12. Rumours

‘She’s cancelled the gymkhana? What! Why?’

‘She says with everything going on, you know with Spud and Mr Shearer’s bats, it’s all too much to organise. She said worst-case scenario, when she finds Spud – if she finds Spud – he’ll need twenty-four-hour care, and she’ll be too busy to—’

‘Worst-case scenario, he could be dead.’

‘Charli!’

‘So, I guess the others took that news pretty well, then?’ I asked. ‘About the gymkhana? I mean, Mikaela must be thrilled.’

Alice tipped up her chin, like she was checking the thesaurus in her head for the opposite word for thrilled. Furious. Ropable. Never-forgive-Charli-till-the-day-I-die. She didn’t seem to find the word she was looking for.

So I said the only word I could think of: ‘Sorry’.

‘That’s okay,’ she said. ‘There’s always next camp.’

When Alice left, I lay back down and stared at the ceiling. What if Mrs Bacton couldn’t find Spud? The bats had scared him half to death, and I hadn’t helped by hollering and stumbling after him. He’d probably run and run and run. I remembered the view from the hilltop. There were trees and houses and roads for miles. Spud could be completely and utterly lost.

‘Ahhh, so, the famous horse wrangler’s room.’ The light snapped back on and Mr Shearer wheeled himself in.

If I kept still, he mightn’t see me from down in his chair.

‘Hungry?’

I held my breath.

He coughed. ‘Don’t blame you. Not real flash, eh? Dried-up old sandwiches for tea.’

I rolled closer to the wall. My stomach rumbled and I clenched it, trying to stop the noise.

Mr Shearer wheezed in and out like Darth Vader. I thought I heard his teeth rattle. Or maybe that sound was coming from me.

He wheeled himself to the window and peered out. The bats were bouncing and squawking in the trees.

‘I suppose you’re used to that racket by now?’ he said, talking to the window. ‘Must have given you quite a fright, though, eh?’

I allowed myself to take shallow breaths. Quiet ones. He’d give up soon and go away.

‘Shame more people don’t know (wheeze) about the good things bats do, don’t you think?’

Good things? I couldn’t think of anything good. Scaring people and making horses sick, more like.

Mr Shearer’s raspy breaths filled the room. ‘Did you know some bats are listed as a vulnerable species? Bats pollinate rainforests and they—’

‘Kill horses!’ I blurted.

‘Now, now, that’s a bit rough.’

‘They do! We found a dead bat in the water trough! And Spud was going ballistic, and I thought you were coming to shoot him, so I tried to save him, but …’ I pushed my head under my pillow. ‘Now he’s gone and it’s all my fault.’

‘Ah, yes,’ said Mr Shearer, his voice sounding muffled. ‘I see. Horses can get quite fired up in the wind, you know. Just like kids.’

It wasn’t the wind. I knew it wasn’t the wind.

When he starting talking again, I held my breath, trying to block out his words. It didn’t work; I could still hear him.

‘I know what it’s like to lose something precious,’ he was saying.

I moved my pillow away, just slightly.

‘We didn’t know much about Hendra back then. No-one knew (wheeze) how deadly it could be. That horse was her life – she spent every waking moment riding the darn animal. Dreamt of (wheeze) going to the Olympics … wouldn’t have been surprised if they’d made it too.’ Mr Shearer started coughing, and I strained to hear him.

‘… built an Olympic-style arena – jumps, lights, everything. She never got to use it.’

I sat up and edged my way to the end of the bed. That must have been the arena we’d seen, Mikaela and Alice and me. The one Mikaela had said was cool.

‘Your wife?’ I asked.

Mr Shearer shook his head. ‘My daughter. Jo. She was only sixteen.’

Same age as my big brother Matt.

‘Oh.’

‘The horse died first, and three days later …’

He dropped his hands to his lap and ran his thumb over the horseshoe-shaped ring on his pinkie. ‘This was hers. We bought it for her sixteenth birthday. It was still brand-new when she died.’

My head filled with the sound of rushing blood. Mr Shearer had a daughter? And she’d died? Of Hendra virus?

‘I’m so sorry,’ I whispered. ‘You must really hate bats!’

‘Oh no. It’s not their fault. Even Jo understood that. They’re just doing what bats do.’ He sniffed and adjusted the oxygen tube under his nose. ‘That’s the trouble, you see (wheeze). Some people get the wrong idea. They get all worked up and want the bat colonies cleared. They want to keep bats away from their houses, (wheeze) their children, themselves. I’m flat out keeping the locals away from that colony (wheeze) on my property. That’s why I carry my gun.’

I stared down at Mr Shearer. It was worse than I thought. Mr Shearer wasn’t shooting horses – he was shooting people! I clasped the pillow to my stomach. Mr Shearer really was crazy!

He must have seen my eyes widen, because he smiled and said, ‘Don’t worry, the gun’s full of blanks (wheeze). People do all sorts of cruel things to get rid of the bats – lighting fires, using slingshots, you name it, but that colony’s their home. It’s where they live, and they’re not expecting (wheeze) to be attacked. I’ve resorted to shooting blanks to warn the bats away when there’s trouble.’

I exhaled. ‘Blanks? Not real bullets?’

Mr Shearer shook his head. ‘Not real bullets.’

‘Do people really use slingshots? That’s horrible!’

‘Yep, you bet. And worse. They can’t look past (wheeze) the noise and the smell – and the viruses – and they get panicky. Rumours spread. There’s some folks (wheeze) who’ve been trying to get rid of our colony for years.’

‘But, don’t you wish the bats would go away? You know, because of your daughter and everything?’

‘Crikey, no! Bats have been here for thousands of years. Way before me. Burning their homes only aggravates them, stirring up any virus they’re carrying. And anyway, (wheeze) Mrs Bacton and I always do the right thing. We vaccinate our horses. We keep our water troughs clean. It’s not that hard to learn to live with bats. Imagine if I came to your house and burnt it down!’

I agreed. It would be awful. My horse posters would be ruined. Matt and Gus’s hockey trophies would melt.

‘So now, how about those sandwiches? I thought you youngsters were like racehorses – always hungry?’

I swung my legs and too-big boots off the edge of the bed. My stomach had been rumbling since he’d first mentioned food. But I wasn’t like Spud, able to eat in an emergency. I remembered the way he vacuumed up the grass near the cow paddock, refusing to move on. The cows had stared at us, their teddy-bear ears flapping away the flies …

The cow paddock?

‘That’s it!’ I shouted. ‘We have to tell Mrs Bacton! I know where Spud is!’