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ashore.’
    ‘When are you fellers goin’ to do yer job properly an’ blow these boats outta the water when you spot ’em, eh?’ Uncle Mungo said loudly. ‘Underminin’ ourway of life, they are. Got no business comin’ here, none at all.’
    ‘ Mungo! ’ said Sarah in a shocked tone. Jaz made a quiet exclamation and looked askance at the big red-haired man.
    Charles just raised his eyebrows, nodded at Uncle Mungo and said, ‘Yes, that’s how a lot of people feel about illegal arrivals. But we’d have a bit of trouble on our hands if we just started shooting people on the water.’
    ‘Yeah, ease up, Mungo, that’s a bit savage. They’re refugees. They’ve got nowhere else to go,’ said Mac.
    ‘A lot of miserable queue jumpers is what they are,’ growled Uncle Mungo. ‘Come over here because they don’t like things in their own country, get on the dole and Medicare, and we’re the poor beggars who pay for ’em. Oughta sink the boats before they get here. You let one lot in, they’ll all come.’
    ‘But aren’t they running away from war and stuff?’ asked Sam. He could think of nothing worse than being forced to leave his home.
    ‘Well they should stay at home and sort out their own country’s problems, not bring them over to us. And they’re not refugees,’ Uncle Mungo said, looking at Mac. ‘They’re flamin’ illegal immigrants!’ He wrapped his big hands around his mug and glowered into his tea.
    Jaz picked up her cup, her face stony, and went into the kitchen. Sam elbowed George, and the two of them excused themselves from the table, and slipped outside.
    ‘Gee, Uncle Mungo gets pretty cranky about things, doesn’t he?’ Sam said to his brother as they wandered over to look at the crushed caravan.
    ‘Yeah, I guess. There’s a lot of people he doesn’t like. Refugees. Tree-huggers. What’s a tree-hugger anyway?’
    ‘Someone who likes trees, I s’pose. I hope he’s not gunna to stay too long. I don’t think Jaz likes him much either.’
    ‘Dad seems pretty happy to see him.’
    ‘Well, he’s his brother. You put up with a lot from your brother,’ said Sam.
    George punched him on the arm and pulled a face at him.
    Just then Mac came out of the house with Charles and the pilot, and called out to Sam and George. ‘Hey, guys, Charles is going back to have another look around the Point. You can go along if you promise not to break anything.’
     
    Zooming along at three hundred feet above the flood plains was Sam’s idea of bliss. From the air the potholedbumpy surface looked as smooth as a bowling green. He could see across almost the whole spread of his home, from the looming sandstone bulk of the Arm in the east, to way across the river that formed their boundary on the west. Ahead of them lay the sparkling blue waters of the bay and from this height, he could see the hazy shadow of the Tiwi Islands to the northwest. Charles had put headphones on them so they could talk, and he asked them about what they had seen that morning.
    ‘An old black pot and cooking stuff,’ said Sam, ‘and some smashed-up wood. George found a bit with a name painted on it – or some letters anyway.’
    ‘What about along the beach? Did you see anything unusual washed up?’
    ‘Not really, just some old fish net, and more bits of timber,’ said George.
    ‘What about that book you found?’ said Sam.
    ‘Oh yeah! I found a soggy old atlas, like the ones we have in school. Or used to.’ He smirked at Sam.
    ‘An atlas, you say? That could be interesting. We might go down and have another look around the beach.’
    Charles spoke to the pilot and the helicopter banked to one side, veering off along the shoreline. In a few minutes they were touching down in a clearing beside the campsite. Sam, George and Charles climbed downthe embankment to the beach, leaving the pilot in the helicopter with the engine running. The tide was coming in, and was well up the beach already.
    ‘Here’re the fish