Turns out I’m not covered with Roadside Assistance any more,’ continued Dad through a mouthful of toast. ‘Typical. Paid for 20 years and let it lapse a year ago. I’d have forgotten my head if it wasn’t screwed on. Anyway, Grandad used to know a bloke in town and I thought I might chase him up. Did you bring runners?’

‘Yes, Dad. Of course. I am capable of packing my own bag, you know.’

*

At the end of Grandad Barney’s driveway, instead of walking back the way we’d come when we’d arrived, Dad turned right. So much for heading out before it got too hot. It was only eight o’clock but, with no breeze, it was like breathing the air from an oven. A salty humid oven. We walked along the coast road, where we could see dazzling blue water washing over the rocks. Gangly trees dotted the beach, their fat sausage roots sticking above the sand, just like the ones back home.

‘Maybe we could come down here for a swim one day?’ I asked.

‘No, mate. It’s too dangerous.’

‘Mum already told me I have to swim in the stinger net areas.’

‘I’m not talking about the stingers.’

I let out a long, exasperated breath. ‘Well, what then?’ I grumbled.

Dad marched along like we were late for school. A big circle of sweat was beginning to stain his T-shirt between his shoulder blades.

We veered away from the coastline and crossed a small bridge. The water below gushed and frothed, tripping over the rocks in its rush to reach the ocean. A green-and-yellow dragonfly hovered over the water before darting away.

‘Crocodiles then? Is it the crocodiles that are dangerous?’

Dad turned and raised his hands like stop signs. ‘Look, mate, it’s just dangerous. Dangerous, full stop,’ he snapped. I kept my eyes on my shoes. ‘Better you and I just get on with fixing the farm, okay? We’ve got lots of work to do, and only a couple of weeks to do it in.’

Not long after the bridge, we passed another yellow cassowary-crossing sign. This one had two triangles, one above the other. The top triangle had a picture of a cassowary standing upright, with the word BEFORE; the bottom triangle had a picture of a cassowary lying horizontal, with the word AFTER.

A terrible feeling gnawed at my gut. The bottom triangle was way too familiar. ‘Dad, did the rangers call back about that cassowary?’

The heat must have really been getting to Dad. He didn’t seem to hear me, and the whole back of his T-shirt was now soaked with sweat.

I ran to catch up with him. ‘Dad?’

‘Not now, Flynn. Look,’ Dad waved an arm towards the street in front of us, ‘we’re here.’

This was more like what I had been expecting. Kids rode bikes and skateboards on the footpaths, and cars and campervans were parked along the curb. A lawnmower roared up ahead, and a man wearing only board shorts and reflector sunglasses stood trimming his hedge.

Everything looked neat and tidy, not like the farm.

A lady in a floppy hat gave us a friendly wave from outside a caravan park as we walked past. I waved back.

Dad finally slowed his stride outside the Visitor Information Centre. ‘We’ll pop in here first,’ he said. ‘See if we can track down Grandad’s mate about the windscreen.’

I lingered beside a life-sized statue of a cassowary standing in the centre’s garden. It had a bright blue neck and a sharp beak, just like the one we’d hit.

‘Have you seen the humongous statue on the way into town?’ A girl with long brown plaits appeared out of nowhere and stood beside me. Her plaits were a mess with hair sticking out everywhere, and her bare legs were dotted with insect bites. ‘You know, the big cassowary?’

I shook my head.

‘Shame. He’s pretty impressive.’ A grey-haired man walked over to join the girl. ‘Hate to meet that fella on a dark and stormy night.’ Wiry chest hair poked out from the top of his faded singlet, as well as from his ears, and his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled.

‘Just the man we’re looking for,’ said Dad, walking over to us.

‘Well, well, look who the cat dragged in. G’day, Steve.’ The man held out his hand to Dad. ‘Long time no see. What’s it been, a whole year? Boy, I can hardly believe Barney’s been gone that long.’

My ears pricked. This man knew Grandad Barney?

Dad’s face darkened. ‘Just over a year, give or take,’ he said.

‘About time you showed up. The old place’s going to wrack and ruin out there by itself.’

‘Yeah, yeah, I know. That’s why we’re here. Getting it ready to put on the market.’

The man scratched his head. ‘Finally going to sell the farm, hey?’ he said. ‘You know it’ll be gobbled up by developers, don’t you? You sure you want that? After all your old man’s hard work planting—’ He stopped when he saw the clouds forming in Dad’s eyes. Instead, the man glanced down at me and smiled. ‘Don’t tell me. Is this your young fella? Looks just like your old man when he was a youngster,’ he said, cheerfully. ‘Skinny little tacker he was, too.’ He reached to shake my hand. ‘How do you do, young man? What’s your name?’

‘Flynn,’ I said.

‘Hi, Flynn. I’m Walter. Pleased to meet you.’ He gave me a wink as he released his grip. ‘This is my granddaughter, Abby. Abby, meet Flynn. His grandad was my good friend. Remember Mr Hutchinson?’

Abby’s eyes widened. ‘The one who …?’ She hesitated and glanced sideways at Walter. She was taller than me and had curious green eyes. Walter made a small shake of his head. ‘Well, anyway, hi,’ she said.

‘Hi,’ I said, standing a little straighter.

‘Abby’s giving me a hand at the rehab centre over the holidays, aren’t you, love?’

The rehab centre? Wasn’t that the place on the Mister Cassowary certificate? I leant a little closer.

‘I’m retired now, of course, but the cassowaries are keeping us busier than ever. I give the rangers a hand when they need me, otherwise I’m here, volunteering at the information centre. So many tourists want to see a cassowary, it’s becoming quite the thing.’

Through the window behind Walter, I could see pictures of birds and butterflies and lizards. Where were the cassowaries?

‘You wouldn’t believe how many we’ve lost these past—’

‘Sorry to interrupt,’ said Dad, raising his voice over Walter’s. ‘I’m chasing a new windscreen.’

While Dad explained about the spidery crack, Abby turned to me. ‘We’re going to get ice-creams. Want to come?’

I looked up at Dad but he was still talking with Walter.

‘You won’t get a replacement windscreen in a hurry round here,’ Walter was saying. ‘We’re not exactly inner-city Brisbane, you know.’

Abby tugged at my arm. ‘Come on. We’ll eat them in the park while we wait.’

‘The park?’ said Dad, stopping mid-sentence. ‘No, I don’t think so. Better you kids stick with us, don’t you think? You just never know these days.’

‘Fiddlesticks,’ said Walter, digging into his pocket for loose change. ‘This isn’t the city, Steve. The kids’ll be fine. Tell you what, I’ll grab my LandCruiser while you get your windscreen sorted, and then we can drop you back at Barney’s. Here,’ he passed Abby a handful of coins, ‘go and get something cold for the two of you. We’ll pick you up in half an hour.’