Free Mister Cassowary by Samantha Wheeler Page A

o’clock.’
    I only half-listened as Dad agreed. I pressed my nose against the window, watching the ocean. Instead of turquoise like the other day, the water was inky blue. White ruffles topped the choppy waves, which made puffs of foam as they crashed against the beach.
    â€˜Abby?’ I whispered.
    She hummed as she fixed the clips in her hair.
    â€˜Abby!’ I said a little louder.
    â€˜You okay back there, Flynn?’ asked Dad.
    â€˜You’re not feeling car sick, are you?’ asked Walter.
    â€˜No. Just …’ I couldn’t hold my questions in any longer. ‘When we get to the centre,’ I blurted, ‘will we be able to see the cassowaries? Can we talk to that ranger, and ask if any new cassowaries have been brought in?’
    â€˜Flynn!’ Dad said firmly. ‘It’s a working bee, not a zoo excursion!’
    â€˜By golly, he reminds me of your old man.’ Walter laughed. He looked at me in the rear-vision mirror. ‘How about we have a chat to Cathy when we get there? She’s been the head ranger ever since I retired, and I’m sure she’ll be happy to answer all your questions.’
    I nodded. ‘Did Cathy know my grandad, too?’
    â€˜Flynn,’ cautioned Dad.
    Walter pulled into a narrow driveway that led to a white two-story house. There were no other cars parked outside. ‘Looks like we’re the only ones here. Cathy must have been called out on a job.’
    â€˜A rescue?’ I asked.
    â€˜Come on,’ said Walter, opening his door. ‘We’ll get the ball rolling. There’s a stack of volunteers due at nine o’clock, so I’m sure Cathy’s not too far away.’
    Behind the house was a series of heavy-duty wire fences. It looked more like a high-security prison than a place for sick and injured cassowaries.
    â€˜Can I show Flynn around?’ asked Abby once we were out of the car. ‘You know, since Cathy’s not here.’ She shot me a knowing look.
    Dad opened his mouth, but I interrupted before he had the chance to speak. ‘Just till the others get here?’ I pleaded. ‘We won’t go near the cassowaries, promise.’
    â€˜Fine with me,’ said Walter, passing Abby a bulging bunch of keys. ‘How about you open up and show Flynn the plaque we did up for his grandad?’ He winked at me. ‘Then you can have a go with your questions when Cathy gets back.’
    Abby took the keys, but Dad still hovered over us. ‘You’ll just be inside, then?’ he asked, his eyes flicking nervously towards the high fences.
    â€˜Can I get you to give me a hand with these Eskies, Steve?’ Walter interrupted, pointing to a park across the road. ‘See the barbecue? We’ll pop them over there.’ He picked up an Eskie and pushed it into Dad’s hands.
    â€˜Be careful,’ Dad called before crossing the road.
    â€˜See you in a bit.’ Walter grabbed the second Eskie and followed Dad.
    Abby unlocked the sliding glass door of the house. Inside it smelt of eucalyptus and forest and was set up as a display room with a long wooden counter loaded with books and leaflets.
    She pointed to a plaque standing in the middle of the counter. I read: In memory of Barney Hutchinson . In recognition and appreciation of his support and spon sorship of the Cassowary Rehabilitation Centre .
    â€˜So did Grandad really support the centre?’ I asked.
    â€˜Yep, sure did,’ she nodded. ‘Come on.’ She sailed past the counter, heading for a door marked Staff Only .
    â€˜Wait a sec.’ Posters above the counter showed casso waries at different ages, and examples of the berries they liked to eat. Cassowaries wander from the beach to the mountains, looking for fruit as it ripens , the poster said, with arrows labelling the parts of the adult cassowary. I tried the new words out under my breath. ‘Casque.’ The horn on top of