The first thing Tom did after his discussion with Mrs Davidson, was to check the barn to see if Buffy had been taken. She had, and so too had another one: Davidson had two dogs with him. The remaining three jumped up in their cages, barking, seeking attention. For a moment he considered taking one of them with him, but quickly dismissed the thought – none of them looked anywhere near as friendly as Buffy.
However he did search through the cupboards until he found a bundle of dog leads that might prove useful. He stuffed one in his pocket, and after a bit of thought added an old collar. The gun cupboard alongside was locked so there was no way of checking whether Davidson had taken one or not. Chances were high that he had.
Before leaving the shelter of the barn he rang his father once more. It went straight to voicemail suggesting the phone was turned off. After leaving a message he stood for a while wondering what else he should do before heading into the forest. Should he tell someone else where he was going? Yes, he should. He selected Marika’s number.
After bringing her up-to-date with what had happened, he told her he was going into the forest to find Davidson.
“No!” Marika shouted down the phone. “It’s too dangerous. MetService have updated the storm warning. The winds are coming sooner than expected, and they’ll be much stronger. That forest is no place to be in a storm like this.”
“I’ve got to,” cried Tom. “He’s going to shoot Spot and Buffy’s with them!”
Marika took her time before replying. “Look, why don’t I contact the logging gang, and see if they can do something. They know the forest better than anybody.”
“But phones don’t work in there,” said Tom. “That’s why I have to go.”
“I know that,” said Marika, patiently. “I’ll contact the company in town here. They have radio communication with the site. Just stay where you are, Tom. Don’t do anything until I call you back. Right?”
Before Tom could respond she’d disconnected.
While he waited for a return call, Tom marched up and down the middle of the barn becoming increasingly worried about the time he was wasting.
When the call did come, he answered it with a rude, “So?”
“They can’t make contact,” said Marika with a sigh. “There’s something interfering with their signals. They’re very—”
Tom broke in. “That’s the dog collars. I can stop that when I find Davidson. Don’t you understand? That’s why I have to go in. I’m off now.”
This time it was Tom who disconnected before there could be any response.
* * *
The gate into the forest was open which saved a bit of time. The track was awash with water, making it impossible to tell whether the ute had come that way or not. Tom assumed it had, otherwise the gate would be shut.
Pelting rain lashed at his back until he got into the shelter of the forest. From there on the riding was a little easier, but the storm no less scary. Roaring noises coming from the tops of the pines made it seem as if jet planes were flying low overhead. Even the tree trunks close to the ground were swaying with the force. Tufts of pine needles flew everywhere, grabbing at his clothes as they rushed past.
Tom really had no plan other than to follow the road until he found something, whatever that might be. He thought he was ready for anything, but when he turned a corner and found a dog rushing towards him, the shock made him swerve far too sharply on the muddy road. His tyres lost traction and the wheels slipped sideways. Both bike and rider crashed to the ground. The next moment Tom was fighting off the dog, which was attacking his head, its open mouth searching for his throat. Tom screamed, wrapping his arms around his head, curling into a ball.
That worked. The dog pulled away. When it started whining, he took a peek through his fingers. The dog was sitting, staring at him in shock. This was no wild animal, it was Buffy! The attack had not been aggression, just welcoming joy, her way of cuddling. Now they had both calmed down, their reunion was more orderly. For a while they hugged each other. Two wet and muddy beings, happily oblivious to the storm raging above them.
Tom’s first thought when they eventually separated was to forget about Davidson and take Buffy home. His home, not that stinky barn Davidson thought was suitable for a dog. However Buffy had other ideas. As soon as he’d climbed to his feet, she was pulling at his shorts, with the clear intention of taking him somewhere. After realigning the handlebars and untwisting a brake cable, Tom got on the bike, and followed her command.
* * *
Further along the road they came to the first fallen pine tree. This one had been growing at the top of a clay bank which had collapsed, dropping the tree across the road. The dirt still falling from the exposed roots suggested it had happened in the last few minutes. Tom stopped short of the barrier and glanced upwards at the remaining trees swaying dangerously above him. For the first time since entering the forest he experienced a surge of fear. If he’d not fallen off his bike he could well have been under the tree when it fell.
Climbing over the barrier was not all that difficult; getting his bike over was. He considered leaving it behind until he realised how that would leave him without any quick way out of the forest if things went wrong. He hauled his bike over and obeyed Buffy’s urges to continue.
