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161 lines
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<h2>15</h2>
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<p><em>August 1. 5 pm...</em></p>
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<p>The bird flapped laboriously into the air, a grey shadow rising above the ferns bordering the stream. Without thinking, more an instinctive reaction, Danny threw his stick at the motion and his aim, quite uncharacteristically for him, was easily six foot wide of the mark. The stick flew though the air, making a whirring sound as it spun end over end.</p>
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<p>The slow, whooshing wingbeats pushed the heron forward, the neck curved in a white serpent-shape and its long dagger-beak pointed at the sky. It flew straight into the path of the whirling piece of wood. The thrown stick caught it at the base of the neck and the bird simply stalled in its flight. The branch flipped onwards and landed in a hazel bush. A small white breast feather tumbled outwards. The heron dropped to the earth and hit with a thump. One wing flapped madly, while the other was clenched tight in against its body. The beating wing carried the big bird around in ungainly circles, a graceful thing now graceless, clumsy and broken.</p>
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<p>"Bloody <em>great</em> shot," Billy whooped.</p>
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<p>Danny's heart sank. He hadn't even known what he was throwing at. He had only seen a movement beside the ferns, a rabbit, maybe a hare. He'd lobbed plenty of rocks at plenty of rabbits for many a summer and he'd never succeeded in hitting any one of them.</p>
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<p>Now the beautiful bird was down, its beak opening and closing like a slender trap, making no bird noise, but emitting a harsh and ragged hiss that made him think it was choking. Its head was twisted at an odd angle.</p>
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<p>"Didya see that shot?" Billy yelled again. Doug, following behind, still stripped to his sting vest popped his head over the fern tops.</p>
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<p>"What's happening?"</p>
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<p>Danny ran forward, the soles of his thin canvas shoes pattering on the smooth stones as he crossed the stream at the shallows. Billy was right behind him, ignoring the stepping stones, splashing through the water.</p>
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<p>The heron flapped madly with its one good wing.</p>
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<p>"Kill it," Billy said. "Kill it before it gets away."</p>
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<p>Danny froze. The bird was broken. The long and slender legs were stuck out below it as if they were incapable of taking the weight. A delicate crest of feathers flowed back from the smooth white head. The long, yellow dagger of a beak opened and closed with a faint snapping noise.</p>
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<p>"I didn't mean it," Danny said.</p>
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<p>"Did you hit it?" Doug called from the far side. "What is it? A cormorant?"</p>
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<p>"It's a flamin' stork."</p>
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<p>"A heron," Danny said lamely. He edged forward and picked up his stick. The bird hissed and its bright yellow eye fixed on him. It made a lunge to protect itself, the beak knifing forward, but its co-ordination went awry and the lunge took it a foot past Danny's toe. The beak slapped on the short grass like a mis-thrown knife. An unbidden tear sparked in Danny's eye and he blinked it back..</p>
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<p>"I didn't mean it, honest," he protested. If he could have <em>un</em>thrown the stick, if he had simply waited for a second, the bird would have soared into the air, surprised by their approach, alarmed maybe, but it would have risen on those whooping wings and taken to the sky. The eye fixed on him again, bright yellow with a sparkling black pupil that widened then contracted to a pinpoint as the head turned towards the sun.</p>
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<p>An awful feeling of wrongdoing settled upon him.</p>
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<p>"Bloody brilliant shot," Billy was saying. "Got it right in the neck." He was dancing around excitedly, poking his own stick at the stricken bird. He knocked it on the beak and the heron snapped weakly at the piece of wood. "Look at the size of the thing. It's like a flamin' turkey. That could keep us going for a week."</p>
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<p>"Can you eat them?"</p>
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<p>" 'course."</p>
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<p>Danny wasn't listening. All he could see was the bright, glazed eye that seemed to be hold him with an accusing glare, and the hissing rasp as the bird hauled for air through its damaged neck. An ominous sense of foreboding stole over him. He'd thrown the stick and hit the bird. He could see where its neck was broken, down at the base close to the shoulder. It was dying.</p>
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<p>A small cloud passed over and dimmed the bright sunlight. It happened all of a sudden and Danny shivered inside himself as a sense of misfortune overtook him. It was as if the deed had been witnessed, the simple casual destruction of a heron, by some force of nature that had darkened the day because of the act. A tear of guilt and regret brimmed over Danny's eyelid and rolled down his cheek. None of the others noticed. Doug had come across the stream and was now crouched down some feet away. Danny knuckled the tear away.</p>
