The Great Empty

by Anita Melillo

  “Come ‘ere you little brat, so I can kill you!” the swagman yelled as his footsteps were bleated out by the drumming of insects.

  Donovan stood still as he heard movement through the marsh, holding tight to the pick and preparing to use it at any moment.

  “You never really thought I’d let you get away! Did ya?!” the voice began to squeal in the opposite direction. Then he stopped as if to listen.

  Donovan managed to pull himself up onto a tree limb, as he leaned toward the core of the tree. He held the pick tight against him and watched for movement below.

  The swagman heard the sound of the limb shifting and wandered in his direction. Occasionally, the water splashed as he stepped alongside the rivers edge and he breathed heavily.

  Donovan sat as still as he could and prepared to strike the top of the mans head if he came any closer. Then suddenly, and out of nowhere, a high pitched scream that defied rationality rocked the night air. It was the sound of splashing, terror, and the crunching of bones.

  Donovan pressed hard against his ears to deafen the sound, as the crocodile twisted its victim to the bottom of the river bed.

  With his legs gripped tight around the strong arm of refuge, he did the only thing he knew to free his mind from the reality of what was happening. As the crocodile continued to twist the mans mangled body against the bank and then back into the cesspool, he sang out above the mayhem with the acapella of the boy’s choir

  “Faith of our fathers living still In spite of dungeon, fire and sword.., Oh how our hearts beat high with joy.. When-e-er we hear that glorious word Faith of our father’s holy faith We will be true to thee till death”

  Chapter Nineteen

  The bloodhounds sniffed the pillowcase that Donovan had used on the airplane. Since everything else had been laundered beforehand, it was the only thing the Winthrop’s could provide for them to go on. But the dogs took to it eagerly as they tore through the woods and over rocky embankments in search of the missing scent.

  “Hey chief, what do ya make of it?” a deputy yelled while holding a partially developed picture of the water rushing over the gorge.

  The sheriff grabbed it. “Could be him..,” as he wedged it in his clamp-board, flipping through the territorial charts and pages of data. “Report shows a camera on his person.”

  “Over here!” another man shouted from the other side of the plunge pool. “Got somethin’! Two sets of tracks!”

  The sheriff gave an authoritative whistle and waved to the remaining nine, “Get on it!”

  They followed the dogs.

  The reflection of light hit squarely on the side of the plateau, and since there was nothing of any value in the jeep, it seemed a good place to start.

  Zipping up the caution-orange vest, the tracker bent down to take a handful of ashes from the pit, “It’s yesterdays roast all right.”

  As he wandered into the arched opening of the cavern, Preston bellowed, “Maybe they slept in here”

  “Let’s not go speculatin’ about too much. Could be that the lad was nowhere around,” drilled Yancey as he scoped out the valley.

  “Yeah, mate,” the tracker replied, “but it’s sure more than we had a few minutes ago.”

  Yancey looked down the steep side of the monolith as Preston disappeared into the dark recess of stone. A narrow trail of broken branches meant that more than one person had traveled down the rigid slope. He followed it out further, as he carefully descended by holding onto shrub roots for leverage that were protruding from crevices where red clay had settled.

  Midway down, he stopped to secure his footing on a rock that was shifting beneath him when he saw the termite pod. The top half of the mound had been crumpled away. With the slightest amount of dexterity, the fall could have been avoided, he thought while feeling the moist incline. Then the trail of broken branches narrowed even more so as they reached the base of the mountain and within several feet of the site. He inspected the mound again.

  “Ahhh!” the old man screamed as he shot out of the opening of the cave, while frantically running circles around the tracker.

  Although he tried, he couldn’t get his words out clearly, “B-b-b-bo-dy”

  The tracker didn’t waste time figuring him out. He rushed inside the cavern and when he returned from the dark void was perfectly calm, but perplexed.

  Yancey made the climb to the top again. “What’d you find?”

  “A skeleton.., child-like, but not the boys. Dry bones. Been there a while,” he sized up the scene.

  “All right then,” Yancey yelled back, “I’ll radio the sheriff. Maybe this will get his bloody attention.” Then he pointed at the trail, “That’s your route. We’ll go on ahead of you. Signal if you find anythin’ else.”

  “Yep,” he gave a quick nod and was off.

  Preston had already cut a new path back to the helicopter.

  The lime-green stems of the water-lilies kept Donovan pushing forward as the sun rose hot against his back. It wasn’t enough nourishment for the strength he needed, but it would sustain him until he could unearth something more. At least there had been enough water trapped inside the shoots to wash them down, but the aftertaste was awful. He hadn’t seen a billabong or natural spring all morning and with the rising temperatures, he hoped to find one, before something else found him.

  Somewhere in the night he had lost his shoes, and the makeshift socks had gotten so laded down with mud that they had been shed too. The wound on his heel had caked dry so it didn’t bother him as much when he took full strides. If he could only find a way to avoid the prickly vines that swam across the ground and pierced his raw feet.

