CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The Homecoming

Howie was convinced he was dying. The throbbing pain had become almost unbearable and he kept drifting in and out of consciousness. As he lay on the forest floor with the striped bandage around his neck, he tried hard to remember what Bilby Bill had said before he’d left. Something about the light returning and having to follow it. But what light? And why had he hurried off like that? It made his head spin, trying to figure it all out.

With a groan, Howie closed his eyes and passed out once again.

The next time he came to, his mind was a bit clearer.

He remembered being attacked by a black panther and Bill coming to his aid. What a remarkable sight that must have been—a funny, little Bilby, taking on a huge, ferocious black panther! It almost made him smile thinking about it but the wounds on his neck were no laughing matter. If help didn’t arrive soon, he would bleed to death right here in the Blue Mountains and never, ever find the family he was searching for.

As he lay there in the darkness, Howie also recalled that the strangely beautiful light they had seen earlier in the evening had returned and Bill had decided to follow it in order to get help. What did he call it? The Min Min Light?

Despite the pain and dizziness, Howie was comfortable enough on his bed of soft leaves and moss in a shelter of branches and bushes that Bill had erected.

After stoking up the campfire to keep his friend warm, and promising to be as quick as possible, Bill had bounded off, heading towards the mysterious light hovering just a little way off. Amazingly, the Min Min Light seemed to be guiding the Bilby, only floating off as he drew near, and never getting too far ahead. Meanwhile, back at the camp, there were rustling noises coming from the bushes once again. Howie was convinced it was the panther returning. From the sound of it, there might even be more than one!

Ignoring the pain for a moment, he sat up slowly and groped behind himself for the backpack. Without taking his eyes off the bushes, he opened the side flap and felt for the penknife. There it was! It was quite a small knife in Howie’s large hand, but he felt a little better knowing he had something with which to defend himself.

What else could he use as a weapon? Think, Howie, think! His fingers closed around a handle with a metal point … it was the can opener! That would do nicely for backup. And while he waited, Howie pulled out the very last can of baked beans. Moving cautiously, he removed the lid and noted with satisfaction how jagged the edge was—sharp enough to cut deep into the panther’s flesh if he should strike again.

As he crouched in his shelter, all senses attuned to the sounds and smells and movements surrounding him, the Yowie’s thoughts returned to dying. He felt weak and vulnerable. He was painfully aware that if he were attacked by panthers once more, he would not have enough strength left to fight them off.

He was drifting again, just drifting …

No! He mustn’t sleep!

It took all his willpower to remain alert and aware. Howie desperately tried to find something to focus on, to help him stay awake. It would be much too easy for the enemy to sneak up on him and finish him off, otherwise.

Hannah. His thoughts turned immediately to his little friend Hannah.

She had once told him about a place called Heaven, claiming that everyone went there when they died. He wondered if he would go there if the panthers killed him. He recalled a picture book Hannah had shown him, filled with beautiful people called angels, who wore long white robes and flew around, high up in the clouds. Some of them sang in the heavenly choir, Hannah had said, while others played musical instruments called harps. Howie liked the sound of Heaven and hoped he would go there, even though there was no chance he’d get chosen for the choir. His voice was far too gruff. But maybe there was something else he could do … like polishing the stars, perhaps.

Funny, how heavy his eyelids had grown. Howie gradually gave in to the feeling and closed his eyes.

He was vaguely aware of a dreadful commotion nearby but couldn’t concentrate enough to figure out what it was. There were growls and snarls, intermingled with yells and screeches. It had to be the panthers. But even this thought was not enough to rouse him.

He sank deeper and deeper into oblivion.

Then arms lifted him up, strong yet gentle. They raised him high and carried him along. The burning pain was gone and Howie felt pleasantly drowsy, warm and comfortable. Perhaps the angels were taking him up through the clouds …

‘Am I in Heaven yet?’ he asked dreamily.

‘Of course not,’ said a gruff voice. ‘You only go there when you die, and you’re very much alive and kicking, I’m happy to say.’

Howie slowly opened his eyes and got a tremendous shock.

Was this a mirror?

The figure beside him had small, squinty red eyes and a squashed- in nose, just like his own. Was this …? Surely it had to be … just had to be … He snapped his eyes shut; certain that he was dreaming but couldn’t resist one more glimpse, just to make sure …

It was, it was, it really was a YOWIE!

The voice spoke again. ‘I know you’re not well enough to understand all this but there’s someone here who can’t wait to see you.’

Howie closed his eyes. It was all too strange and confusing. He couldn’t, didn’t want to, think about anything. All he wanted was to sleep.

Then came a feather-light touch on his forehead and a soothing voice whispered words of comfort. Now he was positive he was dreaming. This was the familiar voice that so often haunted his dreams. Long-forgotten memories flooded back.

He opened his eyes and gazed at the figure bending over him.

Reaching for the hand that stroked his forehead, he sobbed, ‘Mother.’