‘Robin?’ Little John shouted, holding on to a tree trunk and peering down the steep embankment.
Except he didn’t fully shout because he was afraid the Rangers would hear.
It sounded like water ran at the bottom of the ravine, but it was gloomy, and beyond branches flattened by the start of Robin’s tumble, all John saw were dense green tangles.
He imagined Robin crawling up with a wry smile, saying, Phew, that was close.
Or, failing that, a shout that would confirm Robin was conscious and give some clue where he was. But there was just the eerie music of bugs and birds in the canopy, then a chattering sound as a yellow-striped lizard shot across a branch in front of his face.
Little John jumped back, feeling trapped and gulping air. A bird shrieked noisily, and he grasped the branches tighter, panicked and imagining himself falling.
‘Robin?’ he half shouted again. ‘You’d better not be pranking me.’
I wish you were pranking me …
As hope of Robin reappearing faded, John backed away and looked skywards. Decisions always did his brain in. This one was huge, and his brother might die if he got it wrong.
He considered clambering down, but the slope was close to vertical. He felt an itch in his back and glanced around. There was a fanged beetle as big as his thumb stuck to his shirt. Its front claws were moving but the rear had been squished when his backpack shifted, and snot-coloured goo oozed through its cracked shell.
‘Gross,’ John said, flicking it away then setting off back to the road.
‘Rangers!’ John yelled, fearfully and at full blast. ‘Can anyone hear me?’
He couldn’t exactly retrace his steps through dense undergrowth, but the sun gave some sense of direction. He scrambled out onto the dirt road, sixty metres behind Black Bess. He held his hands in the air as he stumbled towards three shadowy figures around the car.
‘Don’t shoot!’ he shouted. ‘I surrender. My brother needs help!’
As Little John got closer he sensed something wrong. There was no sign of the bright orange Ranger trucks and the three female figures wore jeans and knitted balaclavas, not tan-coloured Ranger uniform …
As the women turned away from Black Bess towards John’s shout, someone stepped out from the bushes alongside him.
‘Stop right there,’ she demanded.
She was short and stocky, dressed in mud-caked jeans, beat-up body armour and a knitted balaclava the colour of English mustard. There was a ratcheting sound as she released the safety on an old-fashioned Thompson machine gun with a huge drum-shaped magazine.
‘On your knees, hands on head.’
Little John pointed into the trees as his knees hit the dirt.
‘My little brother fell down a ravine. He could be hurt.’
Two more women in boots and body armour strode across from Black Bess.
‘Do you have the key to that car?’ the one in the lead asked.
‘It’s immobilised,’ John said, as he pointed again. ‘My brother –’
‘Hands on head!’ the one with the machine gun repeated. ‘Are you deaf?’
‘You took that car for a joyride?’ a tall woman with a purple balaclava said, before snorting. ‘Do you know who it belongs to?’
Little John nodded.
The women swapped glances and laughed warily.
‘You stole Guy Gisborne’s wheels?’ the one pointing the machine gun said. ‘And now you’re stuck way out here …’
‘Up the creek without a paddle,’ the tall purple balaclava teased, as she stepped closer.
An older woman, who’d stayed back trying to get Black Bess running, arrived on the scene and took charge. She had a bright yellow stun gun on her belt and straggly grey hair spilled from the back of her balaclava.
‘Car’s proper dead,’ she announced. ‘The alloys are worth money, but no scrap dealer will touch parts stripped from Gisborne’s rig.’
‘Please, my brother,’ Little John pleaded. ‘He could be badly hurt.’
The one with the machine gun laughed. ‘Better dead out here than what’ll happen when Gisborne finds you.’
Little John felt tears welling. ‘Robin’s only twelve.’
He hoped he’d stirred some motherly instinct as the tall one and the old one glanced at each other.
‘Rangers will be back with a tow truck, and this is Brigands’ territory,’ the tall one said coldly. ‘We need to ship out.’
‘What about this big lump?’ the one with the gun asked.
‘He comes with,’ the older woman said decisively. ‘I’ll bet Gisborne’s put a fat bounty on his head already.’