The Amazing Spencer Gray

by Deb Fitzpatrick

  ‘Argh!’ he yelled, grabbing it angrily with his hand. Pain seared into his palm immediately. ‘Argh, get off!’ he half-screamed.

  He looked around. This stuff was everywhere: in front of him and to either side. Psycho Thorny Forest! How far did it go for? Surely not the rest of the way down? He just had to keep going and hope things improved. But how to protect his face and hair?

  Spencer reached behind his neck and was never so happy to find a hood on a jacket. He pulled it up over his head and tightened the strings around his chin. Not a good look but Charlie and Leon weren’t here to give him heaps. He made sure his ears were covered, and tucked in his hair. He looked down at the rest of his body. He zipped his jacket full up. Then he bent down and pulled his socks up and tucked the end of his pants into them. Again, a look of total dagitude, but he’d survive the embarrassment out here, he reckoned. The only exposed bit of him remaining was his hands. He shoved them into his pockets, bent his head down, and prepared to barge though that spiky forest like a bull through a fence.

  Lead from the front, Spencer Gray! From the front!

  37

  By the time he got through the Psycho Thorny Forest—and it took a while—Spencer had rips in his pants and scratches on his face. He’d even turned around and gone backwards at one point, where the bush was tight and high, his face tucked down like a rugby player’s to avoid injury.

  And then he emerged. The thorny scrub stopped as suddenly as it had begun, and Spencer looked out for the first time over the patchwork paddocks of farms below.

  ‘The cloud’s gone,’ he said aloud, surprised.

  He turned back to see how far he’d come. The cloud was still up there, like a cold doughnut. He imagined the Drifter just below it, catching the rain, the greyness. Dad inside.

  And the thought of Dad, all the way up there on his own in the wrecked glider—and the distance between them and the distance Spencer still had to cover to get help—was too much for him all of a sudden. He stood there and tears came hotly, and he couldn’t stop it.

  ‘Stop crying!’ he said out loud, trying to sound firm. But the sound of his voice out there made it worse, and he just had to blubber for a bit.

  After a while, having got some of it out, Spencer took some shuddery breaths and wiped his face.

  In the distance, he heard the arrrrr of crows. His crows, he wondered?

  ‘Don’t stop now, Spence,’ he muttered. ‘Don’t stop now.’

  He lifted his head. There was still no track to follow, but at least there wasn’t a psycho forest to bush-bash through. And there, beyond the paddocks, Spencer could finally see what he’d been aiming for all this time: a black snake of bitumen, winding around the base of the ranges. He took in a long slow beautiful breath, and felt it fill his lungs.

  Spencer jogged across the rocky scrubby ground, slowing only for a couple of really steep sections. He slid down one long slope on his bum. If only he’d had his skateboard, minus the wheels! That’d be a sandboard, Spence, he almost heard Leon say sarcastically. He passed through more phases of the bush, was amazed by the different plants that grew on the mountain. The angle of the ground eased the further he went and, when he reckoned he was within cooee of the road, he looked at his watch. 8.50. A bit later than he’d hoped, but not bad. Not bad at all. There was even a bit of sun washing over him as he arrived. Spencer nearly cried again as he stepped onto the hardness of the road. It felt strange underfoot, like when you got off a trampoline after a long time, or a boat. His knees shook crazily.

  He was safe now, he knew that.

  But as that feeling settled gently upon him, the need to help Dad rose up, like sudden nausea. Spencer took his water bottle from his jacket pocket, had a big slug. He put it back, and started jogging along the road towards help.

  38

  Nearly half an hour had passed with Spencer switching between running, jogging and walking in the middle of that road. Not a single car had passed. So many paddocks, yet no houses. None. Where were the farmers? Where did they live?

  Spencer thought about the fact that he was on a sort of ring-road, and he had no idea if, when he’d turned left onto it, that was the quicker route to the caravan park. He might have been five minutes from the place for all he knew, if only he’d turned right! He couldn’t get lost at this point, he thought, and laughed out loud, slightly uneasily. What if you had that memory disease Reg’s wife had, Alzheimer’s? He imagined having no idea what he was doing, why he was there, which was the way home.

