Lost In Kakadu (10 page)

Mackenzie finally pushed to his feet and looked at Abigail. She’d at least had the sense to take her heels off. She looked as crushed as he felt. Her eyes had lost their glimmer. He strolled to Charlie and the old man looked up at him with expectant eyes, as if Mackenzie had the solution to their problem.

“I’m going to get your satchel. Are you okay for now?”

Charlie nodded and Mackenzie turned from him, grabbed the backpack, walked through the clearing and into the bushes. He felt hollow, empty of all emotion. But he also knew he couldn’t give up. He’d felt complete hopelessness before and survived. And he would just have to do it again. He’d take each day as it came and pray that one day soon they’d be rescued.

His eyes fell on the thick, woody bark wrapped around a large tree’s lower trunk and the white, semicircular fungi that jutted out like wing-nut ears.
Mushrooms
. He flicked out the knife and sliced one off. The underside of the mushroom was a curtain of layered brown flesh. Its strong, earthy aroma made his mouth water, but he resisted the urge to bite into it, knowing many species of mushroom were poisonous. He cut off the others, dropped them into the backpack and took a sip of water before he carried on.

His senses seemed heightened, maybe from hunger. Smells were more prominent, sounds were louder and he was pleased he could both hear and see birds for a change.

Mackenzie stopped short. Ahead of him a small, four-legged animal crawled along a willow branch. Mackenzie smiled in awe as he noted the thick, grey fur that covered the bulk of the animal’s body, its white belly and the long furry tail.

He let out a little laugh. “A sugar glider. How about that?”

At the end of the branch, the sugar glider pushed its pink nose into the red tubes of a eucalyptus flower and he heard it licking the juicy nectar. Its ears flicked backward and forward. As he stared at the creature he couldn’t remember a time in his life when he stood so close to a wild animal.

The sugar glider lifted its nose from the flower, turned back on itself, slinked up the thin branch, and disappeared into the tree canopy. Mackenzie continued on, buoyed by his brush with nature.

A little further on, the tail of the plane appeared in the distance, its smooth manmade surfaces totally out of place to the natural surroundings.

Reluctantly entering the wreckage, he suppressed a wave of nausea as he glimpsed Tom’s grotesque body.
How do we get him down?
He was grateful when he spied the tan-coloured satchel, taking his mind off macabre thoughts. Wedged by the toilet wall, the satchel’s broken strap lay like an outstretched arm as if reaching for him. He squeezed below the corpse on his hands and knees to reach it. He pulled it onto his lap, resisting the urge to open it and see why Charlie wanted it so desperately.

The toilet door hung open and the seat dangled above from one hinge. He reached up and removed the toilet roll. “I’ll come back for you later,” he said, without looking at the body. Then he retreated from the cabin with the satchel under his arm. He trotted back along the path, only pausing to gather the tin of powdered milk and the can of oil.

Arriving back at the clearing, Mackenzie checked on Charlie who had a damp cloth over his forehead and looked quite comfortable as he slept. Abigail was by the fire, knees to her chest. He could tell she’d been crying.

“I found his satchel and I brought back those tins of food we found yesterday.”

“I can’t do this anymore,” she sobbed. “The waiting. And all this death …” She cried into her hands.

He sat cross legged on the grass beside her. “Abigail, I need you. I can’t do this alone.”

She shook her head, her face still concealed by her hands.

He put a hand on her wrist. “Hey,” he whispered as he gently pulled her hand into his.

She blinked rapidly at him, flicked away her tears, then after a moment of pause, nodded her head. “Okay.”

“Oh, I almost forgot. I found this for you.” He reached into the backpack and removed the toilet paper.

Abigail smiled as she took the roll. “Thank you.”

“You know we still have to bury them, don’t you. We can’t wait another day.”

She chewed on her bottom lip and nodded her head.

* * *

Abigail rested against a large tree as she watched Mackenzie. He had chosen an area away from the fire to dig the graves. It was the greatest distance from the plane without venturing into the forest. His biceps bulged as he pulled out several reluctant shrubs to clear the site, then he fell to his knees and began to dig with the cooking plate as a shovel. Within minutes he was lathered in sweat. He stripped off his shirt and she watched the muscles in his back straining with each drive of the metal into the solid ground.

