Beware of Dogs
Page 13
As soon as I realised, on that first night, that I had to get away from the cabin, I began to devise a plan of action. Then, as dawn broke, very quietly and carefully I put the first part of the plan into operation. I had brought with me a backpack and a small duffel bag and fortunately, not knowing what to expect of this holiday, I had left in the backpack many of the things I usually take on a short field trip. The duffel held towels, swimwear, mask and snorkel, spare clothes and nightwear.
I had to make sure I had all the things with me that would help me survive, while leaving enough behind to look as though I expected to come back. For this to be convincing I needed to leave my purse and keyring, sponge bag and at least some of the spare clothes. Not having my car, or expecting any high expenses, I hadn’t brought my driver’s licence or credit cards, so the purse only contained cash and my medical insurance card. I didn’t think they could do much with that, so I left it there. My keyring had car keys, house key and lab keys. I took the house key off and secured it in one of the little zip pockets in the anorak, hoping the lab keys would be mistaken for house keys. The car keys worried me a bit, but they were large and jangly and difficult to conceal, and since they didn’t carry any identifying information, they’d only be useful to someone who was able to recognise my car.
My plan was to go for an early morning walk around the island, preferably on my own, and case out possible hiding places, then return and eat a large lunch (since food was going to be my main problem) and, having lulled them into a false sense of security by returning the first time, take a late afternoon stroll from which I would fail to return.
Assuming Matt would search my things while I was out on the morning walk, I spent the sleepless part of the night preparing, switching everything I would need into the backpack, and leaving spare clothes, purse and sponge bag lying around as if awaiting my return. I also cased the galley kitchen, on the pretext of getting myself a drink, in search of an extra vessel for storing water, or any food I could steal undetected. No luck there (and I quickly closed a drawer containing two pairs of handcuffs, two black balaclavas, some nasty-looking whips and a terrifying object like an oversized pistol).
The pantry was seriously padlocked, which made me suspect it contained something I’d very much rather not see, but I did manage to remove a handy supply of plastic kitchen tidy bags from a pile in another kitchen drawer, which I stuffed into my backpack when I got back into the bunk room.
And all the planning paid off. It worked perfectly. I hope my plan for tomorrow will work as well.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
White’s Skink (Liopholis whitii)
This is a common and widely distributed small reptile. It prefers dry areas with grassy vegetation and logs that provide both shelter and insects for food. Skinks are cold-blooded so they also like basking on rocky outcrops and paths. They grow to about 20 to 25 cm, and are usually black or brown in colour with a pattern of stripes or spots, making them difficult to see. The tail is longer than the body, and can be shed in a threatening situation and later regenerated. Skinks and other lizards can be roasted on a fire on sticks, like marshmallows.
Atkinson’s Guide
FIELD DIARY – Monday 23 April
* * *
I woke, weak and exhausted, after a night wracked by cramps and pain, and realised immediately that something was wrong. My alarm hadn’t performed its usual vibratory dance. I looked at my watch, then looked again, unable to believe what I was seeing. Its silvery numbers showed 3.47 a.m. I knew that couldn’t be right. Light was coming into the cave and I feared it was already too late to go out in search of nectar. Today my need for water is more desperate than usual. Even full of sugar, it’s the only remedy available to deal with the cystitis. I looked at the watch again. No change. My heart lurched and a lump came to my throat. My watch, my companion, timekeeper and friend, had stopped. I tried everything, rewinding, resetting, moving every tiny pin and button, removing and replacing the battery. Niets. Nothing.
I knew I’d have to go out, both to use the toilet rock and to check the time as well as I could by the position of the sun, something I’m not particularly expert at. Though terrified of hearing Dave approach, I managed the first task with some pain, though less acute than I feared. But the sun was fully up and I knew I couldn’t risk going to collect nectar in case he made another search before the boat arrived.
