Lost In Kakadu (11 page)

The leather-bound book was crammed full with additional pieces of paper that swelled it like a concertina file. The pages were yellowed and curling in the corners from repeated handling. “My journal will help us. I have heaps of information on edible plants in this area. It’s my research project. Remember, I’m here to find an antioxidant plant. It will help me, so we need to find it.”

“Um … Charlie, your wound is serious.” Abigail spoke with a mixture of concern and confusion. “Your rib is—”

“These berries will help,” he said with conviction.

Charlie leant toward the book and howled in agony; gripping pain ripped through his chest and he teetered on the edge of unconsciousness.

“Jesus, Charlie.” Mackenzie jumped. “Take it easy. Your rib is sticking out of your chest for God’s sake.”

Charlie trembled as he swallowed hard. “Help me lie down.”

Darkness seeped into his field of vision as Mackenzie lowered him. He panted rapidly, fighting to retain focus. “I want to see it. Open my shirt?”

“Are you sure?” Mackenzie’s eyebrows drew together.

Charlie nodded and with obvious reluctance Mackenzie unbuttoned the blood crusted shirt and peeled it back. A large purple bruise stained the entire side of his torso and dark, dried blood surrounded the wound. A grey bone, jagged and gruesome, pierced his pale skin.

Charlie stared in amazement. He couldn’t believe he was looking at his own body. He’d never been seriously injured before and was puzzled by his lack of fear, as if he knew he was going to survive. “So how do we fix this?”

Mackenzie reacted with a double take. “What do you mean?”

“We can’t leave the bone sticking out like this.”

Mackenzie shook his head and Charlie saw fear in his eyes.

“Did you find my backpack?” Charlie asked.

Mackenzie shrugged. “I don’t know. Why?”

“Find it. I have a bottle of rum.”

“Oh yes. We found that,” Abigail said, suddenly awkward.

“You didn’t drink it all, did you?”

“I had a small sip.” Abigail’s voice was panic stricken.

“Hopefully there’s still enough to knock me out.”

Abigail got up and moved out of his sight for a few moments. When she returned, she handed the rum bottle to Charlie.

“I was saving this for a celebration, when I found my plant.” He removed the cap and held the bottle up as a toast.

“What’re you doing?” Mackenzie asked.

“Not me. You. I should pass out when I drink all this and then you’re going to push this bone back in and wrap up my chest.”

“Oh God.” Mackenzie backed away. “I can’t do that.”

“One of you has to. I’ll die if I stay like this.”

Mackenzie helped him sit again and he chugged at the amber liquid, forcing it down like a miracle antidote. His throat burnt with each potent mouthful. “You have to do it.” Tears stung his eyes.

Mackenzie knelt beside him, taking Charlie’s hand in a firm grip. Mackenzie’s fingers trembled and Charlie looked into the younger man’s eyes. The escalation in fear he saw within those brown eyes almost tilted his conviction. Almost.

As a light drinker, the rum affected him very quickly but he needed to drink it all to ensure it knocked him out completely. His tongue soon felt thick and numb, his eyelids grew heavy and for some inexplicable reason he began to giggle. Mackenzie’s brows expressed his concern and he grimaced like the plan was pure craziness.

“Lay me down,” Charlie’s voice was a ragged whisper.

Mackenzie took the bottle off him and Charlie craned to see if he’d emptied it. But it was impossible to gauge through the thick, brown glass. As he was lowered onto the clothes he braced for pain but was relieved to find it had lost its intensity.

His mind settled into a dark fog.

“If I don’t make it, please get these letters to my daughter.” The lack of response from Mackenzie or Abigail made him wonder if he’d actually spoken the words aloud.

He reached for his letters, but couldn’t move. His body was like lead poured onto the rough bedding. Sombre-faced and silent, Mackenzie and Abigail reminded him of mourners at a funeral.
His
funeral. His world tilted off its axis and began a slow and steady spin. Panic rose up from the depth of his sanity as he realised nobody heard what might’ve been his dying wish.

His last thought, before he slipped from consciousness, was that his own ragged breathing sounded like that of a dying man.

With each gulp of rum, Charlie’s words slurred more until he was totally beyond comprehension. When Charlie began to giggle, Mackenzie knew the old man was finally feeling some relief from the agony that would’ve consumed him.

