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About
the Author
Born in
Sydney
, but having spent twenty-five years as a lecturer, teacher, park ranger and
environmental manager throughout the
Northern Territory
and in far north
Queensland
, this is Bruce Lawson’s first effort as a published writer of fiction.
Much of his time in the north has been
spent living and working in culturally and ecologically rich locations such as
Warruwi, Batchelor, Jabiru and Gurig, Kakadu and
Uluru-Kata
Tjuta
National Parks
. Bruce now lives with his family in
Cairns
working for the
Queensland
Parks
and Wildlife Service. He has a strong professional interest in protected area
planning and indigenous involvement in park management. He would like to devote
more of his time to developing his skills as a fiction author.
Despite
being very young compared to the other pilots working for the company, Andy was
recognised as an experienced operator. He could be relied upon to manage the
uncertainty of air travel during the monsoonal build up. But for the moment,
there were no threatening cloud formations or other ominous warning signs.
Things should continue routinely for the remainder of the twin-engine Cessna’s
flight from
Darwin
to Jabiru.
Andy
was ruggedly handsome and appeared to be full of self-confidence. At six foot
three inches tall, with tanned olive skin, wavy blond hair and striking pale
blue eyes, he always stood out in a crowd. Fiercely independent, he also liked
getting his own way. He had a reputation, particularly amongst his Rugby Union
football mates, as a determined and decisive leader. At twenty-seven, the young
pilot was single and in no serious relationship. Girls were certainly attracted
to his good looks, but often eventually tired of his stubborn and sometimes
old-fashioned attitudes. The problem with Andy was that he invariably believed
he knew what was best for everyone else. He was also not particularly good at
taking advice.
And
yet there was another more mellow side to Andy Turner’s personality. For a
start, he was a deep thinker who loved reading about history and different
cultures and religions. He was particularly interested in the treatment of the
Jews during the Second World War, a fact that puzzled most of his friends. He
was also very generous and would often give up much of his free time to help out
with local
Darwin
charity groups. In fact, he could never sit still and was always out helping
someone, or busy with some fundraising or another.
Despite
the early prediction of a routine flight, Andy knew that he would have to remain
alert and responsive. Unwelcome meteorological changes could occur rapidly and
without warning at this particular time of year. He checked his flight
instruments once again then radioed
Darwin
for a further weather update. The response was vague and confusing. Andy felt
irritated. This new morning flight control officer was all too casual for his
liking.
The
officer had mumbled something about a developing front in the north-west.
However, it wasn’t clear whether the system was heading towards or away from
the Cessna. For all Andy knew it was moving into
Darwin
, miles away from his current position. On the other hand, it could also quite
suddenly show up on the aircraft’s radar. He needed to clarify the situation
– and quickly.
Atmospheric
interference and a pile-up of other radio traffic frustrated Andy’s attempts
to get back to the control office and he was forced to give up in disgust.
Sorting out what the weather was doing seemed now out of the question. He made a
mental note to nag his boss again to upgrade the plane’s radio system.
Meanwhile, there was no other option but to wait and see what would happen. Andy
loathed uncertainty. He always wanted to be in control of things – or at least
be aware of what problems might lie ahead.
Thomas,
a dark-skinned wiry youth, dozed fitfully towards the rear of the plane. He
hated flying. The monotonous hum of the propellers served as a fitting backdrop
to the boring and so far uneventful flight. Exhausted from a long dreary term at
College he couldn’t wait to get back home for the holidays. Fortunately, there
were only about forty minutes of the flight remaining.
He
had two great passions in life – Aussie Rules football and fishing in the
freshwater creeks and rivers of
Western Arnhemland
. He had spent most of his life in remote Aboriginal communities and homeland
centres, but now spent much of the school year at a residential college in
Darwin
. This left him with mixed feelings. He enjoyed being a part of the Top End
football scene but as a young Aboriginal person he also found it hard to be so
far away from his family for long periods. He was glad to have a lot of friends
to help him through the times when he became homesick.
Although
at times moody and sensitive to teasing and criticism, Thomas was a teenager who
nevertheless knew his own mind and what he wanted from life. His goals and
ambitions were clear and uncomplicated. Firstly, he wanted to be a famous
Aboriginal footballer just like his heroes, Gavin Wanganeen and Dean Rioli. He
also wanted to learn as much as possible about his traditional Aboriginal
culture from tribal elders and other members of his large extended family. One
day he dreamed of playing an important role in caring for his traditional land
alongside his father and uncles. But for the moment, he had to be content with
completing his ‘white fella’ schooling first.
Jolene,
the only other passenger on board, sat across the narrow aisle from Thomas. She
attended the same school as him, but was a year ahead. Her head rested against
the side window. A growing number of raindrops, gathered into small amoeba-like
puddles, flattened against the external layer of Perspex. These mimicked the
shallow pools of teardrops that gathered at the base of her puffy cheeks. Jolene
was anxious. This was the first time she had been in a plane.
