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Chapter Forty-Two

P acking to vacate the camp for the last time, gave Abi the impression they were leaving a slowly sinking ship. They were torn between what they could carry, what was necessary and what they refused to leave behind. They filled two backpacks and one trolley suitcase with their belongings and made compromises, dictated by size and weight, where necessary.

Mackenzie made one final trip to the lagoon and filled up their water bottles, the rum bottle and all the shampoo containers. The weight of the water was a necessary burden.

The night before they left their campsite Abi was a restless soul, torn between hope and trepidation. She curled up by the fire with a notepad and pen but struggled to find the right words.

How do you write down your feelings knowing it could be your final message to the world?

The words were like cancerous cells reluctant to leave her, and she felt Mackenzie’s concerned eyes as he too, sat with poised pen on the other side of the fire. Nothing she could say to her reclusive mother seemed important and Spencer’s mother was like a distant island she saw but never touched.

Finally, she wrote her first note to her daughter.

Dear Krystal,

I know at times we didn’t see eye to eye, and I regret with all my heart that I let you go. If we never have the chance to embrace again then I want you to know that I will still be there. I will watch over you as you grow into a strong and beautiful woman. My eyes will shed a tear on your wedding day as you hold your breath and walk toward the man of your dreams. I will be there when you cradle your beautiful babies for the first time and, like I did with you, I will watch them grow with a song in my heart.

I love you, Krystal. I always loved you and I always will.

Your mum,

Abi.

She decided to make her next letter a testament to herself, a letter that she promised she’d come back to. In harsh detail she recorded her previous faults and selfish flaws, citing several examples of her despicable behaviour. Then elaborating on who she’d become, she highlighted her determination to remain true to herself, to trust her own feelings and emotions.

Then she signed off proudly, as Abi Mulholland, widow, mother, lover.

Abi folded her letters into quarters and handed them to Mackenzie. The touch of his hand was all she needed to know they were doing the right thing. He secured her letters with his note in the cockpit away from exposure to the elements.

That night as they settled for sleep, Mackenzie welcomed her into his bed. She slept with her body contoured against his, two people united as one. Her sleep was fulfilling and empty of dreams and she woke with the comfortable notion that if this had been her last night on earth then she was happy with the ending.

The following morning Abi helped Mackenzie load the heavy backpack onto his shoulders and then strapped on her much lighter pack. With her grip firm on the travelling suitcase, they left the place they’d called home for eight months while the morning sun’s rays still glistened off the wet leaves. Abi found herself glancing over her shoulder frequently, panic twisting her stomach as the plane wreck gradually disappeared behind the thick vegetation .

Navigating a path through the virgin bush was like carving through steel wool. Hour after hour they traipsed over the uneven forest floor, cutting through the stubborn plants and battling stifling humidity. Abi was slowing down, but she couldn’t help it.

Finally soaked with sweat and panting with exhaustion, she couldn’t go any further. “Mack, can we stop for a minute?”

The look of relief on his face showed he’d been waiting for her to call the stops and she made a mental note to listen to her body sooner. Mackenzie melted to the forest floor, lying flat, his chest rising and falling with each deep breath, and she followed his lead. The ground was like a soggy piece of toast, warm and soft. The trees overhead spun in slow delirious circles, but the spinning continued even after she closed her eyes.

“Here,” Mackenzie said, his voice above her.

She opened her eyes. A bottle of water dangled in front of her face.

“Go steady,” he cautioned. “We don’t know where our next supply will come from.”

After just one refreshing mouthful, she secured the lid on the bottle and handed it back to him. Her shoulders ached and she rolled her head from side to side attempting to loosen them up. A strange line running down a wattle tree at her side caught her eye and she leaned in for a closer look.

Hundreds of hairy caterpillars had formed a giant conga line down the trunk of the tree. It continued several metres into the bush.

“Hey, have a look at these caterpillars.” Abi recalled seeing this type of caterpillar once in her childhood. They’d formed a similar line across the yard. When she took one of the creatures out of the trail, the remaining ones simply hooked up again and kept going as if nothing had happened.

Mackenzie crawled to her. His weathered appearance, flushed cheeks and cracked lips showed his sheer exhaustion. “I wonder where they’re going.”

She wiped the sweat from her eyes. “I bet they have a better plan than we do.”

He reached out to touch one of them.

“Don’t touch it. They could be poisonous.”

He huffed then laid back spreadeagled on the dirt beside her.

Abigail wondered if their plan was foolish. With no idea what lay ahead or where their next meal would come from, she was placing complete trust in Mackenzie and his now expert ability to find food. He’d become a master with the slingshot and stumbled upon edible plants detailed in Charlie’s notes with uncanny regularity.

Her heart told her to return to the safety of the plane. Her head told her this plan was their only hope of survival.

And her emotions were a jumbled mess trying to figure it all out.