Mackenzie looked up at Abigail. The pure terror on her face matched his feelings.
Can I do this?
He glanced at his dirty hands and willed his fingers to stop trembling. When he stood up, he looked down at the frail old man. Charlie’s skin was deathly pale and if it wasn’t for his laboured breathing he could be mistaken for a dead man. Mackenzie shook the ill-timed thought from his mind, turned toward the fire and tried to arrange his thoughts to something useful.

“What are we going to do?” Abigail crouched down next to him.

“We have no choice. He needs us now.”

“Is he going to die?” She sucked on her bottom lip as if attempting to halt her trembling chin.

Tense silence stretched between them.

“No. He’s not dying here, not today.” The conviction in his voice belied the terror in his mind. He looked away from her. His mind drifted to Rodney. He would’ve known exactly what to do. He always had a plan, no matter what the situation. Mackenzie snapped out of it. Thinking like this was pointless and only prolonged what had to be done. Right now he needed to focus.

“Let’s get this over with,” he said.

The baked bean can he’d filled with water and nestled within the blazing coals was now bubbling over. Using a T-shirt, he removed it from the fire. It sizzled when he placed it on level ground. He squatted down and poured a small quantity of cold water onto his hands and then massaged a cake of soap into a thick lather.

“Here.” He held the soap toward Abigail.

She didn’t move. Mackenzie saw so much fear in her eyes he wondered if she was going to pass out.

“Abi, take the soap.”

Her hand went to her chest. “I can’t do this. What if he dies?”

Charlie’s life was in his hands. A chill settled in the base of his spine at the weight of that responsibility. He couldn’t do this without her. “I can’t do this on my own, Abi. I need you.”

She blinked at him, as if weighing up his words.

“He
will
die if we don’t do anything.”

The fear in her eyes actually intensified as she reached for the soap. “I don’t know what to do.”

For a brief second, their hands touched and he felt her trembling fingers. “Neither do I. But we have to try.”

Charlie’s snoring was of little reassurance when they returned to him with the boiled water, a bundle of clean shirts and the cake of soap.

Mackenzie knelt beside him. “Help me get his shirt off.” He began weaving Charlie’s thin arm through the shirt sleeve.

Abigail moved to the opposite side of Charlie and dropped to her knees. Their eyes met and Mackenzie saw both fear and resignation within.

He nodded at her. “We’re doing the right thing.”

“I hope so.”

Mackenzie had to lift Charlie so Abigail could take his shirt off. Fresh blood seeped up around the shattered grey bone and Mackenzie rode a wave of nausea, pushing through the churning in his stomach to continue working on Charlie. He realised he was holding his breath and slowly let it out, trying to calm his nerves and steady his hands.

“Wet one of those shirts with the boiled water.”

Abigail chose a shirt from Spencer’s suitcase and Mackenzie couldn’t help but think the shirt would’ve cost hundreds of dollars. She handed the wet shirt over and Mackenzie gently wiped the crusted blood around Charlie’s wound.

Charlie groaned and Abigail gasped.

Mackenzie was horrified to think Charlie was still lucid, but realised the groan was involuntary when Charlie’s head rolled to the side. He felt under the old man’s neck and held his breath until he noted a steady pulse.

“Hang in there, buddy.”

He glanced at Abigail. The last thing he needed was for her to faint. But her wide eyes and gritted teeth showed determination that he hadn’t seen in her before.

He continued cleaning away the blood and the closer he cleaned around the bone the more nauseous he became. Sweat dribbled down his temple. “Abi, wipe my forehead. I don’t want to sweat on him.”

She reached for another shirt. Her touch was gentle as it crossed his brow. He gulped down the knot in his throat and looked into Abi’s eyes again. She nodded reassurance and he continued wiping.

Although Charlie was completely still, his eyelids fluttered as if his mind was screaming. Mackenzie shoved the thought aside and sat back on his haunches. He felt Abigail’s intense gaze upon him.

This was it. He was about to do the unimaginable and needed a moment to prepare his mind. Death was not something he was naive to, but it had never been the result of his own hand.
I’m doing the right thing.
He swallowed the bitter taste of bile from his throat. His mouth was as dry as desert sand and he reached for the water bottle. Two quick swallows did little to quench his thirst.

“You can do this.” Abigail must’ve sensed his reluctance.

