Watcher's Web

by Patty Jansen

  “Don’t you think I’d have checked that?”

  He flicked the lighter again and again, sweat sheening his arms. It was probably not such a good idea to needle him so much. She could almost feel his anger.

  “It doesn’t really matter. I mean—do we really need a fire? It’s not cold.”

  He turned around, glaring at her. He took a deep breath, held it for a second or two before letting it out again. “Look, girl, why don’t you attend to the others?”

  “My name is Jessica, not girl.”

  He gave her a withering look.

  Jessica sat down next to the pilot under the tarpaulin, glaring at Brian’s back. All right, so he didn’t want to be helped. Well, fuck him.

  She pulled her knees up under her chin.

  “Are you all right?” came the pilot’s whisper.

  “Yes, it’s just . . .” She shrugged.

  “He’s a bit odd, isn’t he?”

  “Yeah.” She was glad the pilot volunteered.

  “Do you know him?”

  “No.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Oh. I thought you did. You know he’s the only reason we waited for you at the airport?”

  “He is?” Her heart jumped.

  “He told me he’d be happy to wait when I said there was another passenger coming.”

  A chill crept over her back. This guy kept staring at her. He made no effort to introduce himself, but picked up on peculiarities of hers that no one noticed—and yet seemed to gloss over the most obvious ones. Between that and the accident and the mysterious message on her phone . . . It couldn’t all be a coincidence, or could it? Or was she being overly suspicious? Heaven knew she’d had plenty of reason for that.

  No, her imagination was running away with her. She had never met anyone who knew about the mist. Why would she be sharing a plane with one?

  In all likelihood, she would have asked the pilot to wait, too, knowing how hard it was to find alternative transport in the country. But somehow he didn’t feel like the kind of person who would have that much concern for other people.

  “I’m beginning to wish I missed the flight,” she said.

  “You’re not the only one. I was rostered on a different flight and took this one only so that I could go to my brother’s birthday tomorrow.”

  “I’m—ouch!” Something pricked the skin just above her sock. Something black, soft and slimy, like a slug. She swiped at it, flicking it into the bushes. “Yuk, these things bite.”

  “What is it?”

  “Some kind of black slug. Look there, on your shoe.”

  He pulled his foot closer to see. His face twisted into a disgusted mask and he flicked the creature off. “Great, leeches.”

  It wasn’t a leech, she had seen plenty of those on last year’s school kayaking camp, but Jessica wasn’t going to argue about it. Blood-sucking slugs were the last thing she felt like dealing with. She pulled her socks up as far as they would go and stuffed the hems of her trouser legs in them. From the sound of shifting leaves, she gathered Martin was doing the same.

  A bit later, Brian joined them. He sank down in the leaf litter and heaved a great angry sigh. The pile of sticks lay like a large dark mole hill. No one spoke.

  They sat in the advancing night, sharing drinks from Martin’s water bottle, while drops of water plocked on the tarpaulin. Every now and then, Brian would get up to check on the businessman, but he never said anything when he came back and Jessica never asked. She knew the news couldn’t be good.

  Martin fell into some kind of fevered sleep. He mumbled and tossed and turned, every now and then letting out snorting snores that made Jessica sit up straight and strain her ears. When would the rescue team come?

  The night drowned in shrills and cries and buzzes. Wings fluttered close to her face and tickling creatures ran up her legs under her trousers. Some time later, a breeze picked up and blew away the veils of mist. Gnarled black shapes materialised: the trunks of enormous trees covered in growths so they looked like yetis with arms stretched towards the sky. Mossy boulders dotted the hillside like marbles thrown by a giant hand. A patch of moonlight travelled across the treetops, showing the canopy above.

  “The mist is lifting,” Brian grumbled and after the long silence his voice sounded loud. It was very deep, and rumbled in his chest. “That means tomorrow the search party will have no trouble finding us.”

  Oh, she hoped so. He creeped her out. Seriously.

