by Des Hunt
‘Here! We’ll use this,’ said the man from right behind me.
He’d brought his fishing rod along with him. One of those big surf-casting ones. As he ran, he pulled a knife off his belt and cut off the hooks.
He pushed it towards me. ‘Hold it while I tie the two parts together.’
For a time we walked as he fed the line through the eyelets and tied them in place.
‘That should do it,’ he said, taking control of the rod again. ‘We need to get in front of them.’
Afi was now within ten metres of us, but there must have been some back-current coming off the bank, for he was no longer getting closer.
The man had moved alongside me. ‘You go into the water with the rod,’ he said. ‘I’ll hold on to you. Maybe it will reach.’
We ran for a bit longer, until we were well in front of Afi. With the rod in one hand and the man gripping the other, I lowered myself into the water. It was cold and deep. Immediately I was out of my depth. But the man’s hold was strong, so I stretched the rod out towards Afi who was frantically trying to get close enough to grab it.
He was still too far out. He began drifting past. Then the water foamed behind him as he kicked his feet furiously. He stretched out his swimming arm and somehow got some fingers around the end eyelet. It was enough.
‘Pull!’ said the man.
I pulled. So did he. And with Afi still kicking, he and Dean moved slowly towards the edge.
The man hauled me ashore. Afi and Dean drifted around in an arc at the end of the rod, making it to the bank a little downstream from us. The woman grabbed hold of Dean as Afi collapsed on the sand.
She pulled Dean up the bank and went to turn him on his side.
He screamed.
I’ve not heard another scream like that. It was not just the sound, which was a mix of gurgling and crying. It was also proof of life. Enough life to feel pain and communicate it to others.
The woman stopped and examined him for a moment, before rolling him the other way. This time there was only a groan.
When I knelt alongside, I saw what the problem was: a large hole had burnt through his sweatshirt where it had covered his thigh. Beneath it the T-shirt and jeans had also burnt, although not quite as much. A round patch of raw skin could be seen through the gap.
‘Don’t touch it,’ said the woman.
‘Should we put water on it?’ I asked.
‘We’ll wait for the professionals,’ she replied, nodding towards the houses.
It was only then that I heard a siren sounding quite close, and moving closer by the second.
The woman was talking reassuringly to Dean, telling him that help was nearby. The man was doing the same to Afi.
‘Is he all right?’ I asked.
Afi’s head turned to me. ‘I’m all right,’ he said. ‘How’s Dean?’
‘Alive. He’s got a burn on the side.’
Afi nodded. ‘That must be from where the box was burning.’
The siren now seemed to be right above us. I looked up the bank and saw a large quad bike carrying two firemen in yellow suits. The siren died with a moan, and in a few seconds the firemen were amongst us. One went straight to Dean. The other first checked Afi, and then me. He took one look at our wet clothes and fished into his kit. A short time later, each of us was wrapped in an aluminium blanket.
Looking after Dean took longer, but soon he too was wrapped up. I’d heard him talking, but hadn’t been close enough to hear what he said. I didn’t need to. After all that had happened, just the sound of his voice was wonderful enough.
A fireman went up to the quad and spoke into a radio. The reply sounded like somebody gargling, but it must have made sense to him, because he came back down and told us the helicopter would be there in fifteen minutes.
‘Lie down and relax,’ he said. ‘Have you had a helicopter ride before?’
None of us had.
‘Well, this is going to be your first. Although I must say there are a lot easier ways to organize one.’
Chapter 29
As it turned out, only Dean and Afi were taken off in the helicopter. I was examined at the scene, and, as I showed no signs of hypo thermia, was taken back to the bach to recover. There, I promptly fell asleep. I guess the sleepless night and the tension of the morning finally caught up with me. I can’t remember if I dreamed or not. Although I’m sure that if I did, they would not have been pleasant ones.
It was dark when I woke up — I’d slept for seven hours. And a lot had happened while I’d been out to it.
