by Leo Nix
McFly was asleep when the sound of rifle shots woke him up. “What the hell is that, what's happening?” he said as he struggled to wake up properly.
“They must be signalling for those two blokes we killed back there. They must think they'd gone and got lost.” Wiram was thinking, 'I have a feeling this lot won't walk away. When they find the bodies they'll be wanting our blood. We'd better get moving.' He began weaving a leafy vine around McFly's cloth hat then he fixed his own camouflage.
“Hold still while I rub this charcoal into your face and hands.” A second set of rifle shots came to their ears as they crawled over the lip of the sand dune. They quickly slid down its side to begin jogging towards the next, a kilometre away.
It went on like this for three more sand dunes. The Talons would drive two of their four wheel drives up onto the sand dune ridges, there they would scour the desert scrub with their binoculars. Each time Wiram sensed the terrorists were on their way up the sand dune he and McFly would hide. So far the Talons hadn't found the bodies and it was almost dark so the two felt they would be safe until morning.
“When they find the bodies they'll find our tracks. There's bound to be at least one bushman with them and on this soft ground they'll not have much trouble following us.” Despite the fact Wiram disguised their tracks as they escaped a good tracker could still follow in the soft sand. “They know we have no transport, our range is limited and we have next to no food and water. They'll sleep on the tracks and at first light they'll be on to us. We'll have about half a day head start before they catch us. We've got to get to those rocks before they do.” With that he hefted his pack and rifles then, crouching over, he began to jog again, confident the distance and tall sand dunes would hide them.
The sound of rifles shots came to them from a distance now. Four rounds followed by another four - they guessed what that meant. It was right on dusk and the sun was hovering just on the horizon, its lower edge beginning to dip over the edge of the world.
Wiram smiled at an exhausted McFly. “I've done this desert walk twice already. Once with Bongo and once with Cambra, you're my lucky third, Matty,” he said as he bent his six foot four frame backwards feeling the satisfaction of his bones cracking loudly. He felt the relief of easing his tired spine back to where it should be, upright.
“Cambra told me he watched a movie once where the hero's crossed a mighty desert on camels. We called ourselves the 'Tirari Desert Wanderers'. Cambra and I walked almost a hundred kilometres, in mid summer, in the dark too. It was hell. This is the Simpson Desert and it goes on forever. See where the sun is setting now? That's where we're heading. See that rocky hill way out there? That's our destination. We need to get there by morning. We run, all night and we sleep while we run. My tribesmen could do it in an emergency. I did it with Cambra and it looks like you'll be doing it too.” Again he stretched and bent to the sides twisting left and right to produce loud cracking sounds. McFly decided he'd do the same but nothing cracked, it did help ease the tension in his back though.
“We're desert commando's now, Wirrie. We'll be qualified to ask Lulu and Danni to sew us a special flag. It can say 'Sundown's Desert Wanderers'. You'll get three stars, Bongo two and Roo, Cambra and I can have one each. We'll get patches for our shirts and we'll celebrate with some of Andy and Fat Boy's home-made whiskey every year. It's quite an exclusive club,” said McFly trying to cheer himself up. He had an image of Shadow in his mind and he fought back tears of exhaustion and fear. Their chances of survival were narrowing each minute and he felt it in the pit of his stomach.
“I'm worried about Donna,” said Wiram as though he could read McFly's mind. “She'll be wondering what's happened to us about now. Sundown will send out a party to track us and they'll walk right into the Talons camp.” He heaved his pack onto his back, put the water bottle into its pouch at his waist and picked up his AK to sling over his shoulder. In his right hand he held the Blaser sniper rifle, in case they came across a kangaroo for food - or for survival if they met a wild boar - or Revelationists. “I've tried to contact Nulla and Roo by mind-talk all day but they're busy for some reason, distracted. I can't get through to them. I'll try again when we have a break later.”
He looked at McFly. “Come on you one-star Sundown's Desert Wanderer, we've got a desert to cross.”
Chapter 19 - Rescue Patrol
McFly and Wiram heard rifle shots all through the night. They knew the Talons were trying to wear them down psychologically. Their trucks revved and horns tooted, they wanted the escapees to know they were dead men. But as the desert commandos continued jogging across one sand dune followed by another eventually they could no longer hear the terrorists clamour.
