‘OW!’ Bernie unsuccessfully tried to stifle a yelp of pain as he slammed into the side of the crate. This happened every time they went over a bump.

‘Shhhh!’ Ivy’s irritated whisper reached him over the whine of the electric motor. ‘We’re about to pass some people.’

That was easy for her to demand, thought Bernie. She wasn’t the one squeezed into a wooden crate on the back of what looked like a golf buggy, as it trundled down the boat ramp and off to who-knew-where. He seemed to be making a habit of concealing himself in small dark spaces. It was a good thing that he didn’t suffer from claustrophobia.

Bernie could hear raised voices in the distance. He held his breath, which was a silly thing to do. It’s not as if they would hear him breathing, especially since they were arguing quite loudly.

‘This was NOT part of the deal!’

Bernie knew that voice. It was Mum! And she sounded super angry.

‘Please calm down, Doctor Rachel Leanne Bailey.’ That was Hugo Meier.

‘I will NOT calm down.’ His mum again. ‘I promised my son daily calls. And now you’re telling me that I can’t. That is NOT acceptable!’

‘It is for reasons of security,’ continued Meier, his voice beginning to fade. ‘Please understand that it is . . .’

What was that all about? Bernie strained to hear more, but the voices were now too far away. It had sounded like his mum wasn’t being allowed to call him. That was actually a bit of a relief. Maybe it would take longer before she discovered that he wasn’t at home.

A growing ache in his chest suddenly made Bernie realise that he was still holding his breath. He released it with a much louder exhale than he had intended.

‘We’re past them now,’ said Ivy. ‘But you still need to shut up.’

Bernie was cramped and uncomfortable and hot. He was uneasy about having to trust this weird girl . . . but he had no other option. He just hoped that the journey wouldn’t take much longer.

About fifteen minutes later, the vehicle came to a bumpy stop and Ivy lifted the lid from the crate.

Bernie groaned as he climbed out, and scowled at the buggy. It was an open, two-seat vehicle with a front windscreen but no roof. A bright red MeierCorp logo, an M within a C, was emblazoned on the bonnet. It didn’t look like it would go very fast, but his bruises told him otherwise. Then he gazed around and his mouth dropped open.

They were in a tropical rainforest. Moisture dripped from the ferns, bananas hung from trees and orchids bloomed in the undergrowth. But there were also strange-looking plants he’d never seen before – massive multicoloured blooms on tall stalks; curling vines dropping from cones on tree branches; and strange leafy trunks that widened as they rose to great heights. The air was heavy with humidity and his T-shirt immediately stuck to his skin. The buggy was parked on a narrow makeshift track of flattened vegetation. It looked very much like the surrounding jungle was trying to reclaim it.

Something bright caught his eye. He crouched down to examine the toadstools at his feet. They were an iridescent red with yellow spots. Beyond them were some blue, plate-like fungi attached to a fallen branch. And beyond them, tiny spots of magenta clinging to a tree trunk. The colours were amazing. And the smell. There was a wet, earthy, musty scent in the air. It felt like an alien world.

Bernie straightened up and turned all the way around, taking in the amazing sight. But he realised that something wasn’t right. It had been cold when he’d snuck into the limo. And although he was now on an island, the weather shouldn’t have been this different.

‘Hey, how come it’s so warm and humid?’ he asked. ‘It’s autumn and we’re in Bass Strait, which isn’t exactly tropical.’

‘Yeah, curious, isn’t it,’ said Ivy, running a hand through her rainbow hair. ‘That’s one of the many bizarre things we’re studying here. Monster Island has its own climate that doesn’t fit in with its location. We’re also studying the odd assortment of mushrooms and other fungi, as well as the plants and animals. There’s a lot of supposedly extinct species here. And some species that shouldn’t exist at all.’

That was a lot to take in, but Bernie’s mind focused on one particular thing. ‘Monster Island?’ he said. ‘This place is called Monster Island?’

‘Not officially,’ said Ivy. ‘Its actual name is Secreta Insula, which is Latin for Secret Island. Boring! But most people here affectionately call it Monster Island.’ She huffed. ‘Except my dad. He doesn’t do humour.’

Bernie immediately thought about what Meier had said – prehistoric creatures. He was almost afraid to ask. But he had to. ‘Um . . . why do you call it Monster Island?’

Ivy smiled. ‘Follow me.’ She disappeared into the thick jungle at a brisk pace.

‘Wait!’ called Bernie, panic rising. ‘Don’t leave me here.’

‘I’m not leaving you, I’m leading you,’ she called over her shoulder. ‘So, follow me.’

With a little whimper, Bernie took off after her. He didn’t want to run into a strange jungle, but he didn’t want to get left behind either. There better be some pretty amazing dinosaur fossils, he thought. It was barely thirty seconds before he caught up with her.

Ivy was standing by a particularly lush bit of undergrowth. She lifted a finger to her lips to indicate he should be quiet, then pulled aside some branches.

Bernie leaned in to peer through the undergrowth.

He couldn’t believe his eyes. He looked out onto a lake. These were not fossils! On the shore, there were animals that had come to drink the water. The animals were alive. The animals were impossible. And the animals were . . .

Dinosaurs!