First up, when I entered the lounge I found myself surrounded by women: Nana, Aimee and Cleo, along with June and Bee Redfern. After they’d asked how I was and made all the right soothing comments, it was my turn to ask some questions.
‘Where’s Tiresa?’
Nana seemed to be the designated spokeswoman. ‘Matt came and picked her up to take her into Auckland Hospital. That’s where Dean and Afi are.’
I took that in. ‘So where are Mum and Dad?’
‘They are either at the airport or at the hospital,’ said Nana. ‘They were meeting Dean’s parents, I don’t know the arrival time.’
‘Both parents?’
Nana smiled. ‘Both parents. There’s nothing like an emergency to bring families closer together.’
‘How’s Dean?’
‘He has a nasty burn on one side. Apart from that there’s mild hypo thermia.’
‘And Afi?’
‘Just the hypo thermia. He’ll be fine in the morning.’
I nodded.
During this June and Bee had sat to one side, watching but not speaking. I wanted to know what had happened to Harry and Hotchkins, but didn’t know what June’s reaction would be. Was it insensitive to talk about her son and the police?
Nana had no such qualms. ‘And in case you’re wondering, the other two have been arrested and are in cells at Pukekohe police station.’
‘And Carl,’ added June Redfern. ‘He’s in there, too.’
‘Was Brett Hotchkins injured?’ I asked.
Bee’s eyes went wide. ‘Why?’ she asked. ‘Did you hit him or something?’
‘I ran over his legs with the quad bike.’
She grinned wickedly. ‘Yesss! I hope you broke both of them.’
June said, ‘I don’t think he can be badly injured or he wouldn’t be at the police station.’
‘Pity,’ said Bee. ‘I want that animal to be hurt.’
‘Oh, he’ll be hurt, all right,’ said June with feeling. ‘I can’t imagine him getting through a prison sentence without upsetting others. They’ll hurt him.’
‘Is there enough evidence?’ asked Nana.
For a moment June laughed wildly. ‘Enough evidence? He might not have made the drugs in the house, but he stored all the ingredients there. There’s enough stuff to start a chemist’s shop.’ A pause. ‘The mongrel!’
Then she started to cry. Immediately, Bee was hugging her. ‘It’s all right, Mum. It’s over now. He won’t hurt us ever again. None of them will.’
Nana moved over and put her hand on the woman’s shoulder, offering her some tissues.
While that was being sorted, Aimee turned to me. ‘Did you have anything to do with making that bomb?’
‘No! Dean did it by himself.’
‘Was anything stolen?’
Again, I said no.
‘Good. Because the police rang. You have an appointment with them in Manukau at ten in the morning. They’ll want the truth.’
‘They’ll get it,’ I mumbled to myself. ‘And hopefully this time they’ll believe it.’
My first task the next morning was to pack Dean’s bag. He was going home.
News had come through that he was being released from hospital before lunchtime. The burn would require re-dressing each day, but that could be done at any medical centre whether it was in Auckland or Wollongong. His parents chose Wollongong — they wanted to take him home. The flight left mid-
afternoon.
Dean never had been a tidy person, and in just a few days he had managed to deposit his gear throughout the caravan. I figured the best way to repack the bag was to empty everything out and start again. Near the bottom, I found the two wooden boxes he had bought for his parents. The ones I had accused him of stealing. I quickly put them to one side, not wanting to re-live one of my most regrettable moments.
Then, when I fished deeper, I found the steel pelican ornament he’d promised to give me weeks before. It was identical to the one I’d seen during the Skype session. Except holding it in my hand was vastly different to seeing it on a screen. It really was a fine piece of work; expensive, I would say. But it was not its quality that caused me to sit down and cradle it in my hands. It was what it stood for.
That’s when the bottled-up emotions of the last few days spilled over. Hope, fear, anger … They were all there. And with them the memories of things Dean and I had done together. But overriding everything were the events of the previous day, when I had come so close to losing both of my friends in the most permanent way there can be.
