‘We will?’
‘Yeah, we will. Come on, give me a boost.’
As Sebastian took the girl back along the beach, Abbey tensed as James moved closer to her, brushed a few strands of hair from her face. ‘You don’t have to be the hero,’ he muttered.
‘There might be people inside who need our help,’ she replied quietly.
‘There’s also going to be a lot that don’t.’
‘It’s not about being a hero,’ she uttered. ‘It’s about doing what’s right. You had your moment at the beach.’
He looked at her with gentle eyes, something behind them she couldn’t quite read. It took everything she had to break the connection and turn away.
Today’s word: Guilty.
*
Most of the shutters were down inside the cabin, and the open end where the plane had split in two was crushed inwards, only a trace amount of light breaking through. Water lapped gently against the open deck.
Moving slowly along the first aisle, Abbey probed the darkness.
‘Hold on,’ said James at her back. ‘You hear that?’
Abbey paused and cocked her head. ‘I don’t hear anything.’
Stepping further into the blackness, she could smell blood. Or thought she could.
‘There it is again,’ he insisted.
‘There’s what again?’
‘Voices. I swear I keep hearing people talking.’
‘These people are dead, James. Are you going nuts already?'
Abbey leaned across the nearest seat-row and grabbed a shutter, light pouring in through the panel. She yelped and jumped back as a man’s agonized face appeared in front of her own, neck at an impossible angle.
‘What is it?’
In better light the rest of the carriage appeared to them. She heard James exhale behind her, a long drawn out sigh.
There must have been thirty or more bodies strewn throughout the scattered light, most of them still buckled firmly into their seats. It was a collage of destruction, a meat carnival. Here: a teenage girl, earphones still plugged into her ears, her eye socket caved in, grey matter visible. There: an elderly man with a ceiling panel wedged through his shoulder, separating his arm from his body. Here: a young boy no older than five or six, draped into the aisle, the whole left side of his small body dappled in blood from some unidentified wound. There: a young couple holding each other tightly, the impact unable to tear them apart as they took their final breaths, both bodies lurching intestines from where their belts had torn into their stomachs.
‘Holy shit,’ James murmured.
‘Yeah.’
‘Poor bastards.’
This time there was no mistaking the voices coming from business-class, loud enough to be heard, quiet enough to be incoherent. Moving hurriedly back through the carriage, Abbey pushed her way through to the front, an obstacle course of curtains, trolleys, bodies. The voices grew louder as she neared; several different voices, male and female.
She bustled into business-class to be met by three males and one woman standing agape. She knew two of them.
‘Elaine?’ she whispered. ‘Eric?’
‘Abigail!’ beamed Eric. 'We was in a crash!’
Abbey felt her body go numb as James arrived behind her.
‘Well now,’ Elaine De Boor smiled, looking James up and down, ‘if it’s God’s will that I’m to be stranded on a desert island, He’s seen fit to provide the eye candy. Not to mention your good timing! We have a bit of a situation here.’
There didn’t seem to be any bodies in business-class. Aside from Eric and his mother, there were only two others. Standing to the rear of the compartment was a man in his late forties, early fifties, mildly disfigured with a birthmark covering a big chunk of his face. It stretched from his left eye socket right down to below his collar.
The other was lying flat on his back beneath a dislodged row of seats. He was a geeky looking black kid, early twenties and sporting a thick afro. He looked oily skinned and frustrated.
‘This is Anthony,’ Elaine introduced, pointing out the branded man. ‘And this charming young buried fella is Oliver. Oliver who prefers to be called Oli.’
‘My parents still call me Oliver,’ he grumbled. ‘It’s only a short step from Oliver to Rupert or Tarquin or something. There’s no way to cool up those names no matter what you do.’
‘He’s nothing if not sunny,’ Elaine explained.
‘Are you here to help Oliver?’ Eric asked.
‘Oli!’ the kid insisted.
‘What exactly is the problem?’ Abbey asked.
