Full Blaze

by M. L. Buchman

  “You scaring me, Dale.”

  “Worse, his wife might catch you.”

  “Looking forward to seeing both of you.”

  “Fly safe, luv.”

  Jeannie led them northeast. She went low and circled to avoid the parking area at the park entrance. It would mean missing the first gorge of the Katherine Gorge complex, but it was also the least dramatic of the thirteen, really just a long lake between steep banks and tall trees.

  “Where was all this water when we needed it?” Cal glared down.

  “Notice how deep the gorges are?” The Katherine River had carved a deep series of gorges down into the sandstone. “This is nothing. You know the Top End has the two seasons, the Dry and the Wet. During the Wet, November to April, the Katherine will rise a dozen meters or more, connecting the various gorges enough for flat-bottomed boats to carry tourists through at least the first five. During the Dry, a few hardy souls rent little plastic boats to paddle the gorges.”

  She’d done that once. Having to haul the boats over the exposed boulders separating the gorges during the Dry was hard work. Right at this time of year. November marked the very end of the Dry, so there would only be the few most hardy souls past the second or third gorge.

  She slowed and slid down into the second gorge. The river was mostly a hundred feet wide, sometimes more. The canyon walls were always two rotors wide, though rarely three. This was what helicopters were made for, swooping slowly along narrow canyons. It was dramatic and beautiful, and another part of her soul belonged here. The layered sandstone snaked in long, sharp curves of red cliff walls.

  A quick glance, all she could spare in the narrow space, showed that Cal was relaxing and staring out the forward windscreen in wonder. In moments, his camera was out. The first time since the golf course. It was as if he was slowly coming back to life.

  It was one of the most beautiful places she’d ever been. The wonder of nature’s handiwork carving deep canyons through the colorful stone, the unexpected bounty of water even during the Dry. It was like a salve on her soul.

  Unexpectedly, Cal laughed. A deep, rumbling laugh that broke from him like a shot of flame that filled the cockpit and her heart. He leaned over and kissed her on the shoulder. With that simple gesture, she knew she’d done it right. That he too could appreciate where they were, what Mother Nature had done here.

  She kicked the rudder left and tipped the cyclic so that they were flying somewhat sideways down the gorge, giving him a clear shot straight ahead out the photographer’s window she’d had installed on his door.

  The man chortled. He actually chortled with glee.

  The gorge walls soared above them, often vertically for thirty or more meters. Kayakers twisted and turned to spot the source as the pounding of their rotors echoed up the canyon. When they waved, she rocked the rotors to wave back.

  As they proceeded from one gorge to the next, the character changed. Even in a dozen kilometers, the more lush lower reaches by the park entrance gave way to the starker land of the interior. And they passed over fewer and fewer kayakers. The waterfall at the head of the fifth gorge stopped most. Also, as they traveled inland, fewer of the women bothered wearing the tops of their bathing suits. The feeling of privacy and freedom this far off the beaten track was immense.

  They saw the last kayaker in the sprawling ninth gorge. The portage to the tenth stopped even the hardiest of souls. That was how she’d met Dale and his wife. She’d struggled on until she reached the uppermost thirteenth gorge where she’d thought to find herself all alone. She had planned to sit there and lick her wounds after Jeoffrey. Just sit there and see if she had some chance of finding herself again. He’d been insidious, slowly convincing her that she wasn’t pretty and was lucky he wanted to be with her. That she wasn’t competent and she was lucky that he was there to take care of her. She’d bought into that for far too long.

  When she came to her senses, she’d plunged into Katherine Gorge with little more than a couple days of food and water and a plastic kayak. By the third gorge, she’d stripped off her T-shirt. By the sixth, her bikini top had followed it. The attention that had garnered her from the few men who’d made it that far had further convinced her that Jeoffrey was a manipulative asshole, which only spurred her on until she’d left even the hardiest pursuer behind.

