by Drew Lindsay
‘Thought I should show you something before we go down to Sam’s shack,’ said Joy as she dropped the Holden back a gear and slowed down. Ben realised that they were approaching the police holding yard.
‘I’m not going to stop. Just look at what is left of Winston’s boat.’
As Joy drove slowly past the holding yard, Ben could see a pile a smouldering ash where Winston’s boat had lay. ‘They’ve torched it.’
‘Yep. Looks like you’ve made them a tad nervous.’
They drove in silence for over a kilometre south of Port Douglas. Joy suddenly swung the car off into the scrub on the right hand side of the road. It was a track but barely so. It was also thick with mud in places. The back of the car began to slide. Tree branches lashed the windows and doors but she kept on.
‘I wouldn’t keep going this way if I was you Joy. It’s headed for the river.’
She ignored him. Thirty seconds later the car was bogged in thick black mud. She revved the engine of her aging Holden, spraying mud in all directions from the spinning tyres. The car sank deeper.
She finally turned off the motor and sat back. ‘Must have been the rain. Too much rain up here these days.’
Ben smiled but said nothing.
Joy put her head out the window and yelled at the top of her voice…’SAM.’
‘Where’s he live?’ asked Ben.
‘Down by the water. How the crocs haven’t taken him by now is a miracle. I think the smell of whisky drives them off.’
‘SAM. I’M STUCK IN THE MUD UP HERE!’ Joy settled back in the driver’s seat. There was little stitching left holding the fake leather seat covers together. ‘He won’t leave me stuck here.’
‘You been bogged here before?’
Joy stared ahead into the jungle. ‘Not really. OK, perhaps once, but Winston was driving then.’
‘And how does Sam get to and from his house with all this mud?’
‘You’ll see.’
It didn’t take long. They heard the grumbling of a huge motor first. Seconds later a battered jeep with no roof and massive, knobbly tyres, lurched out of the jungle and stopped directly in front of Joy’s sinking Holden. The driver stood up on his seat and laughed loudly. ‘Joy Mackay. You silly bitch! How many times have I told you to park back on the road?’
Ben suppressed a smile. The man standing on the driver’s seat of the towering jeep resembled something out of a horror movie. He was at least 60 or 70 or 80. Ben couldn’t tell. Deeply tanned, leathery skin stretched over a chest exposing his ribs. Sinewy arms and legs. Tattered grey shorts. A shock of long, silver hair stuck out in all directions. His face was deeply wrinkled and covered with sun cancer scars. He was grinning, but had few teeth. His left ear was missing.
‘Get me out of here Sam.’ Joy wasn’t amused.
‘This must be the guy you told me about?’
Ben waved. ‘I’m Ben.’
‘Get me out now!’ barked Joy.
Sam chuckled and clicked his mud crawling jeep into low gear. He moved it around Joy’s Holden and backed up. Ben was about to get out into the mud to help but within seconds a chain was around the tow ball on the rear of Joy’s car and they were being dragged backwards. Sam deposited the Holden onto firm ground and unhitched the chain.
‘Climb aboard,’ he said. ‘Might need to give that car of yours a bit of a wash Joy.’
‘Mind your tongue,’ said Joy as she scrambled up beside the grotesque little man. Ben climbed into the back seat. The jeep lurched back through the mud and jungle and finally came to a bone jarring stop alongside a large timber shack built high up on stilts. The stilts at the front of the shack were driven into the edge of a wide, scrub lined creek. An open timber boat, about 18 feet long, had been pulled up on ramps under the house.
‘Home sweet home,’ cackled Sam, leading them up a rickety set of steps.
‘It will fall down in the next flood and you know it,’ said Joy. She turned to Ben. ‘He keeps building this damn shed out over the water so he can fish from the front room without having to drag the boat out.’
‘Lies,’ said Sam. ‘I love the sound of Packers creek flowing in and out with the tide. Goes out to the Marina you know. Lots of fish.’
‘Lots of crocs too,’ said Joy, perching on an empty box.
‘They’re no harm,’ said Sam, indicating for Ben to pull up another empty box. He had no chairs in the one room shack. Just a single bed of indeterminable age and a large wooden table cluttered with a gas stove, pots and pans, dozens of cans of food, mostly baked beans and at least 10 whisky bottles, one half empty.
‘What do you mean, no harm you silly old bugger,’ said Joy. ‘One chased you up that damn set of steps last year and nearly took your leg off,’ Joy pointed out to the river. ‘He hasn’t got a shower or toilet here so he uses the river and then complains when the crocs come after him.’
‘Total exaggeration,’ said Sam with a wink at Ben. ‘I’ve only been bitten a few times.’
Ben pointed to the side of Sam’s head. ‘Croc do that?’
‘What, the ear? Na, my ex-wife did that. Nasty bitch came at me with a bread knife. After that I sent her packing. Lord knows what she would have cut off the next time.’
Ben laughed.
‘I understand you want to borrow my boat?’
‘I’ll rent it from you for a while,’ said Ben.
