by Margaret Way
God almighty! Was this the way it was going to end? A life span limited to a few decades? What a bloody mess. Adrenaline kicked in, flushing through his system. He was a good pilot, wasn’t he? A very good pilot. Now was not the time to be modest. He was lucky as well, which was almost as good. He had the girl with him and she deserved a life. They had to survive. He had to land the chopper safely even if he clipped the rotors which was a strong probability. He could sense the girl beside him was sitting rigid with fear, but she wasn’t screaming. Thank God for that! Many would be yelling their heads off at this point, when they were on the brink of a crash. She was, in fact, pointing frantically to a pocket handkerchief-sized clearing at the same time he spotted it coming up.
He lined the chopper up. The clearing was shaped like a playing field with its boundaries set at one end by a stand of pandanus, at the other by four paperbarks, their foliage iridescent in the sunlight.
Hell he almost loved her. She was far from stupid and she had kept her head. He had to applaud that.
Okay. It was now or never!
The swamp was rising to meet them with crocs in it for sure. Didn’t you just love them? He had to judge the tips of the branches of the trees by centimetres. He could feel the tremendous rush of adrenaline through his body, even the thrill of extreme danger. Paradoxically it gave him a weird feeling of excitement as well as fear; a buoyancy he had experienced before in tight situations.
Ten metres above the water, the surface was quivering and shimmering like a sea of sequins, then it churned into waves by the strong down draught. He couldn’t run the chopper on in case the skids got hooked onto the arched root system of the trees. If that happened, the chopper would flip over. A rotor tip only had to clip those trees. He could hear a hissing sound clearly. The clearing seemed to be lit up, preternaturally brilliant. It could signal the end but he took it as a good omen. He hovered, shutting everything out of his mind but the need to set the machine down safely. The will to survive transcended fear … all the blades were at the same pitch …
That’s it. Hold it still. Praise the Lord!
At the last moment, Sandra shut her eyes, her small hands clenched into fists. Death was always waiting in the wings. She didn’t want to see it coming. If she was going to die she was going to die. There was not much anyone could do about fate. But if anyone could save the situation this guy might. Sweat was pouring off her yet her blood was running ice. They could drop like a stone. The chopper would be hurled around like a piece of debris before it went up in flames … It only needed one false move.
Though she waited in limbo for the moment of impact and probable annihilation, the chopper seemed to come down in ultra slow motion as the rotor blades set up a whirlwind. The machine didn’t hit the water, rather it seemed to Sandra’s bemused mind it came down as lightly as a brolga on its tippy toes. She felt the skids sink and held her breath in case the probing skids got caught up in the trees’ root systems and tossed the fragile aircraft around like a child’s toy. Dread paralysed her limbs. This was a nightmare!
Only slowly, so slowly, the skids settled on the swamp bed.
She couldn’t believe it!
Sandra’s eyes flew open. The chopper was bobbing on the surface of the swamp, the body surrounded by streams of bubbles. There was a gurgle of water somewhere but they were stable.
Eureka!
The aircraft gave a groan that was almost human. Daniel killed the engine. The beating rotors, main and tail, gradually stopped their thundering.
All was still.
Sandra couldn’t even turn to face him. Whole moments passed while her racing heartbeats slowed to normal. Then she turned to him whooping triumphantly, unaware her face was milk-white with shock. “Carson, you have to be the coolest cat on the planet!”
“Supernatural!” he agreed wryly, tasting blood on his bottom lip.
They hit an exultant high-five.
“Which reminds me, you idiot! You could have killed us.”
“I look on it more as a truly great save.” Daniel stared at the control panel. “The person I should really kill is whoever’s been tinkering with the chopper.”
“What are you saying?” She heard the shrill note in her voice.
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” Daniel backed off, removing his earphones and unbuckling his seat belt. “I have to get out and take a look. You stay here.”
The very idea made her break out in a sweat. “You didn’t think I was just going to jump in? There must be crocs in there.”