Her
long black hair draped attractively across her dusky brown skin and partly
shielded her sad dark eyes from the glare of the aircraft’s starboard windows.
Dressed in a simple sleeveless surf top and jeans, the teenager wore no make-up
or jewellery apart from a striking necklace crafted from chunky plastic beads
threaded together to form distinct bands of red, yellow and black. At only
fifteen, her weary face betrayed a hint of sadness that contrasted markedly with
her otherwise youthful and athletic appearance.
With
a white father and an Aboriginal mother, her skin colour was much lighter than
some of the other Aboriginal students at college. However, Jolene had been
raised to identify strongly with her Aboriginal side, and was often reminded by
her mother that who she was as a person was not defined simply by the colour of
her skin. And like her mother, Jolene had grown to be self-reliant and
strong-willed. She also had a reputation for being rude and abrupt when
irritated. And lately, it didn’t take too much for people to irritate her.
The
rain began to increase in intensity as the Cessna penetrated the edge of a newly
developed frontal system. The blue-grey cloud mass gave no indication of the
extent of the turmoil that churned deep within its vaporous bulk. The aircraft
bumped around and shuddered as it attempted to punch its way through the growing
turbulence. For the moment, Andy was able to conceal his concern behind dark
wrap-around sunglasses. He also felt let down by the so-called professionals at
Darwin
Airport
. They should have warned him about this sudden change in the weather.
A
flash of lightning burst through the port side windows without any warning. This
unleashed a tumultuous crash of thunder that ripped into the side of the
aircraft. The human contents were tossed around like small children on a
sideshow amusement ride. Thankfully, their seat belts kept them from serious
injury.
Each
wing flexed in the storm like a cheap plastic school ruler. The fuselage groaned
as the welded seams and rivets strained against the external pressure. A second
thunderclap sent the plane lurching dramatically onto its side. Jolene screamed
hysterically for her mother. Thomas reacted by burying his face into the back of
the seat in front of him. He bit deeply into his lip trying to hold back the
fear. Warm blood trickled across his chin and down his forearm.
Up
front, Andy battled the controls in a futile attempt to maintain equilibrium.
The intensity of his grip on the joystick drained all colour and feeling from
his fingers. Sweat ran profusely down his forehead, yet his face still betrayed
no fear or anxiety. The words of one of his boss’s favourite expressions
unexpectedly popped into his head: “Flying in the Territory is made up of many
long hours of boredom occasionally interrupted by intense moments of sheer
terror.” This then, must be one of those intense moments. He decided that he
preferred boredom to terror. Give him routine and monotony any day.
He
managed to level out the stricken aircraft just moments before another direct
lightning strike left the port engine spluttering and shorted out his instrument
panel. Once again, the plane was thrown violently around. Andy detected the
acrid smell of an electrical fire. A wispy white smoke wafted from underneath
the now lifeless panel of gauges, dials and switches. With only one functioning
engine, no instrumentation and the relentless battering of the brutal tropical
storm, the pilot was unable to prevent the Cessna from sliding sideways into a
downwards trajectory. All his years of flying now counted for nothing – the
aircraft simply failed to respond. Each passing second brought the plane closer
to certain impact with the ground below.
Even
the radio system had burnt out. There was no way of contacting
Darwin
to radio in their position. Andy suddenly felt very cold. His ears ached from
the sudden drop in altitude and the smoke bit viciously into his eyes and
nostrils. Despite being unable to see, he tried desperately to level out the
aircraft before the crash by attempting to regain control of the rudder and
flaps. He knew there was a much better chance of survival if he could manage to
reduce the angle of impact and skid the plane across the ground on its belly. A
side-on or nose-first collision would likely prove fatal.
But
without sight, he had to rely on instinct to determine the plane’s
orientation. He sensed that the aircraft was beginning to respond. Although
still losing altitude, he had at least managed to pull it out of its dramatic
side-long dive. Encouraged, Andy wrenched back harder on the joystick. He had no
idea how long it would be before the crash, nor the exact angle of the
Cessna’s descent. All he could do now was to wait for the inevitable. In the
background, he could clearly hear the high-pitched whine of the disabled port
engine and the chilling scream of one of his passengers.
A
sudden blow to the underside of the Cessna jerked the joystick from Andy’s
hands. The floor of the fuselage buckled inwards wrenching seats from floor
mountings and tearing out the rear cargo barrier. Rebounding luggage and freight
narrowly missed the two panic-stricken passengers. The long anticipated moment
of impact had arrived. The trio had no way of knowing what would happen next.
They could only hang on to whatever remained intact around them and hope.
The
aircraft slew sideways and skidded across the ground. The starboard wing peeled
away from the fuselage and twisted to one side. Andy’s head bashed against the
side window catch as the plane collided with a termite mound and jolted
momentarily off the ground. A trickle of blood appeared from a jagged head wound
on his forehead. A gut-wrenching thump and the sound of ripping vegetation
signalled the return of the damaged Cessna to the ground. This time most of its
momentum was spent, and it skidded only an additional fifty metres before coming
to rest.
