by DB Daglish
“So what now?” Don asked.
“We wait until we hear their decision!” Ryan advised as he sat down near the helm.
A dejected silence hung over the flotilla. Especially of those from Cronulla, as they had both mentally and physically severed ties with their refuge of twenty years. All they could do was wait and they stayed the night beyond the reef even as the winds increased. The morning light revealed another boat rowing out to them. They labored in the heavy swell but motioned for the flotilla to follow them in through the reef pass and into the lagoon. They were directed into the relative shelter of the northern bay to anchor under the bush-clad hill close to the beach. Here they were told they were still discussing what to do, but wanted to provide a safer place to anchor. Then they left once more.
Two excruciatingly long days passed and yet no contact as made by those on the island. Some wanted to go ashore, but out of respect Harry forbade anyone from doing so, and just as well for that very afternoon the rowboat returned. Staying to windward, and with scarves over their faces, they came close enough for one woman to climb aboard the schooner where the expedition leaders had gathered. She wore no such protective covering and grimly smiled as she stood on deck. Turning, she waved and gave the thumbs up to her transporters who left the area as quickly as possible.
“Hello,” she said. “I’m Shelly Falkirk.”
“Welcome Shelly. I’m Adele. I hope you know what you have done Shelly. Are you aware of the situation?”
“Yes, well…I think so. The outside world has died out with a virus a long time ago. When we heard the reports on the radio, we sent the tourists home and banned new arrivals by blocking the runway with vehicles. The only arrivals we have accepted were from a yacht from Aitutaki who were on the ocean weeks before the report of that thing that started it all…”
“Explosion!” confirmed Ryan. “It was an explosion at a biological place I recall!”
“Yes, that was it,” she agreed. “Well, these people were on the ocean long before that happened. So no contact was made and they had such good weather they decided to bypass New Zealand and head for Sydney first but along the way lost radio contact so pulled in here to find out what was going on.”
“Boy, I bet they were shocked!” Don inquired.
“Yes we were!”
“Ah, so it was you on that boat!” Harry accurately concluded.
“And that is why I am here. We have had a wonderful life on this island and we have been treated like family. I volunteered to see if I could survive with you to see if the virus is still active!”
“That means you might die!” pointed out Adele.
‘Yes, I am aware of that. I have said goodbye to my daughter just in case. I can tell you…there was much debate about even risking this and just sending you away. This is their island after all, all three hundred and ninety of them now. All the land is carved up and claimed but they may have room for another sixty or seventy,” she said.
“Only forty three!” Harry interrupted. “We are just visitors from New Zealand helping these guys resettle from Cronulla. We won’t be staying. But you are very brave in doing this, as these people have burned their homes in closure. They truly believed no one would be alive here!”
“And that is why I volunteered to do this. That is what I thought too…” and she paused and took a deep and emotional breath. “Ok! It’s done now, so here is the score. The leaders ashore thought two weeks would be about right but I was to discuss what your experience was. You can stay in this bay but not go ashore, or you can sail away and return later if I live. Oh, by the way - they were impressed you obeyed their request and stayed on the boats. A watcher was on the hill above you at all times!”
Harry looked around. One or two had considered that going ashore to the beach would be ok and it was he who prevented any from doing so.
They now debated whether to stay or sail and decided to do both. They decided to stay a week, being allowed to swim in the bay but not go ashore, and then sail for another week if boredom set in. Those old enough to remember discussed the news reports they could recall and decided that the whole event only took about a few days before things happened. They decided instead to make it three weeks to be on the safe side, the second week sailing back to the mainland, reloading stores from somewhere else and returning again.
They ended up at Coffs Harbor as a storm hit; sheltering for four days before the conditions cleared and returned to the island. As they dropped anchor in North Bay another boat came to meet them. Their faces dropped a little when they did not see Shelly on board. Suddenly she appeared from below deck, waving to them.
“I was on the dunny,” she called out to them. “Sorry! I’m fine, not even a sweat or increase in temperature!”
The lone person in the boat dropped his scarf from his face.
“In that case you can all come ashore! I am Derek by the way.”
“Well Derek," Adele called out. “I am the leader of the Cronulla group that will be staying. But out of respect I think we will keep Shelly one more week in this bay just to be absolutely sure. I couldn’t live with myself if one week of inconvenience proved the downfall of you all.”
“Thank you Adele. You will fit in here well,” Derek replied. “Well, today is Monday. What we will do is formally welcome you all ashore on Friday evening for a celebration.”
“If I have the slightest change in temperature or even a sniffle, I will not allow anyone ashore,” Shelly said.
Derek nodded, laughed and rowed back to the headland, where a few more boats had gathered. Shelly was kept inside, around people, and out of the breeze so she could remain fully exposed, yet not susceptible to a common cold or chill.