  More drops of water fell on the tarpaulin; strange noises drifted from somewhere far off. Jessica scratched exposed skin at every itch. Carnivorous slugs. Furry trees. In all the time since the crash, she had not heard a single familiar bird call. The trees, with their covering of ferny plants and large branches so close to the ground, did not look familiar either. On kayaking trips with school, she had traversed rainforest gullies full of tree ferns and giant gum trees with white trunks like graceful nymphs, where the sound of whipbirds and the laughter of kookaburras rang in the forest. Here, there were none of those familiar things. Just where had they landed?

  “You have a sleep,” Brian said after a while. “I’ll keep watch and wake you when I hear something.”

  Jessica was not tired in the least, but she lay down anyway. Her thoughts went around in circles. Maybe she was silly, but she didn’t trust him. He was weird and made her nervous.

  She couldn’t stop scratching herself, checking her skin for the horrid black creatures. Every now and then, she held her breath for as long as she could, listening for the sounds of the forest, as if the slugs made a hungry sucking noise. Then she would remember the crash, the frightening sensation of falling, and she would try to piece together how it could be that the day had passed so quickly. Nothing made sense. Then she would drift off, only to be jolted by a grunt or a snort from Martin. And remember that she wanted to stay awake. And find herself covered in sweat. She would look up to see Brian’s silhouette sitting there, staring into the dark. But somehow, sleep managed to claim her.

  4

  “GIRL, WAKE UP!” Someone shook Jessica’s leg.

  “Huh—what?”

  She pushed herself up, seeing nothing but pitch darkness. The scent of musty air. Her hands clawed in leaf litter.

  What the hell . . .

  Then it came back to her. The crash, the forest.

  “Someone’s coming,” Brian said. Leaves rustled as he jumped to his feet. He whistled so loudly her ears hurt. “We’re here!”

  Footsteps came closer. Male voices rang out. Jessica peered into the darkness, expecting to see the glare of torches and hear the barking of dogs, but all remained dark.

  Strange.

  The footsteps stopped quite close. From somewhere ahead came the sound of panting breaths. A musty scent wafted through the air, reminiscent of something that had been in stale water for days, mixed with a smell of fish.

  “Who are you?” Brian asked, his voice laced with the same apprehension Jessica felt.

  A man spoke in a foreign language, full of harsh and guttural sounds.

  Brian mumbled, “What the hell’s going on here?” He took a step back, stumbling into Jessica. “We need help. Our plane crashed. There are four of us and one’s been injured real bad—”

  The rest of the sentence drowned in a blue flash. By its brief burst of light, Jessica could make out five figures on the slope below. Small and lithe, with wild mops of hair in dreadlocks. The closest one held out a fist, pointing at Brian.

  “What the fuck, they’re shooting—”

  That was Martin’s voice.

  Holy shit! They must have stumbled on a group of poachers, or a drug syndicate’s hide-out, or some set-up like that. Her father often talked about those and how dangerous those men were. As a police officer, he would know.

  Jessica shouted, “Brian, get out of here, hide yourself!”

  She scrambled up the slope, slipping on boulders, stumbling over branches and fallen tree trunks. Shadows followed her, quick
and silent. Something gripped her arm. She screamed and kicked. There were shouts, rough voices, more footsteps; hands on her arms, holding her, pulling a rag around her wrists. She wriggled. One of her arms shot free and hit what felt like somebody’s face.

  “Let me, go, let me go! I know nothing. I won’t say anything.”

  A wave of heat welled up from within her, rising to the skin in swirls of sparks. It flowed into her arms, up her shoulders, burning like boiling water.

  Oh damn it, that was the tension still inside her coming out.

  Blue-white light flowed out through her skin, engulfed her hands and crackled up her arms in a net of sparkling threads. Shapes formed in the air while the sounds of the forest dulled.

  She was on the front steps to the main entrance of her inner city boarding school. There was a police car in the drive. The school principal stood under the arched entrance of the porch, surrounded by about half the girls from her year. Some were crying.