He shook his head almost casually. “The water around us isn’t deep. It’s already begun to subside. Nevertheless we could become waterlogged even supposing I can fix whatever problem we have. The good thing is we’re not far out of Darwin. Air Rescue will scramble another chopper in no time. I’ll send you back with them. You’ll have to be winched up. I’ll stay with the chopper until we can get it airborne.”
“So who’s going to pinch it around here?” She resorted to sarcasm, not wanting to let him out of her sight. “The crocs? And don’t tell me they’re not lurking out there in among the reeds because I happen to know differently. I was born in the Territory, remember?”
“The desert, sweetheart,” he jeered, not even aware in the stress of the moment he had called her that. “The Red Centre is completely different to the Top End. Desert and tropics, both in the Territory. Moondai might as well be a million miles away from the crocs.”
“And I couldn’t be happier about that,” she retorted. “But shouldn’t you stay put? You could come to a grim and gruesome end. I think I’d hate that.”
He merely shrugged. “You don’t happen to know how to handle a rifle?” He sounded extremely doubtful.
Sandra snorted. “Do I ever! My dad taught me how to handle a gun. I’m sure I remember. It’s like learning to ride a horse.”
Daniel studied her in amazement. “He must have started you off early?”
“Because I wanted to learn,” she replied tartly. “Bernie could shoot. I had to be able to shoot too in case he planned a little accident. Grandpop used to think becoming a good shot was character building. So what do you want me to do?’
He frowned. “I’m going to make a full circuit of the chopper. It’s a miracle we didn’t sustain any damage to the main rotor. We’re centimetres from the trees. What I want you to do, if you feel up to it, is cover me just in case we have a nosey visitor. Just don’t shoot me, okay? Want to have a run through first?’
She unbuckled her belt and stood up though her legs were still wobbly. “Might be an idea. Where’s the rifle?”
He moved to collect it from where it was stashed, broke it open to load it, snapped the action shut, then passed it to her. “Think you know what you’re doing?”
“I’d prefer a dirty great cannon,” she muttered, making her own checks and feeling it all coming back. “But I do know which end of this thing shoots.” She swung up the rifle and took aim through the chopper’s reinforced forward windshield. “If there really is a croc out there where do I shoot him? Right between the eyes? They’ve got tiny brains haven’t they?”
“I’ve never had the pleasure of finding out. Just don’t miss or it will come right after me.”
“Then me.” She slicked stray tendrils off her forehead. “I’m ready if you are.”
“Then let’s do it!’ he said.
He plunged straight down into the water which only a week before would have been over his head. “Fuselage appears to be unscathed,” he called to her eventually, his eyes scanning the waxed, glinting sides. “I want to check the shafts of the tail rotor. Keep your eyes peeled for ripples in the water.”
“Struth, what’s with you? Of course I will. We’re dinner otherwise. They’re there. I know they’re there.”
“Yeah? Well I’m the guy in the water.” Daniel moved about near soundlessly in the swamp stirring up the mud on the bed so the shining water turned dark and murky. Sandra followed him from one side of the helicopter to the othe
r, her keen young eyes focused on the surface.
“Skids are in a web of roots and vegetation,” he yelled to her. “That’s the danger. They’ll have to be cleared.”
“I bet there are leeches in there?” Her voice was level, her face pale but resolute.
“Too right. The little buggers are stuck to my legs.”
“Oh how vile! You can’t do anything, can you?” she called.
His voice came back to her sounding perfectly in control. “I’m going to use my old faithful Swiss Army knife. I have to clear that vegetation. Just cover me.”
She watched him plunge beneath the muddied waters coming up with coils of vines and gnarled roots that he tossed away across the swamp.
Only now could she smell the stomach-turning odour of mud and rotting vegetation. “Finish soon, Daniel,” she begged him. Her whole body was vibrating with tension and the rifle felt very heavy.
“Doing my best!” he grunted and plunged again.
A brilliant sun burned down on the small clearing, the paperbarks and pandanus standing all around like sentinels. Sandra had never felt so exposed in her life.