Eventually I recovered and got on with the job. But I packed that bag with a lot more thought and care than I would have if I’d not found that steel pelican.
The interview with the police went OK. Nana was there, representing my family. The detective already knew most of the stuff from talking with Afi and Dean. The only thing I could add was some extra background on Brett Hotchkins and the things he did at school.
Towards the end came the lecture about taking things into our own hands and the danger we’d created; how we should have taken our information straight to the police —
‘Hold on!’ interrupted Nana. She turned to me. ‘Didn’t Matt tell someone?’
‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘A policeman called Mike Sommerville out at Pukekohe.’
The detective pricked up his ears. ‘When was this?’
I quickly worked it out. ‘Five weeks back. He said that the information would be entered onto the police computer, but they could do nothing until they received further information.’
The detective started writing. ‘What exactly did you tell him?’
‘Just the stuff I told you. About how they were bringing boxes of cigarettes ashore.’
He nodded. ‘I’ll look into it.’
After that, there was no more lecture and we were allowed to leave.
All three families met for lunch at the airport. David Steele had made a booking in a flash lounge reserved for first-class travellers. He said it was his shout as a thank you for ‘everything’, a word that included a lot more than having Dean stay for ten days.
The Steeles seemed to be getting on with each other OK, both giving Dean much more attention than I’d ever seen before.
Mum and Dad appeared pretty relaxed about the situation. It had been a bit emotional when Nana and I had first arrived at the airport, but they quickly got over that.
At first, Tiresa and Matt seemed overawed by the situation. However, after Nana told one of her stories, everyone relaxed and began enjoying themselves.
Us younger ones thought the place was great. There was food and drinks wherever you looked. Aimee and Cleo celebrated the end of their holiday with fancy cocktails that looked more like a work of art than a drink. Dean, Afi and I were able to sit at a table by ourselves, where we quickly got stuck into the food.
Despite the obvious pain from his burn, Dean was in good form. He wanted to know everything about the explosion.
‘Which one?’ I asked.
‘Both,’ he replied. ‘I knew the first one had gone off, but it didn’t sound very loud.’
‘It was a bit of a fizzer,’ I said.
He nodded. ‘I was worried about that. The gunpowder felt damp. That’s why I used extra.’
‘It was enough to blow up the lid and break the window,’ said Afi. ‘If that hadn’t happened, then the lab wouldn’t have blown.’
Dean gave a wicked smile. ‘What was that like?’
We told him.
‘Cool!’
Dean then went on to describe the events from his point of view. As restricted as he was in the box, he seemed to have a good idea of what had happened. He knew we were there on the quad bike and that we were going over the sand dunes. He’d heard us calling out to Hotchkins.
‘It must have been scary when you went into the water,’ I said.
He gave me a sharp look. ‘Yes, Pelly — it was scary. The whole lot was scary.’ A pause. ‘But the water wasn’t the scariest part. It put out the fire, which was a relief. And there was air trapped in the box for a while.’ He gave a bit of a shrug. ‘It’s funny — I always thought I’d get out. I don’t know why, but I did.’
‘So what was the scariest part?’
He thought about that. ‘Earlier, when the box caught fire. At first I just felt this hot patch on my side. Then I could smell my clothes burning. That was terrifying. But when I started smelling burning plastic, I freaked out. I thought it was the duct tape around the bomb. I could feel the thing sitting against my back. I was sure it was going to blow and take me with it.’
We were quiet for a while before Afi asked, ‘Will you make bombs again?’
Dean shook his head without hesitation. ‘No, man! That’s it! No more bombs.’ Then he smiled. ‘I’ll just have to find some other ways to get my excitement, won’t I?’
After that our conversation moved on to happier things.
Later, when we were making our farewells outside the departures gate, Dean pulled Afi and me to one side.