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<p>"Bust its neck," Doug said. "Spot on. Never knew you were that good." There was no sense of regret in his voice, merely a curiosity and, of course, admiration.</p>
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<p>"I didn't mean it," Danny insisted. The bird was still flopping around, though less frenziedly now. It whirled in a circle and then stopped. The beak opened and it sighed, or at least that's what it sounded like. From that long dagger, it had an oddly unnerving human quality.</p>
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<p>"What'll we do?" Billy asked.</p>
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<p>"It's dying," Danny replied. He could hear his own voice tight and cracking. "It's hurt." He took three steps forward and swung his stick in the air and brought it down in a fast arc. It caught the heron on the back of the head. The beating wing went into a spasm of frantic movement then it slowed to a shivering tremble. The beak opened once and then closed again very slowly. The lifelight faded from the yellow eye and the bird was dead.</p>
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<p>It lay there on the short grass beside a clump of ferns. In death it took on a certain dignity and the twist in its neck, where the fine bones had been dislocated was not quite so apparent. It could have been sleeping - if herons ever did lie down to sleep - except for the fact that its sightless eye was wide open and fixed, still fixed accusingly on Danny Gillan.</p>
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<p>He turned quickly and went across the stream again, this time ignoring the stepping stones. The small while cloud passed quickly, taking its shadow with it and the sunlight flooded back into the valley. But as Danny followed the path back down to where they'd stopped to camp, the strange and uncomfortable sense of foreboding followed him.</p>
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<p>Corky had the fire lit and it crackled inside the ring of smooth stones they'd brought up from the stream. He and Tom were peeling potatoes and in an old dried milk can, blackened and with a bent wire for a handle water was bubbling away. Tom stood up when the others approached.</p>
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<p>"What's that?"</p>
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<p>"A heron," Doug said. "Danny hit it in the air. Must have been fifty yards away." Doug exaggerated. The bird had been much closer. "Knocked it right out of the sky."</p>
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<p>"Big, isn't it?"</p>
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<p>"You should have left it," Danny said. Corky was looking at the bird admiringly as Billy spread out the wide grey wings.</p>
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<p>"Never seen one up close before," he said admiringly.</p>
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<p>"I didn't mean it," Danny said again, and the others looked at him. "I wish I hadn't hit it. It'll have yunks in the nest waiting for it. They'll starve."</p>
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<p>Billy held the slender neck up in one hand, letting both wings trail. The bird was as tall as Tom when it was stretched out. The blinkless yellow eye still found Danny.</p>
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<p>"This one won't scare all the trout away," Billy observed. "We'll get all the fish we want. And we can eat this too."</p>
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<p>"No," Danny said. "Hide it."</p>
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<p>"What's the matter with you?" Corky asked reasonably. "It's only a bird."</p>
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<p>Danny tried to tell him it was more than that. He'd seen the heron taking off, its neck coiled to rest the head on the shoulders while the great beak pointed at the sky. It had been a magnificent thing full of wild life and slender beauty and he'd thrown the stick and broken it. <em>Killed it.</em></p>
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<p>He couldn't explain. They wouldn't understand. Billy stood there with the bird dangling from one hand, his dark hair gleaming in the sun and his tanned shoulders making him look more like a young Indian brave triumphantly showing a kill.</p>
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<p>He turned and strode up to the gnarled hawthorn tree that spread its twisted branches out in a high arch in the hollow beside a low wall of rock. Before they'd gone off exploring the left side of the stream they'd gathered sticks and branches for firewood and stacked it in the rough natural shelf in case it rained. Billy put the bird down on one log, letting the head dangle over the side. He slipped his old knife from the leather sheath and started to hack away at the neck. It took several hits before the head fell away attached to six inches of white neck that ended in a bloody draggle of feathers.</p>
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<p>He held it up, wagging his hand up and down trying to make the beak open and close.</p>
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<p>"Look. I got it to talk," he called down. Doug laughed. Billy did a little dance that made him look even more like a tribal warrior, slapping his hand against his mouth to give a tribal yell. The ragged end of the neck jangled in his hand and thick droplets of blood splashed over his bare shoulders and chest. He looked down at the congealing splotches and pulled a face.</p>
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<p>"Oh Jeez," he bawled.</p>
