Croc Country

by Kerry McGinnis

  Their second halt was much briefer, and as Connor had promised her, Tilly was home by mid-afternoon. He dropped her at the front steps, then drove off to refuel and garage the vehicle. Sophie, coming out of the office, relieved her of the thermoses.

  ‘Did you have a nice day? See anything interesting?’

  ‘We found an orchid.’ Tilly dumped her lunch box on the table. ‘Well, a handful of dryish-looking leaves in the fork of a tree, actually, but still an orchid. Connor said they flower later in the year. What about you – many visitors?’

  ‘Yep. The camp’s full. I’ve rung Bruce, asked him to change the sign. I thought we had one more camp site, but turns out it was occupied. You must’ve missed one.’

  Guiltily, Tilly remembered. ‘Yes. I meant to tell you. There were a couple of men who drove straight through. Well, they sort of stopped, then took off again when they saw me. I was going to let you know.’ Only she had been so shocked by that brief glimpse of the passenger that she’d forgotten to keep track of the numbers. Apart from safety concerns and camp fees, that was what the compulsory registration was all about. Shamefaced, she said, ‘I’m sorry. Did you have to turn someone back?’

  ‘Yes. Luckily Luke was at the camp when they arrived there. I have to say they weren’t pleased.’

  ‘I imagine not.’ It was a forty kilometre drive into Binboona from the station road and another five to the camp. ‘I’m really sorry, Sophie.’ Tilly considered explaining but the imagined sighting would only worry her cousin who, she was aware, closely monitored her emotional wellbeing.

  ‘Oh well. Perhaps we need a gate between the sheds. People are generally good, but there’s always one. I’ll get Luke to check which rego we haven’t got and have a word with the driver. We should really have the right to levy fines, but that would raise a scream, I suppose. Do you need a hand with anything?’

  ‘I’m all organised thanks,’ Tilly said gratefully. ‘And thanks for the time off, Soph. I really enjoyed it.’

  Her cousin’s weather-beaten face broke into a smile. ‘I’m glad, Tilly. High time you had a bit of pleasure in your life.’

  Luke must have made his point with the guilty camper, for he was full of remorse the following day when he pulled up before the homestead and clumped up the steps to the office. Tilly, drying her hands she’d snatched from the sink, appeared as he reached the verandah.

  ‘Yes? Can I help you?’

  ‘Just come to apologise,’ he said gruffly. ‘The ranger bloke said you have to log in when you come. Didn’t realise. Also, I thought the camping was free. Sorry about that. So I’m here to pay up, and to log in before we leave. You want I should do it now?’

  ‘Oh.’ She had instantly recognised the acne-scarred face, and craned her neck to see the passenger who, suddenly aware of her presence, leant forward and waved. She stared bemused at the young tow-headed man whose lips, as if conscious of her observation, were twitching into a tentative smile. ‘What?’ she said, then recovering, ‘Right. Yes – pay and sign in. I’ll get the book. Better late than never, I suppose.’ She must be losing her mind, she thought uncertainly. How could she possibly have imagined . . .?

  The man was still talking as he pulled out his wallet while she patted the desks distractedly in search of the pen. ‘The point is,’ she interrupted severely, then lost the thread of what she’d started to say. She saw him looking at her and strove to collect her wandering thoughts. ‘What you did – it leads to . . . I mean, the fees apart, we need to keep track of how many campers we have. Yesterday someone drove all the way in here and we had to turn him away, because my boss didn’t know that your camp site was taken. It cost that poor man ninety kilometres of travel and now he probably has a very poor opinion of the place.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I’m sorry. Never thought . . . It won’t happen again.’

  ‘Good.’ She couldn’t, Tilly supposed, keep chastising him. In a friendlier voice she asked, ‘So, where are you from?’

  ‘Huh? Oh, Mackay, North Queensland.’

  ‘I know it. What about your mate?’

  ‘Further south. Right, that it?’ He laid down the pen and settled his rather grubby felt hat more firmly into place. He had a growth of dark stubble, a prominent nose, muddy brown eyes presently examining the office, and copious body hair, judging by that on his sunburnt arms and the dark mass showing in the open neck of his cotton shirt.