Friday dawned to a rather dull day. The mood matched it for some reason as heavy clouds hung around Mt Gower in the distance. The time taken sitting aboard a yacht, so close to paradise, was about as much frustration as most could take now. However, by noon, the clouds cleared as the wind increased and the full heat of the sun warmed both their bodies and their spirits. They were then allowed ashore.
The welcome was tremendous. There was fresh farm produce in abundance, even some wine that had remained untouched for a special occasion that had never arrived until now.
The following day they were shown the entire island, climbed the peak, swam in the lagoon, rode horses and met every local. The yachts were unloaded one by one, and accommodation sorted or swapped; for none on this island were afraid to sacrifice in order to welcome some new faces. Secretly they hoped the interaction would work and no segregation between mainlanders and islanders would ever occur. A plan was put in place to have each Cronulla immigrant work with a family on the island in an effort to ensure this would happen.
For three weeks those from New Haven stayed until their original task called them once more. This time three new people would join the expedition in exchange for Fallon and Donny agreeing to stay behind, to be collected for the final journey back to New Zealand; whenever that was planned. The replacements were a young couple named Dirk and Rosa, and a middle aged woman.
With extra hands available, they swapped the Zingari for the schooner and headed off west, aiming for Sydney once more.
Chapter 5
Don hesitated slightly before knocking on the door. He had been back in Manly for only his second morning when a message arrived that Marcus wished to see him. As he stood on the doorstep, a call came from the deck above.
“Just come in Don. Come up the stairs and to the left!”
Letting himself in he quietly climbed the stairs and entered the lounge. Near the door to the deck Marcus sat in a bamboo armchair, and he motioned Don over, pointing him to the chair opposite.
“Drink?”
“Ah, yes. What have you got?” Don asked.
“Whiskey. This city has enough for hundreds of years but no one is a heavy drinker here, it’s just nice to have it while one sits and reflects.”
Don nodded as he allowed Marc
us to pour him one and they sat for a few minutes in silence as they gazed out toward the ocean shimmering in the distance. He hadn’t had a whiskey in seven years.
“I often sit here looking up at the old seminary from this chair while in the sun, and with a breeze blowing.”
“That old building up on the hill?”
“Yes,” Marcus confirmed. “I used to go there once. It was my first year there and then they closed it and moved into the city. I have fond memories of that place…and old friends.”
“You were a priest?”
“Ha…” he laughed. “I almost was, but just as I was about to be ordained I decided it was not for me. So I entered business school! Funny thing was, I ended back up at the old building. You see, the school of management had taken it over the year after the church abandoned it,” he said laughing some more.
“A bit ironic,” Don noted.
“Yes. So I ended up spending another three years there. I’m from Manly you see. As a child I used to live over in Queenscliff, and the view was dominated by this huge old building. Now I get to be under its shadow in my last days.”
“Is that what this is about?” asked Don.
“Sorry?”
“Your last days?”
“Oh - was it that obvious?”
“Look Marcus, we don’t know one another at all, but we are of similar age…how old are you anyway?”
“Seventy three!”
“You’re kidding me? You don’t look a day over sixty five.”
Marcus smiled. “I have deliberately looked after my body all of my life. I am fit and eat the right foods. But the outside hides what is really going on Don!”
“So what is going wrong with you?” Don asked as he grimaced.
“Cancer I think. I bleed internally every time I go to the toilet and I get weaker by the day. You sort of know when death is about to come, and I don’t think I have much of the month left, to be honest!”
They sat in silence for a while longer and while doing so, Don examined his own mortality. He had survived one of the worst catastrophes to hit mankind - yet death would still catch him in the end. He began to think of his discussion with the Major before they left he last time.
“Do you speak to Barney much?”
“Ha. He’s a classic, that one. I still can’t see why he persists with the flag every day?” said Marcus.
“Honor and respect!”
“Yes, but to what? There is no country anymore, no army, no political system, no anthem…”
“Yet…” Don interrupted, “there is a reason. But that is for him to tell you. And if he does it will bring a tear to your eye too!”
“He told you?” exclaimed Marcus. “He talks to so few here – yet he now opens up to a stranger?”
“Sometimes we do that don’t we Marcus?” and Don looked at his host with a knowing smile. He received a nod in agreement.
“Well. If you are about to depart, have you handed the reigns over?” Don asked.
“No. They can sort that out themselves, and if you haven’t already guessed, I’m no more that a token leader. I don’t really make important decisions for the community anymore. I think they just treat it like some sort of honorary title for events or something. I’m all good with that though…” and he fell silent again.
For another hour they sat in the sun - sipping their whiskey; sometimes silent while they quietly soaked in the peacefulness and the sound of the surf a few blocks away, and eventually laughing hard about past experiences and old jokes. Marcus was in raptures at one story when he suddenly stopped.
“Ohhh,” he exclaimed, dropping his whiskey glass which shattered on the tiled floor sending shards of glass and whiskey in all directions. He grabbed his chest and he attempted to stand but slipped on the whiskey covered tiles and fell on the floor his head bumping the coffee table.