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<p>"Heap big warrior, scared of blood," Corky said.</p>
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<p>"It's horrible," Billy protested. He turned and stuck the head in the cleft between two branches of the hawthorn tree, leaving the beak pointing down towards the campfire. He came down towards the others. Out of the shade they could see the large drops of blood, scarlet freckles on his smooth skin.</p>
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<p>Doug reached out and speared one with his finger, drawing a line of red down Billy's back. The other boy spun round angrily.</p>
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<p><em>And they marked the lintels with the blood so that the angel of death would pass over</em>. The line from Exodus sprung unbidden into Danny's head, but the feeling of wrong-doing stayed with him, as if he'd broken more than the heron.</p>
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<p>"Makes you more like an Apache," Doug said. He poked out again and smeared the blood on Billy's chest, leaving three thin trails.</p>
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<p>"That's really horrible," Billy said. "And it stinks as well." He passed Corky who reached and smudged the lines, making a criss-cross pattern. Billy jerked away, crossing to the other end of the fire. Through the wavering air over the flames they saw him head down towards the stream. As he passed close to a small wild hazel bush, a small swarm of flies came buzzing out, danced in the air and went following the scent of blood.</p>
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<p>Billy did a strange little dance as the flies whirled around him, suddenly taking him by surprise. He flapped them away and then slapped at his own skin. "Bloody flies. They're eating me alive."</p>
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<p>"Heap brave warrior shitting his pants," Corky said and he and Doug and Tom cracked up with sudden laughter. Billy got to the stream, waded in without hesitation and then ducked right under the surface. When he came up, snorting for breath they saw him quickly wipe away the smears of blood. The coil of flies danced around him momentarily and then flew back into the bush again.</p>
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<p>Billy came wading up to the campfire grinning widely.</p>
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<p>"What, no war paint?" Corky asked sarcastically. "You'll get drummed out of the cubs."</p>
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<p>"Out of the brownies, more like," Tom said.</p>
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<p>"Honest to God, those flies are like vampires. See the fangs they've got?" Billy clenched his own teeth in a demonstration and then started to laugh. He came up close to the fire and the water splashing from his soaked jeans hissed on the hot stones.</p>
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<p>"So what's for dinner?" he asked.</p>
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<p>The heron's head still stared out from the fork in the tree, a trophy to Danny's great skill as a hunter. The staring, filmy eyes snagged him while Billy was wading in the stream, trying to escape the cloud of flies. The feeling of guilt and the underlying sensation of foreboding, having broken a taboo still hung around him.</p>
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<p>"Come on, Danny boy," Billy called over. "Doug nicked a tin of corned beef. Want some?"</p>
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<p>A few large black flies were hovering around the bloody stump of the dead bird's neck where it flopped across the log. Another one flew up to the head and alighted on the yellow eye, rubbing its forelegs together. Danny turned away, knowing he would have to take the thing down and hide it.</p>
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<p>"Will we eat first or fix up the tent?" Corky asked.</p>
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<p>"Eat first," Doug and Billy said simultaneously. Tom voted along with them. Danny came down from the tree and tried to put the feeling of guilt and odd apprehension away from him.</p>
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<p>The potatoes were hard from not being boiled long enough and the beans were speckled with ash from the fire, but the boys wolfed the lot and then threw their tin plates in the stream to let the current clean them off. Danny and Corky dragged the tent out onto the flat a few yards away from the fire and untied the stays, to roll the heavy green canvas out. The bag of tent-pegs rolled to the side and thumped to the ground. Another tightly wound roll of burlap dropped and hit the hard turf with a clatter.</p>
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<p>"What's that?" Corky asked. He unravelled the dirty piece of sacking and spilled the contents onto the grass.</p>
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<p>"No wonder it was so heavy," he said. A heavy ballpeen hammer lay on top of the short black curve of a crowbar. Beside it lay a pair of electrician's heavy duty pliers with insulated handles and a long screwdriver with a crooked blade. Corky flipped the canvas so that all of the contents rolled out. Billy darted forward and grabbed a tightly-rolled magazine held in a cylinder with a rubber band. Doug picked up a shiny and expensive-looking Ronson varaflame cigarette lighter that was the height of technology of the day. A small box covered in black velvet revealed two gold cufflinks inlaid with black onyx. A smaller canvas bundle showed what Danny thought was a Luger pistol, but turned out to be an old pump-action airgun. Beside it a rattling tin held the lead slugs.</p>
