Free Taylor Five by Ann Halam Page B

Batur.”
    “I
didn’t
say that, stupid! How could I know? I said I hoped we’d find help—”
    The children looked at each other, and the beginnings of a squabble died. “We mustn’t get into arguments,” said Donny, very seriously.
    “No. We mustn’t. We’ll stick it out, and be nice to each other, and behave so everyone would be proud, if we have to walk all the way to the Marine and Shore.”
    “Let’s shake on it,” said her brother.
    They gripped hands, did the special Tay and Donny twist, broke the grip and knocked knuckles. “We should do it with Uncle too,” said Donny. “He’s part of the team.”
    Uncle had gone to sit at the edge of the stream, but he was watching them.
    He made his Clint noise again, very sadly.
    For a moment a picture of Dr. Clint Suritobo flashed into Tay’s mind. His laughing face, his glossy black hair. How he’d been such fun to be with, always. And he was gone. It was all gone, everything. . . . It hurt so much she was shocked. How could she keep going with such pain inside? But she must.
    “He mightn’t want to do our handshake.” She didn’t want Donny to be disappointed. “He might think it’s only for children, or only for humans.”
    “Yes, he will do it. I’ll teach him. It’s the team sign. Come here, Uncle.”
    The ape rose to his feet. Standing, he was about the same height as Donny, though broader across his shaggy chest and shoulders. He came up to the children, cocked his head and made a face that was like the sad ghost of his old funny lip. Then he gravely took Donny’s hand, shook it and did the Donny and Tay twist—
    “Hey!” cried Donny, delighted. “Look at that! He knows it already!”
    “He must have watched us, lots of times,” said Tay.
    But it seemed a good omen.
    All three of them, in sequence, did the handshake, the twist, the rapped knuckles. The grip of Uncle’s leathery hand was very strong. His wise and sorrowful eyes looked into hers. Uncle
knows
, she thought. He’s hurting, just the way I am, and he may be an animal but he’s not a kid, he’s a grown-up: and she felt stronger. Maybe it was stupid, but she felt she had someone she could depend on.
    There was a pedometer on their compass, which Tay was wearing on her wrist. It let them keep track of their progress. They made good time through the morning. The grassy bank of the stream was as good as a smooth path, and it was a big improvement to be away from the smoke and ash. Tay carried the rucksack. Donny offered to take turns, but Tay thought he’d better not carry anything because of the wound in his back. Donny wanted Uncle to take his turn, but Tay had visions of the ape vanishing into the forest with all their possessions. No matter how wise he was, he was still an animal, and he might decide to go off and survive on his own. She explained that orangutans aren’t built for carrying things on their backs.
    Uncle wasn’t built for walking, either, but that didn’t matter. He took to the trees that closed off their gulley from the sky and swung along overhead: sometimes completely silent, sometimes crashing through the branches as if he was making a noise deliberately, to cheer himself up. But every few minutes he would came plunging down again, landing on the grass and bouncing along beside the children for a few steps. “To make sure we’re okay,” said Donny. “He’s our baby-sitter, remember.”
    The heat didn’t bother them too much. The valley was shady and they were used to these temperatures. The pedometer counted the meters, and then the kilometers. Tay became obsessed with watching them mount up. When she noticed that Donny was lagging behind, she could hardly bear to stop, but she made herself be sensible and declared a lunch break. They sat on on some roots and opened a tin of pears while a butterfly with huge, lacy white wings drifted around them, as if curious to know what two children and an ape were doing here all alone.
    Uncle refused the