At least, she thought it was a comforting hug, for all it went on a tad longer than most hugs of that kind.
And reminded her of the packet of condoms in her pocket!
Hell’s teeth! Had she really suggested an affair to Angus? Talked calmly about affairs and getting condoms?
Lack of sleep—that was the only possible reason she could find for such bizarre behaviour.
Although—she snuggled into the hug—was it such a bad idea or was it just the daylight making the condoms feel heavy and…tawdry, cheap in her pocket?
‘Sit down, I’ll get the tea,’ he said, condoms obviously the furthest thing from his mind. ‘And some cereal?’
She shook her head for cereal but did sit, mainly to get out of the hug. But as soon as Angus walked inside, she stood up and followed, aware how grubby and sleep-stupid she was feeling, needing a shower and clean clothes.
Needing to get rid of the condoms.
Or she could leave them in her shorts pocket in the laundry bin.
Mosquitoes. Focus on mosquitoes—better by far than focussing on Angus.
They’d been bad this year, worse, the rangers said, than previous years, and all island staff and visitors were advised to wear repellent at all times.
Showering quickly, she wrapped a sarong around her body, as she usually did on days off, and brought her thoughts into the kitchen where Angus was making toast, the possible lover of the previous evening having given way to the man of action.
‘The camp kids have made a couple of trips into the forest at night—spotlighting. That’s what we were doing when Sam spotted you and thought you were a Yowie.’
‘And that’s when the mossies are at their worst?’ Angus said, spreading butter and strawberry jam on the toast then slicing it into fingers.
Beth nodded and smiled to think he’d picked up on her conversation so easily—the warm feeling back inside her.
‘So the next thing is a visit to the ranger station,’ he said. ‘Tea and toast, then you might show me where to go.’
He raised an eyebrow and she nodded, though she’d have to change into sensible clothes. It wouldn’t do to be traipsing around the island in a sarong and nothing else.
Although it seemed a shame…
The thought deserved a slapped cheek. How could she possibly be thinking of dallying with Angus when all the people on the island could be at risk of some unknown virus? The familiar throbbing grumble of a helicopter circling overhead again was a further reminder of how serious things were.
‘Honestly,’ she muttered, ‘they’re worse than the mossies!’
Then she took a finger of toast back into her bedroom, eating it as she changed into very proper and practical shorts and a T-shirt.
Clean shorts—no condoms in the pocket—sensible, practical Beth once again.
‘We’ll take a cart,’ she said, when tea and toast were finished and she was walking with Angus back towards the hospital.
But they were no sooner in the cart, when Garf joined them, forcing Angus to move closer to Beth.
‘Oh, dear, you really shouldn’t come, Garf! How did you get free?’ Beth said helplessly to the dog, who was behaving as if he hadn’t seen her for a month and was so delighted he might actually turn inside out with glee.
Garf stood on Angus’s knee so he could lick Beth’s cheek and she gave in.
‘All right, but you’ll have to stay in the cart,’ she warned him sternly.
‘Is the whole island a national park?’ Angus asked as they drove into the rainforest.
‘Technically, no,’ Beth said. ‘There’s been a camp-type of resort at our end for over a hundred years. It started when there was a mutton-bird factory here—making oil—and people used to come over from the mainland to camp. Then some bright person saw a way of making money out of more than campers and built a resort at the other end. When the whole of the Great Barrier Reef was declared a national park, the waters around the island became a national park and not long after that the state government declared the state-owned land in the middle a dedicated park as well. The kids’camp and eco-cabins at our end and the resort at the other end are there on sufferance but what’s the use of having pristine rainforest and stunning coral reefs if people can’t come to experience and enjoy them all?’
‘So Garf can legally live and play at either end of the island but not the middle bit?’ Angus said, and the dog, hearing his name, gave him a lick as well.