Wiram spent most of the trip in his spirit world. He had Nulla and Roo's face in his mind's eye and pressed them with his spiritual 'intention'. The nangarri knew both his aboriginal brothers-in-arms sensed his presence but he wasn't sure they picked up on his message – 'we're safe but there's danger, be careful'.
McFly stumbled and often woke to find Wiram's arm around his waist, holding him upright. His legs felt like swollen lumps of lead. It was like being trapped in a living purgatory. When he was fully awake shapes moved, sounds hit him like rocks flung at his body and every sense jumbled with the next. He hallucinated water, food, hot chips, he once dreamed he was eating a huge bowl of spaghetti bolognaise. Every now and then he tripped over roots, stumbled into holes and startled at nothing.
“Mate, sit down, take a break and I'll get some food and water into us,” came Wiram's comforting voice but McFly was sound asleep. Wiram still fed and watered him knowing if he didn't things would get worse for them both. He recalled how much trouble he had keeping Cambra upright on their trek back to the Marree township. This was a lot worse because they had to make it to the rocky hillock before sunrise.
“Come on, McFly, wake up, mate, we've got an army to run away from!” he yelled and had to slap McFly's face to waken him.
“Sure, got it, Wirrie, I'm right now.” McFly stood and swayed struggling to open his swollen eyes in the darkness. “Where are we?”
“Close, another hour or two and we'll be at the hill. Now come on, we don't stop until we're there. It'll be sunrise in another hour and we can't be on the plain after that.” He held McFly upright, pushed him in the right direction, then continued their unrelenting dog-trot.
Exhaustion and sleep deprivation can cause bizarre psychological phenomenon, McFly was ripe for multiple hallucinations. He leaped over striking snakes; dodged past snapping crocodiles and he spoke lucidly with friends and family long dead.
Eventually he slept. Wiram lay beside him and closed his eyes. He'd set his dream body to wake him at full light.
The rescue party picked up the tracks of McFly and Wiram leading away from their camp. From the backs of their swaying camels it wasn't easy but once they had the fresh tracks in sight all they needed to do was follow. As night began to fall they pulled out their head-band torches and walked leading the camels behind them.
Roo was puzzled. Normally Dog was lively and enjoyed running about in the desert but now he was acting strangely. Then he realised the poor thing was simply exhausted from the adrenaline rush of their fight with the Ravens Claws that morning. So he put Dog on the back of Bongo's camel, Star, and continued on foot with his torch.
“I'm struggling to see anything, it's too dark and my eyes are starting to burn,” said Nulla. “We'd better make camp and start again in the morning.”
They pitched camp on Matilda and Hiram's camel tracks. They lit their fire in a pit to prevent the light showing and made a billy of tea. The patrol were exhausted from the day's fighting and were still coming back to reality. They had killed and each felt its burden on their shoulders - even if it was someone who tried to kill them and their loved ones.
Roo's foot was sore and Nulla looked at it again. “Righto, let's have a peekaboo,” he said as he peeled off Gail's bandage and grunted. “Hmm, it looks clean
enough, Roo. It's not a deep wound but it'll hurt for a while. You just have to keep it clean, mate, and air it tonight. Let it dry out a bit. If it becomes inflamed then tell me, got that?”
Roo was about to simply nod as he'd done for twenty years in response to a question but he remembered Charlene and Bongo's lessons. 'It's polite to always answer when someone asks you a question.' So he said, “Yes, I will, Nulla,” in his maturing voice.
Donna grinned in the firelight at her old friend. “Roo, you've come on so well with Charlene teaching you. Every time I hear you talk, I have to look to make sure I'm not imagining it.”
Roo just smiled, then he wrinkled his face. “Donna, do I have to talk when other people talk?”
“Yes, Roo, it's polite to speak and be part of the conversation. If you have something to say, you wait until there's a break, then you say it. Do you have something to say now? We'll wait if you want,” she said.