  ‘Yes, thank you.’ Tilly stepped back from the door and let him precede her to the steps. She cast a last puzzled look at the pair of them as the vehicle pulled away, then returned to her work at the sink. She’d obviously suffered some sort of amnesiac attack if she couldn’t even remember her dead husband’s appearance. It was the same vehicle, the man had admitted it. Which meant . . . what? She was losing her marbles? The passenger had been the very antithesis of Gerry – younger, fairer, totally different.

  Drying off her hands, Tilly marched back to the office and checked the book just to be certain, but the registration the man had entered matched none of the other vehicles logged into the camp. It was official then: she must be so stressed that she had begun seeing things. Thank God she hadn’t said anything to the others or they’d be making her a reservation at the nearest funny farm.

  Later that afternoon, Matt returned to the homestead with another load of firewood, which he tossed off into the compound behind the shed. Tilly, feeding Harry his dinner, greeted the man as he walked past carrying the chainsaw.

  ‘Good day, was it? Looks like they’re having a run on the hot water.’

  ‘The donkey’s workin’ overtime,’ he agreed. ‘There’s some of the buggers want morning showers, some evening ones, and they’re giving the tubs a fair workout too.’

  ‘Where’s Luke?’

  ‘Slide night.’ He shrugged. ‘I reckon he’ll stay at the camp. That bird of his is leaving tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh, poor Luke. What’s she like?’

  He grunted. ‘Young. Legs and shorts. More of her on show than not.’

  Tilly sighed. ‘Really, Matt! You can do better than that. Is she pretty? Have you talked to her? Where’s she from?’

  ‘I dunno, never asked. Not as pretty as you,’ he said deliberately, his gaze immediately sliding off hers.

  Willing him not to say more, Tilly said lightly, ‘Well, thank you. By the way, that chap Luke chipped about not stopping? It had an effect – he pulled in this morning before leaving and apologised. Signed the book too. A bit late, but still.’ She tossed the last cube of meat, saying, ‘That’s it, my feathered friend. No more till tomorrow.’

  Matt stood there watching her leave. She grimaced as she went, feeling his gaze on her all the way back to the steps.

  Chapter Ten

  The following morning, with the grey light barely showing in the east and before the earliest bird had uttered a sound, a vehicle roared between the sheds and pulled up by the homestead. Tilly was awake but relishing the last fifteen minutes in the warmth of her blankets. Pulling a robe around her and with only her bedsocks to cushion her feet from the freezing vinyl, she hurried to the kitchen just as Luke erupted into it.

  ‘Luke! What on earth . . .?’ Gazing beyond him, she saw he’d left the Toyota running, lights on and with its driver’s door swinging open, the logo on it catching the light spilling from the kitchen window. ‘Something wrong?’

  ‘It’s Jane.’ His eyes were wild. ‘She’s in a bad way. Her dad’s bringing her in. Ring the flying doctor.’

  ‘Right, of course, but I have to know what to tell him. What’s happened and when?’

  ‘Christ, what difference does when make?’ he bellowed. ‘She needs a doctor. Like, now!’

  ‘All right, settle down, Luke.’ An air of calm entered the room with Sophie. ‘You’re not helping by yelling. Tilly’s right.’ She scooped her hair back from her face and finished tying the cord on her dressing gown. ‘First we need to see her. Is that them now?’ Lights cut through the crepuscular dawn as the second vehicl
e pulled in. ‘What’s the patient’s name and age? He’ll want to know that.’ She’d pulled the pad from beside the phone and poised a pen over it.

  Luke groaned, gritting his teeth as he raised and lowered his hands. ‘It’s Jane. Jane Wellaway. She’s nineteen. Her father woke me, said she was having trouble breathing. Her face is all swollen, and so’s her right arm. She’s sorta drooling, like she can’t swallow and she’s been sick. I think something bit her. There looks to be a mark on her hand – there’s a lump there, like a really big one, hard as a rock. I put a pressure bandage on her arm, just in case.’ He swallowed, suddenly looking very young and frightened. ‘If it’s snakebite . . .’