‘That’s about it,’ Beth agreed, turning onto the narrow track that lead to the ranger headquarters. ‘And if he’s out of the camp and hospital grounds, right now we’re supposed to have him under strict control to keep him away from the dead birds. Last time I saw him he was tied up on the hospital veranda, which is where he’s supposed to be. Wicked dog!’
But as she turned she caught a glimpse of white in the jungle-like growth to the side of the track and stopped.
‘That must be one of the rangers there,’ she said, pointing to where the suited figure had been. ‘Let’s stop and see if he’s finding many dead birds.’
But before they could approach the tree which she was sure must hide the man in the white suit, he broke from cover and plunged into the undergrowth.
Beth made to follow, but Garf, sensing a bit of fun, leapt from the cart and gave chase, barking furiously.
‘Hell! Now he’ll really be in trouble!’ Beth said. She yelled at the dog, who, trained to obey instantly, immediately turned back towards her, although the look he gave her was full of reproach.
‘Get in the cart, you bad dog!’ Beth ordered, not falling for the soulful-eyes routine.
But when she turned to Angus she was frowning.
‘Why did he run?’ she said, a shiver of apprehension travelling up and down her spine.
‘Scared of dogs?’ Angus suggested, but Beth shook her head.
‘He ran before Garf chased him,’ she pointed out. ‘Let’s go. Maybe someone at the station can tell us.’
But no one there could shed light on the mystery figure.
‘My men and women are working around the perime ter of the park boundary because that’s the most likely place the visitors would come in contact with the dead birds. They’ll work inwards from there, but I’ve only six staff available and it will take them a couple of days to get in as far as where you saw the person in white.’
Angus had his own suspicions about the figure but there was no point in worrying either the head ranger or Beth. Besides, he was there for information.
‘What types of mosquitoes do you have here?’ he asked, and the ranger took them into his office and pulled down a thin book.
‘It’s years since we’ve had a specialist entomologist here, but these were the ones discovered last time a survey was done.’
He opened the book, showing illustrations and Latin names of a number of mosquitoes.
‘Their family name is Culicidae, then the genera comes after that—Anopheles is the most well known because it carries malaria in areas where it is still endemic, but we have aedes and culex varieties as well. You’re thinking?’
‘If it’s not the birds, then some kind of arbovirus,’ Angus told him. ‘These are spreading, and more and more cases of viral encephalitis are now being connected to mosquito carriers. In the United States you have West and East equine encephalitis that can both affect humans, and West Nile virus, then there’s La Crosse, which is fairly new in the US as well, affecting mainly children, and Chikungunya fever, first isolated in Tanzania but now found throughout Africa and Asia. At first it was thought Aëdes aegypti was the only carrier, but they’ve now discovered that Aëdes albopictus could carry it, and you’ve that little fellow right here.’
He pointed to a mosquito illustration, running his finger down the abdomen.
‘Pointed abdomen with pale bands basally—that’s him.’
‘And Chika-whatever means?’ Pat, the ranger, asked.
‘It’s a debilitating illness with fever
, headache, nausea, muscle and joint pain, and although patients recover quite quickly, it can leave its victims with feelings of listlessness and fatigue. I’m not saying that’s what we’ve got here, but the illness could be a new variant of an arboviral encephalitis.’
‘But why now?’ Beth asked. ‘I imagine there have always been mosquitoes on the island—why now would people be getting sick?’
‘Driving along the track, from the resort to the medical centre, and then to this place, I’ve seen a number of huge trees that were obviously damaged during the cyclone that destroyed the original medical centre. Where they’ve been uprooted, you get depressions in the ground that fill with water and make ideal breeding grounds. And the cyclone gives us another clue. From the quick research I did before coming here, I know most of these virus carrying mosquitoes are already prevalent in Asia and in a number of Pacific Islands. And in New Guinea, not that far to the north, there have always been arboviral illnesses—malaria and dengue being the most common. So, what if the cyclone blew some new mosquito strains this far—mosquitoes carrying a known or unknown viral encephalitis?’
