Stretched Horizons

by Ross Richdale

  "So, you're Pattie," Bree said. "Hi, Pattie."

  The dog's response was immediate. She stared at Bree with her tail thumping and held out a paw, which Bree shook.

  Jenny patted the newcomer and laughed. "Where's your master, Pattie?" she asked.

  Pattie barked, ran a few metres, sat down and turned to face them. Her tail stopped wagging.

  Jenny frowned and called Pattie back. However, the dog only padded half a dozen steps towards her before she stopped and whined softly.

  "What is it girl?" Jenny asked.

  She walked forward to Patty but just as she reached out, Pattie yelped and retreated back several metres. She stopped, sat down and waited.

  "Silly dog," Jenny muttered and stepped forward again. Again, though, the dog moved further away but remained in sight.

  "Perhaps she wants us to follow," Bree said.

  "But that's back upstream."

  "So? A dog in this condition wouldn't be way out here by herself. I reckon she's better fed than we are."

  "You're right," Jenny replied. "So, what are you waiting for?"

  Aches and pains were forgotten as the two crash victims followed the Black Labrador up the hillside. Pattie rushed ahead but always stayed in view. If the women were slow, she'd rush back, or sit until they reached her, before running ahead again.

  A quarter of an hour later, Pattie gave a quiet yelp and, for the first time, bounded away out of sight. Bree looked at Jenny and smiled. "She'll be back," she said. "Let's rest a minute."

  Two minutes later, Pattie reappeared, wagged her tail as if reassured they were still there and disappeared again. A moment later, a male voice vibrated through the undergrowth. "Okay, Pattie," he said. "I know! I know! Patience girl, I take up more room than you."

  The undergrowth parted and a man appeared. His tanned face broke into a smile when he saw the pair staring at them. "Well, g'day," he said in the broad New Zealand accent the pair were still getting used to. "I guess you two ladies are from the plane that came down yesterday." He held out a hand as his eyes settled on Bree. "Ray Barnett's my name. You were bloody hard to catch up with, you know."

  Jenny's initial feeling of delight turned to a quivering feeling that surged through her body. Her mind flashed back to her classroom at Sunset Grove in London and the attack.

  "Bree," she whispered and clutched her friend's arm.

  "I think it'll be okay," Bree replied but Jenny noticed there was a quiver in her friend's voice, as well.

  CHAPTER 6

  Sergeant Hugh Trendle wiped rain from his eyes and pulled the zipper of his parka higher. It wasn't any good, though. Already the water from the downpour had run inside, and his shirt was saturated. Oh, well, his bottom half was wet. He used the guide rope to steady himself, and fastened a steel cable hook to the crushed aeroplane wing mounting.

  "Okay!" he said in the mobile radio pinned to his collar. "Just give me a moment to get out of the way."

  His companion grabbed him and hauled him ashore out of the thigh deep current. He nodded a thank you and waved at the helicopter above. For a moment nothing happened. The helicopter appeared to waver as the cable tightened. There was a scream of metal, and the wing of the aircraft wreckage lifted into the air away from the fuselage.

  "That'll do," Hugh shouted in the radio. "There's someone there all right." He turned to his companion. "What do you see, Eric?"

  "It's the pilot, I'd say. Poor bugger never had a chance." Constable Eric Meech grabbed the safety rope and plodded forward in the current. He peered beyond the mangled corpse and moved a flapping sheet of metal aside. "There's nobody else here, Hugh," he called back.

  For several moments both men methodically searched the wreckage before they made their way back to the shore. "What do you think, Eric?" Hugh said.

  "Only half the fuselage is here, Sarge. I think it hit the cliff, split down the middle and was carried here in the flood."

  "Over the falls?"

  Eric rubbed a hand over his wet stubble. "I'm not sure," he said. "The fall's two kilometres upstream from here and, if all the weather and flood reports fit in, the stream wasn't in flood when the Cessna came down." He nodded at the bank where flattened grass and mud showed where the floodwaters had dropped. "But mountain streams rise and fall pretty quickly in these storms."

  "So, what's your theory?" Though Hugh Trendle was the senior officer, in these situations, Eric Meech the bush country expert.

