Crocodile Spirit Dreaming - Possession - Books 1 - 3

by Graham Wilson

  She had pushed her hand into the narrow space, feeling for matches—thinking Mark may keep some next to the barbeque. Her hand had caught on the edge of this loose metal plate. It slid sideways as she pushed her hand against it. So Susan had shone a torch in to see what it was and if there was any sign of matches. Her torch lit up the small space and the loose plate. With her free hand she pushed the plate back. Now the torch lit up a small metal box behind it, not locked away, but put in a place where no one would normally ever look to find it. Mark would need a small screwdriver to normally access this space.

  Susan lifted out the tin box and looked at it. It was grey, flat and looked well-used though the top would not pop open when she pushed with her fingers. Susan was tempted to investigate further. But her English sense of privacy made her put it back and finish setting up the camp. Occasionally she looked towards the car where the box was hidden, the curiosity niggling at her. This discovery made her uneasy. She couldn’t put her finger on exactly why. It was as if something was deliberately being hidden from prying eyes.

  Mark returned five minutes later and showed her the true location of the matches. Susan lit the gas in the campground to boil the billy. Of her discovery she said nothing. They shared a supper of biscuits and tea before they went to bed together. As she drifted towards sleep she recalled the box. She still wondered why.

  Chapter 10 – Fishing the Calvert and Robinson – Day 24

  They were up early again the next morning. Susan was yawning and felt tired as she got up but Mark told her he had a special surprise organised for today. Mark’s eagerness was contagious, and Susan felt the anticipation catch her too. She asked him what the special surprise was, but Mark remained tight-lipped. “You will just have to wait and see.”

  Leaving Hells Gates they drove northeast for half an hour, coming to a sign for a roadhouse named Wollogorang. This marked the boundary of the Northern Territory, and Mark told her they were now entering one of its most famous stations; that with the longest continuous occupation since the 1880s, from which the roadhouse was named.

  Mark was full of stories of the area. He seemed a goldmine of knowledge of early NT history. When Susan asked him about where he got it he replied, “Oh from lots of places, a bit from reading books about it, but more from talking to old timers across this country. You would be surprised at the stories they tell, sitting around a campfire over a mug of tea or sometimes over a pannikin of rum. While many tales get stretched in the telling they often start with the truth.”

  Susan watched the changing scenery outside. After driving up the valley for maybe twenty miles the road began to climb. It wound through a series of gorges and cuttings as it worked its way precariously up the side of a mountain, until they came out onto a flat and barren plateau at the top, a wasteland of dry sandy spinifex and scrub.

  A few miles later they came alongside an airstrip that ran next to the road. At its end was a sign for Redbank Mine. Mark turned onto a track that brought him to the airstrip. Near the end was an assembly of 200-litre fuel drums marked with a label saying Avgas.

  Sitting alongside these was a helicopter with a large round clear bubble. Susan thought it looked something like a giant insect, perhaps a dragon fly. The round bubble at the front was its head, two holes on each side looked likes eyes, a wing like rotor blade above and a long metal tail with a smaller tail rotor. It rested on two skids, its insect like legs. It seemed alive and exotic, not like the sleek and streamlined modern helicopters that Susan had seen before on the evening news.

  A slightly built man, with darkish skin and dark features, was pumping fuel from one of the drums into the helicopter tanks. He called out familiarly, “Hey Mark!”

  Mark pulled to a halt waved to him. Turning off the engine, Mark and Susan got out.

  “How ya doin, Vic?” asked Mark.

  “Yeah alright.” replied Vic.

  “How’s the old Bell 47?”

  “Still firing on all cylinders.”

  Then Mark turned to Susan and said, Sorry, I am being impolite, let me introduce you to a good friend of mine and the best helicopter pilot I know. His proper name is Vikram Campbell but we all call him Vic.

  Vic waved at Susan and said “Hiya.”

  Susan nodded and smiled a greeting in return. “I know a Pakistani named Vickram in London, do you have family from there.