Finally Anthony spoke, his bass-tone voice rich with Deep South America, Georgia or Alabama maybe. ‘We can’t move this row of seats. Where the carriage has caved in, it’s wedged the row in tight.’
James stepped in. ‘What about you, Oli, are you hurt?’
‘Yeah, my afro’s messed up, man!’
‘I’ll take that as a no,’ he said. ‘Okay, here’s what we do. Big guy, what’s your name again?’
‘Eric.’
‘Eric, you come around here, we’re going to need your strength. Anthony, if you brace yourself beneath the seat row and I’ll try using some good old leverage to prize her up.’
Abbey watched as James rallied everybody into position as he snapped a steel pole from the overhang and plunged it into the darkness beneath the seat row.
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Everybody set?’
A rumble of grunts.
‘On three, everybody push. One, two, three!’
The seat row began to shift, jarred backwards with the pressure. Eric’s pure brute strength was paying off, and Oli slid free and stepped away, Elaine wrapping him up in motherly arms. ‘Oh thank God, thank God, thank God. For a minute there I had images of us bringing you food and water every day and taking it in turns to keep you company in here.’
‘Alright, alright,' grumbled Oli trying to smooth his afro, 'you can put me down now. I think I got it.’
‘Not just a pretty face, your husband!’ Elaine grinned, nodding to James.
‘Oh…no,’ Abbey corrected. ‘He’s not my husband.’
‘Oh I’m sorry, darl. Me and my big mouth.’
Abbey chanced a peek at James. He was smirking.
‘Well,’ Oli threw in, ‘I hate to break up the party, but since you’re all here on my behalf, I hope you won’t mind if I depart. I do believe the sun’s coming out. I need to work on this tan.’
Abbey waited for Anthony to second the notion. Instead he stayed back, the gloom absorbing him.
James led the way out, trailed obediently by Oli, Elaine and Eric who lumbered clumsily after them.
Looking back to Anthony, Abbey said, ‘You coming?’
Silence.
‘Anthony?’
‘In a minute,’ he murmured.
‘Okay,’ she frowned. ‘We’ll be outside.’
15
‘You’re doing what?’ Abbey gasped.
‘We need to see what we’re up against,’ James replied casually. ‘It’s no big deal.’
‘It’s no big deal?’
‘No.’
She took a step back. ‘What is it with you? Have you got a death wish, or something?’
Throwing a couple of water bottles into a rucksack, James turned and looked up at the towering and rocky tor overlooking the north of the island.
‘It’s bloody suicide, James! And in this heat? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the sun has burnt away every last bit of cloud, and there will be no shade up there.’
Tightening the cord on the bag, he said, ‘Don’t worry about it.' He rose from his haunches and faced her, placed his hands at the tops of her arms. ‘I’m coming back.’
‘You’d better! I can’t take care of this lot alone.’
Some of the others were scattered along the beach staring out to sea, preparing themselves for some miraculous rescue. Others were prying their way into suitcases, seeing what they could salvage.
Anthony had finally turned up, his birthmark starker in the afternoon sun. Teri too had made an appearance. She seemed to have raided a man's case and substituted her torn clothes for a pair of khaki shorts and a large checked shirt, which looked too heavy for the weather. Everybody except Sol Delaney, the elusive Aussie, was accounted for.
‘Listen,’ James said quietly. ‘Everybody’s frightened. There are no leaders here, so we have to get organised. Get them working while we’re gone. Build shelters, keep them occupied. You have a couple of accomplices in Eric and Elaine. Use them. They’ll do anything for you, it’s obvious.’
‘Shelters? How long do you suppose we’ll be here?’
‘I don’t know,’ he replied truthfully.
‘Hang on a sec, you said we. While we’re gone. Which crazy bastard have you g –’
‘You all set, James?’ interrupted Oli. He too had changed. Now he boasted a pair of faded Bermuda shorts and a t-shirt which insisted Frankie was back.
‘Wow!’ James replied. 'Who's the eighties throwback?’
Abbey stashed away a grin.