  "There's not a lot to go on but I'd say the pilot flew over the falls."

  "Why?"

  "You can't see it because of the flood but under normal conditions this stream is littered with boulders. The only deep spot is a sort of lake that forms at the bottom of the waterfall. I reckon he tried to land there in deeper water rather than hit the trees or boulders."

  "So what happened?"

  "Wind currents are unpredictable in this narrow valley. My guess is the wind caught the plane, as he was about to come in and flipped it sideways into the far cliff. Once the flood waters drop we can search for signs of the collision."

  "And the passengers?"

  "They'll either be in the missing half of the fuselage or be downstream somewhere. With this water speed they could be carried half way to the coast."

  "But they're dead?"

  Eric nodded. "By the look of this wreckage, I doubt if they survived the initial strike. It's strange though."

  "You mean that last radio message?"

  "Yes, it happened so quickly. It sounded like more than an engine failure."

  "I know, but we'll leave that to the Inspector of Air Accidents to piece together. Let's get back up to the chopper. I'll ask the pilot to do a quick search above the falls before we head home. Another crew will come in and get the body."

  Eric nodded. "Go downstream, Sarge," he suggested. "We may find more of the wreckage. This bit wouldn't have come over the falls, that I'm certain."

  "Okay," Hugh replied. "If we're only looking for bodies, time's not important, is it?"

  "I could be wrong," Eric replied.

  "But probably aren't. Anyhow, it'll be dark in an hour. We'll get another search organised at first light. The ground search has been called off for now, too. They were in the wrong valley anyhow."

  He waved at the helicopter and it moved in to hover above them. In twenty minutes they'd be back at Palmerston North Airport with another hard day's work completed. Air crashes were different from the usual road accidents Hugh attended, but the result was much the same. There were still reports to write and grieving relations to talk to. Oh, yes, the United Kingdom High Commissioner's Office would have to be contacted, as well. As the two policemen were lifted into the helicopter, a second craft flew over. The name of a national television network was emblazoned across its fuselage.

  "Damn," Hugh muttered. "An accident like this will do hell to the tourist industry."

  RAY HADN'T REALLY FORMED a mental image of the women he was looking for but the sight of the two made him smile. It was that look of utter relief in their eyes that caught his attention. Both were dressed in street clothes, and the younger woman had a blue blouse that was ripped away allowing a white tummy to show. The women's arms were scratched; a few bruises showed and their legs were mud- splattered. Unlike most girls at this time of the year, they were not tanned. Blue lips and white fingers accentuated their pale skin colour.

  "Hi, Ray," one of the women said. "My name's Bree." She smiled and gripped Ray's hand. "This is my friend, Jenny."

  Ray grinned. "English?" he asked.

  "We are. Our accent is noticeable, I guess."

  "G'day, Jenny, Bree," Ray said and smiled at their nervousness.

  For a second there was a pause in the trio's conversation.

  "I love your dog," Bree finally said.

  Ray turned to Pattie. "Yeah, she's a good one." He rubbed the dog's head. "You found them, girl," he said. "That's grand."

  Pattie's tail wagged and she looked pleased with the comp
liment. Ray turned back to the women. "We'll get you both something to eat and perhaps a warm jersey to wear." He slid a massive backpack off his shoulders and lifted two khaki jerseys out.

  "They're be a bit big, but put them on. You both look cold. I'll see what else I've got." He grinned. "One doesn't usually meet young women this far out. Usually it's hunters, who have a week's growth on their chin, and you have to stay upwind from them."

  Bree smiled. "We're pretty filthy, too," she said. She accepted the jersey handed to her and pulled it on, pulling the overlong sleeves up, before turning to Jenny who was also wriggling into the second garment. "This would really thrill Patricia, wouldn't it?"

  "Sure would," Jenny said. They both laughed and shared the joke with Ray.

  "A toffee-nosed boss," he said. "I know the sort."

  "She's not," Jenny replied. "Bree's the boss, Patricia's the deputy headteacher at the school where we work." She screwed her nose up. "Patricia's my boss, though."