  He looked at his watch. Focus, Spence. Stop thinking rubbish. He’d been going in this direction for thirty minutes. He couldn’t turn back now. He had to stick with it, as Mum would say. Stick it out. The caravan park might be just around the corner.

  Nearly 9.30am. Where’d that chopper go? He ground his teeth, imagining they’d found the crash site and that paramedics were helping Dad at that very moment.

  Then he imagined the opposite happening: the chopper flying over the crash site, and not seeing it. And flying on. Leaving Dad, all alone.

  In panic, Spencer walked and ran and walked and ran. Eventually, he could only walk, jelly-legged.

  39

  There was noise, like a road train coming, and then a full-on willy-willy in the street. Spencer was confused; he saw a police car with blue lights swirling coming towards him— finally!—but the noise was coming from somewhere else. He felt dizzy, his legs like lacky bands. A helicopter swooped low above him, then circled back widely and hovered off to one side, blowing a field of dirt around; Spencer could see a man in reflective clothing, wearing a headset, sitting in the chopper’s open door. He waved to Spencer and pointed with his whole arm at the police car.

  ‘Did you find my dad?!’ Spencer yelled at him.

  The man shook his head with emphasis and put his hands up to his ears at the same time. Spencer realised he couldn’t hear a word he said, no matter how loud he shouted.

  ‘Hello!’ shouted the policeman to him, jogging over. His car was on the verge, driver door open, lights spinning disco blue. The two of them stood there and watched as the chopper lowered itself into the paddock like a chicken onto her eggs. When the rotors had stopped whupp-whupp-whupping, the policeman said, ‘Now you wouldn’t happen to be one_____’ he double-checked his notebook, ‘_____Spencer Gray, would you?’

  Spencer looked anxiously up the mountain. ‘My dad—he’s up there, with the Drifter, our glider—it crashed and he’s hurt—he’s bleeding from his head—and he’s up there on his own_____’

  ‘Whoa, son, slow down, slow down. We know about your dad, don’t worry. The search and rescue chopper found him an hour ago. He’s being looked after now by an emergency doctor at the crash site.’

  ‘What’s the helicopter doing here then?’ Spencer said, watching the dust settle around the Bell, and a bloke climbing out of it.

  ‘It couldn’t land up there on the side of the Bluff—there was nowhere safe for it to settle. William Chadwick, the farmer here, has given us permission to land on his property.’ He indicated with a nod to a paddock just off the road. It was flat enough for a helicopter to land, as flat as a pancake. Next to it, Bluff Knoll looked like a volcano.

  ‘The SAR chopper will wait here while the paramedics stabilise your dad and prepare him to be moved.’

  ‘SAR?’

  ‘Search and rescue. Sorry. When the boys radio through, Dan will fly back and winch them all up, then he’ll fly straight to the Southern Districts Hospital.’

  Spencer was finding it confusing; he couldn’t seem to get all the details straight.

  ‘But ... why is it taking so long? Shouldn’t they just get him out and take him straight to hospital?’

  Sergeant Covich assessed Spencer before he answered. ‘It’s taking the fellas a while to get your dad safely out of the wreckage ... they need to get him onto a stretcher in case he’s got any spinal injuries. It’s very cramped, apparently. They’re using some gear to cut him out. He’s ... sustai
ned a few injuries. And the crash site’s hampering things, by all accounts.’

  Spencer swayed on his feet.

  The sergeant reached out, supported him by the elbow. ‘You all right there, son? You’ve made it a long way on your own for a young bloke.’ He helped him over to the car and opened the back door. ‘Just sit down and catch your breath now.’ He reached for the two-way. ‘The team at the station are gunna be very happy to hear you’re safe and sound. There’s been a lot of people worrying about you. You are Spencer, aren’t you?’

  Spencer nodded vaguely. He tried to listen to the policeman, to concentrate on what he was saying, but he was fading fast.

  ‘Covich here from Southern Districts Police Station: I need an ambulance to the Chadwick farm on Stirling Road.’

  Spencer wasn’t really there, was he, in a police car on the side of a road next to Bluff Knoll? Next to a search-and-rescue helicopter? Was he? Somebody wrapped a crinkly silver emergency blanket around his shoulders and handed him a bottle of water. Spring water. It had a picture of a beautiful mountain on the label.