A kilometre further on they rounded a bend to find the road blocked by another fallen tree, this one much smaller. Buffy could have easily leapt over the thin trunk, but made no attempt to do so. Instead she moved to where the top branches dangled over the edge of the road, and stood staring at something below. Tom’s stomach lurched when he saw wheel tracks leading over the edge: a vehicle must have come round the bend, swerved to avoid the tree, and gone over the edge.
Before he’d got off his bike to join Buffy he was already picturing what he would see at the bottom of the slope. This time the rush of fear almost forced him to retreat.
When he did make himself look over the edge, it didn’t seem too bad. Yes, the ute was down there and it had crashed into a tree, but only the front was dented. The driver’s door was open a little, although not enough to see if someone was still inside.
Tom studied the surrounding area looking for Davidson. There was nothing to indicate the man had left the vehicle. By then Buffy had begun climbing down the bank, looking back every few steps, whining at Tom to follow. He did so.
It soon became clear Buffy wasn’t taking him to the vehicle, she was heading for a clump of ferns. Her whining got louder as they approached, this time directed at a black shape lying half hidden within the ferns. To Tom it looked like a black stump. That was until he was right above, and saw it was the body of a dog, the other one Davidson had taken with him. Unlike Buffy, this one was fitted with a transmitting collar.
Buffy crouched beside the body, resting her head on its flank, showing that she knew her pack companion was already dead. The only sign of injury was that the head lay at a strange angle, which made Tom think its neck might have been broken during the crash. While he could do nothing to help the dog, he should do something about the transmitter. The sooner it was turned off the better.
He was about to roll the body over when the horn of the ute sounded. Tom jumped with fright. Buffy barked, before taking off, racing towards the sound. Tom followed.
The horn was still blasting when he opened the driver’s door. The cause was Davidson’s body slumped across the steering wheel. Tom grabbed the shoulders and heaved them back. The horn stopped sounding. Tom pulled his hands away not wanting to touch the body any more than he had to. Looking down he saw Davidson’s legs were crushed where the motor had been pushed back into the cab. A pool of blood had formed in the buckled floor. Even if the ute had been fitted with airbags, they wouldn’t have saved him. Davidson had probably died from loss of blood.
Then, as Tom was thinking this, the man groaned. His eyes opened and his head turned.
“Tom?” he croaked.
“Yes it’s me,” replied Tom.
“What are you doing here?”
“I came to get Spot.”
Davidson processed this. “So did I,” he said. “So did I.
“Did you find him?”
“Sort of.” His head turned to the seat alongside where a metal aerial lay. “That thing did.”
“Where?” asked Tom.
But Mike’s eyes had closed. The man had blacked-out again.
For a time Tom experienced a surge of panic that blocked out all sensible thoughts. He walked around in circles beside the ute, his head waving from side to side, arms dangling uselessly. “What to do? What to do? What to do?” he repeated over and over. Nothing had prepared him for a situation like this.
Eventually it was Buffy who brought him back to his senses. She stood glaring at him, barking noisily until he stopped pacing.
“What?” he asked glaring back.
Her reply was a softer bark as she turned and trotted back to the dead dog.
Tom followed. “Yes, he’s dead. I can’t do anything about that. I’ve got to work out what to do about Mike.”
Buffy began nuzzling her dead pack companion, whimpering quietly. That’s when Tom remembered the transmitter. This time he did turn it off. That would help radio communications a bit. But the one on Spot would still be causing problems. Should he find Spot and turn off the collar, or should he go get help for Mike.
He turned to the dog. “What should I do, Buffy?”
Her answer was a gentle woof.
“That’s no help,” he said.
He tried to think it through. The logging site was the closest place. Would it have a first-aid kit? Yes, it was sure to have one. If he went there somebody could come and deal with Mike, while he and Buffy found Spot, and turned off the transmitter. Then an ambulance could be called.
“Yes, that will work.”
Another woof.
“Yeah, yeah, I know. How will they find Mike?”
A louder bark.
“Noise! That’s how. Thanks, Buffy.”
He rushed to the ute and fished around in the rubbish on the floor. Mike had said he had lots of bungees, was there one here?
There wasn’t, but there was one on the back. It took a while to get it tied tightly around the steering wheel. Then, all he had to do was jam a block of wood under it, and the horn was blasting.
Mike stirred at the noise without opening his eyes.
Encouraged by the signs of life, Tom turned to the dog. “Okay Buffy. Let’s save this man. It’s time to go find some help.”