9. Escape

I flew to the stables, my lungs nearly exploding. I grabbed Spud’s newly cleaned bridle from where I’d hung it less than an hour ago and burst into his stall. He jumped sideways, raising his head in alarm.

‘It’s okay, boy. It’s just me,’ I said, throwing the reins over his neck and holding the bit to his mouth.

There was no sign of Mr Shearer.

Spud tipped his head out of my reach. ‘Please, Spud! Please!’ I cried. ‘It’s an emergency!’

I held the bit up again, and this time he lowered his head. Once the headband was in place, I tugged at the buckles and straps. It took three goes to get everything done up right, but eventually the bridle was on.

Next, I grabbed Spud’s saddle. It was big and heavy, and I staggered under its weight. ‘One, two, three,’ I said, swinging it up towards his back. It hit him in the ribs, and he turned to me, his eyes shining.

‘Sorry,’ I whispered.

He blew out softly through his nose.

One more time. I tossed the saddle upwards and … it landed on his back! I quickly tightened the girth. Once it was done, I tugged Spud over to a tree stump near the driveway, reached my right leg over his big belly, and jumped.

I was on!

But Spud wasn’t in a hurry. He turned his head and nudged my foot with his nose.

‘Please, Spud. Please,’ I begged, adjusting the reins and kicking him up. ‘We haven’t got time for licorice!’

Maybe he misunderstood. He swung his head around and trotted down the driveway, as if there were a truckload of licorice waiting at the end. His metal shoes clunked against the gravel. Dust whipped in my eyes. My stomach swished like a bucket of seawater.

‘No-one’s going to shoot you, Spud. I promise.’

I didn’t know where I’d take him, but right now, anywhere was safer than here. We turned left off the driveway and down a narrow dirt path, winding in and out of the gum trees while the wind rustled in the canopy above us. I pulled my knees in tight and ducked to avoid the branches until the trees cleared and we came to a paddock of tussocky grass. A large farm gate blocked us from travelling any further.

What were we going to do now?

Spud answered by planting his head into the grass, ignoring my tugs and kicks and eating like there was no tomorrow.

I kicked him hard with my heels. ‘Spud!’ I pleaded. ‘We can’t stop here.’ One more thump and he snatched a last mouthful and reluctantly picked up his head. He pushed at the gate with his nose and, to my surprise, it swung open. We walked through the first paddock and then the second, the long grass rippling like waves on an ocean.

We were halfway through a third paddock when a herd of cream-coloured cows began sprinting towards us. They bellowed loudly, their mouths wide, their tails in the air. My heart thumped as I urged Spud past them, only slowing when we came to a rough, scrubby hill.

Maybe we could hide somewhere up there?

Spud snorted and huffed up the steep track. Rocks tumbled from under his hooves. A wallaby bounded for cover. At the top, I pushed away my hair and scanned for places to hide. Below us, a road, possibly the one we’d arrived on, snaked through the trees. Roofs lay dotted here and there, with an occasional shed or yard nearby.

My eyes fell to the bushland near the base of the hill, where treetops waved in the wind.

‘That’s it!’ I told Spud, steering him down the hillside. The narrow path was almost vertical in places and was slippery with loose, rolling stones.

We edged our way forward, slowly.

Each second felt like an hour.

At the bottom of the hill, I looked through the bush. The pale crooked trees were dense and ferns and creepers crowded the undergrowth, with patches of mud and murky water lying between them. I screwed up my nose. It stank like an overcrowded duck pond.

Suddenly Spud held his head high and whinnied – a loud, shrill whinny. Goosebumps prickled my arms.

Had they found us already?

Spud whinnied again. He pricked his ears and turned back to look at the hill. Someone was definitely coming. If we didn’t hide, they’d spot us at once.

I glanced around. There was nowhere else. We’d have to hide among the trees.

I slid from Spud’s back and led him in, winding quietly between the closely packed paperbarks, flinching as the saddle caught on trunks and branches. Spud had to duck his head, and I had to duck mine, too. Deeper and deeper into the undergrowth we went.

Sweat trickled down my back.

We pushed on. Even when our legs got tangled in the vines. Even when the shadows began to grow long.

No-one was going to shoot Spud.

When we reached what I hoped would be a safe enough spot, I stopped and looked around.

So far so good.

But when I looked up, my breath caught in my throat. Two bats hung from their spindly feet only a metre above us. Their big eyes were watching, as if they were deciding which part of us to bite.

Spud pawed and stamped at the ground. Beads of sweat popped up on my forehead as I looked around.

They were everywhere. Bats! Hanging like cocoons wrapped in black rubbery wings. Cocoons with pointed ears and eyes that shone like polished beads. And sharp yellow teeth.

‘Let’s go, Spud,’ I croaked, trying to walk with legs that had turned to jelly. ‘We’re not staying here.’

Spud seemed just as keen to get going as I was, but we hadn’t gone far when a shot rang out.

Beating wings drowned my screams, like three hundred wet bed sheets flapping all at once.

I screamed again and buried my head against Spud as the army of bats flew overhead, screeching and calling, crying out in alarm.

Spud’s body tensed. He tossed his head and tugged at the reins.

‘It’s okay,’ I whimpered, pulling him closer.

My hands shook.

Shoot them. Kill them.

‘You’re okay, boy,’ I said, my voice shaking and my blood hammering in my ears. But Spud wasn’t listening. He was trying to push past me, his shoulder barging into my side. He jammed my arm against the rough bark of a tree, blotting my skin with fresh blood.

I pulled at the reins. Spud pulled back. He held his head high, every muscle in his body twitching.

‘Spud!’ I shouted. ‘Stop!’

But Spud wouldn’t stop. He pranced on his hooves like a deer.

‘Spud!’

My T-shirt snagged on a branch. I hardly noticed it rip.

Above us, the bats were returning to roost. The branches crashed and snapped under their weight.

Spud lunged forwards.

The reins ripped from my hands. I fell hard to the ground. Leather scraped against bark. Hooves pounded on damp soil.

‘Spud! Spud, come back!’

I ran after him, my feet catching on the undergrowth, my shoulders banging against trunks.

‘Spud!’

The bats chattered above me, as if they were sharing the news.

Spud’s grey tail disappeared into the paperbark trees.

I stopped and doubled over, my breath rasping in my ears. I was never going to catch him. He hadn’t been a racehorse for nothing.

I squeezed my hands into fists. Why had I run off with him in the first place? Spud wasn’t dying of Hendra. He couldn’t be – not with the way he’d just bolted.

But I could die out here.

I dropped my fists and took a deep breath. There was probably a simple explanation for his weird behaviour this afternoon. Maybe Spud didn’t like wind. Maybe the dead bat in the water trough got him all freaked out. Either way, Mrs Bacton would have taken a look at him, and if he was sick, she would have called the vet.

I zigzagged my way between the trees, trying to avoid the bats above me. Mud squelched under my feet. When I thought I saw a grey tail up ahead, I walked even faster, but it was nothing, just a branch swishing in the wind. I searched for hoof prints in the mud, and scrapes against the bark.

Still nothing.

It was like Spud didn’t even exist.

I kept walking. It wouldn’t be long now until the afternoon turned to night. Then the bats would wheel into the sky, looking for something to eat. The mosquitoes would become fierce and fight to suck my blood.

And any chance of finding Spud would be close to nil.