‘What?’ Oli examined himself. ‘Nobody. I found my own case over by the tailfin.’
‘These are your clothes?’
'What's the problem?'
'There's no problem,' James grinned.
‘You guys crack me up!’ Oli deadpanned. Pushing between them he stormed into the jungle.
‘Oops,’ Abbey smirked. ‘I think you’d better go and apologise.’
‘I think I’d better.’
Glancing down at her feet, she murmured, ‘Please come back, James. I meant it when I said we need you. I can’t take care of this lot by myself.’
‘I’ll be back by tonight. I promise.’
*
It only took a half-mile for James to realise that Abbey had been talking sense. It was too damn hot for this crap. Earlier he’d changed into a sky-blue baggy shirt and knee-length khaki shorts, and in a suitcase not belonging to him, he’d found a good pair of walking boots which fit.
‘Can you remind me,’ Oli gasped from thirty yards back. ‘At what point did I agree this was a good idea?’
Taking a seat on a fallen tree, James waited for Oli to catch up. ‘It’s that afro, it’s weighing you down.’
Dropping his rucksack, he took a seat next to James, panting. ‘Don’t be dissing the afro, man. It’s what sets a brother apart.’ Oli took a couple of big swigs of water and handed the bottle to James. ‘So how much more of this feral garden do we have to conquer before we reach the base of the hill?’
‘We’re nearly there. But if the jungle is killing you, you’d better turn back now. The hill is going to be worse.’
‘How’d you figure? There’s got to be fewer bugs up there. I’m like a fricking banquet to the little assholes.’
James took another swig of water and bagged the bottle. ‘Sweet blood, that’s what my mom always used to say. When I was a kid, I was never bitten. She always said I had sour blood. Sucking on it was like biting into a lemon. You, my friend, are a strawberry.’
Oli swatted the back of his neck. ‘Awesome.’
‘Where are you from anyway?’
Oli hesitated and examined his shoelaces.
‘It’s not a trick question.’
‘Tinsel Town,’ Oli said coyly. ‘Hollywood. But don’t judge a book by its cover, man. There’s more to me than meets the eye.’
‘I wasn’t judging. What’s wrong with California?’
‘Nothing wrong with the place, per se,’ Oli clarified. ‘It’s the people I have an issue with.’
‘Plastic?’
‘Some of them make Barbie and Ken look positively real, in appearance and personality.’
‘So what sets you apart?’
Swat. Slap.
‘Simple, I'm organic,' said Oli with a wink. 'I’m studying law at UCLA. It seems there’re only about one in ten people in Hollywood not trying to become an actor or a singer or something, so that makes me the one in ten. Anyway, I wish I could say my time at university was passing amiably. I’m not exactly jock material which, in the current narrative of society, makes me a nerd. And there doesn’t seem to be much of an in-between.’
James frowned. ‘What’s in New Zealand?’
Again, Oli hesitated. ‘I was on an excursion with some other students. They weren’t on the plane. I lost them in Port Elizabeth. Or they lost me if you want to cross-examine. Went to use the bathroom in a restaurant and when I came back they’d taken off. I don’t know if they ditched me or just didn’t miss me. Either way, it made me feel pretty crappy.’
James shook his head. ‘There were no tutors taking headcounts?’
‘It wasn’t an official trip. The Student Union put it together. We’re considered adults so the lecturers left it up to parental consent.’
‘So you just wanted to continue alone.’
‘Yeah, screw them!’ Oli said venomously. ‘The trip was bought and paid for so I figured I’d finish it.’
James had to admit, he’d got Oli all wrong. To carry on alone with a tour like that took guts. In the same situation there would’ve been many a kid - and no doubt some of the jocks - quickly on the phone to their parents crying to them to get them home.
‘So what’s your story?’ Oli asked.
James raised his eyebrows.
‘You originate from somewhere, right?’
‘I’m from West Virginia originally, but I’ve spent some time in London recently. Went there for a job.’
‘Doing what?’
James paused, then said, ‘IT.’