  ‘We don’t know that,’ Sophie said briskly. ‘Could be a scorpion.’

  Tilly ran to hold the door open as a partly bald man, wearing shorts and a t-shirt, with a strained look on his weathered face and his arm around a young woman’s shoulders, half-carried her into the room.

  ‘Here.’ Luke seized a chair. ‘Put her here, Don. How is she?’

  ‘As you see.’ The girl seemed hardly conscious. Her limbs flopped loosely and her head drooped, a thin stream of saliva issuing from her lips. The man wiped it up with a handkerchief, speaking softly to her, then looked at the women. ‘Please – she needs medical help.’

  ‘We’re getting it,’ Tilly said soothingly. Sophie had dialled and was stretching the phone cord to allow the fingers of her other hand to grasp the girl’s limp wrist. Eyes on the clock, she waited for the doctor to come to the phone, lips moving silently as she counted. The affected arm was dreadfully swollen, Tilly saw, and the visible area of the girl’s face was puffy.

  The pulse taken, Sophie made a note and nodded at Luke. ‘Get Matt or Connor up. Somebody needs to check the airstrip. One good thing, it’ll be sun-up soon so we won’t need the flares.’

  ‘I can do that.’ Luke started for the door.

  ‘No,’ Sophie said firmly. ‘One of the others. In your present state you could drive over a buffalo without seeing it.’ Turning her head back to the phone, she began to speak. ‘Morning, doctor. Sorry for the early call. We have a patient for you – a tourist, Jane Wellaway, aged nineteen. She’s presented in a semi-conscious state . . .’

  Luke left, and a few minutes later Matt appeared fully dressed, passed through the kitchen without a word and drove off in the former’s vehicle. Connor arrived next, also clothed.

  ‘I heard the racket. What’s up?’ he murmured to Tilly, who was filling the kettle at the sink.

  She nodded at the girl and her father. ‘They’re from the camp. It’s Luke’s friend – she’s been bitten in the night.’ Suddenly realising that she was still in her pyjamas, Tilly slipped away to pull on jeans and a fleecy top, and exchange her bedsocks for footwear. Then, remembering the Wellaways’ state and the chill of the kitchen, she took a soft blanket from her bed to swathe about Jane and asked Luke, returned and waiting fretfully for the phone call to end, to find a jumper for Don.

  ‘One of mine’ll be a better fit,’ Connor said, eyeing the young man’s rangy body. He fetched a rollneck pullover, then began prosaically pulling plates and cutlery from their shelves and drawers to lay the table.

  ‘Thanks,’ Tilly said. ‘I see your wife has you well trained.’

  ‘I’m not married, but some men are house-trained, you know,’ Connor said mildly. ‘We’re not all slobs.’

  ‘Of course not,’ she agreed hurriedly.

  ‘Okay.’ Sophie put the phone down and turned to Don. ‘They’re on their way. The doctor thinks the swelling sounds more like an extreme allergic reaction to something – a scorpion or centipede, maybe even a green ant – than snake venom. He said if she’s conscious enough to swallow, we could try giving her a couple of tablets to relieve the swelling. I’ve got the number here. But not if there’s any danger of choking.’

  Don, frowning fiercely and supporting his daughter’s head, said, ‘Number? What number?’

  ‘All the drugs in the medical chest are numbered,’ Sophie explained. ‘What do you think? Could she swallow?’

  ‘No,’ he barked. ‘Look at her. She’s comatose.’ Then he shut his eyes and drew a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry. Not your fault. You’re very kind. How long?’

  Sophie grimaced. ‘An hour maybe, bit more? He’s coming from Darwin, but they have to get the pilot out to the airport, do the checks . . . it all takes time. Look, would she be better lying down in the recovery position, perhaps?’

  ‘I’ll get a mattress.’ Luke vanished before Don could speak and shortly the patient was ensconced on the floor, covered by a blanket. She roused briefly as she was lifted, mumbling, ‘Daddy’ and something else Tilly didn’t catch. Her eyes were swollen almost shut but even so, Tilly thought, one could see the prettiness beneath. Luke, hovering over her, restlessly cracking his knuckles, was obviously deeply concerned.

