Belly Flop by Morris Gleitzman Page A

starvation.
    No wonder Carla was so upset.
    The Fiamis are going to shoot their sheep.
    â€˜Stop,’ I yelled, running after the ute, ‘you don’t have to, the drought’s gunna be over soon.’
    They were too far away to hear.
    That’s why I’m hurrying out to their place.
    To try and let them know.
    I just wish their place wasn’t so far away on foot.
    Anyway, Doug, you can see how relieved they’ll be when you end the drought.
    If I can get there in time.
    And even if I can’t there are heaps of other families like them.
    So if you’re having doubts, don’t.

 
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    As soon as I got to the Fiamis’ fence, I saw them.
    Sheep.
    Skinny and dusty and not in a very good mood, but alive.
    Yes, I thought, I’m in time.
    And even though my feet hurt and my face was burning and I had dried tomato sludge on my neck, I jumped over the fence with a whoop of joy.
    The sheep took a few steps back.
    â€˜G’day,’ I said to the sheep.
    They took a few more steps back.
    Then a thought hit me.
    What if these were only some of the sheep?
    Sent over here so they wouldn’t be mentally scarred by the awful violence taking place on the other side of the property.
    â€˜Is there an Enid here?’ I asked.
    The sheep looked at me blankly.
    â€˜How about Roald?’
    No one put up their hoof.
    â€˜Paul?’ I said, ‘R.L.? Lousia May?’
    The sheep nearest me did a poo and for a sec I thought she’d recognised the name, but she hadn’t.
    I listened carefully for distant gunfire, but all I could hear was my heart pounding.
    I hurried over to the house.
    Luckily it was quite close to the fence, only about two kilometres, so I was there in about fifteen minutes.
    There didn’t seem to be anybody around.
    I still couldn’t hear any gunfire, so I crept round to the back of the house hoping I wouldn’t run into anything bad.
    Like dead sheep.
    Or Mrs Fiami pointing a gun at me.
    Or Carla with a giant can of tomatoes.
    I didn’t run into any of those.
    What I ran into made me stare and blink to make sure my eyes were working properly.
    It was a boat.
    The first boat I’d ever seen in real life apart from on telly.
    I went over to it.
    It was pretty big, longer than Dad’s four-wheel drive probably, with yellow and blue paint that was peeling off and a cabin with a window and a windscreen wiper.
    And it was propped up on bricks.
    â€˜Don’t touch that!’ yelled a voice.
    Carla came out of the house scowling.
    I was relieved to see she didn’t have any vegetables with her.
    That’s my Dad’s,’ she said. ‘Get away from it.’
    I got away from it and remembered why I was there.
    â€˜Have you done it yet?’ I asked anxiously.
    My mouth was drier than a garden hose.
    â€˜Done what?’ said Carla.
    â€˜Shot the sheep,’ I said.
    Carla didn’t blink behind her curls.
    â€˜We’re waiting a couple of days,’ she said. ‘Mum’s gunna plead with the bank one more time to lend us more money for sheep feed.’
    â€˜You don’t have to,’ I said. ‘The drought’ll be over any day. Doug’s fixing it.’
    Carla stared at me, still not blinking.
    She seemed to be in shock.
    I tried to help her snap out of it.
    â€˜So,’ I said, ‘want to come swimming?’
    â€˜I hate swimming,’ she said.
    I tried to think what to say next.
    â€˜Prefer sailing, eh?’ I said weakly.
    â€˜I hate sailing,’ she said.
    We looked at each other.
    â€˜Plus,’ she said, ‘I hate bull.’
    For a sec I didn’t know what she meant.
    â€˜Angel bull,’ she said with a scowl.
    Don’t take it personally, Doug, she was upset.
    â€˜Did you think angels were bull when you had one?’ I asked her.
    She had a think.
    Her eyes went darker and glintier and I knew they were filling with tears.
    â€˜Not at first,’