Fire Eye (25 page)

They wake as the sun creeps over the horizon to bathe the beach in early morning light.

Jed slept fitfully with his arm again draped over Alex. Aware of it but giving no indication, Alex fell into sleep enjoying the security of his arm around her.

Only once during the night do his senses put him on full alert, with the deep guttural grunt of a pig edging closer.
Probably a boar, big, lone and wary
, he ponders as he carefully lifts his arm off Alex and feels for the security of the Colt. He tracks the sounds of its feeding and senses it working its way down to the water. Suddenly, he tenses, hearing a splash of water, the crash of a solid body onto the sand, a piercing squeal, followed by the rapid thump of hoof beats as the pig runs into the brush away from the beach.

Crocodile! Missed the pig! Jed cradles the Colt as they lie behind the fragile security of the brush abattis around the camp. Anything trying to get through that will be met by a double tap of .45 calibre rounds. He lies still as silence descends once again onto the night. He slowly relaxes to welcome the dawn with his arm laid gently across Alex. He carefully pulls her into his body, enjoying the sensation and the fantasy that accompanies it. He knows he should be feeling guilty about the feel of her closeness under these circumstances, but isn’t. He is attracted to her and the future is uncertain. He allows himself the simple pleasure of enjoying the sensation of her body curled into him.

It would be easy to lean across to gently kiss her neck while caressing her. It would also breach the trust she has placed in him. Trust he is potentially risking through his dubious plan to protect her. His urge to make love on the sand of a deserted, tropical beach is tempered by the reality of what he is planning. With that thought, his manhood ceases rising to the occasion.

Once again, Alex senses what he is doing.
Go any further and I will bloody belt you!
But it goes no further and she enjoys the rare sense of security, allowing herself to drift in and out of dreams.

She sleeps a bit later this morning, a consequence of the emotional drain of the day before. When she finally stirs, the fire is burning gently, ready to cook the fresh shellfish already gathered. They breakfast on seafood and the remains of the bush tucker, sharing a reluctance to break the atmosphere but knowing they have to leave today.

“What’s the plan?” Alex asks as she pops shellfish into her mouth, letting them dissolve on her tongue, savouring the flavour.

“The only way out is back toward the vehicles. There are rivers on both sides and I’m not real keen to swim them. I’m a coward!” he confesses. “I hate white water, glaciers, heights and crocodiles. Sharks as well! I detest the idea of being swallowed up or eaten alive. Sorry, I’m not as macho as people think,” he apologises.

“You, a pilot, scared of heights! And you do aerobatics!”

“I know. The image doesn’t match the reality. Don’t tell anyone, please.”

Alex snorts with derision but appreciates Jed’s confession of human weakness. “So the only way out is back the way we came?”

“Not quite. There must be a way through the swamp. I doubt our mysterious man took .50 calibre machine guns over the ridge. I’d like to try the swamp at least. Never liked going back the way I came in. If we can’t do it, the ridge is plan B. I made something for you,” he adds, holding up the piece of aluminium he scavenged. He has shaped and backed it with leather glued with sticky resin dripping from the scar he slashed into a tree. It has a thong to tie around her waist to keep it in place.

“What the hell is that?”

“Just a bit of insurance Alex. I got the idea from Roman armour. I glued the aluminium strips to the leather with resin. If that bastard tries to stick you with a knife in the guts, it’ll buy you a few seconds. Unlikely, but potentially useful,” he lies. He waits to see if she will accept his deceit, feeling guilty but struggling with the alternative of telling her the truth.

“You want me to wear that.” She quietly assesses his handiwork, appreciating the effort to keep her safe. In spite of its ugliness, she lays it against her stomach where it fits quite well. She screws up her nose anyway. “It wouldn’t win any fashion contest, but if it keeps you happy I might put it on! At least it’ll barely show under my clothes. I’d hate to be seen wearing it. I’d look like a dork!” she chides him.

“Just humour me! I’ll feel better just in case the worst happens, which is unlikely!” he lies again. Was it a lie if he actually has no idea what the future will bring? Sensing some resistance, he compromises. “Let’s just keep it in reserve until we get closer to the vehicles. I reckon going out through the swamp is our best bet. It’s worth a look at least,” he changes the subject.

