As the dust settles after the world's worst natural disaster, eleven-year-old Lowky Tick fears the worst. His home is destroyed, and as far as he can see so is the world around him. Alone and forced to fend for himself, Lowky is driven by a fierce desire to maintain his independence and will do anything not to be found. To do this he must find a sustainable way to live. Out on the streets the devastated survivor finds his best friend Matilda, and together they decide it is time to find a new home. The Tick Tribe is an inspiring and humorous adventure story for tweens and teenagers. What these brave, young friends quickly learn is that teamwork and positive thinking can overcome even the darkest challenges. Soon the pair's intelligence, resilience and creativity are noticed by others and a diverse and courageous tribe begins to form.
The Tick Tribe
By Erika LoganBalboa Press
Copyright © 2012 Erika Logan
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4525-0712-5Contents
Chapter 1 Movement..........................1Chapter 2 A ... B ... C.....................4Chapter 3 Dog...............................9Chapter 4 Cloud.............................16Chapter 5 Inventory.........................17Chapter 6 Seen..............................21Chapter 7 Possums...........................27Chapter 8 Protection........................36Chapter 9 Malachite.........................47Chapter 10 Bean.............................52Chapter 11 Maniacs..........................58Chapter 12 Twins............................63Chapter 13 Islands..........................71Chapter 14 Extension........................77Chapter 15 Possible.........................80Chapter 16 News.............................87Chapter 17 Casualties.......................89Chapter 18 Crossing.........................96Chapter 19 Reunion..........................104Chapter 20 Plateau..........................107Chapter 21 People...........................114Chapter 22 Arcade...........................127Chapter 23 Late.............................130Chapter 24 Lost.............................136Chapter 25 Blood............................144Chapter 26 Attack...........................149Chapter 27 Bug..............................160Chapter 28 Ignition.........................162Chapter 29 Highway..........................166Chapter 30 Houdini..........................171Chapter 31 Home.............................175
Chapter One
Movement
It was time.
Lowky uncurled himself from what he now realised was a very hard and uneven surface. He didn't know how long he had been there—at least a day, maybe two. He hadn't eaten, and as soon as he started to move, he understood the reason for the uncurling. He was starving! His mum always used to say, "You're hungry Lowky; not starving." He wanted to cry, but a little internal voice said, No, Lowky, it's time. The voice was gentle and warm, and Lowky attempted a smile as he stretched his legs. This was harder than he'd expected. He had been curled up for so long that even though his mind wanted to move, his body did not. He tried again. His limbs slowly remembered what they were supposed to do, and before long he was standing, slightly crouched, in what used to be his living room.
The house was half there and half gone. The living room was mainly standing; only the front corner had collapsed. To the south of that, the dining room and kitchen were badly shaken but also okay. The rest of the house was destroyed. The front of the house and the street it was connected to faced west. These had completely collapsed, and from what Lowky could see, had been reduced to rubble.
Lowky hobbled to the kitchen. The smell was overpowering. It was the smell of food starting to rot, slimy rot! Luckily for Lowky, he had nothing in his stomach to throw up. He did manage, however, to dry-retch all the way to the centre of the kitchen. Most of the contents of the cupboards were on the floor, so he grabbed a dented can of baked beans and attempted to run to the back door.
As he hobbled towards the yard, he imagined he must look like the Elephant man. "I am not an animal," he giggled as he balanced on a small pile of rubble that used to be the neighbour's shed. Hungrily he pulled the ring pull on the baked beans and used his fingers to shovel them into his mouth. Big mistake, he thought. He had had nothing to drink, and the beans turned into a semi-set cement. His stomach reacted to this substance and he started to heave even before he tried to swallow.
He looked back at the kitchen. No chance those pipes are working, he thought as he spat the baked beans into the rubble next to him. He looked around but couldn't imagine finding water anywhere. He remembered the stash of lemonade his mum kept for her after-work pick-me-ups. This was always mixed with a large splash of vodka, but she thought Lowky didn't know. The thought hit him immediately: Oh no! Back to the slimy rot.
