Page 12

Chapter Twelve

A t the shredded edge of the plane wreck, Mackenzie’s heart was in his throat as he stepped into the dimness.

An elderly man was slumped against the inside wall of the cabin. His legs were stretched out in front of him, and his chin rested on his chest.

“Hey, buddy.” Mackenzie knelt beside him.

The old man’s wispy, grey hair clung to his face. His skin was morbidly pale. Even his lips were colourless. He looked dead. Crushed, Mackenzie withdrew and as he did, he saw the body dangling from the upturned chair.

“Jesus.” He took an involuntary step back. The hanging man’s hands were a deep pomegranate colour and swollen almost beyond recognition.

Mackenzie jumped when the elderly man groaned. He stared at the body looking for signs of life. Finally, the man’s eyelids twitched.

“He’s alive.” Mackenzie stepped closer and touched the old man’s shoulder. “Hey man, are you hurt?”

The man mumbled something.

“Abi, get me the water.”

Abigail joined them in the crowded space and Mackenzie saw her gasp at the disfigured corpse. “Oh my God,” she whispered as she handed over the water without taking her eyes off the body.

Mackenzie placed his hand on the old man’s neck and guided his head back. He touched the bottle to his cracked lips and the man opened his mouth in response. A couple of drops touched his tongue and Mackenzie heard him swallow.

The injured man came more alive with each mouthful and when he opened his eyes, their redness failed to dampen the intensity in his pale blue irises.

“Are you hurt?” Mackenzie repeated his question.

The man nodded and lifted his hand to his chest.

“Your chest hurts?”

He nodded again.

Mackenzie turned to Abigail. “Do you know first aid?”

She shook her head and nudged backwards.

Mackenzie prayed the old man’s injury wasn’t serious. The last time he’d administered first aid, it hadn’t worked out so well.

The man’s shirt was stiff with dried blood that cracked as Mackenzie unbuttoned it. The pale eyes stared up at him, as if dreading Mackenzie’s reaction. Mackenzie trembled as he peeled back the shirt to reveal a gaunt, hairless chest. Dark, dried blood covered the right side of the man’s torso and a chunk of bone protruded from his chest like a stick of chalk.

Mackenzie swallowed down a wave of nausea as the man’s intense gaze bore into him. But he was determined to remain calm despite his mind exploding into a million terrifying thoughts. The silence between them bristled with unspoken questions. After a while the man tilted his head in a slow nod as if he had all the answers.

Mackenzie cleared his throat. “It’s just a broken rib.” His trembling voice gave away his forced calmness, but he winked. “You’ll be fine. We’re going to take you back to our campsite. Okay?”

The man nodded with his eyes.

“Mate, I’ve forgotten your name.” Mackenzie was disappointed he had to ask.

“I’m Charlie, the botanist,” he murmured.

“Right, I’m Mackenzie and this is Abigail.” Mackenzie buttoned up Charlie’s shirt and rested his hand on the old man’s shoulder.

“You’re going to be okay. We’ll get a few things organised and be back in a moment. ”

Tears trickled down Charlie’s dirt smudged cheek and Mackenzie turned away, swallowing back the emotional lump in his throat. He crawled backwards, exited the plane and breathed deeply.

Abigail stepped up beside him. “What’re we going to do?”

Mackenzie considered his options and once again a complete feeling of inadequacy overwhelmed him. Charlie’s immense pain was obvious and moving him would be agony, but he couldn’t stay here. Abigail’s bloodshot eyes urged him to have a solution.

He made a decision. “Let’s look around the wreck first. See if there’s anything useful, like a first aid kit.” Placing his hands on her shoulders he guided her back to the wreck and for the first time she didn’t withdraw from him.

The outside of the plane was relatively unscathed considering the circumstances of its arrival. It appeared to have avoided impact with the trees as it fell from the sky. It was a bizarre sight, as if it had been placed here on purpose, like part of a movie set. A scan of the surrounding area revealed Tom’s shattered camera, a backpack and a water bottle. No other items seemed useful.

Abigail unzipped the pack to reveal clothes and a bottle of Bundaberg Rum. Her eyes lit up as she held the bottle like a trophy and then handed the amber liquor toward Mackenzie. “Want some?”

He thought she was joking but the look on her face said otherwise. “No, thanks.”

Without a second thought, she cracked the lid and took a swig. Tears twinkled in the corners of her eyes as she wiped her lips and then held the bottle out to him again.

The distinct smell of the bitter liquid brought back an overwhelming image of his father. His thick, tobacco-stained hands splayed on the kitchen bench. His barrel shaped belly. The grey specks spotting his beard stubble like spittle. The foul body odour that poisoned every room his father entered. Mackenzie smacked the memory down. “I don’t drink rum.”