Alex can identify with that. She loves adventure, but hasn’t had much opportunity in recent times. Now she is getting plenty of it. “Agreed!” she says decisively and stands to gather her meagre possessions and break camp. She works fast, stuffing Jed’s plate into her pack, and is ready before him, even though he has less to pull together.

They make a sight, she with her spear held upright in her right hand with its butt thrust into the sand and him with a Colt .45 tucked into his waistband. They face each other, feeling slightly ridiculous but at the same time perfectly dressed for the situation they are in.

“I really don’t think you need the spear anymore,” Jed suggests.

Alex runs her eyes up and down the shaft and reluctantly agrees. It has served its purpose.

As she nods, Jed draws his blade and cuts her knife free of the straps that bind it to the shaft. She slides it back into its steel sheath, clips it onto her belt and turns to set the lead. “Let’s go,” she commands, not waiting to see if he is ready.

Jed follows, not wanting to make an issue of it but wondering if she knows where she is going. As they approach the site of the aircraft, she slows and then comes to stop, looking to the left and right. “Which way?” she asks.

“Left goes to the channel, wet and muddy. Right against the bluff leads to the swampy lagoon we could see on the other side of the aircraft. If there is a way through, it’s probably along that slightly rising ground through the middle,” pointing with his hand.

“Let’s check it out,” Alex replies, accepting the advice and appreciating that he left her in the lead. He’s finally showing some empathy and shoving his macho instinct to one side.

She leads the way through the scrub, entering a maze of vegetation, her only guide the twist of slightly higher ground that keeps their feet out of the swamp by centimetres. Jed says nothing but watches her wind her way through the maze of scrub and trees. He checks their direction against his watch, using it as a compass. He has never got around to buying a personal GPS, figuring that if a compass and watch can’t do the job, he needs to take up gardening. Taking the twists and turns into account she is doing well leading them through the swamp.

The slight ridge fades out, leaving them before an expanse of swamp clothed with a mix of trees and low scrub he can’t identify. They stand side by side, contemplating the scene in front of them. A splash captures their attention to the left and they both look that way.

“Crocodile,” Jed says while scanning left to right across the scene in front of them. “Which way?” The question slips out without thinking.

“I have no bloody idea and you know it so stop trying to prove you’re always right and help me out!” she shoots back.

That hits him between the eyes like a lump of timber. She thinks he is waiting for her to stuff up! Jed winces silently but keeps his mouth shut. He looks at her, hurting in silence and wondering whether to be difficult and let her flounder to teach her a lesson. He feels cheapened by even thinking about it. It would only confirm what she is thinking. He has learned enough about her to understand she doesn’t deserve that kind of treatment.

He gives ground and corrects himself. “Sorry Alex! Slightly to the right, two o’clock, the ground looks firmer but we have to wade to get there. Only fifty metres or so. It’s the only way he could have carried those .50 calibre machine guns out of here.” He stops, looking in the direction they need to go. “If you look carefully, there are some old blaze marks on the trees. There’re not in a straight line but seem to lead to higher ground.”

Alex looks where he is pointing but has trouble seeing anything. All the trees look the same to her no matter how hard she looks. “You lead, I’ll follow.”

Jed is impressed. That must have taken some doing but it is the correct decision. He pulls out the Colt, chambers a round and holds it loose enough so the grip safety comes into play. He stares contemplatively at the swamp. “Shit! There are certain things I definitely hate. White water, heights, sharks, glaciers, bloody crocodiles and high maintenance women, in no particular order!” he mutters. With that off his chest, he steps into the water and moves cautiously forward.

Alex hesitates for a moment then follows closely behind him. “Your list just got longer! Do you count me as a high maintenance woman?” she asks, concentrating on placing her feet into his footsteps.

“I’ve known a high maintenance woman,” he confesses with no explanation. “You’re not too bad in comparison.”
In comparison baby you’re easy, in spite of your demands on my patience,
he thinks but doesn’t verbalise.

Alex considers his answer, wondering how to take it. The dank water creeping up to her knees discourages further consideration of the matter.