‘And these have bred and now people who haven’t been wearing protective clothing or repellent have been bitten and the virus passed on to them?’ Beth whispered.
‘It makes sense.’
‘Are you saying it’s definitely not bird flu?’ Pat asked, and Angus shook his head.
‘We don’t know. I’ve just been exploring other ideas—thinking out loud, really. The lab arrives this afternoon. With luck I’ll be able to test some blood from the dead birds and either confirm or eliminate avian influenza from the equation. The fact that the sick children are showing signs of recovery gives me some hope that it’s not—or not H5N1 because that has shown itself to be deadly.’
‘So my people keep collecting dead birds?’
Angus nodded.
‘It’s in your interest to collect them anyway, I would think. If there is something wrong with them—some illness—you wouldn’t want other predatory birds feeding on them and getting ill themselves.’
‘Good grief, no!’ Pat muttered, as if this was the first time he’d thought further than the collection stage of this operation. ‘And on top of that, we’ve got your mystery person in the undergrowth.’
He frowned then said, ‘Perhaps it was one of my staff, who moved away because he or she knew it wasn’t the right place to be.’
‘Or an intrepid reporter,’ Angus suggested. ‘There’ve been helicopters buzzing overhead—how easy would it be for one of them to land someone on the far side of the island?’
‘But would someone risk it?’ Beth asked. ‘Risk coming to a place where they could be infected by a potentially life-threatening illness?’
‘The person was suited up and probably masked,’ Angus reminded her, then he smiled. ‘Though I doubt he’d get much of an interview dressed like that.’
‘A photographer could still take photos while wearing a mask. If he takes photos of dead birds, perhaps people coming and going at the medical centre, the arrival of the mobile labs—wouldn’t that be enough for front-page news?’ Beth asked, adding, ‘As far as I can see, they make up most of the stories that go with photos.’
Angus nodded.
‘Photos are much more emotive—think how distressed the families of people on the island will be when they see them. We’ll have to find the man.’
‘Or woman,’ Pat reminded him. ‘But how? And is it such a worry? We’ve got the local paper reporter here already and surely people are already sending photos from their mobile phones.’
‘They’re always blurred,’ Angus pointed out. ‘And probably the only people with mobile phones who’d do that are guests at the resort and, believe me, they’d be hard pushed finding a piece of gravel out of place on the paths, let alone a dead bird. No, I can see a newspaper editor wanting photos—maybe even video footage for a television broadcast. The policeman, Beth—what’s his name?’
‘Harry Blake. He’ll be in one of the staff cabins. Grace is on duty this week.’
‘Let’s find him. And, Pat, tell your rangers to keep an eye out but also remind them about insect repellent. And you might start thinking about mosquito-control measures we can safely take without endangering other animal or plant species in the national park.’
‘Great!’ Pat muttered. ‘Mosquito control. Fish are the best because they eat the larva but that’s long term and will only work in the pools of permanent water. Short term’s usually poison of some kind and animals in the rainforest drink from the fresh-water holes and from water that collects in the dead palm fronds—we can’t poison their water supply.’
‘Get on the Net and see what you can find—there has to be some short-term solution,’ Angus said. ‘I realise it’s by no means certain that what we’ve got is an arbovirus, but if it is we’ll have the opportunity to wipe it out before it reaches the mainland. Remember that dengue was unknown there until recent years and look how far south that has spread.’
Pat nodded, said goodbye to Beth then turned to his computer.
‘He’s a good man,’ Beth told Angus as they returned to the cart.
‘A good man with a heap of worries on his shoulders,’ Angus replied, ordering Garf to move over. ‘I want to see out as we go,’ he told the dog, who showed him a hurt face again—to no avail.
Angus wasn’t looking for the stranger in the rainforest, but for pools of water where mosquito larvae could live.
‘How long since it’s rained?’ he asked, as Beth drove them back towards the camp.