‘Thanks,’ he said, looking at the floor. ‘That was some rescue you guys pulled off. I need to thank you for it. If you hadn’t been there, then …’ He flicked us each a glance. ‘Well … you know.’
‘It was Afi,’ I said. ‘He did the hard stuff.’
‘Yeah. I know.’ Some more staring at the ground. ‘Look, I haven’t had a chance to go shopping, but I do have something here.’ He bent over and unzipped his carry-on bag. However, instead of taking something out, he straightened and looked me in the eye. ‘I bought it for you, Pelly. But things have changed. I want to give it to Afi.’
I nodded, knowing what was coming.
He leant down again and this time brought out the steel pelican.
‘For you, Afi,’ he said. ‘Thank you.’
Afi took it in both hands and gave a little bow. ‘Thank you.’
After a moment of silence, Dean gave a nervous laugh. ‘Whew,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t sure I could do that.’ He turned to me. ‘You don’t mind?’
I shook my head. ‘Afi deserves it more than me.’
‘Good!’ said Dean, his mouth now stretching into a grin. ‘Because I’ve got something else in mind for you. But it’ll have to wait until I’m over here next.’
He shouldered his bag and thrust out his hand. ‘See you, Pelly.’ We shook. ‘See you, Afi.’ They did the same.
Then he was gone, marching through the gate and disappearing without a wave or even a backwards glance.
Epilogue
As you might have gathered, all that was some time ago — four years ago, to be precise. Much has happened since then, most of it to do with growing up, but some with links to this story.
Afi and I are now in our last year at Franklin Collegiate, where Afi is the first day-boy to become a prefect. For various reasons, I didn’t get that honour; the main one being that I’m publisher, editor and chief reporter of the school newspaper — The FC Advocate.
There was no newspaper when Afi and I started at the school. They had a yearbook, but nothing that allowed students to have their say. I got the idea from an interview I had with a local reporter shortly after the P-lab explosion. During the interview she asked why we hadn’t gone to the police as soon as we knew about the smuggling. I told her we had, and gave her Mike Sommerville’s name. The reporter followed up on that and turned it into a big story that made the national papers.
I then
realized that if we’d gone to the newspaper right from the start, Hotchkins could have been stopped before things got as bad as they did — newspapers often have more power than authorities do. After talking with my English teacher, we came up with the idea of starting our own paper. The first effort was a single A4 sheet about prefects abusing their power. From there we have grown to an eight-page folded A3 with advertising, which comes out at the end of each term. Not all the staff like what we publish, but they do take note of what we say. Franklin Collegiate is now a much friendlier place to go to school, especially if you’re a Year Nine day-boy.
We cover anything that can be linked back to the school. For example, we covered the trial of Brett Hotchkins even though he hadn’t been at school for more than a year. That was not a good time for Franklin Collegiate. All except one of the chemicals used to make the methamphetamine had been bought by the school. The exception was pseudoephedrine, a substance found in some flu tablets. These, along with cigarettes, had been smuggled into the country by several yachts, none of which was ever traced. While the school was unaware that its chemicals were being used to make drugs, this didn’t stop them from getting the blame. Headlines such as:
Exclusive school funds P lab
appeared in newspapers both here and overseas.
Hotchkins was sentenced to four years’ imprisonment. The maximum penalty is life, so I think he got off lightly. Harry and Carl got longer because of previous convictions — long enough for them to be still in prison. It’s also been long enough for June and Bee to make a new start; last thing I heard they were living in Napier.
The FC Advocate is not all serious stuff — we have fun stories as well. One in the latest issue was about Pato, the male paradise duck that Harry and Hotchkins had tried to kill. After four years of quonk-ing for a mate, he finally got a queek in reply. Afi — our chief photographer — got a great photo of Pato and his new partner getting to know each other. I gave the story front page, knowing that a photo of double-decker ducks would be much appreciated by our readers.