  Ray grinned. The word headteacher sounded so quaint. It hadn't been used in New Zealand for as long as he could remember. His first impression of these two English women was favourable, though. Bree was the quieter one but seemed to ooze confidence. It didn't surprise him to find out she was a school principal.

  He coughed and reddened a little when he caught Bree's eyes on him. It was as if she could read his mind. "I've a first aid kit here," he hastily added. "What say we clean that nasty wound up then I'll pop the billy on, warm us some hot coffee and have a spot to eat."

  The 'billy' was an old aluminium saucepan that Ray filled with fresh water from a bottle. He sat a small gas cooker on the ground and soon tiny blue flames were heating the water. "Or would you rather have soup?" he said. "I've got a packet here somewhere. I made some sandwiches earlier. Marmite and lettuce."

  "Coffee and sandwiches sound wonderful," Bree said. "But can we help?"

  "I'll erect the tent later. You can give me a hand." Ray smiled, pulled a mobile phone from his pocket and nodded at the red pulsing light. "We're here for the night, I'm afraid. We're out of range. Perhaps it'll work from one of the top peaks tomorrow."

  THE OINTMENT AND BANDAGE Ray produced were of high quality and Bree was impressed by the way he removed the old shirt bandage and tended to the wound. He frowned at the sight of swollen flesh and clotted blood but she made no comment as he dabbed it with warm water, applied liberal quantities of ointment from a tube and re-bandaged everything.

  "So, why are you here, Ray?" she said after he had finished. "You aren't a hunter nor do you spend your life outdoors all the time."

  Ray laughed. "Observant of you, Bree," he replied. "How did you work that all out?"

  "You've no rifle, at least there's none in sight. You're tanned but look more like a professional person..." She flushed and turned her eyes away. "I'm sorry. It's none of my business."

  "That's fine," Ray said. "I'm a botanist doing a government contract. We have trouble with the spread of exotic animals and plants in our native forests. Goats, for example, eat all the undergrowth, and exotic plants, rather than native plants, become the secondary growth. Some species have all but wiped out much of our fern life." He shrugged. "That's the bit I'm concerned about. I'm collecting data on the spread of unwanted plants and seeing how the native species cope."

  "And do they?" Jenny cut in.

  "It's not too bad up here. We've had a huge cull of goats and deer over the last few years so the native species are getting re-established. At lower levels, though, it's a different story." He chatted on for several moments as he distributed the sandwiches and poured boiling water into two tin mugs. "Excuse the china," he said as he handed one to Bree. "I've some jars of sugar and powdered milk around somewhere. Help yourselves."

  Bree raised her eyebrows in surprise, but found two jars and a teaspoon. The hot coffee and food was therapeutic and her hands warmed on the hot mug.

  "You stay there," Jenny said when she rose to help Ray unroll an orange and blue tent.

  Bree offered only a slight protest. She leaned back and watched the man clip aluminium poles together and loop-on anchor ropes. A few moments later the structure was erected. Ray zipped back the front flap and Pattie ran inside.

  "She knows where to get out of the cold," he said with a chuckle. "I reckon she could just about assemble the tent herself if she had to. Go on in. The wind's quite cold."

  Bree crawled in and sat on the blue synthetic floor. The interior was amazingly large and comfortable. She squeezed back, patted Pattie and watched as Jenny crawled in beside her.

  "You look exhausted, Bree," Jenny said.

  "It's a reaction, I guess. Now we're safe I realize how tired I really am."

  "Then lie down," Jenny said. "I can help Ray. " She grinned. "If he needs any help, that is."

  Bree smiled. Their desperate situation had turned into something relaxing and almost comfortable. She lay back, her eyes heavy. A moment later, she slipped asleep with one arm around the Labrador beside her.

  BREE WOKE WITH A CUTTING pain across her body; her left shoulder was stiff, and one leg felt as though it was disjointed at the knee. She shifted it, hit someone and realized where she was. Pattie was gone and Jenny lay beside her.

  A sound of the flap moving made her twist her head. God, that small effort made her shoulder feel worse.

  "I brought you a cuppa coffee." The unfamiliar New Zealand accent filled the darkness. "Your wound hurts, doesn't it?"