  Spencer grinned thinly at the picture before twisting open the bottle.

  He barely had the strength to crack the seal.

  40

  Mum and Pippa were in the car, bulleting towards the hospital. Mum broke out in a hot sweat as she replayed in her head—again—the moment when she, Pippa and Reg, huddled around the radio in the hangar, heard that the Drifter had been found, when a voice blurted from the two-way.

  ‘Bell Rescue to Skippers Cove. Come in Skippers.’

  ‘Copy, Bell Rescue, over.’

  ‘We’ve located the crash site, Reg. Repeat: We have located the site of the crash.’

  As if it were a news-bite on the radio, about another family, someone else’s child, Mum heard the pilot say his position coordinates.

  Reg swallowed. ‘Roger, Bell Rescue. Any sign of_____’

  ‘Just winching Rich down now to check it out. It’s the glider. It’s belly up, Reg. I’ll radio again shortly. Out.’

  Oh. And then the longest wait.

  And then Rory found—injured, but alive. But no Spencer. No Spencer. No Spencer. No Spencer.

  Not for another horrible hour did they find their Spencer.

  Mum willed the car to spirit them there, rather than this interminable, slow-motion torture. She needed to get to Spencer.

  41

  ‘Just putting the drip in now, Spencer,’ the nurse said to his closed eyes. ‘A bit of a sting coming up.’

  Spencer didn’t care what they did to him. All he cared about was how unbelievably comfortable and warm he finally was. Whoever said that being in hospital sucked?

  ‘Is Mum coming?’

  ‘She’s on her way. She was waiting at the airstrip but the police told her to meet you here.’

  ‘Is ... my dad okay?’ he said to the nurse. ‘He was in the plane—I had to leave him.’

  He felt a hand on his. ‘I don’t know. He hasn’t arrived yet. Your mum will know more. How are you feeling?’

  ‘Good,’ he croaked.

  ‘We’ll treat those scratches of yours in a moment, get them cleaned up.’

  Spencer opened his eyes a slit. She was inspecting his face. ‘They’re fine—really. Just scratches!’ he laughed, and once he’d started, he chortled on and on like someone had told him a great joke.

  She smiled gently. ‘You’re exhausted, Spencer.’

  His face hurt. Smiling really hurt the scratches. He felt slightly mad. Tears surged into his eyes as suddenly as the laughter had come. They flowed out and down and the saltiness stung the cuts in his skin.

  ‘Owww,’ he moaned, crying wetly.

  ‘You’re all right,’ she said quietly, sitting on the edge of his bed. ‘You’re all right, now, Spencer. Everything’s going to be all right.’

  Spencer must have been asleep when Mum and Pippa arrived. He woke to the special, familiar voices, but could barely prise open his gluey lids.

  His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke, like he’d been shouting for the last couple of days.

  ‘Mu-um?’

  ‘I’m here, Spence,’ she said, reaching for his arm and holding it with both hands.

  ‘Spence!’ Pippa said. ‘You’re in hospital!’

  He laughed weakly. ‘I know, Pips.’

  ‘Are you okay?’ she asked. ‘You walked the whole way down Bluff Knoll, Spence, on your own.’

  Spencer said, ‘How’s Dad? Is he here? Is he okay?’

  Mum was rubbing his arm over and over. He could barely look at her, because she was trying hard not to cry, and Mum didn’t cry very often.

  ‘Mum? How is he? Have they got him down? Mum?’

  She nodded, whispering, ‘He’s—okay.’ Her tears came, finally, and then just rolled and rolled down her cheeks. ‘He’s having some X-rays done_____’

  ‘His head. At the back, there’s a hole—a big gash, Mum. It bled a lot ... I didn’t know what to do.’

  ‘Don’t worry, they’re working on it. He might end up with a bit of a dent in his head there, apparently.’

  ‘I saw blood in his hair but I didn’t check it straight away because of The Leg_____’

  ‘The leg?’

  ‘The Leg. The Knee. It looked horrible. And it totally distracted me. Is it broken?’

