Bernie heard people approaching. He couldn’t get caught. They hadn’t been travelling for very long and he had visions of the captain ordering the ship to turn around and return the stowaway to land. He quickly backtracked down the corridor, but found that the door to the hold had locked behind him. He went through the opposite door.

It opened into a small lounge area. Again, he heard the sound of approaching voices. He headed for the set of metal spiral stairs in the centre of the room.

They led up to a glass-walled observation room, which would have given an amazing 360-degree view of the ocean in the daytime. But it was night and the only view was at the front. Spotlights cut through the darkness ahead of the ship, and Bernie could see the water whooshing by at an incredible speed. The ship was going fast! Way faster than an ordinary one.

But he didn’t get the chance to enjoy the sight for long as, yet again, he heard voices. He seemed completely unable to get away from these people. Were they following him? He heard a footstep on the metal stairs and looked around in panic for somewhere to hide.

The seats and sofas around the outside of the room, all facing the potential view, were not going to be of any help. The only option was the small open kitchenette in the centre of the room. He dashed around the bench. He looked through the cupboards until he found an empty one. It was very tight, but he managed to wedge himself in. Awkwardly pulling the door closed behind him, he was plunged into darkness.

This was worse than the boot of the car.

‘I can’t see anything out there.’ Bernie immediately recognised his mum’s voice.

‘Well, it is the middle of the night,’ said a male voice. ‘All a bit cloak and dagger, really.’

‘But also quite exciting,’ said another voice.

There were a few other quieter comments and murmurs before someone started to speak loudly, addressing the others.

‘Esteemed colleagues, it is my honour and pleasure to welcome you aboard the research vessel Mist Finder.’ His voice was accented, his English pronunciation too precise. Bernie thought he sounded German. ‘I am your new employer Hugo Ernst Meier.’ He paused and there were a few hushed gasps. ‘Yes, yes,’ he continued, ‘I am indeed that Hugo Meier. But despite my glamorous media profile, multiple awards and extreme wealth, I assure you that I am just like all of you – committed to science, discovery and global betterment. And it is for these reasons that I have offered you all employment.’ He paused again. Bernie thought he sounded like someone waiting for applause.

‘You will undoubtedly have many questions and they will all be answered in due course. Tonight, I will just provide a few of the basics. Once we have reached our destination, and you have had time to rest and settle in, Doctor Gillian Mary Saunders, our Director of Research, will give you a proper briefing. So . . .’ Again, another pause. ‘Right now, we are headed towards Secreta Insula, a small island in the waters of Bass Strait, whose exact geographic location is unknown.’

‘Excuse me.’ Bernie recognised his mum’s voice. ‘How can we be headed somewhere without knowing the exact location?’

‘Ah, the scientific brain, eager to learn. An excellent question from the famous – some would say infamous – Doctor Rachel Leanne Bailey.’

Leanne? Bernie had forgotten that his mum’s middle name was Leanne. She never really used it. He thought it was odd that Meier did.

‘The island is shrouded in mist. This mist conceals the island – prevents it from appearing on radar and . . . how do I put this? It diverts the mind. But the Mist Finder is equipped with a . . .’ Meier paused yet again, although this time it was different. Bernie thought it was obvious that he was searching for the correct term. ‘I suppose you could call it an inverse radar. Rather than detecting the island itself, it detects the absence of an island.’

That didn’t make any sense, thought Bernie. How could you possibly detect the absence of something?

‘That is an over-simplification, of course,’ explained Meier. ‘If anyone is interested in a more technical explanation, I will introduce you to Professor Jamo Dii Umbata, the genius who invented it. He is due to visit the research centre sometime next week to look into ways to better understand the particular situation the shrouding mist places us in. Now, we will be arriving shortly, so it is best that I continue without further questions.’

Well, that was Mum being put in her place, thought Bernie.

‘Secreta Insula is not on any charts and officially does not exist. It is rather unique in terms of its flora and fauna. There is an astounding variety of animals, which should not exist there. Creatures that correspond to what we know of certain prehistoric animals, and others that are unlike anything yet classified. And, strangely, only one of each species. At least, so far as we’ve been able to determine.

