“Here,” she said. “They go to the off-road van. It’s loaded down with emergency equipment, extra gas, tires, medical supplies”
Preston seized them from her hands, and shuffled for the door as she continued rattling off the list.
“But be careful!” she pleaded. “None of it guarantees your safety!”
The palms of Yancey’s hands were sweating as he clutched the controls of the small plane. He could see the airstrip twinkling ahead as he radioed in for landing. His only wish being that he would find his nephew waiting for him inside.
The place was already closed, but the reception area was open with the lights dimmed. Once inside, he was the only one there. So he plopped down into one of the hard plastic chairs and thought for a moment.
The airport was ominously quiet and he knew the only other person around would be the air traffic controller in the tower. He began whistling to keep his mind in step and paced the floor.
When he had reached one end of the room for the fifth time, the fluorescent row of vending machines persuaded him to stop. Hastily, he skimmed over the assortment of snacks highlighted by the bright bulbs and shook his pockets.
“Bloody lousy luck! I ain’t even got a pot to-“ he stopped and rubbed his grumbling stomach, realizing that he hadn’t eaten all afternoon and was coming down with the shakes.
“No wonder I can’t hold my temper,” he complained.
Then he looked around to make sure no one could see him, and violently hoisted the small vending machine straight up and down until some cheese crackers and a box of Milk Duds dropped into the bin.
“That’s more like it,” he boasted while he blew his knuckles as if in victory mode.
As soon as he bent down to retrieve them, however, a loud bell sounded and he shot up thinking that he had been caught red handed, but it was just the telephone mounted on the corner wall.
“He sighed as he ripped open the package of cheese bits and poured them into his mouth. Then he felt a vibration against his chest and removed his cell phone from his shirt pocket.
“Yo?” he answered as he smacked.
“Yancey.., it’s me. Is he there?” questioned his wife.
“No, Mary” he responded.
“Has anyone seen him?” she was aggravated by the smacking.
“Nope,” he tried swallowing the Mild Dud, but the caramel stuck to the back of his teeth.
“Oh,” she sighed. “Have you had anythin’ to eat? I forgot all about it.”
“I’m managin’” he replied in all seriousness. “It’s the lad I’m worried about,” he said.
She replied, “Allister and Elizabeth are on their way, and Viola finally cried herself to sleep.”
He shook his head. “The only thing I know to do now is organize a search party and do an aerial in the mornin’.”
“Well.., just do what you can hon’, and I’ll keep a line of intercession open and hope for the best.”
“Yep,” he replied. “And while you’re at it, pray that wherever he is, that the good Lord ‘ll find him there.”
It was around ten o’clock when Preston swerved into the outskirts of Darwin. The half-emptied pint of scotch he had swiped from the dashboard was barely enough to dull the pain of the moment, much less the life long build up of failures and missed opportunities, and wasted years of dreams that had flashed before his eyes, as quickly as the neon sign he had just passed doing eighty.
“A liquor store?!” he slammed on the brakes, and left black marks on the road for several yards. Then he shifted into reverse and raced backwards in time, like the scenes playing havoc in his mind.
Spinning around in a dazed fury, the wheels locked hard as he braked again and came to a stop as the front end of the truck bounced off the sidewalk. Then he swung the door open on its hinges and climbed out, before he staggered to the window. At once, he began cursing loudly as he made out the large white letters on the red sign that read, “CLOSED.”
“Closed? What kind of wretched town is this?!” while he pressed his nose against the glass like a gluttonous pig. There was always a road block to everything he ever wanted and for the first time in his life, he thought about busting through.
“What if I paid for the damage?” the justifications went back and forth as he stammered to the truck in search of a tire iron. But something across the street caused his focus to grow a little tighter, as he squinted to see the strip of shops.
All the lights were out with the exception of one store, which had a blue compact car parked out front. He squinted again and saw that someone was moving around inside. When he read the sign above the store everything clicked, PRINT SHOP.
“Eureka!” he drunkenly exclaimed, as he quickly climbed back into the truck. Not even bothering to shut the door behind him, he churned into reverse again, backing clear across the road, over a median and some speed-breakers before halting just inches away from the store entrance.
The person inside was a teenager, working after hours for the next days parade, running posters, and shocked at what he had just witnessed.
“What are you.., some kind of a crazed idiot?!” he shouted as Preston waltzed right through the unlocked doors.
“I have been called worse today,” he declared.
The kid tossed a cloth onto a table he had just used to wipe some developer from his hands.
“Can’t you see that we’re not open for business?” he answered back.
“Looks like you’re working to me. And this dear lad, is an emergency,” Preston replied as he whipped the photograph of Donovan from his pocket and slapped it onto the counter.
The kid looked at the comical image. “What is this? Some kind of an ambush? Like a practical joke show? You’re a bush-wacker is what you are!” as he looked around the ceiling for cameras.