‘Oh yeah,’ Oli grinned. ‘What field? I’m pretty useful with a computer.’
‘Never would’ve guessed.’
‘Come on, what field?’
‘I can’t get into it, Oli. Some of it’s classified.’
‘Oh, come on, man, don't be like that.'
James leant forward and rested his elbows on his knees. ‘Just drop it,’ he muttered with a note of finality.
Holding up his hands, the student ceded. 'How did you come to be on that airplane?'
‘I was on my way to see my brother in Wellington. Haven’t seen him in years.’
‘So why not fly into Wellington?’ Oli probed.
‘North Shore was the only flight I could get yesterday.’
‘Was he expecting you?’
‘He and his family, yeah.’
The gap between them brimmed with quiet. Finally, Oli muttered, ‘They’re not going to find us, are they?’
James raised his eyebrows.
‘The Indian Ocean is enormous, how could they know where we are?’
James climbed to his feet and stretched his back. ‘You know, for a law student, you ain’t that bright, friend.’
‘Gee, thanks.’
‘Three things. First of all, because of satellite, over ninety-five percent of the world’s islands are now discovered. Hell, this one probably even has a name. Secondly, we were on a flight plan that’s recorded at both ends of the journey. And finally, hidden amongst that mess on the beaches is the Black Box, which gives off a locating signal. So, bearing that triple whammy in mind, combined with a bitch of a walk up a steep hill, I’d say you should sleep soundly tonight!’
‘You state your case solidly,’ the student admitted. ‘Have you ever considered a career in law? Still, I put it to you that nothing could be working after that crash. If the Black Box was giving off a signal, it sure as hell isn’t now.’
‘They say those things are indestructible,' argued James.
Oli appeared to relax. The reality was, James had only spoken a partial truth. Yes there’d be parties looking for them, no doubt about it. Whether or not they find them was a different story. None of them knew if the plane had been on course when it went down. If they'd been dragged off the flight plan, Black Box or not, the search teams would be pissing into the wind. If they didn’t find any wreckage along the route, what then?
He said,
‘We still have a hill to beat. You all set?’
Oli climbed to his feet. ‘As I’ll ever be.’
*
Reaching up over the edge of the plateau, James probed the rocky surface for some kind of grip-hold. Thrusting himself up over the lip he rolled onto his back, winded. He opened his eyes to a cloudless sky. The sun was floating directly overhead, beating down on them cruelly. Minutes passed before Oli clambered up over the lip and lay beside him, wheezing.
‘Is it easier on the way back down?’ he panted. ‘Some Chinese tortures aren’t as nasty as that.’
James grunted.
‘You didn’t think I’d make it, did you?’ Oli gasped.
‘Never doubted you!'
‘Oh ye of little faith. Tell me again why we did that?’
James climbed to his feet and held out a hand to Oli. ‘Stand up.’
At the southern edge of the table, the pair feasted on the view. ‘Whoa,’ muttered Oli.
‘Agreed.’
Laid out before them was the island in its entirety, every inch of beautiful scenery waiting to be explored. Putting to bed any doubt that they were on an island and not headland, the only colour visible offshore was the different hues of blue meeting over the horizon. About four or five miles around, something like fourteen or fifteen bays skirted the trees.
Below they could clearly see the front end of the plane, mangled back end spanning out into the water. In the next bay over, the tailfin stood out like a shark’s fin. And out in the clear water huge dark shapes lay visible beneath the surface, sections of the plane lying dormant on the seabed.
Further along the same beach they could see the others moving about like ants.
The density of the forest became far more apparent from the plateau. They’d traversed a good mile and a half through the thicket to the foot of the hill.
‘What do you suppose that is?’ Oli posed.
James moved to the student’s side. ‘What are you looking at?’
‘Right there. You see that open clearing about a half-mile away?’
Scanning the expanse below, he spotted it. A couple of hundred feet around, the clearing was surrounded by trees at odds with the other greenery: a lighter shade.
Hunting Abigail: Fight or Flight? For Abigail, it's both! Page 9