He nodded and returned to his knees. “Pass the rum.” The alcohol was the only form of sterilisation they had. He blocked out the potent smell as he poured it onto his fingers and shook off the excess. His pulse hammered in his chest and he shivered in spite of the heat. Holding his breath, he pinched the jagged bone beneath his fingers and pushed down. The bone resisted at first, caught in place by the dried blood, but then it slipped into the hole and disappeared beneath the skin. A bubble of blood rose out of the wound and trickled down Charlie’s hairless chest.

Mackenzie thought his mind was going to explode, but Abigail saved him when she used a moistened cloth to wipe away the fresh blood. She dabbed at the skin until the blood stopped and when she finally lifted the shirt, Mackenzie was shocked to see just how small the hole was. The wound didn’t look like a life threatening injury anymore and Mackenzie entertained the thought that maybe, just maybe, Charlie would survive. He stared in disbelief, grappling with the enormity of what he’d just done.

Abigail leant forward and touched his arm. “It’s over now.”

He nodded and inhaled a shaky breath.

“You did the right thing.” She squeezed his hand and released. “We need to bandage him up.”

He tore a cotton shirt into long thin strips and Abigail did the same with another. Mackenzie then sat Charlie up and placed a wad of shredded cloth over the wound. Abigail secured it in place with the makeshift bandage that she wrapped several times around Charlie’s torso.

He helped Abigail re-dress Charlie in what Mackenzie assumed was one of Spencer’s expensive button up shirts, laid him back down and covered him with the only two towels they had.

Mackenzie stood up, wiped sweat from his forehead and massaged his temples in an attempt to ease his pounding headache.

“That was the worst thing I’ve ever had to do.” Abigail’s voice sounded like she’d been eating glass.

“The day isn’t over yet.” Mackenzie nodded toward the half dug grave site.

“Oh God. I can’t do any more.” She looked up at him. Her eyes were a nasty shade of red.

He avoided her gaze by staring at his hands. The fine creases at his fingertips were thick with blood and grime, his nails caked with dirt. Scrubbing them on his shirt did little to remove the stains, but with their limited water supply he realised washing his hands wasn’t an option. They were down to their last bottle. He stared at their final ration of water and a sense of panic rumbled from the back of his brain. Without water, they were all going to die.

“No, you’re right. Finding water is more important than digging the grave. We’ve only got one bottle left.”

“But where?”

Mackenzie stepped into the clearing and stretched out the muscles in his shoulders. “We saw those rivers from the air. Hopefully they’re not too far away.”

Abigail looked at him. Weariness showed on her face.

“But we need to go now. We don’t know how long it’ll take.”

“Are we going to die?” Abigail’s eyes were pools of despair.

Mackenzie had faced death before, but this was the first time he’d had to consider someone else’s destiny. Abigail looked defeated. Her makeup was smudged, her hair frazzled and her clothing filthy. She looked uncomfortable in her own skin. He had the impression this was the grubbiest she’d ever been. Staring into her dark green irises, he considered her question.

“No,” he said defiantly. “We’re not going to die.” He walked toward the suitcases. “Come on. We have work to do.”

She groaned. “Work! What work?”

* * *

Abigail was exhausted, hungry and she craved a hot shower and a decent sleep. But that wasn’t going to happen. She stood back as Mackenzie scavenged through the luggage throwing the empty water bottles and a few other bits and pieces into a backpack.

“What do you want me to do?” She heard reluctance in her own voice.

Mackenzie blinked at her as if seeing her for the first time and seemed to agonise over her question. “Just come with me.” Then he threw the pack over his shoulder. “We’ll check out the back of the plane again. Ready?”

She followed him into the bush and with each feral shrub she struggled over, she wished her legs were as long as his. Mackenzie soon stopped at a tree, sliced off a couple of weird looking mushrooms and dropped them into a pocket of the backpack.

“What are those for?”

“We might be able to eat them.”

“But I don’t like mushrooms.”

He spun toward her, his honey-coloured eyes darkened to molasses. “You’re kidding, right?” His hands were clenched at his sides.

She frowned. “No.”

“You still don’t get it, do you? We’re lost in the jungle.” He was raising his voice now. “We’ll have to eat all sorts of things to survive. And it won’t matter whether you like it or not, you’ll need to eat it just to stay alive.”