At least I’m confident the boat will come today. The sky is blue and clear, the sea like glass. Perfect weather for a day on the water. Since I’m now stuck without food or water, I concentrate on preparing for the dangerous task ahead. Although the hide I used on previous boat days is well hidden and relatively safe to access, today I am determined to see exactly who gets on and off the boat. For this I will have to find a hiding place above the cleared area that bisects the island and runs between the landing stage and the cabin.
The island is shaped like a flattened figure eight, and my cave is on the north-west side of the highest point. The southern end is lower and less rocky, and from what I have seen, covered for the most part by grassy tussocks. Probably because of the congenial vegetation and relatively sandy soil, this is the favoured area for mutton-bird burrows. It is also, for the same reason, Snake Country, so I have not explored it in detail, but from what I remember the tussocks seem to give way to a narrow strip of pebbly beach leading to tumbled, weed-covered low rocks.
The waist of the eight runs between the landing stage and the cabin, and looks like a combination of natural sandblow and human clearing. My guess is that the cabin was once a mutton-birder’s hut and the flattest and clearest area was chosen as the best landing and building site. Now the Duffy brothers probably run a small bobcat or Dingo digger over it every couple of years or so by way of maintenance. It’s unlikely that the number of visitors would provide enough foot traffic to keep it clear. Possibly because of this natural separation line, the northern end is quite different from the south, and much more diverse. The cabin is on the eastern extremity of the sandblow, facing the beginning of a long, sheltered beach that stretches almost to the northern point, the point where I left my decoy slicker and backpack only a few days ago. I’m sure the rocks that tower above it are the same formation that houses my cave. If I’d had my climbing equipment, I could probably have got across in a quarter of the time and with much less danger, but it hadn’t occurred to me to bring climbing gear to a beach, and even if I had, I couldn’t have taken it with me without arousing suspicion. It’s one thing to go for an afternoon stroll with your anorak and a small backpack. Setting off laden with ropes, harness and climbing shoes would be likely to set off alarm bells.
When I left that first afternoon I timed my departure carefully. Matt had programmed for us to go swimming after lunch and, after making sure of eating a well-balanced and nutritious lunch, I pretended to join in the drinking that continued after the food was finished. Fortunately, sand is a very accommodating medium for hiding unwanted gin and tonic.
By swim time, everyone but me was pretty relaxed and sleepy. We all went into the water and splashed around, the cold serving to wake the others up a bit. After what I hoped was a convincing amount of time, I started slapping my arms and legs.
‘Something’s biting me!’
Matt swam over and had a look at my arm. ‘I can’t see anything.’ He looked at me narrowly, so to allay any suspicions I ducked under again and gave my arms a few good pinches, then surfaced and displayed the blotchy result.
‘Ugh. It’s all red and itchy. I think I’d better have a shower.’ I quickly got out and went into the cabin, grabbed my water bottle and filled it to the top, organised a final pack and got out the clothes I was going to wear, all the time glancing out of the window to make sure nobody came back. Then I had as thorough a shower as I dared, paying particular attention to my hair. No matter what the future held, I knew this would be the last wash in fresh water for some time.
Skin soaped from top to toe, hair squeaky clean, I s
at on the beach and waited, heart almost stopping with anxiety, wondering how I would find the opportunity to carry out my plan. I had to make a real effort not to stare too obviously at my watch. It was almost four o’clock when they finally straggled out of the water and into the cabin. I didn’t want anyone looking into my backpack so I followed immediately in their wake. Lana made for the shower, and Matt and Dave grabbed beers from the gas fridge and threw themselves into armchairs, ignoring the spreading wet patches left by their board shorts.
It was now or never.
I went into the bunk room, put on the anorak, threw the backpack casually over my shoulder, and bounced out, putting on my sunniest voice. ‘Anyone want to go for a walk? I thought I might see where the beach goes to, see if there are any interesting rocks.’