After a while he paused, sat back on his haunches and rolled his shoulders. “Can I have some water?”

“Of course.” She raced to the luggage and returned moments later with a bottle.

He gulped it down and then wiped his face on his shirt. “It’s your turn,” he said, panting.

Her hand went to her chest. “Me?”

Mackenzie raised his eyebrows at her. “Yes, of course you. No-one else’s going to help. They’re all dead, remember?”

Reluctantly she removed her expensive shoes and stepped into the fresh hole, surprised at how cool the earth was. “Well, out of the way then.” She picked up the sheet of metal.

Abigail cringed as she knelt. Holding the plate above her head, she shoved it into the dirt with a loud groan. A quarter of the tin disappeared into the dark earth and she lifted it, removed a handful of crumbs and tossed them onto the growing pile beside the pit. “They’re not all dead,” she said between shovelfuls. “Charlie’s still with us.”

She felt her pulse pounding in her neck as the oppressive heat smothered her sweat-soaked body like an unwelcome blanket. But she found the manual labour therapeutic. She focused on her timing, trying to establish a rhythm, just like riding a horse. She wondered if Krystal had thought to take Avalon for a ride, but at the same time knew this wouldn’t happen. The last time they’d ridden together was about four years ago. It’d been a wonderful day, a time when her daughter still laughed freely and enjoyed her company. But Spencer had ruined it, like he did with everything she did with Krystal. On reflection, that was about the time she began to lose Krystal as a daughter, replaced instead by the spoilt little bitch that, under Spencer’s guidance, gave Abigail much heartache.

When Abigail could dig no more, Mackenzie quickly replaced her and they alternated turns, gradually increasing the size of the grave. The sun was a blazing furnace and she shielded her hand against it as she looked up into the trees. She stifled a laugh. The labyrinth of twisted branches reminded her of the lightshade that dangled above their king-sized bed. The hideous creation of hand carved wood, leaves and feathers had been a gift from a tribal elder Spencer befriended in the Congo. He’d insisted the decorator use it as the focal point of their bedroom and every night she’d stare at it inventing scenarios that would make it mysteriously disappear. Funny though, right now she’d be happy to see it, if it meant she was sleeping in her own bed.

Mackenzie handed her the tin and Abigail gritted her teeth and blocked out the pain. Her palms had already begun to blister as she repeatedly forced the tin back into the earth. Suddenly she shrieked and scrambled from the hole. “What the hell’s that?” She pointed a trembling finger at the dirt.

A huge, white worm the size of a man’s thumb curled into a tight ball in the ditch. She’d never seen anything like it. It had little brown dots in a line down its plump, scalloped body, dozens of legs and an ugly yellow head.

“It’s a witchetty grub.” Mackenzie scooped it from the dirt. “Aborigines eat them. They’re supposed to be a good source of protein.” Brown liquid oozed from the wriggling grub onto Mackenzie’s dirty fingers.

Abigail huffed. “That’s disgusting. The only bug you’ll get me eating is a Moreton Bay Bug.”

“Well, let’s hope it doesn’t come to this.” Mackenzie baseball-pegged it into the bushes and wiped his hands on his filthy jeans. “How about I make some lunch then?”

Abigail scoffed at his untimely remark but together they fled from the gravesite.

Mackenzie peeled another sheet of metal off the plane and pounded it into a rough bowl. Abigail watched him manipulate a couple of ingredients into dough that he formed into six small mounds. He placed them between two sheets of metal and wedged it into the red hot coals of the fire.

“What are we having?”

“My own special bush damper creation.”

“It smells good already.”

Mackenzie’s hands made a scratchy sound as he rubbed them together. “I know.”

Abigail’s heart was torn as she remembered the last time she’d eaten fire baked bread.

“Are you okay?” Mackenzie peered at her with a quizzical expression.

She shrugged a shoulder. “I was just thinking about the last time I had damper.”

“Come on, tell me.” He said it placidly, with a curious note.

She sighed. “Krystal and I went horse riding one day and I’d arranged for our stable manager, Steve, to set up a little picnic for us at the top of our favourite hill.” Abigail smiled as she remembered her daughter’s long hair flowing in the wind as they galloped up the hill. “We raced our horses to the top. I let her win of course.”