Hurry, hurry, Daniel.
She saw his sodden dark head decorated with trails of luminescent green slime emerge at the very moment she spotted thirty feet beyond him an arrowhead of ripples across the stagnant surface of the swamp. Then at the apex of the triangle nostrils and behind that twin blackish bulges about twenty-two to twenty-three centimetres apart.
Eyes, that glinted gold!
She was so panicked for a moment she felt she might pass out. It was coming at surprising speed for such a great cumbersome creature. It was surging towards the challenger in its territory ready to dismember it limb from limb and stash the feast for a week later.
Horror was as sharp as a drill. “Get out!” she yelled. “Daniel, get out. It’s a croc.”
His lean, muscular body shot out of the water, his strong arms lunging at the body of the helicopter towards the open cockpit, hauling himself up.
Sandra took aim down the sights of the handsome bolt action rifle which had been fitted with a small telescope to make distant targets appear closer. Her whole face was pinched tight with control while she waited for the precise moment the giant reptile’s brain, situated midway between the eyes, would be dead centre in her range. God help them if the action jammed!
Now!
She held her nerve. Her finger that had been holding steady on the trigger, squeezed … The butt plate kicked back into her shoulder as the firing pin struck the rear end of the cartridge.
The noise was deafening in the torrid, preternatural quiet of the swamp.
“I’ve killed it. I think I’ve killed it.” Her voice was ragged. There were runnels of sweat running down her face. “Did I?” she called to him for confirmation, “or did I just nick it?” Now the crisis was over she was shivering. “I should have had an M16.”
“Sorry, they belong to the armed forces.” Swamp water was streaming off him, as he stood within the chopper, his boots oozing mud. Leeches were feasting off him. “No worries, you got him all right,” he assured her. “Didn’t you see his yellow belly as he rolled?”
“Hell I’m good!” she congratulated herself. “I hope he’s not just playing dead? Maybe he wants both of us to think so until it’s time to make a leap into the cabin.”
He shook his head. “What do you want, a tooth for a trophy? You got him, Sandra. Good and proper. I would never have guessed you could shoot so well. You turned into Annie Oakley right before my eyes.”
She staggered away to sit down. “Who’s Annie Oakley anyway? One of your girlfriends?”
He moved to the edge of the doorway, beginning to remove the brown and black leeches with the help of his Swiss Army knife. “Hell, Ms Kingston, none of my girlfriends can shoot like you. You could give a lot of guys lessons. Annie Oakley, for your information, was a famous American markswoman. Supposedly Buffalo Bill’s girlfriend though I believe she married someone else.”
“Maybe it was a sore point she could shoot better. Uugh!” she shuddered, watching him remove the bloodsuckers with no show of revulsion. “How’s this for adventure? What are you going to do to top it?”
A lock of wet raven hair flopped over one eye. He tossed his head to dislodge it. “I could carry you on my shoulders across the swamp?”
“No thanks.”
“Changed your mind about going back with me?” She hugged herself, rocking back and forth. “What do you reckon went wrong?”
“Too early to say.” One leg was clear.
“You seemed pretty sure it was tinkering before?”
He kept silent, concentrating on the sickening task to hand.
“Do you mind answering?”
“Maybe I was a little too quick off the mark back there. The chopper will be checked out. Accidents happen all the time.”
“There’s nothing Uncle Lloyd and Bernie would like more than to see me dead,” she said.
And I’d be a bonus, Daniel thought.
CHAPTER THREE
SANDRA awoke with a start. She ached all over. That’s what happened when you had to be winched into a helicopter. She rolled over onto her back, throwing an arm across her eyes. She was in a hotel room back in Darwin, waiting for Daniel to make a reappearance. He had remained with Moondai’s downed chopper while Air Rescue had ferried her back to Darwin. She really ought to get up, take a shower, tidy herself up. Everyone had been very kind to her, smoothing her way. She knew people would have been just the same had she not been Rigby Kingston’s heiress.
