Lost In Kakadu (15 page)

She nodded, her eyes downcast. She looked lost, almost forlorn.

As he stared into the cold ashes he thought that maybe, like him, she needed to keep busy. “Do you want to help get the fire going?”

“Not particularly.”

Mackenzie shook his head in confusion, threw his hands in the air and walked into the bush to gather wood.

Once the fire was raging, he performed his now familiar routine of making damper. Charlie was still asleep when breakfast was ready and he took a moment to check on him. His skin was morbidly pale, almost translucent and his brow beaded with sweat. Mackenzie recoiled at the temperature of his forehead.

“Abigail! Get the Panadol and some water.”

She arrived moments later and Mackenzie popped two pills out of the blister pack. Once again he was hit with a complete sense of inadequacy. A couple of pain killers barely even touched the surface of what Charlie really needed. “Help me.” He handed the tablets to her and prised the old man’s jaw open.

Abigail threw the two tablets onto his pasty tongue, followed by a mouthful of water. Charlie choked on the liquid and Mackenzie clamped his jaw shut, forcing him to swallow. The old man’s bloodshot eyes sprang open and he stared blankly at Mackenzie.

“It’s okay, buddy. Just giving you some medicine.” He wiped sweat from Charlie’s forehead. “Go back to sleep.”

Charlie closed his eyes and Mackenzie sat back on his haunches watching him for a while. A short time later, Charlie began to snore.

Back at the fire, Abigail placed her hands on her hips and spun toward him. “I thought you had a good feeling about today.”

“I do.” He gave a confident nod, hoping it masked his trepidation.

* * *

Abigail slumped beside the fire and with each fresh application of makeup she allowed her mind to drift from the present. Returning to her own world for a moment, she imagined laughing with her friends over a glass of wine and welcomed the brief deception. It took her a moment to work out it was Thursday. She normally played tennis on a Thursday. As she thought about her friends running around the court, working up a sweat, she realised that she would never again complain about the heat. Because where she sat right now, even though it was in the shade, was probably the hottest place she’d ever been.

A loud crash interrupted her thoughts and she turned to the wreck in time to see one of the plane’s seats fall out the back. Curious, she headed toward it and jumped when a second seat tumbled from the cabin.

“What are you doing?”

“What’s it look like? I’m tearing out the seats.”

“But why?”

“You’ll see.”

She shrugged and returned to the fire, sitting with her back to the plane. Mackenzie’s heavy footfalls sounded behind her and seconds later he arrived at her side dragging a chair behind him. He fixed the chair on its base and sat on it with his feet toward the fire. “Aah,” he said, gloating.

“Clever.”

He jumped up and offered her the seat. “Your throne, madam.” He enticed her with a satisfied grin.

She slipped into the seat and sighed. It was absolute luxury after the case of beans. “It’s wonderful.”

He dragged another seat over and, moments later, he sat on a leather chair on the opposite side of the fire. The heat wave across the fire distorted his image, and despite his now almost complete beard she couldn’t miss his look of satisfaction.
Maybe today will be good after all.

With a third seat in place, Mackenzie again disappeared into the back of the plane. After a multitude of groaning and loud popping noises, he walked toward her looping a strand of blue wire over his arm. “A clothes line,” he said.

“Great. But washing our clothes would require more water than we currently have.”

“Mmm, you’re right.” He paused mid stride. “I have another idea.”

Studying an area beyond the clearing he eventually seemed happy with his choice and wrapped the wire around three triangulated trees. Abigail was intrigued by his smug grin, but didn’t ask. Revisiting the plane, he returned moments later with a package that he unzipped, and with one swift movement a large colourful sheet billowed across the clearing.

“A parachute! Where did you find it?”

“Under a seat.”

She watched him gather the material and drape it over the string with measured precision. The result was a triangular room the size of a large toilet cubicle.

“Ta da!” he said with a sweep of his hand.

“That’s great. What is it?”

“It’s a change room. Now you can get dressed in peace.”

She brushed her hands over her filthy slacks. “That’s a great idea. Thank you.”

“And there’s these.” He held up a life jacket. “We can blow them up for pillows.”