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<p>"No wonder he didn't want us to have the tent," Corky said.</p>
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<p>"What do you mean?" Tom asked the obvious question.</p>
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<p>"This is where he's been hiding his stash. And his gear."</p>
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<p>"I don't get it? Tom insisted.</p>
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<p>"It's his B&E gear. For getting into places. Like garages and bike sheds. Like people's houses?" He started meaningfully at Tom who looked blank.</p>
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<p>"Breaking and entering. Like what Mole Hopkirk used to get up to. I never saw that lighter before, or the cufflinks. Or the airgun. He must have swiped them and hid them there."</p>
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<p>"And I never saw tits like that before," Billy said, spreading out the magazine on the grass. "Look at the size of them." He turned the picture around to show the others. "That's Marilyn Monroe."</p>
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<p>"No it isn't," Doug debated. "But it's like her." Unconsciously he dropped his hand to his crotch and fumbled himself into a comfortable position.</p>
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<p>Corky gave the picture a glance. "Brenda Fortucci's got bigger ones."</p>
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<p>"She's got bigger everything," Doug said. "And a face like the backside of a double-decker bus."</p>
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<p>"We've seen better than that, eh Dan?" Corky asked, giving Danny a wink. Danny still had that picture of Jane Hartfield branded on his mind, every curve of her as she strode down the path with fire in her eyes and a flush on her face. Doug was about to ask what Corky was talking about when Billy whooped.</p>
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<p>"A goddess," he said appreciatively, lowering his voice to what he thought sounded like a lecherous growl. "A livin' doll." He snatched the magazine up and formed his lips into a pout.</p>
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<p>"Mmmm," he kissed the printed breasts then pecked at the red lips of the smiling woman then dropped his mouth to plant another smacker on the curve of her buttock.</p>
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<p>"Wish you could see the front," Billy said.</p>
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<p>"Wish you could see where that's been. Phil's probably had that under the blankets, and now you've kissed it."</p>
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<p>"Argh," Billy said, drawing his face into a contorted twist of disgust. He spat quickly as if he'd eaten something foul.</p>
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<p>"Oh, that's fuckin' awful. You don't think he <em>came</em> on it?"</p>
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<p>Tom started laughing and even Danny started to giggle though the two of them were still below the cusp of puberty and while they'd heard plenty weren't exactly sure what the description entailed. Something came out and it was white and sticky, but what made that happen wasn't within their scope of experience yet.</p>
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<p>"Yeah," Corky said. "Every night for a week. All over it, and now you've got it in your mouth."</p>
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<p>"No. Don't say that," Billy pleaded. He held the magazine up to the light to inspect the pages. "No, he couldn't have. I can't see anything."</p>
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<p>"That's 'cause it goes invisible," Doug said, keeping it up. "Just like germs, but it's worse than germs. If you get somebody's come in your mouth you get VD."</p>
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<p>"What's that?" Tom asked.</p>
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<p>"Venial disease," Doug said. "And it's fatal every time."</p>
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<p>"No, don't say that," Billy begged. He stuck his tongue out and began to wipe it with his fingers.</p>
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<p>"It rots your skin and it gets into your dick and makes it fall off," Doug pressed it home, winking at Corky, grinning broadly.</p>
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<p>"And the only cure is to get a sharp spike with barbs on it. They put it right down and then rip it back out and it brings all the scabs with it, and all the poison and it feels like you piss broken bottles for about a year. Mybe more."</p>
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<p>Billy winced, screwing up his face at the very thought. He crossed his legs in an involuntary protective motion against such an event.</p>
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<p>"They call it the Wassermatter reaction. Phil told me about it. He knew a guy who had it done and it left his dick shredded to pieces and he had to sit down to pee after that."</p>
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<p>"Oh Jeez," Billy said, his imagination running riot.</p>
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<p>"And if you get it," Doug said, head turned away from Billy so that his grin couldn't be seen. "You can never get in the Commandos once you've had VD. They do an inspection right down your willy to see if you've had the scabs. And they can tell if you caught it from somebody else's spunk. I read that somewhere. You'd get done for being a queer-boy. Nobody likes them. They can even throw you in jail for that."</p>
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<p>Doug was about to go on when he realised what he'd said. Jail was a taboo subject. He turned quickly to Corky.</p>