‘This, Doctor Rachel Leanne Bailey, is why you were asked to join us. Our palaeontologist, Doctor Hikaru Tanaka – no middle name – is, I am led to understand, a big admirer of yours. You might even use the term, fan.’

Bernie tried to control his breathing. It was an effort. ‘Prehistoric animals’ were the words that Meier had used. Dinosaurs!? Surely Meier couldn’t mean that! Could Bernie have misheard? He must have! Fossils! That was probably it, he thought. The island must have unique dinosaur fossils, and Meier needed Mum’s expert opinion on them. That made more sense.

‘But there is even more,’ continued Meier. ‘The plant life also extends to prehistoric species. There is an odd assortment of mushrooms and other fungi, connected by an underground mycelium network. Which is why we have Professor Sebastian Morille Bolete, famed French mycologist, on our team. Although he has been part of the team for a while now, he is here today, returning from a mainland equipment-gathering excursion.’ Bernie noticed an edge of annoyance in Meier’s voice as he talked about Professor Bolete.

‘And that is that, for the moment. And, yes, I know there are more questions. But, as I said, details will be provided on the island by Doctor Gillian Mary Saunders. She will assign each of you to your teams and brief you on the research being conducted. Now, I will leave you all to get acquainted.’

Bernie’s mind was a mess. No matter how hard he tried, none of what Meier had just said made any sense to him. Was this guy a scammer? Or maybe he was luring these people into some sort of twisted fantasy his deranged mind had created. This made Bernie more certain than ever that he was doing the right thing in following his mum. She was obviously going to need his help to get out of this bizarre situation.

The voices beyond his cupboard had become a muffled background noise of subdued conversations. Bernie was just about to try taking a peek when he heard his mum again. This time, very close. ‘Is he serious about the prehistoric animals?’

‘Oh yes,’ said a male voice with a French accent. Bernie assumed it must be Professor Bolete. ‘I have seen them. But it is the fungus that is far more fascinating.’

‘If you say so,’ said his mum. ‘But right now, I am starving!’

‘But the kitchenette doesn’t look like it has any food,’ said Bolete.

Bernie heard some cupboard doors open and close. He held his breath.

His heart pounded as the door next to his slammed and Mum snapped, ‘What’s the use.’

‘They will feed us on the island,’ said Bolete. ‘Breakfast is available from six in the morning, each day. I made sure to confirm that there was a qualified chef and three meals a day before I signed my contract. One can not expect the little grey cells to function properly without appropriate sustenance.’

‘Good to know,’ said Bernie’s mum. ‘Mr Meier sounded annoyed about your excursion?’

‘Ah yes,’ said Bolete. ‘Monsieur Meier is rather set in his ways and overly concerned with secrecy.’ His voice began to fade as they moved away. ‘I had to argue rather strenuously to get him to agree to . . .’

A low chatter of voices continued for a while. Bernie listened intently, hoping to glean some more information, something that might explain what was really going on. But no one else came close enough to his hiding place.

Bernie yawned. He was so tired. And uncomfortable. And curious. The drone of voices began to lull him and his eyes felt heavy . . . But he had to stay awake. Falling asleep here was not a good idea.

After the voices had finally died down and Bernie was certain that he was alone, he climbed out of the cupboard. He stood and gazed around through the windows. Darkness greeted him. He strolled up to the front window, cupped his hands onto the glass and peered into the gloom.

There was something up ahead, reflecting the lights of the ship. A billowing nothingness. The mist! Within seconds the ship had entered the mist and a swirling greyness closed in on the windows.

Bernie felt strange, disorientated. He had a vague thought that the ship was going the wrong way, that it shouldn’t be going into the mist, that it should change direction straightaway. But that was silly. The island was through the mist. Wasn’t it?

He plonked down onto the sofa and closed his eyes. His head was heavy. He felt overwhelmed. Drained. Exhausted.

Moments later, he was asleep.