  ‘Oh, yes, I see, yes, his knee is broken in several places. He’ll have to have surgery on it. But they need to rehydrate him and just generally stabilise him before they can operate.’

  ‘I tried to give him water, Mum, but he was unconscious, so I could only sort of smear it on his lips_____’

  She looked at him and wiped her eyes. ‘You poor thing.’ She shook her head and tried to gather herself. ‘I’m so sorry you’ve had to go through this, Spencer. What you did, how you managed_____’

  ‘I’m all right, Mum,’ he said, giving her an encouraging grin. ‘See? Just a couple of scratches.’

  She smiled but looked like she might burst into tears again.

  ‘Mum,’ Pippa said, rubbing her back. ‘Mum, it’s okay: they’re both safe.’

  Dad was okay. He was okay. Once he knew, Spencer couldn’t fight the exhaustion. The pillow cradled his head, and his body sank heavily into the mattress.

  Mum and Pippa hugged tightly, sitting on the edge of Spencer’s hospital bed, and watched him as his eyes closed.

  42

  Spencer stood at the top of a mountain—an icy mountain, like you’d see on the Discovery Channel. He was at the summit of it on his skateboard, waiting to start the long journey down. At the bottom were Mum and Leon. Mum was waiting to take him to the hospital to see Dad, who was in a coma and hadn’t shown signs of life since the Drifter had crashed; Spencer had been the one flying.

  Leon was waiting for him because Spencer had the keys to his house, and his mum was locked out again. Spencer peered down the icy slope. He did not want to go down there—not on a skateboard; not on his hands and knees; not by any method.

  Above him silently hovered the Millennium Falcon. It was trying to land—it was there to help him. But there was no room for it. He would have to send it away. The summit was a one-person rock, and everything else was sheer up to it.

  Down there, they all needed him. This was the only way down. He had to do it.

  Spencer woke, his sheets wet and cold with sweat, his body slick and raging hot.

  43

  Spencer had two weeks off school. Doctor’s orders. She said his body and mind needed to rest and recover. She asked him if he wanted to talk to someone—‘a professional’—about what had happened, but he shook his head and mumbled, ‘Nah, no thanks.’ He thought of the mind-bending dreams he’d been having, but reckoned that was probably normal, even if they were awful. He wasn’t having them every night, just occasionally. He could live with that. They were alive, weren’t they?

  Dad was in hospital for nearly three weeks. His leg was pretty badly crunched up. He had a long operation and came o
ut a bit like C-3PO he said, with metal rods in him where there used to be bone.

  Each visit, Pippa would bring a couple of her latest batch of cupcakes for Dad to try, and Spencer would bring the newspaper. One day when they rocked up, the physiotherapist was there, getting Dad to walk with a frame in front of him, like old people did.

  ‘That’s it, easy now, just a little bit of weight on that leg, Doctor Gray, not too much now...’

  Dad’s face was white with pain after those first steps. Spencer had to stop himself from going over and grabbing his arm to help.

  ‘That’s good, very good,’ the physiotherapist murmured. ‘Just one more step on each leg, and then you can have a break.’

  Sinking down on the edge of his bed again, Dad let out a slow, relieved groan.

  ‘You did well, Doctor Gray. It will get easier; today will be the hardest. But you’re going to have to work at it every day to get that movement back.’

  ‘So there’s no chance I can get out of here early, then?’

  ‘Early discharge?!’ She laughed. ‘Not a hope,’ she said, shaking her head as she wrote in the clipboard at the end of his bed. ‘You doctors—you’re the worst!’

  44

  ‘It might come back to bite, you know,’ the doctor said to Spencer on the morning he was discharged. ‘Traumatic events do have a habit of doing that. You just keep it in mind, okay, Spencer? Keep this,’—she handed him a letter—‘and give it to your mum if you want to talk to someone. If you start to worry about anything, or if you feel your head’s getting, you know, messy. Often it just takes one or two appointments to sort this kind of thing out.’

  Spencer reckoned if anyone needed to talk to a professional it was Mum. She had been bristly with Dad since the accident, and she kept bursting into tears for no reason. Dad would go to her, put his arm around her, but that seemed to make it worse.