“Of course,” Mackenzie said as he rested his chin on his palm.

“At the top we tied our horses to a tree. I can still remember the smell of the damper when Steve took it off the fire. It was amazing.”

“Wait till you taste mine.” Mackenzie grinned.

“Anything would taste better.” She instantly regretted her statement.

“Did he burn it?”

Abigail had a choice: she could go along with Mackenzie’s assumption or she could tell the truth. She never told her friends of her family issues. It had always been important to portray a perfect family life. But somehow, the fact that Mackenzie was a complete stranger made talking about it easier. “No,” she finally said. “Steve’s damper looked amazing, perfectly brown on the outside, light fluffy vanilla on the inside. I poured maple syrup all over it.”

“And?”

“Well, that’s when Spencer came roaring over the hill with his stupid quad bike.” She shrugged. “Krystal jumped onto the bike and they rode away.”

“Oh, that would’ve been disappointing.”

“It was the last time she ever rode her horse with me.”

He tutted. “That’s a shame. It sounds like it would’ve been special for you both.”

The tin popped as Mackenzie removed it from the fire. He handed her a warm bun. As she bit into the crisp crust, her thoughts were far away.

* * *

Charlie opened his eyes, licked his dry lips and tried to swallow. His mind was a dark fog and he wondered if the plane crash was just a bad dream. But the shredded undercarriage above him soon brought him crashing back to the present. Although, he was confused by the distinct aroma of freshly baked bread. He rolled his head, following the smell and saw Abigail and Mackenzie squatting by a fire.

“That smells good.” He didn’t recognise his own croaky voice.

“Good morning.” Mackenzie arrived at his side. “Or should I say afternoon?”

Charlie held his hand toward him and stabbing pain in his side reminded him of his injury. “Did you find my satchel?”

“Yes. Do you want it?”

Charlie sighed with relief. “Yes, please.”

Mackenzie placed the bag within Charlie’s reach and the old man immediately fumbled with the clips. With Mackenzie’s assistance, the buckles released and the bag fell open, spilling out an assortment of papers. Charlie pushed aside the loose sheets to reveal a bundle of envelopes neatly tied together with white ribbon.

He picked them up with trembling fingers, placed them on his chest, folded his hands over them and fought a tide of emotions. A sob released from his throat but it hurt so much he nearly choked.

Charlie felt the warmth of Mackenzie’s hand upon his shoulder. “Hey man, don’t cry. You’re going to be all right. Are you hungry?”

Charlie’s stomach twisted as if it understood what Mackenzie had said and he nodded. Although he doubted he could actually eat. At least he won’t be eating alone, unlike most meals he ate.

Mackenzie returned from the fire with warm damper. As he handed it over, Charlie avoided his concern-filled eyes.

“Can you help me up, please?”

Mackenzie put a hand under his elbow and pulled him to a sitting position. Charlie cried out and panted until the sharp pain faded to a dull ache. Mackenzie handed him a damper bun. He hesitated for a brief moment then bit through the crust and savoured the warm bread. But his dry throat made it impossible to swallow. He had to sip water to force the food down.

“How long have we been here?”

Abigail cleared her throat and seemed embarrassed. “Well, we crashed four days ago, but you’ve only been here since yesterday.”

“Four days!” He imagined his boss’s distress at not receiving any communication from him. His superior was a brilliant scientist but lacked any personality, preferring his biology equipment to people. Charlie’s brow furrowed and he shook his head. “That’s not good. Not good at all.”

“We’ll be okay for a while,” Mackenzie said. “There was food on the plane and we have bottled water.”

“Don’t worry, Charlie. Spencer’s family will come for us soon.” Abigail laid her hand on his arm.

Charlie considered her words.
Who would be looking for me?
Only his employer knew where he was and his boss would be the only one who cared, but not for compassionate reasons. He needed this trip to be a botanical success to receive further government funding. The security of his job and that of his boss were riding on his shoulders and his heart sank at the realisation he’d be letting him down. He looked down at his blood-soaked shirt. Success now was impossible.

But Charlie wasn’t ready to give up. This injury wasn’t an obstacle, it was motivation. His life now depended on that elusive berry. If ever there was a moment in his life when he needed divine focus, this was it. He reached into his satchel and Mackenzie helped him lift out his heavy journal.