Preston just ignored the boy as he jotted something down on the back of an advertisement.
“Give me some tape,” he demanded.
At once, the teenager was unnerved, realizing that the fellow was serious, and his face became hot with fear. “Look.., if you want money.., there’s not any. The owner took the cash drawer with him.”
“I didn’t say anything about money,” he snapped in response. “I just need some tape!”
The kid ran over to the desk and handed him a roll of transparent tape. “It’s all we’ve got.”
“It’ll do just fine,” replied Preston as he fixed the photograph to the center of the page which read;
Have you seen this lad?
His name is Donovan Winthrop.
If so, call 081-89-7243
AND GET YOUR REWARD!!
Glancing at the terrible likeness again, he handed the paper to the kid and said, “Make me a hundred copies.”
“Then you don’t want money, after all?” the kid asked.
“Of course not,” replied Preston. “That’s absurd! What do you think this is? A stick up?” he scoffed.
Realizing that the intruder was half-cocked but harmless, the kid suddenly got a new wind of courage and said, “Forget it, you ol’ lolly goggin’ wacko! You’d better scram or I’ll call the police!”
Preston shuddered at the suggestion, but there was no time for a fight. He needed those posters.
“Look, I’ll pay you handsomely for your services,” he pleaded.
The teenager just smirked, “I don’t want your money. Ol’ silvertail! Get out of this store!” he threw the roll of tape at him. “You’d have to hold me at gunpoint before I’d help you” he smirked again.
Preston turned on one heel totally confused. “What is with the youth of today? So disrespectful..,” as he headed to the truck and despairingly ran his trembling hand under the seat, feeling for the black revolver he had stumbled upon earlier.
Then he stormed his way back into the store, muttering as he went, and shoved the piece of paper in the teenagers face as he waved the gun unsteadily, “Very well then.., get to printing!
”
Donovan had been chasing through the woods for so long that everything was pitch dark. He couldn’t see two steps in front of him, much less the Aborigine he had lost an hour ago. And the noises of insects had grown so piercingly loud that he could barely sense what was around him.
He felt his way over to a large gum tree, and though it was caked with loose bark that kept coming off in his hands, he managed to climb up its many branches.
Once he had found the core of a limb that forked wide enough to support his back, he sat down in the cradle and pulled his aching foot inward. The stickiness of blood rubbed off on his fingers.
“Where’d that come from?” the foot slipped from his hand as he hugged a little closer to the core. The ranger at the Tourist Center had warned the others about the dangers of exploring alone and his words haunted him, “Tasmanian devils in the bushes, snakes in the trees, crocodiles resting on the banks, along with meat-eating lizards and an occasional sink hole or booby trap”
Something scowled. The rumble sounded above the buzz of insects and gloats of frogs.
Donovan grabbed a loose branch, “What’s that?” his thoughts pleaded silently as his heart raced.
Quickly, he felt for his shirt in his backpack and wrapped it tightly around his foot so that the blood wouldn’t trickle down the turn of the tree.
The scowl grew closer.
For a faint moment, it almost sounded like Preston snoring, but it was only wishful thinking. Donovan turned his ear toward the ground and listened for motion below.
It was directly above him.
His bottom lip began to quiver and he pulled his backpack close to his chest.
With the sudden movement, the warning increased.
He sat still, hoping that it wouldn’t come any closer. And the only thing he knew to do was to pull out his cell phone, only to discover that the light came on, but the battery was too low to make a call. He stared at the red line on the battery symbol and attempted to press numbers on the keypad, and then the light died out as well. He took a deep breath and realized the error of his predicament. He hadn’t listened to wise advice and now that his world was behind him, he was faced with the disturbing sense of darkness with only the density of forest floor beneath him.
Chapter Nine
The bright expanse of morning broke through the canopy of darkness that had enveloped the night sky, and settled humus drops of water on everything that had left the air thick and moist. The atmosphere was alive again, as birds hopped from limb to limb singing their morning rituals, and marsh insects hummed above lily pads among drooping blades of grass. And the peculiar blend of strange noises, munching and laughing, disrupted the images that had been running free in Donovan’s minds eye.
He almost slipped from the palm of the three branches that had held him throughout the night, as he shifted his back against the prickly bark and retorted, “Stop it Viola! You’re hurting me,” while he tried to unglue his heavy eye-lids. He actually had to rub them twice with his splinter filled and sap smeared hands, before he remembered where he was.
Finally though, it all came back to him.., running through the jungle barefoot.., chasing after a savage native.., or was it merely an exaggeration of a bad dream?...
Nonetheless, he was faced with the stark reality of being out in the middle of nowhere, all alone.
The navy sports-coat that had shielded him from the creepy crawlies and the nippy night air was tucked close beneath his chin. When he sat up to stretch his aching torso and uncrimp his pretzeled knees, he was in total discomfort as he reached behind his back to peel away the loose pieces of bark that left misshapen indentations of fading red tattoos.