“Me neither.” Abigail swallowed another mouthful.

“Go steady. It might be the only medicine we have.”

She hesitated before screwing the lid back on and returning the bottle to the backpack .

“We should get Charlie settled before dark. I can come back for all this stuff tomorrow.”

“But how are we going to move him?”

“I’ll have to carry him, but I’ll need your help.”

He crawled back into the wreck and told Charlie their plan. “Are you ready?”

Charlie nodded.

Mackenzie slipped one hand beneath Charlie’s legs and one behind his back and pulled the frail body to his chest, surprised at just how light the old man was. In one motion, he lifted him off the ground and Charlie let out a shrill cry of agony. Mackenzie didn’t stop. He ducked beneath the jagged edges of the opening and out into the jungle.

“Here we go, Charlie. We can do this.”

Tears streamed down Charlie’s face and for a brief moment, Mackenzie thought he’d passed out. But Charlie opened his wrinkled eyelids and stared at him, hardly blinking. The old man’s skin had become even paler than when he first saw him, and dozens of spider veins were clearly visible on his cheeks.

“You’re going to be okay.” Mackenzie repeated the mantra every couple of steps along the arduous trek back to the campsite. His breathing was laboured, and his heart pounded in his ears, but he didn’t complain. As Abigail held back branches and helped navigate mossy logs, Mackenzie couldn’t help but wonder what they were going to do with Charlie once they got him back to the cabin.

A brilliant pink sky welcomed them back to the clearing and a warm breeze blew dried leaves along the ground ahead of them. Mackenzie’s leg muscles burned as he searched for the ideal place to put Charlie. It would be impossible to get him into the plane and he’d be too exposed near the fire. Charlie needed to be protected from the elements and the only obvious place was beneath the plane. “Abigail, empty my suitcase out under the plane. We’ll put him there.”

Abigail raced to the luggage, selected a large brown case and dragged it over.

“That’s not mine.”

Sadness briefly crossed her eyes. “I know, but Spencer won’t need his clothes anymore.” She unzipped the case and tipped out the clothes to create a rugged bed .

Charlie’s eyes remained closed as Mackenzie lowered him onto the clothing and despite his shallow breathing and pale skin, he looked peaceful. Mackenzie resisted the urge to re-examine the wound, stressing over the fact he could do nothing with the injury anyway.

With Charlie settled, Mackenzie occupied himself getting a meal prepared before the sun disappeared. Unwelcome questions raged through his mind. He focused on moulding the ingredients into smooth dough, his own form of meditation. When the dough was ready, he folded it over a handful of beans then pinched the sides to seal it and placed it onto the hotplate.

Charlie groaned and Abigail kneeled next to him. “It’s okay, Charlie. You’re safe now.” She moistened a cloth to wipe across his forehead. “Are you hungry?”

Charlie nodded his response. “Smells good.”

“I think it’s ready.” Mackenzie carried the tin over from the fire.

He sliced the calzone into three equal portions and beans oozed out, sizzling on the hot metal. Mackenzie took a bite and the crust cracked as the soft bread mingled with the warm beans.

Charlie only ate a few small mouthfuls before he succumbed to sleep, and Abigail covered him with one of Spencer’s shirts before they crept away.

The air cooled sharply as night descended. We need to find a way to keep Charlie warm and free from moisture overnight.

Mackenzie had no intention of putting him in the plane with the bodies.

The smell from the cabin, when it occasionally wafted in their direction, was horrific enough, but getting him up there would be nearly impossible.

After a while he had an idea. He hooked the cargo net onto the wreck to create two sides and wove bushy branches into the holes until it was a blanket of dark green foliage. The resulting two-sided bedroom was the best he could do.

Abigail stepped to his side. “You’re very clever.”

“Thanks. I think I’ll sleep here too, just in case he needs me.”

Abigail hugged herself and chewed on her bottom lip.

Huh. She’s looking for an invite. He touched her shoulder. “Shall we make our beds now? ”

Her eyes lit up. “Thank you.”

They each dragged over another suitcase and spread out the clothes to make a bed. Mackenzie was overwhelmed with sadness at the sight of Rodney’s favourite denim jacket. Knowing he would never see it on him again broke his heart.

As he folded it up, he inhaled Rodney’s ocean-scented aftershave.

It was the same cologne he’d been using for over a decade.

I’ll never smell him again.

As he placed the jacket beneath his head as a pillow, a slice of his heart crumbled away.