  A few times he had tried walking in the grass, but the insects on the reeds made him itch too much. And he felt safer being able to see what moved around him. He reasoned that if something did creep up he would be in trouble, but at least he would have a running chance.

  His backpack was with the spear, and he had no intentions of going back for them. His only mission now was to find a sturdy walking stick and to keep heading east, and as far from the river bank as possible. Whatever remained back there would stay behind him. If only he could convince his mind of the same.

  The night had passed with his eyes wide open, but the nightmare never ended. The fear of being hunted was his constant companion. With the hours of silence that had followed the madness, he wanted to believe that the swagman was gone, but he couldn’t stop the delusions from coming. Images of the half-mangled predator seeking him out was as an apparition in his thoughts. And as much as he kept fighting against the loss of food and sleep, the enemy seemed to be winning the battle—whether dead or alive. So he held onto to the ax pick and he journeyed deeper into the bush.

  The further he went the more tropical it became with the changing landscape. Leaves stretched wider on thick rubbery plants and weeping foliage filtered out the direct light from the shade of tall Paperbark trees. The ground turned soft with a mixture of sand and dark soil where long winding strands of lush green ferns swung coiled from branches. A big shell of stringy bark had fallen from the base of a trunk and he picked it up, comparing it with the vines that hung like trapeze ropes from the trees.

  The air smelled fresher as he got to the base of the mountain. Among the few roots that were edible, Neji had recommended these in a pinch. Even though the shoots and nuts looked much better, he was careful to leave them alone, because Neji had also warned that they were poisonous before being soaked in water or cooked. So he shoved the root into his mouth and continued scraping at the dirt with the pick in hope of turning up some yams.

  After a while, he was too exhausted to dig so he laid back in the leaves, and his eyes followed the vines to the top branches. In his minds eye the tree became a towering skeleton and the thick strangling vines were veins, twisting to the top sockets of branches where light pierced the openings, exposing the green bulbous eyes.., thousands of them.

&n
bsp; “Hey, wait a minute,” he stood up, shaded his view with his hand, and peered upward. “That could be fruit,” he stuffed the rest into his pockets.

  As he inspected the ground outside the perimeter of its branches, he happened upon one of the green balls. First he broke it open with the pick and then pushed the plum sized fruit into his mouth.

  “Ummm,” he smacked in pure delight, “figs.”

  As quickly as he swallowed, he foraged through the fallen leaves again to uncover more of what he would never reject again, grabbing them up as though priceless jewels for the taking. It was the best thing he had eaten in days and he filled his pants to overflowing.

  In an instant though, the simple quiet was disrupted by a loud thrashing sound above the trees.

  Immediately, Donovan ran for an opening as he fought to get out from beneath the mass of forest. When he made it to a clearing of tall grass, he jumped in excitement as he waved his arms yelling, “Down here Down here!”

  It was no use. The helicopter was too far off and the whirring sound had slipped back into wooded solitude.

  Crying in frustration, he headed for the fig trees. What he found there were small rodent-like marsupials scurrying back into the underbrush, as they snatched away his leftovers. And the realization that he had been sharing his food with rats hit him harder than missing the aircraft.

  Thoughts of home flooded his mind.., his parents leaving him at the airport.., the swagman chasing him through the dark tunnel and getting eaten by the crocodile

  Bitterness overtook him.

  “If this is why you’re called the Great Empty, I don’t want any part of you!... Do you hear me?!” he screamed, kicking the earth that had just fed him. “I hate you!... You cursed land!”

  Then he shook his fist at the airless blame, “Can you hear me Father?!... Damn you!”

  It had taken them all morning, but four campsites later and they had actually happened upon one that didn’t require cutting out a trail first. The path was well worn with tire tracks and at the end of the dusty road was a welcome committee that was bigger than any he had seen. From the look of things, it must have been several clans brought together. There were women and children everywhere as they paraded closer to the site.

  “What do we have here—a bloody family reunion?” Allister said sarcastically. Out of the assortment of painted black faces, he didn’t see one white boy.

  “A corroboree,” the younger scout turned and eagerly replied, before leaping over the side of the jeep to join the gathering.

  “Don’t tell me that you’re related to them, too!” he said to the head ranger. Most of their time had been wasted getting re-acquainted with all of the wrong people.

  “It’s all next of kin out here. The blood runs thick as mossie’s,” he laughed jubilantly while pulling the emergency brake.

  Cupping his face in his hands, Allister peeked wearily at the strange clan of people from the back seat, as the younger girls continued drawing the fine white lines and symmetrical designs on the elders. Even though it was unfamiliar, it was still the closest thing to indoor plumbing he had seen since leaving Park Headquarters.