He definitely needed his shirt, but where was it? Then he was reminded by a sharp throbbing pain and looked down. His foot was wearing it. Just like in gym class when he tied his jacket around his waist, so was his shirt sleeves twisted high into a double knot. It didn’t reveal much of what was underneath, but he could tell by the dried crimson stains that he should probably wait until after breakfast to take a look. His stomach was groaning with hunger pains and he was already queasy from the lack of two meals he had missed so far.
When he reached behind his head to remove the flattened backpack that had served as a pillow, he searched for something to eat, but found nothing, except for the half-eaten Toblerone bar.
Savoring the first bite, he glanced up through the opening of foliage at the warming sky. At least it would warm up again and he wouldn’t have to suffer the cold of night. Then he heard the munching sound again as he took another bite. It was a koala fastened to the tree, while foraging on a leaf covered with bubbles of water.
“So you’re the one that gave me such of a hard time last night!” he said with a laugh. It hadn’t been the old cockney snoring after all, but the marsupial keeping him at bay with the scowling.
Since he had taken the warning well, he tried to recall whether or not the ranger had said anything about koalas being dangerous, but he didn’t recollect it. So he watched the small and lazy round eyes blink as it munched on the greenery.
Within a matter of minutes, he reached the conclusion that this one wasn’t any threat and he wanted to touch it, to somehow entice it into coming closer so that he could befriend it.
“Want a taste?” he asked as he extended his arm upward with slow ease.
The koala mildly seemed interested as Donovan gripped his legs tight around the branch to keep his balance.
Just as quickly though, it used its only defense against the intruder. With a low rumble and a sweep of its paw, its territory was safe again, as Donovan jerked his arm away at the threat. The chocolate tumbled to the muddy soil below.
“Oh, no!” he slapped the side of his head with his sticky hand, as he watched it swim in a covering of ants. “I could sure go for a spinach omelet about now.”
Before he pushed up on the limb to raise his upper body, he caught a glimpse of himself in a puddle of marsh that had stilled to a glassy reflection.
It was like looking into an antique mirror as his face was dotted with shades of brown, but the dirty smudges were really his, and his hair was matted into stiff peaks from not having combed it after the evening swim at Jim Jim. At first sight, he started to lick his hand to slick it down, but with a double-take he decided that he could learn to like the new look.
“Oh well,” he sighed, looking up at the koala, “how about sharing your grub with me?”
He broke off a leaf and took a bite, thinking that the faster he chewed the better it would taste.
“Yuk!” he spit out the remaining pieces while slapping at his tongue, when he suddenly heard the sound of laughter again. It seemed to echo throughout the forest and he couldn’t tell which direction it was coming from, but it startled him so badly that he lost his balance again—this time falling head long into the muddy stretch of marshland below.
Quickly, he turned to the left to see who was watching, as his tan slacks were now soaked with rotting vegetation.
“Sheweee!” he fumed and kicked, which just made a bigger splash and doused his head in the process. That made him so angry that he threw a fit on the spot, as he splashed around in the mud until every part of his body was covered.
The laughter continued.
On a branch high atop another tree, perched a small brown and black striped bird, cackling away. Feeling foolishly glad that no one had seen the tantrum, he laughed too.
“Oh, I get it.., a kookaburra,” he said as he stood up and started slapping away some of the mud from his clothes. All the while singing, “Kookaburra sings in an old gum tree, eating all the gum drops he can see”
There was more laughter.
He stopped singing. The sound was more distinct than before and his eyes searched the surrounding walls of vegetation again.
All at once, it was right there in front of him, the flash of ebony and flamed hair—the Aborigine.
“Yippi Yi
ppi Yee!... Booga Booga Boo!” he yelled out of renewed excitement.
With the rapid sound of feet trampling over brush, the boy became a blur with the rest of the forest again.
Donovan’s only hope was fleeting before his eyes. Hurriedly, he pulled his backpack from the branch and limped off after him.
It had been some night for Preston, as he had raced around the city and made that poor kid nail up all of those posters. Then there was the getaway for the ranch, followed by the crash. He drew a blank after that.
It was all very foggy to him as he rolled over and shielded his eyes with the palm of his hand. He was too afraid to open them for fear that he would be in a place that did away with men as mad as him.
The scenes continued to flash before him, but they weren’t of the day before, but of years gone by like the day he had driven the lad back from the hospital when Elizabeth was much more youthful Allister as a lad scrapping with Yancey in the back seat as their father looked on and then his own childhood He could see the meager farmstead with his seven brothers and sisters spinning around him joined hand in hand, their faces chapped, and their arms and legs covered with scrapes. Whatever happened to them, he wondered And whatever happened to his life?