‘Rocks?’ Oh God. Matt was suspicious. Surprisingly, Dave came to my rescue. ‘She’s a gee-ologist, mate. Gets off on rocks.’ After a good day’s drinking, he thought this was pretty funny. He muttered something to Matt that sounded like ‘get her rocks off’, but I ignored him.
‘How about you, Matt? Feel like a bit of rock-pooling?’
He just looked at me. ‘Don’t be long. Lana’ll need help with dinner.’ What a gentleman, looking after his lady-love’s interests.
‘Won’t be. Just to the end of the rocks.’ I was afraid I was overdoing the cheeriness, but they didn’t appear to notice.
At first I thought I’d missed the path from the beach to the rocky headland, but after a few false starts I found the crossed sticks I’d left to mark the spot. Quickly, hoping nobody was watching, I took off the beacon-like red anorak and the backpack, so that in pale-blue shirt and jeans I wouldn’t stand out in the rapidly dimming light. Then I pulled a switch of tea-tree and retraced my steps to the high-tide mark, scuffing out my prints as I went. Treading heavily, I left a clear trail along the water’s edge to the rocks at the north end of the beach. Then I climbed up through the rocks, picked my way up into the scrubby heathland and made my way back, stepping from tussock to tussock, to collect my anorak and backpack.
From there it was a slow and careful climb through the heathland on a rough path that must have been man-made at some time but was now so overgrown it had almost disappeared, all the time scuffing out my tracks behind me. Then across the ridge into a small valley filled with stunted sheoaks and coast banksias where the path pointed westwards and I searched again for the set of crossed sticks that marked the narrow path I had found that morning that led to the headland. And the cave.
Today I must take that trail again but this time I’ll have to leave the path and find a way to penetrate the sheoak thickets that overlook the sandblow. I tried this on that first day and was defeated. Now I have no choice. I must be sure of Dave’s whereabouts, whether he goes or stays. I have to find a vantage point that overlooks the area between the cabin and the landing stage.
Sunset.
Dave has gone, I know he has, but I still can’t bring myself to believe that it’s safe to go down to the cabin. Even the lure of fresh water couldn’t bring me to overcome my fear that his leaving was a trick, that if I trustingly made myself at home in the cabin he’d return, with the others, under cover of darkness.
At least now I have another hiding place. I got to the top of the path without incident then, guessing as well as I could from memory where the midpoint of the sandblow would fall, I just kept trying to get through the densely packed scrub until I found a course of rocks running between a stand of sheoaks. With a lot of twisting and turning I was able to follow the seam of rock through the tree trunks until I finally found myself, panting, scratched and exhausted, within sight of the cleared area near the landing stage. The soil was also fairly sandy, so I kept away from the edge in case it crumbled under me, and searched for a hiding place.
And I found one, even better than the one on the headland because it was off the ground. An old but solid sheoak had fallen across an outcrop of rock, forming a climbing platform that reached the understorey of a dense stand of sheoaks and coast banksias that leant right out over the path from the cabin.
Very slowly and carefully, I made my way from branch to branch until I reached a hollow I had spied from the ground, formed around a kind of nest. Working even more slowly, I removed the nest, piece by piece, hoping it was as abandoned as it looked, and insinuated myself into the space.
It wasn’t comfortable, and I knew that by the time I’d perched there for several hours it would probably be agony, but it was extremely well hidden – I don’t think someone standing directly underneath would have seen anything at all – and it was relatively safe.
I could have done with some food, or something to read. I wished I’d brought my diary, but there was really nothing to do but sit and wait. And this time I didn’t have to wait long. I didn’t hear the boat come, either because they had deliberately come in without power, or because the dense bush all round me muffled the noise, so when I heard Dave shout, I got such a shock I almost fell out of the tree.
‘She’s gone. Found her stuff on the rocks.’ This was followed by sounds of muttering, no doubt the Duffy brothers expressing their doubts, then from opposite directions the three of them appeared in my range of vision. I had been away from human presence for so long now that they somehow didn’t seem real. I watched them with the feeling I was an airline passenger watching a cartoon on my own little private screen. Even though they were close enough that now I could hear every word, I wasn’t afraid. But I was listening so intently that I almost stopped breathing.