‘Two weeks at least—we had a storm but it was well before the kids’ camp started.’
‘And there’s still water lying in palm fronds,’ he muttered, as much to himself as to Beth. ‘If it’s two weeks since you had rain then clearing the forest of water would be impossible. It’s everywhere.’
‘It’s rainforest,’ Beth reminded him, and he smiled because, bothered as he was by this viral outbreak, there was something very satisfying in being with Beth again, talking to her, sitting beside her as she competently guided the little cart through the forest. Even the dog made him happy.
‘We could get a dog.’
The words had come out before he could stop them, and when he peered past Garf to get Beth’s reaction, she was staring at him, eyes wide in disbelief.
‘Angus,’ she said, very carefully as if the word might burn her mouth. ‘Thereisnowe. You live in an apartment, and I already have a dog, or the use of one most of the time.’
She rested her head against Garf for an instant.
‘Don’t I, Garf?’ she said, whispering now—sad, somehow…
She dropped Angus at the hospital where he had to check on the arrival of the mobile laboratories, tied Garf up again, then left the cart in the small parking area and walked home, wondering just how they’d managed to get into such an emotional muddle so quickly.
And it was ‘they’, not just her—Angus’s remark about the dog had made that clear.
Was he, like she, thinking how comfortable it was, them being together?
Beth had to assume so but being comfortable together didn’t mean much. Being comfortable together was fine in the good times but come the bad times, when that comfort disappeared, couples needed more.
They needed communication—talking-type communication, not just being good together in bed—and talking-type communication was difficult for both herself and Angus.
Although they could talk about mosquitoes, and arboviruses—it was emotional stuff they couldn’t talk about. They couldn’t even say ‘I love you’ to each other but, then, Angus didn’t love her—never had…
Her thoughts made her feel ashamed of bringing home the condoms—worse, suggesting an affair with Angus.
For all she longed for that bright, shining diamond of memory, she really wasn’t an affair kind of person—she’d known that the first time—and having an affair with Angus would only make her more unhappy when
he left.
So?
‘I’ve no idea,’ she said to a tiny finch that had fluttered into the tree in front of her then flew to rest on the railing of her deck, leading her home, or so it seemed.
Maybe if she had a proper sleep she’d be able to think it through more clearly.
Maybe!
The pillow smelt of Angus and she wrapped her arms around it and breathed in the smell of him as she drifted into sleep.
CHAPTER EIGHT
VIBRATIONS shook Beth’s cabin and a roaring noise made her wonder if a tsunami was about to hit the island, then the shuddering lessened and she realised what had woken her—the big army helicopter delivering a mobile lab for Angus.
She leapt out of bed but could see nothing. Of course not—the labs were to be landed on the mainland side of the island, far from the areas where children camped and tourists strayed.
But Angus would be there, ready, dead birds in hand, so to speak. He would also be testing blood from the victims, though he’d been grumbling that the tests he’d have available would take longer.
A quick shower, shorts and a T-shirt, sandals on her feet, and she was ready to go. He’d need a lab assistant and even if he didn’t need one, he’d have one. If Angus was going to be in that chamber, testing things, she wanted to be right there with him.
Not because she had any silly ideas of danger, or romantic notions they should die together—Angus was far too careful to fall victim to the risks inherent in his work— but because she knew that being there—someone being there—would make things easier for him. It would ease the tension that being in a small, sealed space would naturally bring, and having someone to talk to would help his thought processes.
She grabbed a cart outside the medical centre and drove on the rarely used track to the beach on the far side of the island. The helicopter had departed, leaving a silence that seemed heavy and threatening somehow.
‘No bird noises,’ she whispered to herself, praying it was because the competition of the helicopter’s engines had silenced them, not because the entire bird population of the island was now dying. It was late afternoon, the time the birds were usually coming home, flying back in flocks from their day hunting out at sea.
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