Eco Warrior by Philip Roy Read Free Book Online Page A

boats. I tied up on the berth furthest from shore. Only three boats were moored, and there was no one around. It was too shallow to submerge, but I let enough water into the tanks to sink the hull just beneath the surface, until we were more or less sitting on the bottom. Only the portal was showing now, sticking up two feet above the pier, like an industrial drain. When the tide came in, the sub would rise with it, and the portal would maintain roughly the same position. You would only know there was a submarine there if you walked out onto the pier and stared into the water.
    At first, I figured they gave us this spot because it was far from the fancy, crowded marinas of Fremantle Harbour, where a submarine would draw unwanted attention. But a quick glance in the other direction revealed another reason— we were moored next to a naval dockyard. Perhaps they wanted the navy to keep an eye on us. On the other side of the navy was an oil refinery. Everywhere else I looked I saw industry. We were in the industrial zone, not the prettiest corner of the city, but I was more than grateful to have the berth.
    I grabbed my hat, sunscreen, money, water, and dog biscuits. I emptied the tool bag, wiped it clean, and put Hollie inside. It was the perfect size for a small dog, and he could lie down and sleep whenever he got tired of walking. It had a wooden frame with nylon mesh sides, and was comfortable on my back. I climbed out of the portal, shut the hatch, and sealed it. If we were going to start mooring in public places, maybe it was time to get a lock.
    Standing on the little pier, I took one final look at the sub. It seemed so tiny here, next to the other boats, tied up like a mule. I could hardly believe we had just crossed an ocean with it. I was taught that you cannot love an inanimate object, you can only love a person, or maybe an animal. Well, I guess I was breaking that rule, because I loved my submarine.
    I crossed the pier, bent down, and let Hollie out of the tool bag. He stood for a second or two, just staring at me, trembling, waiting for me to say it was okay. “It’s okay, Hollie. You can go.”
    He ran up the sandy bank to the road, shaking with excitement, and I followed him. The sand felt strange beneath my feet, as it always did after being at sea for a long time. But the strangeness lasted only about ten minutes. Then it felt as though we had never left the land. There were palm trees and dry deciduous trees lining the road. It looked like a cross between Africa and Canada. Hollie looked up at me. His eyes were wet with excitement. “We’re in Australia, Hollie! Australia! Woo Hoo! ”
    We walked for three hours, which went by like nothing because we were so thrilled to be walking we hardly noticed the heat, until I realized that my mouth was so dry I almost couldn’t swallow. It was hot! Hollie was smart, though. He knew how to walk in my shadow when the sun was strong. When we turned ninety degrees onto a new street, and my shadow shifted, he’d find it and stay in it. Sometimes he’d walk beside me, or behind me, or in front of me, but always in my shadow. Whenever I stopped for a drink of water, I’d give him one, too. We had taken long walks in the Pacific, India, South Africa—all hot places—but I’d have to say that the sun in Australia felt hotter. And that’s what my guidebook said, too. A page with stern warnings about the dangers of the sun was titled: “Mad Dogs and Englishmen Go Out in the Midday Sun.”
    But it was a strange kind of dryness. In Canada, we’d say that these trees were dead. Here, they seemed to be doing all right. Whenever they were close to a source of water, they were green. Whenever they weren’t, they were yellow, brown, or grey, but still had leaves clinging to them. The soil beneath them was sandy, slightly red, and dry as dust. I could sense the outback not far away, and beyond it, the desert, where the origins of the rivers that emptied into the harbour