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<p>"Sorry man. I didn't mean anything..."</p>
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<p>Corky slapped him on the shoulder. "No problem Doug." He turned and indicated the pile of tools and goods on the grass. "If Phil gets caught with this lot, he'll be up in Drumbain himself." He gave a rueful grin and Danny thought he was being really big about it. "See, Billy? Once they catch you, you can have company in the cell. You and Crazy Phil banged up in the Drum.</p>
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<p>"I wouldn't share a cell with that bastard if he was the last man on earth," Billy said with feeling. He spat again. "Not after what he's done."</p>
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<p>"Oh, don't worry about it. It might not be VD at all. It might be <em>Siff</em>."</p>
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<p>Billy raised his eyebrows hopefully. He might have been the biggest among them and the oldest, but he was the least well informed.</p>
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<p>"What's that?"</p>
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<p>"Don't you ever read anything except Commando comics?" Doug came back in. "It's even worse than VD. It rots your nose and then your skin it turns your brain to mush. You end up like a walking skeleton. Like a zombie."</p>
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<p>"That's all right then," Tom said. "Nobody will ever notice."</p>
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<p>Everybody looked at Tom. He looked back, face straight. Then all four of them burst out laughing, all doubled up and howling helplessly while Billy stood there, scraping his tongue against the edge of his teeth, wondering what they were laughing at, convinced he could already feel the contamination working inside him.</p>
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<p>"What's this?" Doug asked. He'd lifted the box with the cuff-links and the little velvet holder had flipped out, revealing two oblong foil shapes. He held one up.</p>
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<p>"Chewing gum?"</p>
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<p>Corky reached for one. "It's a johnny," he said.</p>
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<p>"What's that?" Tom asked, completely innocent.</p>
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<p>"You put it over your dick so you don't get the siff," Corky said. "It's got germolene or something inside it. Penicillin maybe."</p>
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<p>"Let's see," Doug said, snatching it back. He ripped the foil and pulled out the pink shape. The little nipple flopped outwards. "Couldn't even get Tom's little willy into that," he said and they all hooted, even Tom, who took no offence at all.</p>
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<p>"Naw. I've seen used ones down at the sewer pipe," Billy said. "They're bigger than that."</p>
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<p>Doug worked at it until the end began to unravel. He held it up, pale and translucent, stretching it between his hands. "It's a balloon," he said. "Who's stick their dick in a balloon?"</p>
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<p>"Daft Phil would," Billy said and they all had a laugh at that. Doug brought the rubber up to his lips and blew into the thing. It inflated immediately, even quicker than the bewildered frog had done. He drew breath and blew in again until the rubber was the size of a football.</p>
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<p>"That would fit me now," Tom said and this time Doug almost choked. The rubber slipped from his hands and flipped away on a bubbling fart of expelled air. It landed in the bush, just out of reach, dangling from the thorns like a thin skin. By this time they were all convulsed with laughter and Billy was actually rolling on the ground, holding his belly. Corky was rubbing tears from his eyes.</p>
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<p>Eventually the laughter faded. Doug stuck the other condom into the pocket of his jeans and they cleared a space to erect the tent, spreading the guy lines out on either side under Corky's directions and getting the stout centre pole straight. The original cords had long since frayed and now the boys used a roll of rough and hairy baling twine that was coiled round a baton of wood. Another length of fine wire that they'd found last summer on a fence post at Cargill Farm stretched from the back pole to one of the trees behind, to keep everything steady. The ballpeen hammer came in handy for getting the tent-pegs hammered into the hard ground. In half an hour, much longer than it would have taken the boys in the scout troop, the old green tent was fixed up, a little swaybacked and with side closest to the stream flapping loosely, but it would take them all at a squeeze come nightfall.</p>
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<p>Doug brewed some tea in the blackened milk-can and slung in a small sliver of wood which he said would help draw the fire-ash to the surface. They drank it in their old chipped mugs and while they had no milk, they were in the great outdoors, miles away from the town, miles away from the pressures of home and it tasted just fine.</p>
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<p>"Does Phil really break in to places?" Tom asked.</p>
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<p>Corky shrugged. "I wouldn't put it past him, but I wouldn't ask him neither, if I was you." He winked and then spiralled a finger around his own temple. "He's not so hot in the brains department, not like his handsome, intelligent kid brother."</p>