  A one room trailer with a slanted shed supported by a couple of metal post was the centerpiece of the camp. A rusted yellow truck was parked to the right of the shanty and was banged up so badly that the make was undetectable. On the other side was the fire stack, encircled by the women and children.

  Food was being prepared, along with feather headdresses and ornamentation as though everyone was getting ready for a sacred celebration. The rangers had made themselves right at home among them, but Allister wasn’t about to budge from the back seat. If they found out anything they would let him know. Besides, he didn’t see any tribesmen around and he hoped his impatience would get them moving again.

  All of the introductions had been made in Gagadjuan, and it wasn’t until one of the heavyset women approached the jeep that it resumed back to English.

  Taking out a cigarette and lighting it, Allister barely showed expression as he turned away to release the smoke.

  “Pleased to meet you,” he extended his free hand and stood up, noticing that her hair was orange on top.

  She grinned and had a beautiful smile despite her odd shaped figure.

  “You lost a son?” she eyed him speculatively.

  “That’s right,” his tone remained dismal. “A twelve-year-old.., about this high.., with blonde hair. There’s a reward if you see him.”

  At once she motioned to the others, speaking quickly in her native tongue. The distant sound of drumming began to beat with uneven rhythms.

  Uncertain about the need for alarm, Allister became nervous and looked to the two rangers. “I didn’t say anything to offend her. Really.”

  The woman fluttered her hand for him to be silent as she scratched her hip, which was covered in a dingy floral print. The sporadic drumming increased. She yelped again, but louder.

  “What is this about?” Allister was getting irritated by all of the commotion and he flicked out the cigarette.

  She waved her hand again, and three young boys walked out of the woods sporting the small round drums from their necks by leather strings. The tallest of the three ran towards the woman in charge, and when he stopped so did the order of things.

  The elders began shaking their heads as if a taboo had been broken and the five young girls ran inside the trailer.

  “Won’t the Mimi’s be angered? I thought I wasn’t to come out ‘til the ceremony?” the thin black warrior asked his mother as he stared at the white man.

  “They will be pleased if you help this man,” she took his chin firmly so that his eyes met her own.

  “About the young Balanda. What did he look like?” she asked.

  Anxiously, Allister reached into the back seat and took hold of the photograph. ‘This will help,” he pushed it into her hand.

  With matted red hair that was combed upward and outward, the boy stood on his toes to see it. The woman nodded that he should tell the man what he knew.

  “Are you Donovan’s father?” he questioned.

  “Oh, dear merciful heavens,” he gasped as tears filled his eyes. “Did you say Donovan?”

  “Yes,” Neji watched him curiously. “He said that you left him. Why do you want him back?”

  “I only left him with his guardian at the airport. I I would never leave my son without security” he spat hastily.

  “Security to you is different to him,” Neji replied as he watched the man wipe his tears.

  “Never mind that,” he said. “Where is he?”

  “The swagman came to take him home for the reward. He said that you hired him” the boy responded.

  “What man? Where?” Allister snapped desperately.

  So Neji told him all about his journey with his white friend and how the swagman had pushed him down the embankment at the sacred site.

  As Allister paced the dirt, the rangers mapped out each detail to the exact location where Neji had seen Donovan last.

  “I wouldn’t have left him, but he made me,” he said. “I gave him my spear. It was for the corroboree. The elders went to find him. Will you bring it back to me?”

  “Yeah, lad. Anything you want,” he reached deep into his pocket and began placing dollar bills into the Aborigines hand.

  Chapter Twenty

  It had taken three hours to make it back to Park Headquarters, and the first thing Allister did was call the ranch while the rangers radioed for back up.

  “Have you heard from anyone?” he asked hurriedly, as Elizabeth grabbed the phone from Mary.

  “Allister?” she questioned as though making sure she was hearing his nervous voice correctly.

  “Yes, love. It’s me. Has anyone called?” he asked again.

  “No..,” she sounded puzzled. “You’re the first person that’s called since you left yesterday. I must have called you a dozen times. Why didn’t
you answer?”

  “I must’ve been in some areas where I didn’t have a signal,” he replied.

  “Listen.., I think we have something. An Aborigine said that he befriended Donovan somewhere between Jim Jim Falls and Nourlangie Rock.”

  “What? You’ve found my baby!...” exclaimed Elizabeth.

  “Not yet, but we’re going to. The Aborigine spent a couple of days with him until a bushman showed up. He had a poster of him, Liz. And I suspect that he’ll be looking for a reward. In the meantime, we’re gathering more men to retrace their steps”

  “What about Yancey? Can’t he spot them faster?” she questioned.

  “I’m about to call him now and I’m praying that he can,” he answered and they said their good-byes.

  One of the men handed Allister a map and circled a broad region of the park in red. “Could be anywhere within this range. If they started from here,” he pointed to some uplands, “they’re probably still on foot. It concerns me though. They should’ve gone this way to make it to the campgrounds. So they could have gone in either of these directions” he continued to point out the terrain.