He inflated the jacket and once he seemed happy with its size handed it to her. She placed it behind her head and wriggled it into place. “Lovely. So what’s next?”

His eyes lit up. “I’m going to get something from the back half of the plane. Are you okay here?” He indicated to Charlie who hadn’t moved since they loaded him with Panadol.

“I’ll be fine.”

He marched into the thick bushes and quickly vanished from view. She turned back to the fire.

Other than the occasional hiss or pop from the burning logs, the silence was complete. She struggled with the lack of noise, even found it disturbing. It contributed to her loneliness.

With nothing to occupy her mind, it was difficult not to think about home. Her thoughts drifted to Krystal. With a hollow heart she realised she had no idea who her daughter would be staying with. She didn’t really know who Krystal’s friends were. Her daughter was determined to remain secretive and Abigail regretted she’d always been too busy to worry about her anyway. Abigail’s usual week consisted of numerous social functions—the polo club, shopping, coffee with girlfriends, beauty treatments and her nail technician. She looked at her nails. It had been two weeks since she last saw Helen and the damage showed. Her usually pristine nails were chipped beyond repair.
Helen will have a fit when I come in.

But if there was one thing Helen was good for, other than the perfect manicure, it was gossip. And Abigail would definitely have some decent gossip for her when she got back. Though Abigail never could decide if Helen did it blithely, or if she just enjoyed the consequences of spreading gossip. Unfortunately, the last piece of gossip Abigail heard from Helen involved Spencer and one of Abigail’s best friends, Rachel. Of course, Helen had no idea who the man was that she was talking about. But as soon as she mentioned that the man gave Rachel weird trinkets, Abigail knew it was Spencer.

Spencer was always bringing her back the most ghastly pieces of jewellery from his jungle adventures. She looked around at the gnarled, disorderly branches surrounding her and huffed. Spencer never did understand why she despised them.

A rustling in the bushes made her jump and she turned as Mackenzie stepped into the clearing with a stainless steel toilet on his shoulder. His face blazed red.

She couldn’t help but laugh. “What are you doing with that?”

“What do you think? No reason why we can’t have a decent toilet.”

Abigail agreed. The dull throb in her abdomen increased in intensity each day and it was only a matter of time before she’d need to address that little situation. She really was grateful. “What can I do?”

“Well, first of all, we’ll need to dig a hole.”

Abigail groaned. Her hands still throbbed from yesterday’s digging.

“Don’t panic. It doesn’t have to be too big. We’ll move it around every couple of days.”

“Jesus. What are you talking about? You make it sound like you’ve given up hope of being rescued.”

“Fine. I won’t bother with the toilet.” He tossed it and it fell with a dull thud.

Frustration washed over her. “I’m sorry. Please. I need it.” She couldn’t believe she was begging. “I need the toilet.”

“Say pretty please.”

She frowned, confused.

“Say pretty please,” he repeated.

“You want me to say pretty please?”

“Yes.”

She could tell he was enjoying this as she mumbled. “Pretty please.”

“Well, only because you asked so nicely.”

“You’re impossible.” She grinned.

He laughed. “Actually, it’s you that’s impossible.” He walked toward her and held out a hand. “Come on, help me find that sheet of tin we used yesterday. I tossed it into the trees.”

She gripped his hand and noticed its roughness, nothing like Spencer’s soft, manicured hands.

They chose an area just beyond the tree line, working together to construct the toilet, which Mackenzie housed in another parachute for privacy. They celebrated their teamwork with baked beans and a cup of coffee.

“Now for more comfortable beds,” Mackenzie said with confidence.

* * *

Charlie opened his eyes and heard laughter. It was completely out of place with the view above him. The undercarriage looked like it had been brutalised by the claws of an angry devil. Jagged striations ran the entire length of the plane carcass. Shivering from the cold he searched for something to cover himself. He found a shirt which he draped over his waist. The smell of coffee was good and he licked his cracked lips. “I could use some of that.” His voice was a hoarse whisper, but Mackenzie still appeared next to him in seconds.

“Well, hello, sleepy head,” Mackenzie said.

“That coffee smells good.”

“Doesn’t taste that good,” Abigail offered.

“I’ll take my chances. It’ll warm me up.”