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<p>"Ugly and thick brother," Billy responded automatically.</p>
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<p>"Oh, the big chief hunter of flies has spoken," Corky said and gave Billy two fingers. "Up yours Harrison. Up to the elbow." It was all said without rancour, almost like an automatic litany of responses. He turned back to Tom.</p>
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<p>"But he'll be mad as a wet hen when he finds out what <em>we've</em> found out. I'll have to think of something. Like tell him we didn't use the tent."</p>
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<p>"Maybe we should go back and he'll never know we found it," Danny ventured. It was the first time the thought had entered his mind. It just came up from nowhere and he'd simply uttered it. He didn't feel right about that heron. It had disturbed him, taken the shine off the day, put a shadow on the adventure. This morning Phil Corcoran had thrown a knife at him and his luck had saved him, let him off with a small bruise on the side of his head. Now he felt as if that luck wouldn't hold. He couldn't, if asked, have coherently explained why. Tom looked up at him, blew the steam off the surface of his tea. He nodded. "Maybe we should go back."</p>
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<p>Corky shook his head. "Nah, not since we've come this far. That tent weighs a ton, and I'm not carrying it back. Phil can wait until we get home."</p>
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<p>"Can't stop now," Doug agreed. "We must be at least half way there."</p>
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<p>"Yeah we want to find the Dummy Village," Billy backed him up, the threat of disease forgotten and his face now animated. "We'll be the first. There might be guns left behind. Maybe even machine guns." He had dragged the flopped body of the heron away to the side and was pulling the broad flight feathers from the ends of the wings, each of them coming out reluctantly.</p>
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<p>Danny looked at Tom. The feeling of apprehension was still there, but they had come this far. Tom was still unnerved from the gorse-fire. He'd had a real scare, and Danny could tell he really did want to go home, but that he didn't want to be the first to back out.</p>
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<p>"Come on Danny boy," Billy said. "We can play commandos. It'll be just like in the war." He held up a bunch of the wide grey feathers. "Or even cowboys and injuns." He took a length of the baling twine and tied it around his head, then jammed some of the feathers through it, making them stand upright. The head-dress made him look even more like a young brave. He grinned proudly, waving the rest of them in his hands and doing a little shuffling dance.</p>
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<p>Danny shrugged, and that committed Tom. Corky winked at him and slung an arm around Tom's neck, giving him a quick and friendly headlock. "The famous five ride again, amigos," he said.</p>
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<p>When they finished their tea Corky loaded the air pistol and they spent a half an hour firing at the empty tin of corned beef which they set up on a stone on the far side. The steep sides of the deep gully spat the pistol-cracks back at them, but only Billy managed to hit the tin and even then, the spring on the old gun was so weak that it hardly made a dent. Finally Doug put a stone in his catapult and winged it at the can, hitting it dead centre and sending it tumbling into the air. The sun was high, edging over the east side of the valley to shine directly into the stream. The light spangled up from the ripples below the low falls.</p>
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<p>"I vote we go and look for it now," Billy said. He'd taken off his feathers which were now looped over the tent-pole and he was now lying on his belly on the short grass, soaking up the sun, while Doug gently touched his skin with a stalk of grass. Every now and again Billy would bat away what he thought was a horse-fly. Doug grinned mischievously and kept up the nuisance.</p>
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<p>"Too late now," Danny said. "If we start early tomorrow we'll have all day."</p>
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<p>"How about exploring the stream?" Corky said. He pointed to the fork ahead where the two canyons met, joining from separate tributaries at a narrow angle. "I've never been up there."</p>
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<p>"I was up once, catching trout last winter," Danny said. "Me and Al Crombie. There's a good bit like a wall right across the gully and the water comes out in big arch. You can get right behind the waterfall."</p>
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<p>"I read that in a book," Corky said. "Hawkeye. Him and his pal Chingachgook were hiding under the falls. It was like a cave." He hauled himself to his feet. "Let's go see."</p>
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<p>He bent quickly and slapped Billy hard on the reddening skin of his back just where Doug was mischievously trailing the ear of grass. Billy yelped.</p>
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<p>"Big horsefly," Corky said. "Biggest I ever saw. Had to smack it off before it got you."</p>
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<p>Billy glared at him, unsure of whether Corky was taking the mickey or not.</p>
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<p>"Would I lie to you Billy-O?" Corky asked, knuckling the bigger lad on the shoulder. "I just saved your life, didn't I?"</p>
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