Jed scans left to right, like a pilot searching for conflicting aircraft traffic or a hunter looking for a shadow or shape that does not belong. “You’re pretty good actually,” then adds, “Shit!” as the water suddenly reaches further up his thighs. Alex stops, because his thighs mean her waist at least. She watches as he feels around with his feet, then continues toward what she can now see is an old blaze mark on a tree trunk. He takes a few steps more and the water level starts to drop. He stops suddenly, looking to his left.

He has seen what seems to be the shape of a crocodile under the trees on the edge of the swamp. As he tries to focus, it disappears. He shakes his head and looks again, seeing the same dappled grey shape in the same place. He tries to focus but loses it again among the complex pattern of leaves, long splaying grasses and shadows. Every time he tries to focus, it disappears from view but is visible in his peripheral vision. Its camouflage suits the conditions perfectly.

“What’s wrong? Alex asks with concern as dark water circles her waist. Just then they both hear the splash of something big hitting the water to their left.

“Crocodile!” he spits as he swings the Colt to the left, checking the water for anything that would justify pulling the trigger and starts moving forward again. “It’s probably escaping from our noise. Hasn’t had time to hunt us properly,” he suggests to allay her fears, not that he doesn’t feel fear himself. He admires their survival over millions of years while sipping wine and reading about them in the comfort of his home, but hates the bloody things when he is in their territory. To last this long, they had to be efficient hunters and he doesn’t want to be their prey. He takes a few more steps and the water level drops to his knees, calves, ankles and then they are out of it, standing on the slightly higher ground that keeps them out of the dark, dank water.

“Fuck that!” Jed snaps with vehemence. “Our mysterious man may have desecrated a war grave and pinched the guns but he found a way through that patch. I take my hat off to him!” he announces with almost violent emotion to cover his fear. “He may have been here at the end of a dry season when the water was lower but did well anyway! Let’s rest,” he suggests, dropping the hammer on the Colt and flicking the safety on.

Alex feels the raw fear of wading through the dark water, knowing there are creatures in there that can stalk her unseen and pull her down into the darkness toward a fate beyond imagination. The fear has taken her firmly around the throat so she could not have made a sound even if her iron self-discipline had weakened. She is relived to see she is not alone in her fear. She sinks down with her back against a tree, its trunk thrusting up toward the light. Jed sits down next to her, his back against the tree, and says nothing.

“That was scary!” she confides, with little attempt to hide her emotion.

Jed still says nothing.

She feels like calling him an empathetic imbecile, until he finally responds.

“I didn’t like that at all! It was fucking shit actually, not being able to see anything under the water. I’m adding swamps to my hate list!”

She says nothing but relaxes against the tree, comfortable he has shared his fear with her. They rest against the tree for a few minutes, knowing it will soon be time to move but enjoying the unspoken moment of shared companionship.

“If anyone says they never feel fear,” he finally offers, “they are lying. Everyone feels fear. It’s only a matter of how you manage it and whether you can still do the job when you are scared.” He stops talking but she doesn’t think he expects a response. She doesn’t know whether he is talking about himself or trying to make her feel better about the fear he sensed in her. They sit in silence to rest as minutes tick by.

A bird flashes by in startled surprise. Suddenly Jed clamps his hand onto her leg, squeezing it with pressure that is not tender or suggestive. “Stay quiet!” he hisses, keeping his hand clamped against her leg. She has the sense not to reply as he swings up onto his knee, drawing the Colt and pulling the hammer back carefully to hide the metallic click. He eases himself up and wraps himself into the curvature of the tree, waiting and listening.

She sits still, not moving, trusting his judgement. She hears the faint snap of a twig and a scuffle that disturbs the leaves and dead vegetation littering the ground, then the distinct sound of a dead branch breaking under the tread of a foot heading toward their tree.

She has heard that sound before as she fought for life, hiding among darkness and trees that had hid her from the smashing impact of a .308 bullet, listening to the soft, teasing voice calling her name, trying to provoke her to run. She forces the memory from her mind and focuses on the trees in front of her to bring her emotions under control. It is another time and place but the memory of being hunted rears its ugly head again. She has beaten it once and is determined to beat it again. She concentrates on breathing to regain focus on the here and now.