They didn’t spend long on idle chitchat.
‘I’ve searched every inch of this bloody island. You can check if you like.’
‘Not our job, mate.’
‘Believe me, she’s tried to swim for it and drowned.’
I heard Mick’s mirthless serial-killer laugh. ‘Maybe we’ll see her in the water. Do some game fishing.’
‘Good thing we got the spearguns.’ This was Kel.
But Dave had had enough. ‘Let’s go.’
‘Whoa! Hold on, mate. Just gotta get the stuff.’
The brothers were back in minutes, with Kel pushing the cart, laden with white boxes. This time I did hear the boat start up. I waited a good hour in case anyone doubled back, then slid down from my hiding place and made my way to the viewing point that overlooked the cabin. Again, there was no sign of life, but I didn’t go down there, even though this time I really did believe Dave was gone.
Now my biggest priority was to find food. I suspected that Matt would send the Duffy brothers back at some stage to check for signs of activity around the cabin, so I took my time and continued to erase my footprints. I checked every copse and stand of vegetation for seeds, berries, sap, anything at all that might be edible. All I found were the last remnants of the boobialla crop, twelve small and sour fruits, half of which I ate immediately. Nothing else. I searched the ground for fungi without success, although if I had found something I’d have had no way of knowing whether it was safe to eat or not. The lecture series had failed to include a fungi fanatic.
I felt better after eating the fruit, but it didn’t really make a dent in my hunger. I decided to continue early morning squeezing of the coast banksia blossoms for nectar, which is in some ways both food and drink, although the cystitis was making itself felt again, exacerbated by lack of fluid, and sugar water is not exactly the treatment of choice.
But now I can put bags on the leaves to obtain clear water, which needs full sunshine to be effective, so I’ll have to risk Dave finding the bags if he comes back.
Almost back at the cave, I saw a skink sunning itself on a rock. Without even taking time to think, I launched myself onto it, grabbed it behind the head, and bashed it against the rock. I took out my knife, cut it in half, skinned and gutted it as if it was a lab specimen, then ate it warm, throwing the refuse into a clump of tea-tree. If I’d had time to slice it and a better knife, I could have called it sashimi and it would have been gour
met food. Then, feeling considerably better for a bit of protein and blood, I searched the area minutely in case it had a mate. No luck that time, but it does give me some hope for the future.
Then an expedition down the rocks added seven karkalla fruits to the total food tally. It was becoming dark by the time I took every specimen bag I had and tied them around the banksia leaves. I had hoped that dew might already be forming, but no luck there, so I will have to wait until morning.
By the time I have unloaded my weapons, eaten my fruit and prepared for sleep it is dark, on the night of Monday the 23rd of April.
* * *
The continuing lack of food is making me feel very strange and light-headed.
I now know what people mean by ‘lighter than thistledown’. The only time I’ve felt as weightless as this is when I got food poisoning when I visited my parents in Laos. This is different because I feel remarkably well, like a shell thoroughly scoured by the sea, but also terribly, achingly empty. Although the pelvic pain is less I suspect I won’t sleep as I drift into dream and memory.
My first impression of Laos was of dust. I’d flown into Vientiane on a high-wind, almost forty-degree day, and dust was swirling through the flimsy airport buildings and across the tarmac into my face. It was so thick at first I couldn’t see my mother, and for a fleeting moment I feared she wasn’t coming and I realised I had no idea how to find her.
When she emerged from the crowd she looked so familiar I could feel a silly smile forming. We rushed to meet each other, then stopped abruptly. We have never been a hugging, kissing family. Why not? Was it against the Lord’s word, or was it some kind of genetic inhibition? Why hadn’t I hugged her in spite of it, the last chance I would ever have to do so? Why hadn’t she hugged me?