It was night outside. Darwin throbbed with life but inside the hotel room all was quiet save for the hum of the air-conditioning. It was a very nice room; thickly carpeted, nicely furnished, the decor suited to the tropical environment, softly lit, a beautiful big waterlily print behind the bed. She slid her bare feet to the floor, sat a moment, then walked over to the corner window looking out. Floors below her, the city was all lit up. A big yellow bus crawled along the main street, taxis whizzed up and down, a couple was turning into the hotel’s entrance. Pedestrians crossed at the lights.
Where was Daniel? He seemed to stand alone as an ally. Their shared ordeal had established quite a bond, as such hair-raising incidents tend to do, although she’d been feeling quite kindly disposed towards him even before that. She knew he viewed her as a young person who needed looking after. A loner. An orphan. He seemed to identify with that. Her lack of height—she was five-two—had never helped. Actually she was very good at fending for herself. A result of having a mother like Pam who really loved her but somehow had never been able to demonstrate it as a parent should. Not that her mother hadn’t had her own harrowing time. Losing her husband the way she had, then being thrown out of Moondai had caused huge psychological trauma.
Her ever present memories began flashing through her brain again. She let them roll like a video clip. There was her mother lying on a bed, an arm thrown across her swollen, tear-streaked face. There was she, a bewildered, grief-stricken child, standing beside the bed, her hand on her mother’s shaking shoulder, trying to make sense of a world that had been turned violently upside down.
I loved your father, Sandy. Our marriage would have survived if only he’d come away with me from Moondai. Moondai killed him. Moondai and your uncle Lloyd.
Uncle Lloyd said I’m not Daddy’s. Is it true?
Would our marriage have survived if you weren’t? Of course you ‘re Daddy’s little girl. Your uncle would say anything—anything at all—to try to discredit me.
Then how come Grandad threw us out? How could he do that if I’m his granddaughter?
Her mother’s answer was always the same. His grief was too powerful, Sandy. In a way he started to believe your uncle. But never, never doubt. You are Daddy’s daughter. I swear to you on my life and his memory.
Well, her doubts had persisted. It was only years later she had learned to thrust them aside. That was after her mother had ma
rried Jem—the second guy didn’t count. Then she was truly on her own. She had never let her mother know what a sicko Jem really was. Her mother seemed happy with a man who liked to impose his will on everyone else, and now they had their son, her stepbrother, Michael, whom they both adored. Didn’t she love Michael herself? Spoilt rotten Michael, despite the bad parenting was a nice little kid. And she was now an heiress who could have anything she liked. That’s if she managed to survive the next six months. She would officially inherit on her twenty-first birthday in August. Her mother had interpreted that as Rigby Kingston trying to buy redemption.
How could her grandfather buy redemption when he hadn’t had a soul?
Twenty minutes later she was showered, shampooed and dressed to descend to the hotel restaurant. She had scrubbed up rather nicely she thought, splashing out on makeup, a pretty dress, and a couple of squirts of perfume to give Daniel Carson a bit of a jolt. She was a woman, not the coltish youngster he thought he had taken under his wing. That attitude had set her a challenge and she liked challenges. She liked Daniel. He had saved her life. How could she not?
So where was he? Surely he’d be back by now, whether they’d been able to restart the helicopter or not. One thing was certain, a team of sharpshooters couldn’t stick around in that swamp at night. It was crawling with crocs. A mechanic with the rescue team had been winched down to him. Maybe together they could get the chopper back in the air as they hadn’t run out of fuel. It had to be some mechanical defect.
The digital clock said 7:23 p.m. She was hungry. All she’d really had all day was hers and Daniel’s sandwiches and a cup of coffee. She was starting to worry about him. She didn’t want to go ahead and eat without him. Even as she thought it, the phone rang. She reached it at speed.
“Ms Kingston?”
Mysteriously her heart leapt. Was that significant? “Daniel, where are you?” She hoped she didn’t sound too needy. She wanted to project the weight of maturity.
“Keep calm. I’m down the hallway. Isn’t that what you wanted? Your overseer close by.”