  A voice said, “They found nothing?”

  It was a male voice, unfamiliar, coming from her throat.

  The principal shook her head and glanced up over her reading glasses. “Are you a relative?”

  “I am . . .” She found herself hesitating, in her male vision-persona, and a wave of anguish washed over her. His anguish.

  Where are you?

  Jessica tried to reply I don’t know but she was back in the forest again, in the noise, the shouting, the smell of singed vegetation.

  Panting, Jessica swayed on her feet. What the hell did she just see?

  Then she realised something else: her captors had let go of her hands.

  She sensed them standing at close distance, hesitant. Their fear rippled over her in the same way Angus’ feelings did, like a wave of cold.

  Jessica ran. She stumbled because she couldn’t see though the purple blotches that danced in her vision. Branches cracked and leaves rustled, slapping in her face. Jessica blundered through the forest, into trees and rocks, tripping, falling.

  After a while, when no one followed her, she stopped and listened.

  Wings buzzed. Animals croaked, shrilled and wailed in the night. The smells had returned to normal: mushrooms, dead leaves and the faint whiff of fuel.

  And silence. For a long time, she stood there, waiting to hear footsteps and voices, but nothing came. The poachers were happy to have chased her off? They were scared and were going back to get reinforcements?

  She had to get back to Brian and Martin. They needed to get out of here.

  “Brian?” she whispered and when there was no answer, a bit louder, “Brian?”

  Silence. A patch of moonlight touched the tree canopy. Ghostly shadows turned the forest into an impenetrable mass of black and grey.

  “Brian!”

  Half-blind, she pushed through the undergrowth. Branches and boulders tripped her, twigs scratched at her face. She had no idea where she was going, except down a hill—because she had run up a hill to flee the men. She lifted her foot to step over a boulder. The ground crumbled under her, and she slid, legs-first, down a gravelly slope . . . into knee-deep water.

  A creek gurgled past her, murmuring and whispering in a bed of soft sand. She sat there, dazed, wet all over. In the daylight, she hadn’t seen a creek. If she had, she could have refreshed the stale water from Martin’s drink bottle.

  Bloody hell. She could have injured herself badly. That was really stupid, to go thrashing about in the night like a chook without a head. There could have been snakes, or a ravine. Brian was a big boy, old enough to keep his head down until he could see enough to move around. She’d worry about him in the morning.

  The truth was, though, the stupid oaf did have her worried. Those idiot poachers had been shooting. She couldn’t recall hearing shots after they had tried to grab her, but Martin and the businessman were injured. No way they could run if they needed to.

  The thoughts kept going around and around.

  Jessica stumbled out of the creek and sat on the moss, her back against a tree, staring into the darkness. Her ears strained for sounds, she twitched with every tickle and ran her hands over her legs to check for biting insects, or carnivorous slugs. The thought of those things gave her the heebie-jeebies.

  After what seemed like an eternity, the dark faded into grey and then an even lighter grey.

  Only wisps of mist still hung between a gnarled, knotted tangle of trees stretching out of view in all directions. Large mossy boulders covered every bit of ground, crowded humps silvered in soft light.

  Halfway up the hill, bits of white, twisted metal peeked through a mass of tangled greenery.

  Just as well she hadn’t tried to find the plane in the dark last night. It would have been impossible to get through the tangle of branches without seeing where she was putting her feet.

  By the time she arrived at the wreckage, sweat ran from every pore of her body. The mist might have lifted, but it was as humid as Darwin in the wet season. The air smelled of compost, mingled with the ever-present stink of fuel.

  In all of this, Jessica picked up the scent of burning wood. Had Brian been able to get the fire going after all? She was annoyed that she wanted to see him. Yes, he was weird, but right now it would be good to see his face, to know that he was all right; to discuss what to do and where to go. Maybe he had even found something to eat—she was starving. Breakfast. She should have been at school now, getting her breakfast from the kitchen and sitting down in the dining hall. Eggs, toast and marmalade, tea.