  She’d been all alone in the last gorge when Dale and Kalinda had found her. Rather than weeping alone in the wilderness, she’d made friends she knew would last forever. She’d spent a week with them, fishing and living off the bush before they’d all reluctantly returned to civilization. She’d also rediscovered something of herself in those vast canyons. Perhaps Cal could do the same.

  As they progressed from gorge to gorge, she allowed herself to become lost in the easy rhythm of the flight, the languid flow of the river at the tail end of the Dry, and the joy that she felt in returning to one of the hearts of the Outback. Her home had been burned past recognition. But here, it was the land that called her back time and again.

  Past the last gorge, the Katherine River wound through the landscape toward Arnhem Land. Past where anyone except the aborigines ever traveled. Emu Creek joined the Katherine and created a wide, sandy island big enough for both choppers to land comfortably. She shut down the electronics and engines. The heavy rotor slowly thudded to a stop until all that remained was an ear-ringing silence. She knew that soon the seemingly lifeless Outback would come back to life in its own voice of bird and wind. Clusters of low trees offered refuge from the sun. And the meeting of the waters made for good fishing and hunting. An ideal place to simply stop.

  Thirty minutes from Katherine, their chances of being found by another white soul was very close to zero.

  She climbed down and stripped off her flight gear. Mid-morning and it was already in the high eighties Fahrenheit. It would be twenty degrees higher in a few hours. Reaching in through the open cargo-bay door, she pulled out her pack and dropped it on the pilot’s seat. She dropped her pants and dragged on shorts. She fished out an oversized, white button-down blouse to protect herself from the sun and shed everything else before putting it on.

  She heard a tiny sound as she was changing. She glanced up to see Cal standing across the cockpit, outside the open copilot’s door, a camera raised to his eye.

  “You son of a—”

  “I promise to cherish that shot.”

  “I promise to rip your throat out if you don’t delete it right now, Cal.” Jeannie buttoned her shirt up quickly.

  “But you’re so damned beautiful, Helitack. It would be a true waste.”

  “Do it!”

  He made a show of pouting, but fooled with the controls.

  “So damned beautiful.” She knew she was pretty enough, but no one had ever called her that. She was almost sorry she’d made him delete the photo. Almost.

  ***

  Cal made a show of putting a password on the image and hitting Save. There was no way on earth he was going to delete that photo. Framed by the complexities of the machine that she flew like a dream, the sun shining from her left had lit her bare body until she glowed. Every curve a perfect testament to womanhood. The freedom and power, the woman and the top-notch pilot in such perfect juxtapositions. Beyond her, past the promise of sunglass-covered eyes, the river wound lazily past high banks of rust-red soil. Nothing like the gorge itself, but only adding to the overall image. Here they were out in the nothing, and she was the sole icon of power in view.

  Just looking at her roused his desires all over again. And not only the desire to drag her down under the nearest paperbark tree and once more give himself in thrall to her incredible, creative lovemaking. He also felt an inexplicable need to be with her, as if the world were a better place when she was beside him. Down that path lay a madness he wasn’t ready to face. So, instead, he took his camera and went exploring.

  He found
a good angle on the choppers, two firefighting machines perched on a sandy embankment. He liked the downtime shots almost as much as the fire shots. It humanized the men and women who heard the call to fire. Though he did shy the camera away from Henderson and Beale’s embrace, offering them a little privacy. Then he spotted Steve and Carly, doing a bit more than embracing.

  Two couples. He and Jeannie made three. Shit! Yet another thing he hadn’t signed up for had slid by him unnoticed until it was too late. He wasn’t going to think about it right now. What he was going to think about was—

  “Fishing?” Henderson’s cry of joy resounded above the gentle rustle of the slow river moving over the rocks.

  “Sure.” Jeannie was sounding terribly pleased with herself. “You didn’t think we were going to be eating MREs when there’s so much food out here?”

  Cal had heard about people who could do that, live off the Outback. Aborigines. Not beautiful white chicks who flew massive helicopters.