Roo politely waited a moment then asked his question. “I want to track early but my foot's sore, I can't walk much. You can track, your mum said you tracked a possum across the caravan park and up a tree when you were a child.” He paused thinking of how to say the next thing. Putting words into his mind was hard work but getting easier. “I need you to track at the front when my foot gets sore.”
Roo's cousin, Riley, had known Roo and his family all his life. They both had Afghan blood but his own mother was white, one of the locals in the Flinders Ranges.
“Donna, you've known Roo since you were a kid, better than me. I only saw him at family reunions, you know, 'births, deaths and marriages'. He stayed with us once when we were both about five or six years old. He could track a beetle crawling on sandstone, even at that age. I can track, I know Nulla can but it sounds like you're our specialist tracker on this trip,” he said.
Donna was flattered. She knew she had good eyesight and when she was out with Billy, she was the one who did most of the tracking. In fact, her mother would boast of how good she was.
“Yes, of course I can do the tracking.” She took one of the sticks next to the fire and placed it carefully on the flames so it wouldn't accidentally flare up or send sparks into the air. It was quiet in the desert evening and the stars made a blanket of sparkles waiting for the moon to rise.
It was times like this that the desert people would sit around the camp fire to tells stories of love, adventure, tribal lore and their dreamtime legends. The people loved this time of bonding and sharing. The three men could tell Donna was about to tell a story, so they sat back on their swags to listen as the night settled upon the earth.
“My Uncle Wardiri, worked for the Northern Territory Police as one of their trackers. He loved telling us kids his stories. He told us that once they had to bring back a man who'd escaped into the wild lands up near the MacDonald Ranges. Uncle Wardiri told his police boss he would go out by himself and track him to his hideout. Then he would come back and lead them there. He had his weapons with him: three war spears, two war boomerangs, woomera, fighting shield and a tomahawk.” The fire crackled loudly as a patch of resin ignited. Nulla put another log on then leaned back to enjoy Donna's story.
“My uncle found the man's tracks, his name was Dancer Charlie. Charlie was a corroboree dancer and could perform like no one else. He was admired for his dancing but feared because he had a bad temper and killed when he lost it. Uncle tracked him through some of the wildest country he'd ever been in. Uncle Wardiri said Charlie tried every trick in the book to hide his tracks and at one time he completely lost them. So my uncle walked in circles, moving out wider each time he made a full circle, trying to cut Charlie's tracks. Uncle said he turned his eyes to see the sunlight shine on the stones and leaves, to see if they lit up his foot prints. But it was a toe nail scratch in a tree root, that gave Dancer Charlie away. My uncle saw the tiny scratch, then kept looking until the shape of Charlie's foot showed up in the light.”
“Did he catch Charlie in the ranges? That's wild country up there.” Riley sat up and asked with interest.
“Yes, it was wild country all right. Uncle found him drinking from a pool of water. It was deep in the ranges, a gully with a sandy creek bed and small billabongs filled with tortoises, yabbies, water lilies and fish. Charlie was living in a cave above the creek where there was plenty of food. He was a great warrior who'd come from the wild lands bordering the desert country. My uncle said he was afraid of him because he wasn't a homestead aboriginal, he was a man of high degree, a nangarri, a sorcerer. But Uncle Wardiri was a young man, a warrior himself. He'd killed his tribal enemies in single combat as well, so he knew he had a chance against Charlie.” Donna stood up at this moment and the boys watched in fascination as she spoke and pantomimed the rest of the story for them. It was like watching a live play as the firelight caught her movements, the flickering shadows from the firelight mesmerised her audience.
“Uncle Wardiri liked to show us kids how he fought Charlie. We'd all sit around the camp fire, late at night, like we're doing now and then he'd stand up and act it out. He was a great actor too. He said Dancer Charlie stood up straight when he recognised him. Charlie breathed in deeply so his chest grew big and powerful. He recognised my uncle and laughed at him. He yelled that he would kill Uncle Wardiri and while he died he could watch him eat his kidney fat. But my uncle was a brave man and while Charlie was boasting he threw his first war spear.