“But it’s like a sauna here. Are you cold?” Mackenzie frowned.

Charlie nodded.

Mackenzie turned to Abigail. “See if you can find something to cover him with and I’ll make a coffee.”

Charlie felt weak, like an invisible force was pressing him into the ground. He resisted the desire to go back to sleep, not entirely sure he’d wake up again. Relieved his letters were still next to him, he contemplated writing but dark thoughts overshadowed his mind. As he cast each thought aside, it was instantly replaced with another negative one. On top of that, the throbbing in his chest was like an internal clock beating down the hours.

Abigail returned to his side. “How about my towel? It’s pure Egyptian cotton and guaranteed to keep you warm.” She fidgeted with the towel ensuring his body was covered.

“Thank you.” Even with the extra layer of material, the coldness in his lower back was spreading and deepening. Abigail’s eyes showed pity and Charlie had to literally pull himself away. “Can you help me? I’d like to write a letter.”

“Of course. Is the paper in your satchel?”

“Yes. There’s some pink paper in there.” He saved this special paper for all the important letters he wrote to his daughter.

Mackenzie returned with a steaming can of coffee. “Did you want milk or sugar?”

Charlie frowned. “We have milk and sugar?”

“Well, it’s powdered milk if you can count that.”

“That would be great and two sugars.”

Abigail placed the paper on Charlie’s lap and rummaged for a pen.

“Here we go, just as you like it.” Mackenzie held the steaming can toward him.

Charlie knew he wouldn’t be able to drink it lying down like he was. “Can you help me sit up?”

“Actually I have a seat by the fire for you. Would you like me to carry you over there?”

Charlie loved the idea. Staring into a fire had always been one of his favourite pastimes. “Yes, please.”

“It might hurt.”

“It’ll be worth it.”

He winced as Mackenzie lifted him off the ground but when he saw the chairs around the fire, he felt a smile coming on. “Well, isn’t this luxury?”

“Only the best.” Mackenzie eased him into the chair and Abigail draped her towel over him again then placed his writing pad in his lap.

The heat from the fire was a welcome relief. “This’s better.”

“Great. While you’re up, I’m going to make us a couple of beds.”

“I’ll leave you in peace, too.” Abigail followed Mackenzie toward the plane.

The smoke curled and twisted as it left the fire. Mesmerised, Charlie watched a wisp float up, carefree and independent. Attributes he wished upon his three grandchildren, Robert, Kelly and little Nikki.

He began to write and as always he poured his soul into the letters, treating them like his own private therapy sessions. Writing the words felt like releasing an eagle into the wild. He felt liberated once they were free from his mind.

When he lifted his shaking hand from the page he didn’t even recognise his own writing. He folded the paper over, ensuring the small white rose was neatly positioned on the left hand side. Closing the envelope with a kiss, he placed it on his lap.

As he stared with contentment into the fire, sleep beckoned.

Mackenzie studied one of the giant eucalyptus trees that trapped the plane above the ground and noticed a trail of sap oozing down its rough bark. It looked like the tree was bleeding, probably from injuries it sustained in the crash. He pushed his finger into the red liquid and the coagulated surface bowed until he pushed through to the dense liquid beneath the outer crust. The sap had the consistency of thick treacle and smelt like pure eucalyptus. He couldn’t resist a taste and licked his finger.

“What on earth are you doing?”

He jumped. He hadn’t heard Abigail walk up behind him. “It tastes like menthol. Want some?” He held his finger toward her.

“Not on your life.”

“We can use it when we wash our clothes, make them smell nice.”

“There you go again, acting like we’re here to stay.”

“No, I’m not.” He shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a practical guy.”

Abigail shook her head. “Well, Mr Practical, do you have any thoughts on the beds?” She pointed at the scattering of clothes beneath the undercarriage.

“I was trying to work out how to get the plane down from here.” He slapped the tree trunk, the base of which had to be bigger than the drinks fridge in his restaurant. “These trees aren’t going anywhere.”

“Could we pull the plane out?”

He stepped back, mulling over her idea. The plane’s nose had passed through the trees before it became wedged at the wider part and Mackenzie recalled being thrown from his seat when the plane slammed to a stop. “I think you have an idea.”