8.40 PM
At last I’ve unpicked the corner of the flap, and can see out. Not that there’s much to see. Fences, mostly, whizzing past. And the moon coming up over the trees.
I feel a strong urge to hop up onto the back of one of the sheep and go to sleep, but instead I check the phone. Olive has replied at last, with a list of questions, which I do my best to answer, though some of them are just plain silly.
‘where r u?’
‘I’M HERE’ (I would have thought that was obvious.)
‘wheres the farm?’
‘FORGET FARM THEY HAVE SHEEP ON TRUCK COME AND ARREST THEM’
‘whos derek?’
‘GIANT RAT’
The truck speeds around a corner. Another message comes through from Olive. ‘wheres the truck?’
Another silly question. ‘IT’S HERE!!!!!’
‘wot can u see?’
That one is more sensible, so I peer under the flap, watching for something useful, like a road sign saying in big letters, ‘YOU ARE 3 KM NORTH OF LITTLE DISMAL, ON THE YABBY CREEK ROAD.’
But there are no road signs.
There are, however, three big towers, looming up against the night sky. The Boss calls them silos. So that’s what I tell Olive.
‘3 SILOS ON SIDE OF ROAD’
Seconds later, Olive messages me back. ‘hang on clara we r coming’
I hang on.
We’ve left the bumpy road behind, and the truck is travelling smoothly. Most of the sheep have fallen asleep on their feet. I’m still crouched by the hole in the flap.
A car passes us.
A little while later, another car passes us.
We pass a truck.
And suddenly it strikes me. How will Olive know which truck I’m in? Did I tell her it was BLUE? I don’t think so.
I tap the phone with my claw until it lights up. Only it doesn’t light up, not very well. And when I peer at it closely, there’s a message on the screen.
Please connect your phone to the charger
I hardly have time to read it before the screen goes dark.
I peck that phone as hard as I can. I argue with it. I call it ‘old girl’, as if it was a car, and explain how important it is that it wakes up again.
It takes no notice.
Another car passes us. What if that was Olive and Constable Dad? What if they’ve driven straight past, not realising that the blue truck is the right truck? What if they never find me?
I am going to have to take desperate measures.
I leave the phone next to the hole and flap up onto the back of one of the sleeping sheep. She sways from side to side with the movement of the truck, and I have to dig my claws into her wool so I don’t fall off.
But where can I go from here? What I need is a really tall sheep. Or a series of them, so I can climb them like a ladder. Unfortunately, all Digby’s sheep are the same size. (If we are ever rescued, I will complain to him about this.)
I crane my neck. There are four wooden bars running across the top of the truck, from one side to the other. One near the back, one near the front, and two in between. That’s where I need to be, right up there on those wooden bars.
Amelia X crosses her fingers before she attempts a dangerous feat, and says, ‘Wish me luck, Jock.’
I try to cross my wing feathers but can’t. So I say, ‘Wish me luck, sheep.’ Then I launch myself into the air.
I overheard the Boss say once that she would love to be able to fly. I don’t know why she said it – flying isn’t easy. I flap my wings as hard as I can, but I don’t get anywhere near those wooden bars.
With a squawk, I fall back onto the sheep, who bleats a sleepy protest. I sit there for a few moments, catching my breath and hoping that Mr Simpson, master criminal and angry wringer of necks, didn’t hear me.
Then I try again, but this time I don’t aim for the wooden bars high above my head. Instead, I aim for the one that runs halfway up across the back of the cabin.
I get there on my second try.
I cling to the bar, panting. There’s a window just above me, and if I stand on my toes I can see Derek at the wheel, and the Simpsons perched on top of their luggage like Great-Aunt Isabel sitting on her eggs, only nastier.
I take a quick look, then crouch down again so they don’t see me.
From here, it’s not nearly as far to the place I need to be. I straighten my feathers, take a deep breath and launch myself upwards.
I’m aiming for the bar that is second from the front. But just as I reach it, the wind seizes me – and carries me straight past the second bar towards the back of the truck.
I try to grab the third bar, but the wind carries me past that one too. I’m about to be blown right off the truck, far from home, in a place where Olive will never find me.
It’s such a terrible thought that I flap harder than I have ever flapped in my life. One of my claws touches the fourth and last bar. I grab hold of it just in time – and find myself hanging by one leg over the back of the truck with my wings above my head and all my feathers blown up the wrong way.
I’m sure nothing like this ever happened to Inspector Garcia.
After a mighty struggle, I manage to fasten my other claw onto the bar, and gradually drag myself upright.
The wind is still blowing fiercely through my feathers, and every instinct tells me to turn around and face towards it, so that my feathers will lie smooth and comfortable.
Instead I stand there shivering, and wait for the next car.