Don leaped to his feet to attempt to catch him but was not quick enough.
“Mate!” he yelled, and his hand now grabbed Marcus’s arm and he shook him awake.
“Ohhh - my head hurts as well as my chest!” he gasped frantically.
“You hit your head when you fell. Are you having a heart attack Marcus?”
The old fellow nodded.
“If it’s…my…time…” he panted, as he labored to breathe with the intense chest pains, “Then it is better…this way…than the cancer…!” but he could say no more.
“Don’t move, I’ll get help,” Don said.
“Ha ha…,” and he said as he coughed deeply, attempting a smile. “Where would…I go…Don? He labored for more breath. “What could…anyone do…?”
He now slipped into unconsciousness. Gently laying his head under a cushion, Don raced down the stairs and down to the main building, tripping and tumbling across the grass as he did so. It was a warning that he was not so young himself - but undeterred he finally burst through the rear doors, calling for help.
By the time Tricia reached the house; Marcus was already dead. As Don walked back up to the house she shook her head at him from the balcony. Exhausted he collapsed to the ground just as someone came to see if he was ok.
“I’m just exhausted, but I am ok,” and he allowed them to pull him to his feet.
Slowly various people came running as word spread and that afternoon a wake of sorts was held. Everyone including the children gathered on the large lawn area in front of his house. From here the old seminary building could be seen up on the hill. Beside an open grave, their leader’s body lay wrapped in sheets and upon a board on a table alongside. Piles of flowers covered his body, spilling to the ground as everyone placed more on top.
Many had things to say, but Don was last and as he spoke, he told them he had witnessed Marcus open up about his death, and his love of the view from his balcony.
“I only knew him for a short time. Most of you knew him one hundred times better than I did. Yet – he opened up to me, and his last hour was full of his recounting his past and funny times. He actually died laughing…”
Those of his community did not know whether to laugh or cry, for this was a revelation to them.
“Yes. Few of you knew him as I did in my short time with him today. For to you he was serious, stoic, and highly organized. Wanting the best for you all regardless of himself – for I think he felt this present life was a way to pay back others for the good life he had previously…”
Don turned toward Barney.
“Now I think I understand mate!”
Barney nodded, pulled a bundle from under his arm and with Don’s help, draped the Australian flag over the body, saluted him and walked away back to him home – his job done. So solemn was the occasion that none dared speak – or move. Eventually Don indicated some should put ropes under the boards and lower the body into the grave.
So the first leader of the Cronulla community was laid to rest at the end of the lawn, near his house, and in full view of the magnificent old building on the hill which he so loved.
That night the mood was subdued, with each reflecting upon their own mortality. Many were aware that a new leader needed to be elected, but as there was already a functioning committee and it ran well with Marcus as a figurehead, none regarded any immediate change was necessary. If a new single leader was to appear, they could develop their own way. Maybe they would emerge above the others naturally if that was to ever be the case. The entire community went to bed early that night.
Most were sleeping soundly when a frantic shouting woke them. Outside women began to scream which brought even more scrambling from their beds. As those roused came to their doors they could see the hill was alight with a deep orange glow. And they could smell smoke. The occasional popping sound came from behind the ridgeline as now flames could be seen reaching high into the sky as if trying to escape some unseen ground based foe.
The young ones from the ‘station’ were everywhere, waking people up and guiding them away. For they had noticed the fire beginning from the direction o
f the old Police college where the elder ones of the community were housed. From their upper balconies they could see the fire spread rapidly up the hill. From there it threatened the main meal complex down Oceanside, where they had gathered earlier than day for the funeral of Marcus.
Everyone, even the children further up the beach were on standby in case the fire spread. Eucalyptus tree fires were potent. The oil in the leaves and bark caused explosive fires all over the country from time to time. The height of the trees produced dangerous walls of destruction that quickly spread from property to property, even if grass was the only thing present, consuming everything in the fires path. Tonight the wind was from the southeast and the danger was high. Someone had now wound up the old manual siren near the beach. It was a final warning to all who had not yet woken.
By the time the youths reached the main complex, the fire was already at the ridge. Time was running out and those in the nearest houses alongside where Marcus had lived were literally dragged from their beds. This was indeed fortunate as the southern house was almost engulfed in flame by the time Mick and Jono had pulled old Mrs Turner out the front door and across the main lawn; the intense heat burning their backs. It seemed to chase them across the lawn, as fast as they could run. For indeed these wild fires could move faster than one could run.
Outside the sky was alive with fire and orange smoke. Every tree with a high canopy erupted into flame as the inferno came within reach. The roar was deafening and loud popping noises, probably old gas lines or cylinders accentuated the sounds even further. With the entire hilltop alight, the wind began to push it down upon the village at an alarming rate. They charged across the street, pausing briefly to glance back. In that short time the end of the row of houses was fully alight and the whole row had their roofs burning, spelling an eventual end to those houses as well.