  She pushed aside the broken branches.

  In the leaf litter lay a body clad in a blue uniform, the Westways logo embroidered on the chest. Empty eyes gazed heavenward from a face with translucent white skin, spotted with adhering bits of bark.

  No! Martin!

  The bark pieces on his face—they moved. Fluid oozed from red trails on his arms and a deep hole in his cheek, where bits of white shone through—his teeth. The skin on his legs crawled with black slithery bodies. Not pieces of bark, but carnivorous slugs eating the skin.

  She stumbled several steps backwards, crashed into a tree trunk.

  The others—Brian and the businessman—where were they?

  A bit further up the slope, another body sprawled on the forest floor, on his stomach, legs splayed. The jacket of the grey suit had ripped and his back was a mess of raw, exposed flesh and crawling slugs. Threads of his shirt, black and singed, clung to his shoulders. She didn’t need to come closer to see there was no hope. His ribs and the bumps of his spine already protruded through the skin.

  She barely dared look, but found a third bloodied lump a bit further up the slope, half-hidden by tree roots.

  “No.” Her lips formed the word but no sound came out.

  A glance at her feet showed slugs crawling out of the leaf litter, swarming up her legs, on her shoes, on her jeans. She stamped her feet, hit her jeans, and kicked, again and again.

  No, no, get off me, get off!

  She stumbled through the shrubs, jumping, kicking and swiping at her legs.

  GET OFF, GET OFF, GET OFF!

  She hurled herself down the hillside, sliding, tripping over boulders. Down, down, into the creek, down on her knees. The slugs came off more easily in the water and the current carried them away.

  Safe.

  Safe from what? A few slugs?

  She sat in the creek, taking deep, calming breaths. Water again seeped up the legs of her jeans—they had only just dried from falling in the same creek last night.

  Come on, Jess, you can handle this. You’re not some ninny from the city.

  What was the best plan? Wait here to be rescued, until the poachers or whatever they were came back? Face them—by herself?

  No, stupid idea, Jess. She’d better find a road or something leading to civilisation. It couldn’t be that far away.

  Which direction should she go? Instinct told her to follow the creek—at least she’d have water, but the poachers would probably think t
he same.

  Then where?

  Her gaze went up the creek bank, up the hill on the other side. Maybe she could see something from up there.

  Move your bony arse, Jess. Let’s get out of this shit.

  That’s what she did if something troubled her: work hard, go riding, clean out her mother’s chook pen, fix the fence, or shoot some rabbits.

  She ran to the plane, and threw all the luggage out the door. The businessman’s laptop computer landed in the leaf litter, followed by Brian’s weekend bag, which contained only a pair of riding boots, a shirt and a bag with a horse’s reins. The pilot’s bag contained running shoes and damp and dirty clothes. Did no one bring anything useful? Ah, a tool box. That was at least something. And a rope. Now to pack it.

  She turned her backpack upside-down. An avalanche of school things fell out. Homework, reading assignments, diary and library books.

  Now, what was in this odd assortment of personal belongings that she could use? The rope, her spare shirt and pairs of underwear. A small saw, a hammer and a box of nails, a roll of string.

  She added the water bottle, a plastic bag and the pilot’s empty thermos.

  No food—she had no food.

  On the other hand, wherever she had landed, she wouldn’t be more than half a day away from some sort of civilisation. People would be looking for the plane. If she could get clear of this ridiculous forest, they would find her. Uncomfortable words were there in the back of her mind.

  This isn’t the Australian bush.

  She heaved her backpack onto her shoulders. In her mind, she could hear her father’s voice. If you have a breakdown in the middle of nowhere, don’t leave the vehicle. A memory: an abandoned and bogged four-wheel-drive. There had been something on the news about German tourists who got lost in the desert in Western Australia. Blanket-covered bodies in the red dust.

  Stupid people, her father had said. Never do that, Jess. Stay with the vehicle.

  “Sorry, Dad,” she whispered and her voice sounded unnaturally loud.