  “Best eating fish on the planet is barramundi. They like to congregate over there.” She pointed toward the northern spit of the island they’d landed on, just a few hundred feet away.

  Henderson literally fell to his knees and kissed her feet. Carly was doing a happy dance. Two rabid fisherfolk. In mere minutes they’d grabbed their poles tucked aboard the Firehawk in fancy carrying cases, and then they were gone.

  “Last we’ll see of them for a while,” Emily remarked, her tone as dry as the Outback. She and Steve began setting up a small camp under one of the gum trees.

  “Especially”—Jeannie laughed that wonderful laugh of hers—“because they won’t get a bite until toward sundown, which is a good seven hours away.”

  Cal noticed that she wasn’t checking her watch, but had instead glanced up at the position of the sun in the sky. Who the hell was she?

  Emily smiled in return. “They won’t care.”

  Jeannie pointed to the tall trees along the western edge of the island. “The outer layers of the paperbark tree will make great kindling for tonight’s fire. Never camp under a paperbark tree—you’re likely as not to catch it on fire. See if you can find a dead beech or gum for the main wood. It will give the fish a better flavor. Come on, Hotshot.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Bush tucker, mate.” She waved a small sack at him that she’d use for a collecting bag. “The season’s a little off for some of the really good stuff, but maybe we can score some pencil yams or figs. There’s bound to be some bush tomato or conkerberry. Leave the cameras. There’s a stretch we have to swim a bit.”

  “I’ve got a waterproof housing for one of them.”

  “Leave the cameras.”

  She wasn’t making it a request. Cal wasn’t very happy about it, but he’d already put her through enough today with his crappy mood. He packed the cameras away and slid the bag into the back of the Firehawk where the sun wouldn’t try to cook them. He found an MHA-logoed hat and pulled it on for sun protection.

  Jeannie handed him a white square of cloth. Before he could ask what to do with it, she picked up a hat of her own, flipped one edge of the cloth into it and then pulled it on. The cloth hung down all around the hat. It hid her hair except for the last few inches in the middle of her back. It shaded the sides of her neck, her ears, and even part of her cheeks. He did the same, though a lot less smoothly.

  She led off. “I’ve lost my Outback tan, so I have to be careful. You’d have liked it, Hotshot. Not a whole lot of tan lines in the Outback.”

  He’d have to agree with her. The image of Jeannie striding across the Outback in nothing but a bit of cloth slung around her hips was something he would definitely like to see. Tanned all golden would be even better. He followed her for a way simply admiring the view, even with her fully clothed. For what he was sure would be just the first of so many times today, he cursed not having his camera. Gods, but the woman could walk.

  “This is where you make sense, Helitack.” He said it without thinking, but it was true.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I always thought you walked like a sexy lioness.” She did. “But I’m thinking that was pretty lame now that I see you here. You’re definitely goddess status—sexy goddess. Ooo! Wow! Pant! Pant! And all that.” The thing about it was, she really looked that amazing. And she was leading him willingly toward his own doom.

  “Uh.” She actually stumbled as she looked back at him in surprise, though it didn’t break the image.

  “Okay, kinda crass, I know. It’s that you walk as if you belong on the earth, belong right here striding across this arid soil that you see as a land of bounty.”

  “Wow, Hotshot. If you is trying to turn this girl’s head, you is right on the track.”

  “Wasn’t the point I was—”

  “No, I get that. Just letting you know that anytime you want to remind me that I actually belong anywhere on this screwy planet, feel free to let me know.”

  ***

  Jeannie had continued another fifty feet before she realized that Cal was no longer behind her. That an American man was almost as silent-footed as a bushman had made her lose track of him. He walked as if he wanted no one to hear his passage. A useful skill, one she’d worked hard to learn from Dale and Kalinda. Only now did she have a bad thought about how it may have been the boy who had learned the skill, rather than the man.