Andy
had lost consciousness and was therefore unaware that he had managed to safely
crash-land the Cessna. The immediate welfare and whereabouts of Thomas and
Jolene were unclear. The storm had now abated, and the noise of driving rain,
wind and an uneasy silence replaced the thunder. Ironically, the sun began to
appear tentatively through the still partly overcast sky. The landscape,
although littered with torn-out vegetation and aircraft debris, had an alluring
washed-clean smell.
Thomas
began to wake-up, feeling as though he had just played the hardest footy game of
his life. He was soaked in sweat and his body ached. But this was hardly an
unfamiliar experience given the time of year. It was the monsoonal build-up, and
for the last few weeks at college he had lain awake tossing and turning for many
hours each night. The room that he shared with Brian, one of his relatives from
Gunbalanya, was musty and stale. He hated boarding at school during the
build-up.
In
his semi-conscious state, something seemed a bit different. For a start, his lip
was cut and stinging and he could taste blood in his mouth. It also didn’t
seem like a normal school day, and this didn’t feel like his college room. He
lay quietly with his eyes still closed and attempted to work out what, if
anything, was wrong. He soon became aware that everything around him was
strangely silent. There was no irritating fan noise. Nor was there any sign of
Brian’s all too familiar and exasperating snoring. Usually his cousin’s
incessant nocturnal grunting synchronised with the mechanical whining and
rattling from the overhead fan as it struggled to drive rusty blades through
syrupy, humid air. But for some reason his surroundings were now deathly quiet.
Even
with his eyes still closed, it wasn’t long before he realised that he wasn’t
lying in his shared college room at all. The final clue was the feeling of hot
sun shining directly onto his face. He forced himself to open his eyes, but shut
them again quickly against the intense glare. They had been open long enough,
however, to take in his surroundings. His brain ached with the strain of trying
to make sense of the situation.
Although
his memory was hazy, he began to piece together disjointed fragments of recent
events. Foremost in his mind were the chilling sounds of ripping metal and a
person close by screaming. This triggered his recollection of the plane crash.
He must have been knocked unconscious when the ailing Cessna finally belly
flopped to ground. It would explain his forgetfulness as well as his aching
head, neck and left shoulder.
He
then recalled the unexpected flash of lightning that had engulfed the plane and
momentarily blinded him, followed by a sickening wrenching in his stomach as the
plane jerked awkwardly onto its side. Next, he remembered the dramatic drop in
altitude and finally the rip and tear of metal and vegetation as the plane’s
undercarriage skidded across the ground, slicing through spindly paperbarks and
unburnt spear grass. Eventually it had come to rest in an old buffalo wallow at
the edge of a drying floodplain. He must have passed out then.
Thomas
started to take in his unfamiliar surroundings. To his left, leaning over the
motionless shape of a man he recognised as the pilot, was the tall light-skinned
girl from the plane. He recognised her from school, although he had only seen
her once or twice in the college dining room and certainly had no idea of her
name. At thirteen, he was not particularly interested in girls except for his
friendship with a couple of class mates of his own Kunwinjku language group. A
bit older than he, Thomas branded her straight away as a city kid. She was
holding a T-shirt to the pilot’s head. It appeared to be blood stained.
He
looked on as the girl from school tended the unconscious pilot. She appeared to
be checking over his seemingly lifeless body for other injuries. She moved
freely, indicating that she herself had not suffered any adverse effects from
the crash. Her jeans, however, were coated with fine dust and her trendy red
top, torn at the right sleeve, was covered with dry kerosene grass. Still
feeling dopey and nauseous, he could do nothing but continue to watch her work.
Not
quite ready to move or talk yet, he closed his eyes and drifted into a half
sleep. About an hour later he began to come around again. The nausea seemed to
have settled, although his body still ached. Eventually he pulled himself up to
a sitting position and took in his surroundings. The girl was once more holding
the T-shirt against the pilot’s head. With her face turned to one side and
covered in shadow, it was difficult to make out her expression.
“Is
he badly hurt?” he asked, as the skinny girl relaxed her grip on the makeshift
bandage momentarily and brushed the hair from her face. She turned slowly
towards him but made no reply. Her face was pale and contorted, as though she
was going to be sick. Thomas thought that she also looked annoyed, perhaps at
being interrupted.
“Well,
what’s your name then?” he persisted. He felt ignored and did not appreciate
it.
“Forget
the questions will you!” she eventually snarled. “Get off your bum and give
me a hand. Can’t you see he needs our help?”
This
wasn’t the response that Thomas had expected. Nevertheless, he hauled himself
up off the ground and went over as commanded. Standing beside her, he made a
mental note not to purposefully get on the wrong side of this girl again. She
was surely not one to tangle with.
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