“Dancer Charlie easily dodged that first spear trying to knock it down next to him so he could reuse it. Uncle said he made sure that if he missed, it would skid out of his reach. Then Charlie threw his first war spear and my uncle easily flicked it away with his war shield. My uncle now threw his first boomerang so that it would land behind Charlie and flip backwards breaking his legs. But Charlie knew that trick and leaped high in the air and the boomerang spun underneath him.
“Uncle then jumped to the side and threw his second war spear but Charlie saw the move and again easily flicked it away as he now started to run towards my uncle. Charlie then flipped his second war spear into his hands and sent it flying towards Uncle Wardiri before uncle was ready.” Donna was ducking and weaving her body about, Roo, Nulla and Riley sat spellbound.
“Charlie's spear flicked up and down in flight, a deliberate throw to confuse his enemy. It cut my uncle's leg and he fell down, but only for a second. That's when Charlie threw his boomerang, right after he'd thrown his spear. My uncle said this was a heavy war boomerang that went up into the air then turned to fly straight at his head. Charlie was trying to chop Uncle Wardiri's head off.
“My uncle was hurt and off balance, all he could do was collapse onto the ground, as flat as he could. The boomerang went flying over his head, giving him a hair cut.” Donna showed the flight of the war boomerang with her hands and her body collapsed flat to the ground beside the fire. The boys watching could see the heavy war boomerang fly, just passing over Donna's head in their mind's eye.
“Charlie thought he'd seriously wounded my uncle, so he started to run even faster straight towards him. He threw his last war spear which twisted and flicked upwards then downwards just as it reached my uncle. Again Uncle Wardiri fell flat to the ground and the war spear left a scar on his shoulder. Uncle would always stop the story there to show us kids the scar where the spear sliced his skin. We'd all gather around to look and touch it.
“Now Dancer Charlie was dangerously close, he lifted his tomahawk high in the air ready to leap in for the killing blow. That's when Uncle Wardiri jumped up and threw his last war boomerang to give himself time to recover. He said that Charlie flicked his boomerang away with his war shield like it was a fly.”
Donna was panting and completely lost in the telling of the story. Her audience watched and listened with rapt attention, completely lost in this life and death drama.
“But my uncle had one last war spear that he'd hidden in the sand when he first saw Charlie. Charlie hadn't seen it and thought he had my uncle without any spears or war boomerangs. They bot
h still had their tomahawks, that's all. Uncle Wardiri used his toes to flick his spear into his hands and before Charlie had a chance to twist away Uncle threw his last spear and it went deep into his enemy's chest.” She pantomimed Uncle Wardiri flicking the spear into his hands with his toes and then throwing it with all his force. She then became Charlie, the spear in his chest, flung backwards with the force of the blow.
“Uncle Wardiri went back to his patrol officer and took them to the scene of the fight where they buried Charlie with proper ceremony. But because of that fight my uncle was now blood enemy to Charlie's clan. He'd spilled blood and his family were duty bound to seek vengeance. From that day on Uncle Wardiri had to watch his back. He defended himself against three of Charlie's totem brothers who tried to killed him. Each time he defeated them but he received many wounds and had to give up his police tracking. He lived with us at the caravan park until he died.
“Uncle Wardiri and Billy spent a lot of time together, he taught me his tracking skills. Mum was close to the two old timers too. He was mum's uncle and already old when I was growing up. But us kids loved it when he told stories of his days as a police tracker.”
Roo spoke first, something he'd not done before. “I knew Uncle Wardiri. He and Billy went walkabout in the desert to be with their brothers, to do spirit work.”
The group were keenly interested in this. “Roo, what do you mean 'spirit work'? Do you mean walkabout?” asked Riley.
“Yes, walkabout but not just a holiday, they taught warriors their spirit work,” Roo replied.
“Riley, Roo's one of them who was taught that spirit work but he can't tell you much, it's secret. That's right isn't it Roo?” said Nulla.
“Yes, I'm not allowed, it's secret,” he replied.
Donna had finished telling her story and sat sipping at Nulla's brew of bush tea. “Riley, you ain't one of our tribe. You've got Afghan in you, like Roo, so you have sand in your blood. But there are things we're not allowed to talk about with you.”
