The Worm King Read Online Free Page A

Winston
tried to put on a perplexed frown but it didn’t feel convincing.
    ‘You mind if I go for a minute?’ begged Malisovich.
    Astrid nodded. ‘I think we’re all finished up
here. Thanks for your help Mr Malisovich, hope it wasn’t too painful.’ He
immediately began toddling off in the direction of the visitor centre. ‘You
have a lovely night,’ she called after him.
    Dick took one of the torches from the
cameraman, opened the rear door and stormed inside.
    ‘Hey, Mr Malisovich?’ Astrid shouted because
he was already well out of sight. Only then it occurred to Winston that the old
bloke must be hobbling his way to the visitor centre by feel.
    A faint reply came back.
    ‘Can we try your phone?’ she shouted.
    Winston didn’t hear an answer but she took
the second torch from the cameraman and scurried off in the direction of the
visitor centre anyway.
    Rain drummed relentlessly on the roof of the
truck. The umbrella was barely adequate to hold the downpour at bay and his
pants were soaked. The two channel six men packed up the camera. There didn’t
seem any point walking back to the train station because if the power was out, the
trains would be as well. He still needed to get that form signed too.
    Now it felt like the sort of place Tarzan
would avoid like the plague.
    One of the cameramen told the three girl
guides to wait in the front cab but said nothing to Winston. The girls must be scoring
a lift back in the truck, not that they deserved it. Getting chauffeured all
this way just to open their gobs and stare at the camera! He hoped he’d be able
to bludge a lift back to Sydney too.
    Astrid was taking a while?
    They eventually got the camera stowed although
the men clearly weren’t keen on waiting in the truck with Dick. The spotlight was
moved nearer the truck’s rear door. A cable ran from the light to a yellow
plastic box that Winston presumed was a battery. The box sat on the asphalt
next to an open compartment on the side of the truck, with the compartments folded-up
lid giving the battery shelter from the worst of the rain.
    ‘That’s the lot.’
    ‘Shall we pack this too?’ The second
cameraman pointed at the yellow box.
    ‘No. Let’s wait till . . . hang
on, is that her now?’
    In the direction of the visitor centre a
light appeared. It bobbed around for a minute then a car door slammed and the
light disappeared. Winston’s arm was getting tired so he changed umbrella
hands. The light reappeared, the car door slammed again and the light made its
way towards them.
    ‘No luck with the phone,’ said Astrid. ‘And
his car won’t start.’ She shone her torch momentarily on Mr Malisovich, who no
longer jiggled but a worried frown creased his wrinkled features. ‘Paul, did
you try the truck?’
    ‘Yes. No. Just a minute . . . ’
The cameraman vanished around the side of the vehicle. Winston heard the
driver’s door open then a few seconds later the faint, ugly repeated click of a
key being turned on a lifeless engine.
    Astrid checked her car, a crème, late-model
Toyota parked twenty meters from the truck. It wouldn’t start either.
    ‘Must be that power grid thing,’ growled
Dick. The cameramen both turned in surprise. ‘You should’ve realized that when the
lights inside wouldn’t work,’ he told them accusingly.
    ‘How about we all wait in the visitor centre
until it comes back on? Astrid suggested. ‘Would that be alright with you Mr Malisovich?
Probably something to do with the rain and hopefully won’t be too long.’ Dick
looked doubtful.
    Mr Malisovich seemed almost chuffed that his
shop was designated as the new headquarters. Paul turned off the spotlight, packed
it up then stacked it, and the battery, in the side-hatch compartment.
    By torchlight they trudged up the hill towards
the visitor centre.

Chapter Five
    Wobbles
    W inston had already been in the double storey, Mediterranean-style brick
building twice before.
    The first time was eighteen months