  Bree ignored her aching shoulder and sat up. Ray was silhouetted against a rectangle of stars. "Thanks," she said and reached for the steaming mug. "How did you know I was awake?"

  "A guess," Ray said. "You've been restless for quite some time. Maxie used to say..." He stopped and glanced away. "It doesn't matter."

  "No, I'm interested," Bree replied. "I find this time of the night is so lonely at times. Things seem to build up out of proportion. If you're feeling ill it seems twice as bad." She smiled and sipped the coffee. "So, tell me about Maxie. Is she your wife?"

  Ray squatted down under the flap that he'd pinned back. "Was," he said softly. "She died a few months back."

  "Oh, I'm sorry," Bree said.

  "On lonely nights I think of her," he continued. "Often I've had a dream and wake up with her words on my mind. It's always as she was... a laughing student." He glanced at Jenny. "She was a little like your friend here. You know, easy to smile... "

  Bree smiled. Somehow she sensed he needed to talk, and she let him as she nursed her hot coffee.

  "It goes back to before I met her," Ray said. "She had a congenital heart problem and, as a teenager, had a couple of operations. When I met her at university she was so normal, then one day I saw this massive scar across her tummy." He smiled softly. "She laughed about it and said it cured her from wearing bikinis. Anyhow, for over five years she was fine, then, without a warning, she had this massive heart attack. She pulled through, but was never the same." He turned away and wiped his eyes.

  "I've never told a soul before. I've no family. Maxie's parents have been very supportive but are affected as much as I am." He sipped his coffee. "Anyway, she had this emergency operation. That was it, really. She never came out of the anaesthetic."

  "Oh my."

  "It was a gamble. Her life expectancy was numbered in weeks, anyhow. She loved life too much to slowly fade away. The operation would have given her a better quality of life those last few months, but probably wouldn't have extended it." He shrugged. "It was a long shot that failed."

  "So you came out here to get away from everything that reminded you of her?"

  "I guess," Ray replied.

  "And does being alone with Pattie help?"

  "No," Ray admitted. "I think having Pattie has helped but on nights like this my mind goes back. God, I'm getting melancholy aren't I?"

  "So?" Bree said. "You have every right to be." She smiled, changing the subject. "Is it my imagination or is it warmer tonight?"

  "I think the sto
rm's moved on. At this time of the year it can get sweltering up here in these valleys." His eyes locked on hers. "More coffee?" he asked.

  "Why not?" Bree replied. "I'll come out and help you."

  She eased herself out of the tent and stood up. It was warmer and the rain had stopped. Ray had lit a small fire, and the smoke curled up through his flashlight's beam. The aroma of burning wood reached her nostrils. The billy was still half full of bubbling water so she spooned instant coffee and powdered milk into two mugs and poured in the water.

  "Biscuit?" Ray said and held out a wrapper of cookies.

  "Thanks," Bree replied. She sat on a log and stared at the moths flying in the firelight. Behind was a curtain of darkness. "It's different," she said.

  "What is?"

  "I was just comparing tonight with last night, that's all. It was quite terrifying, you know."

  Ray nodded. "I believe you," he said. "It can be scary, but at other times being out here away from the rat race is one step closer to heaven. I thought I only needed Pattie."

  "Past tense?" Bree said.

  Ray grinned. "A couple of pleasant English women can make a lot of difference," he said, glanced away and changed the topic. "I think we should head up to the top hut in the morning. That's where I was heading when I heard your plane come down. It'll be a steep climb but we can take it slowly. How's your wound?"

  Bree raised her eyes. "Much better. Oh, I know it's there but the throbbing pain has stopped. Your first aid made the difference, I'd say."

  "Meanies," interrupted a voice. "You could've made me a drink."

  Bree turned to see Jenny and Pattie coming out of the tent. She frowned, chastised herself for being selfish and changed her expression to a smile. Jenny, however, obviously noticed her first expression and gave her a dig on the arm. "Sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean to interrupt." She grinned. "Beautiful evening, isn't it?"

  "I was just telling Ray how scary it was last night," Bree said. She felt her cheeks flush and hoped the dim light hid it.