  Vic grinned back, “Not to the best of my knowledge, thought they tell me that London is a big place full of Pakis and Indians so who really knows. My great grandfather was called an Afghan in Australia, though who knows where he really came from, some story about Kashmir. He worked the camel trains between the Alice and Adelaide a hundred years ago. He had a family by an aboriginal woman in Alice Springs. His name has sort of continued, down through the generations, typically shortened to Vic or Victor.

  “As best I can tell I am descended from a complete mixture, the Afghan, a bit of Arrente, the aboriginal tribe, and then a complete mixture of Scots, English, Irish and God knows what else. The Campbell is from the Scottish branch.

  “So I suppose the Afghan could really be Pakistan, but the name is common in that part of the world, there are probably a million other Vikrams and the detail of that part of my ancestry has got lost. However the name keeps some bit of this man’s memory alive. Now most people call me Vic but Mark knows the story and does his bit to keep it known.”

  “I guess you figured we might need a bit of fuel,” Mark said, pointing to the helicopter and then turned to Susan, “Fancy a ride in this old girl?” She is getting a bit long in the tooth, but they are a super reliable old machine provided you look after them properly, and they are much cheaper to run than some of the new fangled jet turbine jobs.”

  “Is that the surprise? She asked.

  Mark nodded. “You got it, only way to see this country properly. “Vic used to chopper muster scrubbers for me, now he owns his own machine. I knew he was working nearby so I rang him and asked him to take us for a spin this morning.

  “Of course, I would love it!” exclaimed Susan.

  Mark continued, What you reckon Vic? Thought we might go along the gorges of the Calvert and Robinson Rivers, see if we can catch a few barra, perhaps get a pig or two. There is one particular huge boar I have been looking for as a hunting trophy for more than two years, and if we get real lucky we may find him today. Can but hope. Either way Susan it will give you a bird’s eye of some spectacular NT scenery.

  Susan felt amazed as she thought. All this for her; like her own private safari, with her own private safari guide. She was tongue tied for a minute. Finally, she managed to say, “Wow, that would be brilliant.”

  While Vic continued pumping the fuel into the helicopter, Mark loaded two fishing rods, his 223 rifle, some ammunition, a water bottle and some other bits inside. Then he indicated the middle seat to Susan.

  “That’s where you sit. Hop in when you are ready. I will be a few more minutes.”

  Susan climbed in and looked with wonder at all the gauges and controls. A long stick came out of the floor with various buttons and knobs attached. Then there was a radio, headsets and lots of dials, other knobs and buttons.

  Vic finished fuelling up and walked around completing a careful check of all the parts of the helicopter.

  Walking over to Susan’s window, Vic gave her a big smile. “He sure pulls the beautiful ones. How did he find someone as gorgeous as you? And him just a busted-arsed ringer. If you want to trade up to a bit more class let me know.”

  Susan found herself liking this man’s warm open face and sardonic humour. She also thought his wiry body and dark features were kind of cute. “I am sure you have a lot of far more beautiful girls than me on a string, offering to take them for mile high rides in the sky.”

  Vic laughed. Then he patted the clear Perspex bubble of the helicopter. “I wish! Ever been in one of these before?”

  She shook her head, “No, first time and I can’t wait!”

  He gave h
er a quick explanation of the main controls before saying, “I’ll just be a couple minutes. Mark and I have a bit of business to do, and we need to finalise our route on the map so I can call flight control. Why don’t you strap yourself in,” he said pointing to the seatbelt. “We will be with you in five.”

  She clicked her seatbelt in, feeling a buzz of excited tension. She thought she should be nervous; but all she could feel was a huge thrill on anticipation—primal and almost sexual. It flowed through her. The more she saw of Mark, his generosity and sense of fun, the more she was captivated by him and this whole experience. It was far beyond anything she could have imagined. Huge warmth and affection flowed out from where she sat, towards him.

  Then the other two were aboard, the engine started and the rotor was whirling, slowly at first, then faster and faster; the machine roared, blowing up dust eddies.

  Mark passed her a headset and showed her where to push the button to talk; then he indicated that they should postpone conversation until they were in the air and Vic had called Air Traffic Control.