The lemonade had been shaken out of the cupboard like most of the other contents. He could see it from what used to be the back door. He steadied himself, took a deep breath, and hobbled as fast as he could to the can of lemonade. His stiff body had loosened up a bit, so it didn't take as long as the first trip. He was weak though, and the lack of food, water, and now oxygen made his head spin and his knees shake. Ohhh, he groaned when he realised he would have to take a breath. He held on to a solid, but shaken, bench frame, grabbed the lemonade, took a disgustingly deep breath, and wobbled, cried, and heaved all the way to the back door.
The lemonade was sweet and warm. He gulped down three huge mouthfuls, but his body rejected it. Gross, he thought, as it cascaded down the rubble next to the baked beans. It was then that he remembered a documentary he had seen about people who should have died but didn't. When they were finally rescued, they were given only tiny sips of water. At the time he had thought this was some kind of cruel joke or a feature of the documentary to make it more interesting. Now he knew better.
He sat back down on the pile of rubble and perched between a rock and a piece of tin. He took a tiny sip of lemonade. This time his body gratefully accepted it. It took Lowky what seemed like forever to absorb only a quarter of the can. It had probably lasted an hour, but it made him aware that without a clock or a schedule, time became irrelevant. At that moment, he had nowhere to go, nothing to do, and no reason for living. He decided not to cry as he had had enough trouble drinking the lemonade. What would be the point of wasting it? He quickly changed his focus back to the baked beans.
I can do this, he thought, just take it one bean at a time. This worked, and after what seemed like another eternity Lowky had eaten about ten beans. He was full and quenched. He was safe and unhurt. He was scared and lonely but somewhere deep inside he was glad to be alive.
It was a sunny day, hot and dry, which was unusual for Melbourne. He lived on one of the hottest continents on earth, yet the town he lived in rarely finished a day without seeing clouds and rain. The flipside of this was that a day rarely finished without some sun as well. Melbourne was known for having four seasons in one day, and unless you were a tourist you always carried a set of clothes that could be changed as easily as the weather.
On this day the sun was nice and he wished it would stay that way so he could defrost his bones and rehabilitate his muscles. And it did.
Lowky hadn't moved over the last day or two. He knew his mother and sister were dead in the next room and he had stayed there paralysed as he slipped in and out of his grief. He had heard some noise in the surrounding area—mainly screaming and crying but also helping and saving. On four occasions he had heard groups of people calling out for any lost or hurt people. He had remained perfectly still, not daring to breathe because he did not want to be found—which he knew would require a lot of planning.
He had heard very little movement during the night, so that would be the best time to do any noisy or outdoor work. He suddenly realised where he was, sitting high on some rubble, in the middle of the day like a lighthouse just begging to be seen. He quickly slid off his perch and hid in the dining room. He sat silently behind the only solid piece of wall he could find. Lowky had to get organised.
It was time.
Chapter Two
A ... B ... C
Overnight, Lowky had come up with three ideas. His first plan was not his favourite. It went something like this:
Plan A: Stay put and do nothing. It would mean staying hidden and raiding shops and houses for food at night, but this would be difficult with the police and SES looking for survivors. However, Lowky was starting to think the area had been completely cut off because he had only heard loud movement about once a day. He heard the movement of individuals more often. But the noise that came from search groups rarely buzzed through the air.
What scared Lowky most about this plan was that he didn't want to risk ending up in an orphanage or with some random family—or worse still, some random, toothless aunt or uncle he only saw, by force, at Christmas or funerals. No, plan A was definitely out.
Plan B: Find Aunty Edie. She was Lowky's mum's sister. She was always there: every camping trip, every celebration, every tragedy, every triumph, every adventure, every complication—always. If Edie was alive, she would be looking for her sister. Edie was their nearest and dearest, and her daughter, Ales, was like a sister to Lowky.
Lowky allowed himself to wonder for a second. Was Edie alive? Had she escaped? He believed she had. She was ingenious and essential. She was like a Swiss army knife: when she was around, anything was possible.
This reminded Lowky of Plan C: Spargo Creek. Lowky had been there with Edie, Ales, and his mum on many occasions. On the first occasion, Lowky had been five. That was by no means their first camping trip. Camping with Aunt Edie had been a monthly occurrence. A tradition, if you like. Ales had always been a go-getter, and on that particular morning, she had already salvaged some bread, cheese, olives, shallots, and tomatoes.
