Jennings - A Different Land

Also by Paul Jennings

A Different Dog

A Different Boy

The Unforgettable Whats His Name

illustrated by Craig Smith

Dont Look Now series

illustrated by Andrew Weldon

Unreal! The Ultimate Collection

The Nest

The Cabbage Patch Fibs

illustrated by Craig Smith

Paul Jennings Spookiest Stories

and many more!

First published by Allen & Unwin in 2019

Copyright Text, Lockley Lodge Pty Ltd 2019

Copyright Illustrations, Geoff Kelly 2019

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or ten per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to the Copyright Agency (Australia) under the Act.

Allen & Unwin

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Crows Nest NSW 2065

Australia

Phone: (61 2) 8425 0100

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Web: www.allenandunwin.com

ISBN 9781760528720

eISBN 9781760872052

For teaching resources, explore

www.allenandunwin.com/resources/for-teachers

Illustrations created with pen on paper and digital media

Cover and text design by Sandra Nobes

Cover illustration by Geoff Kelly

Set by Sandra Nobes

To Mary-Anne

with much love, Paul

The three travellers stared around nervously. They were alone. And lonely. There had not been one other passenger on the last fifty miles of their journey in the little steam train.

The railway station, if you could call it that, was no more than a rotting platform struggling to compete with the encroaching vines and scrub.

The woman stared at the rusting hulk of a dead car that sat nearby in a tangle of creepers and ferns. Grass sprouted on its roof like damp hair. The surrounding rainforest was dark and steamy.

The only sign of life was a conductor unloading heavy sacks, tea chests and other goods out of the boxcar. He struggled to lift an iron anchor and dropped it with a clang.

A little beyond the platform, two forty-four-gallon drums marked the side of a dirt track that disappeared into the threatening mouth of the forest.

This was obviously the last stop. The railway tracks continued on for a short distance and then petered out, strangled by weeds and scrub. The taller of the two boys, the one with no hair, stared at them gloomily.

I wonder where the tracks once ended, he said.

The end of the world, answered the other boy.

No, thats this place, said his brother.

Now, now, Christopher, said the woman. Give it a chance.

Christopher sighed. I thought someone was going to meet us, he said. Theres no sign of anyone.

They all sat down on their cases and waited. Flies buzzed in the clammy heat.

Christopher rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a sausage wrapped in grease-proof paper. He waved it in front of his brother.

Look what Ive got, Anton, he said cheekily. He smacked his lips and took a bite.

Anton suddenly grabbed it from Christophers hand and held it over his head.

The boys began to fight for the sausage, laughing and jostling.

Give it back, Anton, said the woman.

Okay, Pat, he said.

Anton handed the sausage to their mother and she broke it into three. She gave them a section each and kept one for herself. She and Anton immediately began to chew, but Christopher wrapped his bit carefully.

The sausage brought back memories of a harder time. Images flashed through his mind. He remembered a land ravaged by war. A place of hunger and fear. He put his piece of sausage back in his pocket. Just in case. He looked at his mother and saw that she knew what he was thinking.

Its all covered in fluff, he said, trying to cover his thoughts. Ill keep it for emergencies.

Anton looked around. Theres not even a ticket office here, he said.

Or a toilet, said Christopher. I need to pee.

In this country, you do it in the bushes, said Anton. Its not like home.

Christopher stepped down from the platform and walked over to the rusty car. He climbed on the bonnet, did a little tap dance and bowed. Then he jumped down out of sight behind the vehicle.

Pat watched nervously. A minute passed. And then another.

Snake, snake, yelled Anton.

Christopher shot out from behind the car, trying to run and do up the buttons on his short trousers at the same time. He scrambled back onto the platform.

Where? he yelled. Where?

Oh, said Anton mockingly. My mistake. Its only a stick. Sorry.

You ratbag, said Christopher.

They began pushing each other again in a friendly joust.

Boys, said Pat. This is not the time

A loud blast from the trains horn drowned her voice.

The small steam engine shunted its way to the other end of the single carriage. It contacted the boxcar with a clang. The train was preparing to leave. No one spoke. Soon they would be alone.

At that moment a tiny dog trotted up the steps and looked up at them sadly.

The locomotive let out a burst of steam. The dog, startled, ran quickly to the edge of the platform and disappeared under the boxcar.

Did you see that? yelled Christopher.

He bent over and peered into the gap between the platform and the train but could see nothing but black stones.

The train is going, said Anton.

We have to get it out, shouted Christopher.

The conductor disappeared into the train and the noise from the steam engine grew shrill. Christopher began to run towards the back of the carriage.

Come back, yelled Pat. Come back. You cant risk your life for a dog.

Christopher ignored her.

He screamed at the invisible driver, Dont go, dont go. But even as the words left his mouth, he knew that there was no way he would be heard over the sound of the panting engine.

Steam hissed between the front wheels. The desperate boy paused and then jumped onto the tracks behind the carriage.

No, yelled Pat.

She was too late. Christopher was already squatting down and peering along the dark tunnel between the wheels. At the far end, underneath the boxcar, he could just make out the little dog framed against a small rectangle of light.

He began sprinting along the side of the train. The empty windows flashed by above his head. There was no one to help.

Dont go, dont go, he yelled again.

The locomotives horn shrieked back angrily.

Panting, Christopher threw himself onto the ground next to the boxcar. It was dark under there. He blinked and then saw the dog curled up between the wheels. He couldnt believe it. It was sleeping.

Here, boy, he said.

The dog opened one lazy eye but didnt move. Christopher patted his knee.

Here, boy, here, boy, he said again.

The dog looked at him in a relaxed way.

Come on, come on, fellah, he said urgently.

Still the dog did not move. Christopher shouted every word he could think of.

Run.

Quick.

Walk.

Heel.

Still the dog lay curled up.