  ‘How did you become aware something was wrong?’ Sophie handed Don a mug of tea. ‘There’ll be some breakfast shortly.’

  ‘What? Oh, thanks.’ The man passed a hand over the hairless part of his scalp. ‘I heard her moaning in the tent. I was sleeping just outside. She seemed to be choking and she didn’t answer when I asked if she was okay. So I went in and found her. She said her arm was burning, then sort of passed out. Not all at once, she was mumbling and moaning and getting worse by the minute, so I woke up Luke here.’

  ‘Was she on a camp bed?’ Connor asked. ‘Not that it’d make any difference. Anything that crawls . . .’

  ‘Yes. But she wanted the tent unzipped. She liked to watch the stars . . . I suppose whatever bit her got in that way.’

  It was a long wait until the first faint hum of the plane sounded. The sun was up by then, drenching the land with light. Breakfast was over, although neither Don nor Luke had eaten much beyond toast and tea. Jane moaned occasionally and mumbled, her face flushed and sweating. Luke, watching her, chewed the nails of his right hand until Tilly gently caught his wrist.

  ‘Don’t. It’s most unhygenic. Come with me. You can help with the joeys.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’ll give you something to do.’

  ‘Yes, go on, Luke,’ Sophie commanded. ‘There’s still the work to get through.’

  They had just finished the feeding when the drone of the aero engine sounded.

  ‘Thank Christ!’ Luke abandoned his task and sprinted for the house.

  Five minutes later he, the patient and her father were on their way to the airstrip. Presently Tilly, back sterilising bottles and sweeping the kitchen floor, heard the deeper note of the plane engines running up in preparation for take-off. She stepped out onto the verandah, followed by Connor, to watch the King Air’s wings catch the sun as it arrowed away to the south.

  The door opened and Sophie joined her, holding a second mug of tea. ‘Never a dull moment,’ she observed. ‘I hope the girl’ll be okay. Luke’s really taken with her, isn’t he?’

  ‘He seems to have lost his heart,’ Tilly agreed. ‘So, lunches today, anyone?’

  Matt emerged from the house. ‘Not for me. I’ll be in the shed. Vehicles to service,’ he said, heading off.

  ‘Are the whipper snippers fuelled up?’ Sophie called after him, then continued as he nodded. ‘Just me and Luke then, thanks. We’re working on the walking tracks,’ she explained.

  ‘Ah.’ Tilly nodded. Nature was a relentless force. ‘What about you, Connor?’

  ‘No thanks. Is it okay if I take the boat out this arvo, Sophie? It’s the easiest way to check the river bank growth.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Binboona had inherited the former station’s tinny for emergency use in the Wet, though, Tilly privately thought, you would have to be mad to put it into the Nutt in flood.

  Remembering then, she said, ‘I’d almost forgotten the mail plane. At least the strip’s already been checked. That’ll save me time.’

  ‘I’ll be here and free – I can collect the mail for you,’ Connor offered. ‘What
time?’

  ‘Would you? It’s due about half ten.’ She smiled her thanks. ‘The mailbag will be on the table there. That sounds like Luke coming back now.’

  It was. Don stopped briefly to let the young ranger out, then drove the station wagon back between the sheds towards the camp.

  ‘He’s gone to pack up,’ Luke announced, bursting into the room. ‘And I’m catching the mail plane out if I can get a seat.’

  ‘Whoa, slow down a bit.’ Sophie looked startled. ‘What did the doctor say about Jane?’

  ‘An extreme allergic reaction to something in her system. He thinks she’ll be okay. Thinks!’ he said scornfully, eyes flashing. ‘And what if she isn’t? I have to go to her. Don’ll be forever reaching Darwin dragging that trailer. Six hours if he speeds, so I’m taking the plane.’

  Tilly said, ‘But Luke, what are the chances of there being a spare seat?’ The mail plane serviced a dozen stations, any one of which could be sending or receiving travellers that day. ‘They’re nearly always booked out – with freight, if not people.’

  ‘There’s got to be,’ he said stubbornly. ‘You don’t understand – none of you do – she could die! Anyway I’m going.’ This last said with a challenging look at his boss.