Lowky had crawled out of bed and grabbed the cast-iron toastie maker from its usual place under the bus. He'd tossed it into the fire to heat up and then wandered down the path to the abundant vegetable garden. It was mid-autumn, and at the far right of the garden he found a thick patch of juicy basil. He picked a few sprigs and headed back up the path.
Ales had taken the toastie iron out of the fire and was stoking it with small sticks. She was two years younger than Lowky, but he felt absolutely no concern for her safety. This was the life they had always lived. Spending endless months on the road, their parents picking what seemed to be an endless variety of fruit and vegetables. They had lived out of tents, cabins, or sheds for most of their lives. They were not "cotton wool children" with "helicopter parents." They were more "Bob and Bindi" types. This made him laugh, as they had regularly joked about the children of Steve Irwin—the great "Crocodile Hunter." In fact, this lifestyle continued for Lowky until he started school, and he didn't do that until he was almost seven.
That morning long ago Lowky had started preparing the toasties. He was an expert. He knew everybody's preferences, and nobody bothered to get out of bed until they could smell the fire and the coffee. He filled up the billy and placed it on the fire. He put four teaspoons of coffee—ethiopian dark blend, his mum's favourite—into the plunger.
"Hey, Lowky, wait! I just found mushrooms and feta." Ales's voice still had baby overtones, but her vocabulary was quite extraordinary.
It wasn't long before Lowky's mum got up. "Good morning, good morning, good morning," she chanted as she stumbled blurry-eyed out of the bus. Lowky and Ales were never quite sure who she was talking to, but they said good morning anyway.
"It smells good," she said soothingly as she wrapped her arms around Lowky. The water bubbled on the fire, and she searched for a long stick before she approached it. She was talented, and like an acrobat she managed to simultaneously pick up the billy and turn the toastie. She filled the plunger with steaming water but couldn't be bothered waiting for it to infuse and pushed the filter too quickly to the bottom. She poured the coffee and sat on a log as Lowky climbed into her lap.
"How'd you sleep, honey?" she inquired.
"Great." He beamed. He didn't stay long; he could heart he cheese in the toasty sizzling and wasting into the fire. He jumped up to save them but his mum pulled him back for one more quick squeeze.
The toasties came out of the fire with the perfect amount of crispiness, and Lowky piled them on a plate so he could make the next batch. No one touched them. It wasn't that they weren't hungry, and it wasn't that they weren't delicious; it was tradition. The next two he made were for his mum and himself. She loved extra, extra cheese. Lowky looked back now and wished he had added more of everything: more cheese, more olives, more love. Ales made two hot chocolates, and by the time the next batch of toasties was ready, Edie was up and out of the bus. Her timing was always perfect. It was uncanny!
So there they were a motley crew in their pyjamas and boots. They grabbed their breakfast, and without a word headed towards the dam. The property was amazing, and when they stayed there, they wanted for nothing. not only did it have shade, it had a veggie patch, chickens, a cow, a calf, a dam, and an abundant amount of wood for the fire. There was also a little mud brick cabin, which they called the shed. It had a bed and mainly stored camping equipment. Occasionally Lowky's mum or aunt Edie would go in there and come out with some random item, such as a pick or a fly swatter. It was never locked and rarely used.
After breakfast, they all walked to the dam for a swim/bath. The sun was just starting to leave rays of speckled heat through the trees. They washed themselves in mud (which believe it or not is quite effective). Edie joked that she had just spent three hundred dollars at a spa in Melbourne getting a mud wrap. She said that's why the words "hippy" and "yuppie" were so similar.
Eventually Lowky's mum and Edie settled on the grass in the sun while Lowky and Ales did tricks in the water. They used the pipe from the water pump to swing and twist like circus performers. They could have stayed there all day, but eventually the adults would want for coffee and they'd all head back dripping and laughing.
While the adults made what was the beginning of an endless stream of coffee and pancakes, the kids would sneak off and drink sweet, fresh water straight from the water tank. Their lips would wrap around the faucet as they tried to drink at the rate that the water left the tank. Lowky's mum didn't like this and would yell at them about the waste of water and the earth and blah, blah, blah.