‘She’s called “the bitch”. Named her after my ex.’
‘I’ll only need the boat for 24 hours or so with some luck,’ said Ben.
‘Where you planning on taking her?’
Joy cut in. ‘Sam, I need to tell you some things and you must promise to keep them strictly to yourself.’
‘My lips will remain forever sealed,’ he answered, smiling a semi toothless grin.
‘It’s about Winston.’
The grin quickly vanished. ‘What about him?’
‘There is good reason that he may still be alive.’
‘Not drowned at sea?’
‘Perhaps being held captive on Skull Island.’
Sam rubbed his chin with a bony hand. ‘I knew that tough old bastard couldn’t have drowned out there. He knew the sea better than me. Why would he be captive on the foreigner’s island?’
‘Listen close to me Samuel because Winston’s life, and Ben’s, may depend on how you can help,’
Ben was not sure exactly what she meant but he did not interrupt her.
A full 30 minutes later she stopped talking. She had told Sam everything. He sat staring at her in silence. Ben noticed the old man’s hands were shaking slightly.
Joy then continued. ‘Ben here thinks that he can just hop in that little boat of yours and motor out to Skull, pull up at the reef, get onto the island, hopefully find Winston, or what’s left of him, and then get back to your boat and take a leisurely ride back to Port Douglas….all at night.’
Sam looked intently at Ben. ‘That’s your plan?’
‘I admit, it has some flaws…’
‘You a seaman Ben?’
‘Not really. I’ve done a lot of scuba diving.’
‘Do you know the reefs out there?’
‘No.’ Even Ben doubted the credibility of his plan. ‘I just don’t know of any other way to get onto Skull Island for a look around.’
‘What about the damn coppers?’ said Sam. ‘Surely they can’t all be bent.’
‘They claim to have searched the island and found nothing,’ said Joy.
‘Half of them couldn’t find their way out of a wet paper bag,’ snapped Sam. ‘They’re not locals. They get sent here from God knows where.’
‘The point I was trying to make Samuel,’ cut in Joy, ‘is that Ben wouldn’t stand a chance in hell of making it safely to and from that island and we both know it.’
‘And you want me to take him?’
Ben was about to object but Joy held up both her hands. ‘There is no othe
r way.’
Sam got up from his timber box and walked to the table. He poured some whisky into a dirty glass tumbler. ‘Of course I’ll do it. You and Winston are my mates.’
‘I can’t ask you to risk your life,’ said Ben.
‘You’d be a dead man if you tried to make that trip on your own sonny.’ Sam sipped his whisky. ‘Bad enough during the daylight. Very tricky at night.’
Ben knew he was right.
‘Then that’s settled,’ said Joy, getting to her feet.
‘I’ll get the outboard ready today,’ said Sam. ‘If tomorrow night is clear we will have just over half moon. If the weather turns nasty, we’re in trouble but that doesn’t rule out going,’
‘Do you have GPS?’ asked Ben.
‘What’s that?’ asked Sam with a wink in Joy’s direction.
‘You know what it is,’ said Joy. ‘You just refuse to accept modern technology.’
‘Like your car?’
‘You leave my car out of this Sam.’
‘I’d rather trust my old compass and my old brain,’ said Sam, tapping his head with a bony finger.
‘God help us,’ said Joy.
‘I’d like to hit the island well after midnight,’ said Ben. ‘I want people asleep out there,’
‘I’m usually dead drunk and asleep by midnight,’ exclaimed Sam, gulping down more whisky.
‘Not tomorrow night you won’t,’ said Joy firmly. ‘Tomorrow you are sober, so you better quit drinking from now.’
‘Aw Joy. That’s not fair. You know I need a little drink.’
‘You stay sober for me and Winston and Ben. It’s just one day and one night,’ said Joy firmly.
Sam put down the tumbler. ‘You’re killing me Joy, but I’ll do it just this once.’
‘Good, now take us back to the car. Ben and I have some shopping to do. Rick Turner still got the best diving gear in town?’
‘Yep,’ said Sam. ‘Although now he’s selling poofy designer clothing as well. I swear he’s turned.’
“As long as his diving gear is still the best, I don’t care what he does with his personal life,’ said Joy.
‘He and Winston were good mates. He’ll cut you a deal,’ said Sam.
‘We’re not telling Rick anything,’ said Joy. ‘Ben’s just hiring diving gear. He doesn’t want to borrow anything from the movie people for this expedition. Telling you everything was risky enough.’
Sam put on an injured look. ‘Joy Mackay.’
‘Don’t Joy Mackay me. Get us back to my car.’
Sam turned to Ben as they descended the rickety stairs to the ground level. ‘How are you getting out here tomorrow night?’
‘I’m driving him,’ said Joy. ‘He’ll have gear.’
‘Just two short toots on the horn and I’ll come pick him up from the track. Don’t be fool enough to try and drive down here through the mud again.’
Joy glared at him and climbed up into the cabin of the jeep.
“****”
Chapter Thirty Two