  She circled back around a scrub palm to stand in front of him. His face wasn’t twisted with anger as it had been this morning, which was a relief. His emotions were so powerful that they battered her at times. Instead, he simply looked confused.

  “What?”

  He shook his head slowly like a water buffalo waking from a nap.

  “Come on, Cal. For once, tell me what you’re actually thinking.”

  “I’m…” His voice was low. “Thinking you are absolutely completely and totally whacked out.”

  “Huh. Not quite up there with sexy goddess, is it?”

  Cal cracked the amazing smile of his. “No. But it’s just as true.”

  “Why am I whacked?”

  “Because you’re grounded to ‘this planet’ in so many ways that they’re beyond counting. I mean, just, just look at you!” He held out those nice hands of his in a totally helpless gesture. “You’re connected to your family, your brother, Mount Hood Aviation, and now the goddamn Outback. You’re one of those people who could cross it on foot, aren’t you? How many white people can do that? For that matter, how many aborigines still have those skills? You’re connected in so many ways and you don’t see it. What’s up with that?”

  Okay, Jeannie could see that she wasn’t in love with him. She was only in love with the parts she already knew. There were so many other parts of him for her to get to know. He just blew her away. But if she came at him head-on, he’d just balk again. And that wasn’t going to get her anywhere. Time for a different tack.

  “So, you’re angry at me on my own behalf for not seeing what I have?”

  He brushed a hand through his hair, knocking his hat and sun scarf off. They fell to the sand despite several fumbling attempts to catch them. By the time he had them straightened out and back on, he seemed to have calmed a little.

  “Well, I admit”—he seated the hat more firmly—“it does sound pretty damn stupid when you put it that way.”

  She’d go with charming. Cal Jackson was more protective of her than she was of herself, and probably more than he was of himself.

  “Damn, you’re cute, Hotshot.” She let it drop there, for now. She led them to the south tip of the island and walked into the bath-warm water. “It’s just a short swim. If you see a freshie, don’t worry. They’re harmless as long as you don’t tick them off.”

  “A freshie?” He’d paused where the water was just ankle deep.

  When it was up to her waist, she began swimming
; this small branch of the river wasn’t more than a dozen strokes across and had no real current to speak of.

  “It’s the salties that will eat you for the fun of it. We’re fine. They don’t get this far upriver during the Dry.”

  “Salties?”

  “Crocs.” Jeannie tested and was able to set her foot down, about waist deep again. She remained with just her head out of the water and made treading motions with her arms as if still in deep water, then turned around to wait and watch the show.

  “Crocs?” Cal croaked out.

  “Saltwater crocodiles.”

  He looked down at the water swirling around his ankles in panic.

  “How big?”

  Oh, this was just too much fun. “Four or five meters is pretty common. Dale spiked a six once. Weighed in at two metric tons, give or take a bush hog.”

  “Two metric tons?” He still hadn’t moved and his voice was even more strained.

  “Yep, that’s forty-four hundred pounds to you Yanks.”

  “You’re shitting me?”

  Actually she wasn’t, but that didn’t stop her from making it sound like a whopper. “He’d be glad to show you, if you’d like. He had it stuffed and it’s mounted at the entrance to the park to sort of wake people up before they get all stupid.”

  “Like hell I’m getting in that river.”

  “You sure, Hotshot?”

  “I’m not just sure. I’m damned sure.”

  “Pity.” Jeannie planted her feet on the river bottom and stood up slowly. Her soaking wet blouse would be near enough transparent. When she was standing, she continued backing slowly toward the far bank. “You really sure, Hotshot?”

  She’d actually struck him speechless. She’d always thought that only happened in movies, but while he was obviously trying to speak, no sounds were emerging. She turned her back on him and continued toward the bank, letting her hips swing loose. She even twisted her head sharply to flip her wet hair over her shoulder as she glanced back over her shoulder. Jeannie considered batting her eyelashes at him, but that was too ridiculous.