Lowky snapped back to reality. He made a mental note to find water, matches, and the toastie iron.
Lowky pondered his options for quite a while and decided it was a choice between plan B and plan C. Ultimately, though, he knew he could do nothing until he tried to find Aunt Edie. And if he couldn't find her, then maybe he could find Spargo Creek. It was at least a hundred kilometres away, but it had everything and he prided himself on being a self-sufficient, capable warrior.
In fact, he was so independent that he once persuaded his mum to let him stay with an Aboriginal tribe. They were on one of their many Australian bush adventures, and his mum was due to work on a farm, fixing fences. Lowky hated those jobs; he would be left all day to entertain himself. At the same time he had to be where she "could see him." Trapped but free—the worst possible scenario.
Lowky begged and pleaded and begged some more. He talked to the tribal elder, and although the man laughed heartily, he said Lowky could stay. Lowky's mum easily agreed, and off she went to her job with complete faith that the universe would protect her son. Most people would have been horrified by a child having this much freedom, but not them—that was how they rolled.
Lowky slept happily by the fire and when he woke, the elder had taken him deep into the bush to initiate him with a smorgasbord of bugs. Lowky was jolted from this memory by a noise; he pushed himself deeper into the corner of the crumpled living room. He waited anxiously ... nothing! He breathed a sigh of relief and went back to the comfort of his memories.
There was no doubt Lowky could survive in Spargo Creek, and if he got there, he would almost be guaranteed food, shelter, and water. Yes, Spargo Creek was defiantly an option.
Chapter Three
Dog
Lowky had a plan, and now he needed to formulate a plan within a plan. He had started to get organised on the day of his uncurling by taping the curtains up where the windows used to be. Then he started a fire in the living room using scrap wood from the broken furniture and collected everything warm from the coat rack, using the assortment of items to create a bed.
Lowky rebuilt the fire on the ashes from the night before. The house was built on a cement slab, so the fire was easily contained. He used some kindling from outside and the remainder of the kitchen chairs and coat rack to get the fire blazing. Once the fire had settled, he put on a pot of water, reached into the pocket of an oversized jacket, and pulled out a camomile teabag. He counted the bags. Five left. He had never liked camomile tea but now it was like a treasure, a special gift. Once the water boiled, he poured his tea and again reflected on Ales's toasties.
That would be nice, he thought. The only problem was, he had no bread, no cheese, no tomatoes—no toasties. Such is life, he giggled. Good old Ned Kelly—what would he do now?
Lowky got up and looked out the window. He had left a slight gap so the smoke could escape. The house had a large auto-mechanic shop at the back, which meant the view straight out was a brick wall. Next door was the corner store, which meant the view to the right was also a brick wall. The house on the left had a large shed with a fig tree in the far left corner. So this view was a tin wall with a smear of green. Lowky had spent four years looking at that green smear, watching it dance in the breeze. Lowky's mum initially hated the backyard. "How will I connect with nature'" she had droned. Eventually she grew to love it, appreciating the privacy it created, and she realised nature was everywhere. Plus, it was all they could afford.
Over the last few days, the privacy had been a blessing for Lowky. It meant smoke could escape from the living room without anyone from the street noticing. It also meant he could spend some time outside in the sun. He only did this in the morning, as it was too dangerous with the hustle-bustle daytime might bring.
In reality there was little hustle-bustle. But now that he had a plan, he couldn't afford to get caught. Three days earlier there had been noise in the street, mainly crying and panic, but now there was no life on the ground, only in the air. Once he had uncurled himself he had noticed that once the sun was up, so were the search-and-rescue helicopters. Hiding a bit of smoke from a fire was manageable. Hiding his eleven-year-old self would be much more difficult.
It had already been one day since the uncurling. Lowky woke up early on the second day, but it was already late for what he had planned. He had decided there was no point waiting anymore. Waiting for what? The earthquake had claimed his mother and sister, and although he didn't want to accept it, they were not coming back.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from The Tick Tribeby Erika Logan Copyright © 2012 by Erika Logan. Excerpted by permission of Balboa Press. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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