  Vic was concentrating on all the controls, checking and zeroing various instruments. Then he slowly dialled up the engine and rotor revolutions until a thing called Manifold Pressure was in the dial’s green zone. He looked across at her and Mark and asked, “Ready?” Mark stuck his thumb up in the air.

  The motor surged further then the engine note dropped as Vic adjusted a control on the stick. She could now feel the blades change noise and start to bite into the air. The whole helicopter was shaking like a caged animal seeking to flee its bounds.

  Vic lifted the stick up an inch. The helicopter rose straight up; imperceptible at first, and then it was several feet into the air. He pushed the stick forward and their motion changed from a hover to moving forward, going straight ahead. They picked up speed, and made a slow circuit over the airstrip while he logged his trip with air traffic control.

  Then, with another small move of the control stick, the helicopter flared into the air and banked over to the side, making a steep turn to the northwest.

  Susan was spellbound. She split her time watching as Vic deftly manipulated dozens of controls and gazing in rapt awe as the country opened before her. At first they flew across the barren flat plateau, a sand plain covered in spinifex with occasional broken boulders. They picked up a watercourse that gradually grew out of the flat lands, first a small scrub lined creek then it gathered size and started to cut its way down into the increasingly rocky hillside. Pools of water started to appear along it.

  Mark spoke over the intercom. “We are following the headwaters of Karns Creek; a creek through a piece of tiger country that flows into the Calvert River, cutting through a series of gorges. Vic and I contract mustered here maybe ten years ago. We got out some of the maddest and wildest scrub bulls I have ever seen. They would try to crawl under the bushes and into the creek to get away from us. Sometimes they got so mad that they would try and hook their horns up into the sky to catch our helicopter.”

  Now Karns Creek was the size of a river, with cliff of two hundred feet along both sides. Magnificent paperbarks and water lilies fringed the edges and the water was the colour of clear weak tea, with a bright surface refection of trees and cliffs. They followed its winding length, staying just below the cliff line. Abruptly the helicopter flared up above its sides. There, before them, lay a huge river, the Calvert, cutting its way down through a gorge, running hundreds of feet below. She saw where Karns Creek joined the river. Then they were down between these river cliffs, heading north.

  It was hard for Susan to think of any words to describe this beauty. The cliffs were several hundred feet high and sheer. Their sides held myriad colours and details; vibrant red, orange, yellow and black rocks, places where dark openings into caves were seen, dotted along. Trees grew in incredible places, twisted roots probing their way into cracks in the rocks. Perched along the cliff, leaping from narrow ledge to narrow ledge, were numerous rock wallabies. In a mad panic they sought to evade the helicopter, making phenomenal leaps from rock to rock. Occasional waterbirds were disturbed by their passage. A few times Susan glimpsed shadowed outlines of large fish in the water below. Several times she saw reptiles, perhaps 1-2 metres long, sunning on rocks. They would fling themselves forward and dive into the water at the helicopter’s approach. Susan eyes widened as she realised they were crocodiles. She looked at Mark as she pointed.

  “Just freshies, but you do get the big saltwater ones along here too.”

  Then the river valley widened slightly. It was the confluence of another creek and on one side there was a small swamp area with paperbarks and swamp grasses. Mark gave a sign to come around. They circled tightly above the swamp, perhaps 50 feet high.

  Vic spotted something on the ground and pointed down. They saw a place where the swamp grasses had been rooted up. In its centre stood a huge black pig, with wicked tusks several inches long protruding from its mouth.

  Mark smiled. “I have been looking for you for three years. Today is your date with destiny.”

  He indicated to Vic to land 100 yards from the swamp where a flat grassy opening lay. As the helicopter touched down Mark was out, gathering his rifle and running in a half crouch across the intervening ground.

  Vic indicated with his hand that Susan should stay sitting. He let the rotor slowly wind down. Then, with the engine stopped, they sat quietly for perhaps five minutes, Vic indicating to be quiet and stay put.

  Finally a sharp crack broke the stillness, followed a minute later by a second one, then silence again. Vic gave a sign to undo her belt and they walked across the ground towards where Mark had disappeared. