by Gary Gregor
He rested for a moment and watched, mesmerised as his breath came short and fast, forming thick, fluffy, moisture-laden clouds in front of his face. There was no wind; not even a gentle breeze, and the exhaled air seemed to hang momentarily in front of his eyes before slowly dispersing into the atmosphere. Why was that important, he wondered? What was with the sudden fascination with fluffy, white breath-clouds? As long as he was still breathing, who cared about the stale, no-longer-needed, waste breath? Best to get rid of it and make room in the lungs for more, life-giving, oxygen-laded air. It was logic, he thought. Just keep fuckin’ breathing. In, out, in, out. Suck it in. Fill the lungs with the good air, expel the bad.
He lost all track of time. His efforts slowed. The struggle to lift his legs became no more than a repetitious, involuntary, ineffective flexing of his calf muscles. The quadriceps in his upper thighs burned with each attempt to pull his legs from the mire. He wasn’t consciously aware that he was rapidly losing the battle against the mud. His mind was by now so befuddled he was unable to focus on anything for more than a few seconds.
Finally, he stopped struggling. He was now drifting in and out of consciousness every few moments and mumbling incoherently, stringing meaningless words together in disjointed, whispered sentences. His body temperature had dropped so low that his internal organs were, one, by one, shutting down and his breathing had become dangerously shallow and erratic as his respiratory system raced to the point of no return.
The pain was gone now. His legs no longer hurt, and the vice-like pressure in his chest had all but disappeared. He was tired. So tired. Maybe he should just lay down and rest a while.
He sat down in the ice water but did not feel the cold. It was warm now. Pleasantly warm. Just close your eyes and sleep for a moment or two.
He laid down on his back. His shoulders, and then his head entered the water. It splashed gently across his face, covering the woolen balaclava and leaving just his mouth, nose, and eyes exposed. It was like laying back in a bathtub of beautifully warm, welcoming water. In another very brief moment of clarity, he looked up at the star-filled sky and smiled.
Then, he closed his eyes and slept.
DAY SIX
39
Sleep had been fragmented at best for Tracy, interspersed often with thoughts of the coming trek across the desert to freedom, and other times with the whereabouts of their captor. She was sure the man, ‘Jack’ as she had elected to call him, was gone. When she snuck out into the adjacent room at around midnight, he was nowhere to be seen. She even dared to enter the first room and then creep up the entrance ramp to the outside of the complex. ‘Jack’ was gone.
She held her arm close to her face so she could read her watch. Five-forty-seven was early; too early for Tracy under normal circumstances, but these were not normal circumstances. What could possibly be normal about being locked in a tiny, cramped, box-like structure for five days? What long-term emotional effect would such extended confinement have on the developing minds of her young students?
Tracy was scared, but along with the fear came a degree of excited anticipation. She fumbled in the dim light for the compass on the floor next to her mattress and held it close to her eyes. It was too dark to read it, and she doubted she would know what she was looking at if she could read it. Somehow though, the feel of it in her hand gave her a tiny sliver of hope that they would all get out of this awful place.
Go east, ‘Jack’ had instructed her. Just follow the compass direction to the east of where they now were and they would eventually reach the road between Haasts Bluff and Papunya, he said. Eventually? How long would it take, she wondered? She tried to remember how long it took to get to this place after they turned off the road in the bus, almost a week ago.
It would be hot. They would be walking across the vast, unforgiving desert in the heat of the day. The children were tired. They would still be tired when they started the hazardous trek. They had no back-packs to carry food or water. They could take only what they could carry in the pockets of their clothing and in their hands. The thought of it frightened her.
Had she made the right decision? The children were in her care. She was responsible for them. She had to get them out of here and back to their families and she had to do it today. They could not stay in this place much longer; the food and water supplies were getting low. Soon they would run out and then they would be stranded until someone came along and found them; if someone came along and found them.
No one had found them yet, after all this time. Whoever was looking for them didn’t even know where to look. If they stayed, they would all eventually die, either of starvation or thirst. Some, the weaker ones, would die sooner than others, and then what would she do? There were no facilities to bury dead children. They would be forced to live with the bodies of those who died first. The emotional effect that would have on the remaining children would be devastating. There simply was no alternative, they had to go and they had to go today. She had made the right decision.
The children were prepared, at least as well as Tracy could prepare them. She spent a lot of time before they all settled down to sleep telling them of the plan to leave in the morning. There was surprise, and confusion, even more so when she told them that the man was leaving also, but not with them. They were, like her, apprehensive. There were no overt displays of joy at the prospect of leaving and, equally, none of panic, just lots of questions like – “Why is the man with the gun leaving?” - “Where is he going?” - “Where are we going?” - “How long will it take?” - “What will we eat?” – “Will we die in the desert?”
Children are resilient little people, Tracy knew. Often more so than some adults she had met. They were, for the most part, undamaged by the many pitfalls, obstacles, and dangers life will throw at them as their bodies and minds grow and develop into adulthood and beyond. In the last few days, these kids had experienced more than any would expect to experience in an entire lifetime. She was very proud of each and every one of them and she told them so.
They spent the evening preparing. With nothing in which they could carry water and food, other than a couple of cardboard boxes the supplies were stored in, they would have to share the carrying of the boxes, laden with both canned food and packets of dry snacks. Before going to bed, they distributed the supplies evenly into three boxes, only half filling them so they were not too heavy to carry. What they couldn’t fit in the boxes they would carry in their pockets. The water, stored in a number of five litre plastic bottles would also have to be carried out. The water was more important than the food so Tracy focused on carrying as much of it as they could carry between them. What they couldn’t carry had to be left behind. She hoped they would have enough.
Walking out would be difficult and laborious under the hot desert sun, particularly when burdened with cumbersome boxes of food and heavy containers of water. While Tracy knew the children were scared, they all seemed to anticipate their coming departure with an enthusiasm that, although tempered by their obvious apprehension, she had to admire. It would be an adventure, Tracy encouraged them. An adventure they would share together and tell their families about when they got back home.
A few of the children were beginning to stir. Tracy squinted at her watch again. It was time to get them all up. She pushed herself to her feet, padded quietly into the adjacent, fourth room where she used the toilet and washing facilities.
As soon as the children were up, the animated, excited chattering began. The air in the compact space was awash with a mix of both anticipation and speculation as a noisy hum of back-and-forth conversations ebbed and flowed throughout the room.
Shoes were pulled on, toileting was done and, from the supplies they would be leaving behind, the children ate as much food and drank as much water as their small stomachs could hold. Tracy encouraged them to eat and drink as much as they could. They only had what supplies they could comfortably carry and they needed them to last the journey.
T
hey would walk for an hour, every one keeping pace with the slowest person. After an hour they would rest, ration out the food and sip a little water, and then continue. They could sing, Tracy suggested. Singing songs would occupy their minds on something other than the blazing heat of the desert. Maybe they could tell stories. Each child could tell everyone else about his or her family; how many in their family? What were their names? What did their families do at Haasts Bluff? The time would fly by, she promised. Then they would be home and reunited with their beloved families.
She explained that the urge to use the toilet would strike each one of them, and herself, at some point, and probably more than once. When that happened, there had to be some ground rules she insisted. They all must walk at least ten paces away, turn their backs, and wait discreetly while the individual completed what was necessary, and then wait for them to catch up before proceeding. There would be no laughing, no lude jokes, no teasing. They would all have to experience the embarrassment sooner or later and it was not something that should be the subject of childish mocking.
Although only six-thirty in the morning, the sun was already a solid, golden orb sitting low on the eastern horizon and slowly rising. The air across the vast expanse of the surrounding desert was warming rapidly.
At the top of the ramp leading into the underground complex, Tracy, like a mother hen protecting her chicks, gathered the children around her. The murmurings of banter that accompanied the children as they exited the complex faded and stopped. Some of the children stared, wide eyed and curious, at the wide-open landscape around them. Others looked at Tracy, waiting for words of guidance. She stood with her back to the bunker complex and the children stood close together in a tight semi-circle in front of her. All the children were carrying something of their supplies, either in their hands or crammed into their pockets.
Tracy quickly conducted a head count. The worst thing to do would be to leave someone behind. They were all there.
For most of the children, setting off on foot, into the vast inland desert was a scary thought. For one or two others, those like Toby Miller and John Jabaldjari, it was exciting. John and Toby stood at the very front of the small group. Toby was fidgety and restless, anxious to get started. His friend, John Jabaldjari, on the other hand was a little more pensive.
John Jabaldjari was an aboriginal boy. He was born in this harsh, remote land and knew very little else. Alice Springs was the biggest city he had ever been to in his short life, and then it was only for a day on yet another school trip. He was only in the ‘Big Smoke’ for a short while and knew immediately he didn’t care for the hustle and bustle and the noisy traffic. He couldn’t wait to get out of there and go home to Haasts Bluff. He stared out at the wide-open land around him and smiled. This was his country, his land, his home. The desert was his back yard.
Tracy stepped closer to her gathered class. “Okay, children,” she began. “Is everybody ready?”
Soft murmurs in the affirmative filtered through the small, tight-knit group. Tracy noticed it was not a confident response. Like their time confined in the bunker complex, this was more of the unknown. They were all young but they knew enough about the desert to know it was a dangerous place to be lost in. And, most of them believed they were, in fact, lost. Had they simply moved from one dangerous situation to another? Were they all going to wander around, hopelessly lost in the desert until they died?
“Okay everybody,” Tracy continued. “This is what we are going to do.” She looked at the two biggest boys, Toby Miller and John Jabaldjari. “Toby, John, I want you two boys to lead the way. Please do not rush. It is important that everyone stays together. It is going to get very hot later in the day and we all need to go slowly.” She cast her eyes over the rest of her class. “Everybody else, please stay behind Toby and John. Walk at a comfortable pace and if you need to rest, please tell me and we will stop for a while. We have food and water but we need to be careful with it. Please do not eat or drink anything until we take a rest break and then we will all have something together.”
There was at Haasts Bluff school, as there was at all schools in the Northern Territory, a ‘No hat – No play’ policy. All school children, when outside the classroom had to wear a hat to protect them from the harsh sun. If they forgot, and left their hat at home, they had to remain in the classroom while their classmates played outside during recess and lunch breaks. It was rare that a child forgot his, or her, hat. If they did, they only ever did it once.
“Leave your hats on at all times,” Tracy said firmly. “And remember, we are a team. We stick together. Please do not let one of your classmates fall behind. Talk to your mates. Ask them if they are okay. Look after each other and always remember that we are going home. Does anyone have any questions?”
Jet Tomlinson, the eleven-year-old son of the assistant store manager at Haasts Bluff, tentatively raised his hand.
“Yes, Jet?” Tracy asked the boy.
“Which way do we go?” Jet asked. He looked around him. “There is nothing out there.”
Tracy reached into the pocket of her dress and produced the compass given to her by their captor. “We will use this,” she announced, holding the compass up so everyone could see it.
“What is it?” a soft, feminine voice asked.
“It’s a compass, Milly,” Tracy answered. “It will show us what direction to take. And, we might be able to follow the tracks our bus made when we came here.”
“There’s no tracks,” Toby Miller announced.
“I beg your pardon, Toby?” Tracy said.
“I already looked, Miss,” Toby explained. “When John and me came outside to empty the dunny.”
“It’s ‘John and I’, Toby, not ‘John and me’. And, it’s not a ‘dunny’, it’s a portable toilet.”
Toby Miller shrugged indifferently. “Sorry, Miss,” he apologised. “But there’s still no tracks.”
“Thank you, Toby,” Tracy responded. “It’s very resourceful of you and John to notice that. Perhaps we should keep our eyes open anyway, just in case we find some tracks. In the meantime, we’ll use the compass.”
Tracy stepped to one side of the group and opened the compass. She stared down at it for a while, confused and wondering exactly what she was looking at. She tried to remember what the man had told her. She turned the outside bevel and ensured that ‘E’ for East was at the top, aligned with the small white mark. She paused, staring down at the face of the compass, trying to remember. Something about the pointer. The red end of the pointer and the shaded area facing North on the dial. She tuned the compass and then suddenly remembered she had to turn as well. She readjusted her position, turned her body and watched the red end of the pointer. When it was in the shaded area, she stopped and looked up. She had turned almost forty-five degrees from her original position. Now, she was facing east; she hoped.
40
Richard ‘Maxwell’ Smart stepped from the front door of the small Papunya police station and crossed to the waist-high rail bordering the narrow verandah that ran the length of the station building. Here, he paused, leaned against the rail and looked out across the small community. It was difficult for him to harness his emotions and not get too far ahead of himself.
He wanted so badly to believe that Tracy would soon be back home but he had been a cop long enough to know that things don’t always go the way you might expect, or hope. He was curious as to why they hadn’t yet heard of where Tracy and her class were being held. It seemed the people responsible for the kidnapping had picked up the ransom money before dawn. It was now mid-morning, why hadn’t the bastards let them know where to find their captives? Maybe they wanted to get far enough away from the site before they contacted the police, he thought? Yeah, that had to be it. Soon they would hear. Soon Tracy and the kids would be home where they belong.
Richard Smart had never regretted his posting to Papunya, there was something about the remoteness of the place, together with the stark beauty of th
e surrounding West MacDonnell Ranges that struck a chord somewhere deep inside him. Then, of course, there was Tracy Cartwright.
It was true that, prior to moving to Papunya, Smart harbored some misgivings in relation to being a single man posted to a remote aboriginal community. Postings were generally of two-year duration and, while at the time he had no lady in his life, the idea that two years might go by without the warmth and affection of female companionship held some minor concern for him.
Smart was not, by any means, a rampant skirt chaser, but he was not a monk either. He liked the ladies as much as any other red-blooded Aussie male and it concerned him a little that he might be embarking on a long, dry spell in relation to romance.
Max met Tracy two weeks after his arrival at Papunya when he was was escorted by his new OIC, David ‘Spog’ Sparrow on an orientation tour of the station patrol area, including the smaller community of Haasts Bluff, located to the south of Papunya. He thought Tracy was beautiful the first time he laid eyes on her; even before ‘Spog’ had introduced him to the community school teacher.
Behind her, the glorious backdrop of the West MacDonnell Ranges paled into comparison as she stood on the sidelines of the community oval watching her small class of young children play. Perhaps it was the way the sun seemed to highlight her above everything else in her vicinity. Perhaps it was her infectious laugh when one of the children did something that amused her. Or, maybe it was the way her beautiful hair tousled softly against her face in the gentle afternoon breeze. Whatever it was, Richard ‘Maxwell’ Smart was smitten. Suddenly, any concerns he might have had about a romance-free tenure at Papunya vanished in the quickening of his heartbeat.
He heard the door open behind him and turned as Sam Rose came outside and joined him at the verandah railing.