Hills End by Ivan Southall

It seemed to have reached out of the north like a big black arm and closed its hand round the sun.
    â€˜Ooh,’ she said. ‘Look at that.’
    She turned, and there was no one to look. They’d all gone.
    â€˜Oh, bother!’ she said. ‘Wait for me. Wait for me! ’
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    At a minute to twelve Frank Tobias switched on the wireless for the midday news. He was certain that if this great mass of ugly cloud meant anything at all there would be reports of its progress in other regions. Wireless reception was always difficult at Hills End and, despite the fact that the people had raised their aerials to considerable heights, it was the exception to listen in comfort. Short-wave transmissions from Radio Australia and from countries to the north of the continent were easier to pick up than ‘local’ broadcasts. The nearest ‘local’ transmitter was fully two hundred and fifty miles away. When Frank switched the set on he realized he was cut off even from that comfort. Reception was not marked by the usual fading but by an alarming crash of static. He hastily switched it off again.
    Already the first gusts of cold air were swirling dust-clouds through Hills End, loose sheets of iron were clanking, windows were rattling, and everywhere dogs were wailing.
    The foreman was now very ill at ease. There were too many things about this sky and the atmosphere that he didn’t like. He had not been able to subdue his initial alarm. He told himself repeatedly that Hills End had weathered many storms in the past, but no matter how often or how earnestly he called himself a fool his fears welled up again.
    He ran from the office up into the main street, and began racing from house to house, shutting every window and door.
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    Butch woke up with an uneasy, unhappy feeling. He felt cold, even frightened, and didn’t know why it should be.
    He sat up, realized quickly enough where he was and why, but couldn’t understand the gloom. At first he thought he must have slept through to the evening and was hurt that the others had forgotten him, had gone home without him; he was even apprehensive of walking those miles back through the rugged bush, alone, in the dark.
    Then something told him that he had not slept very long at all. He just didn’t feel as though he had slept for hours, and the peculiar popping sounds that he had been listening to were enormous raindrops hitting the rocks. The sky was black and fierce and in the distance was the unceasing roll of angry thunder. That was why he was uneasy, and he was cold because an icy wind was blustering round him.
    Butch scrambled to his feet because he could see that the sky was going to split apart. He knew that when the rain really started it would be a deluge. And as soon as he was on his feet he remembered his blisters and his new shoes and that it was almost half a mile to the bluff where Miss Godwin and the others would be. Butch didn’t know which way to run. He had to get his shoes on somehow, because his feet had always been the tender sort, the sort that didn’t take too kindly to carrying their owner without a good slab of leather between skin and ground.
    He’d never get to the caves. If he went on he would be caught in the open. If he turned back he might have time to scramble into the shelter of the forest. Those huge raindrops were popping more often and he could see jagged lightning flashes striking between earth and cloud.
    No. He couldn’t go that way, because it was dangerous under the trees when the lightning struck; yet it was terrifying in the open. Each was as bad as the other. Why hadn’t he hobbled on with Miss Godwin? Then he’d be cosy and safe inside the caves. Oh, why had he worn his new shoes? If only he’d changed into something old! He couldn’t get them on. He couldn’t stand the pain. Even his toes seemed to be swollen now.
    He started whimpering. He might have been almost as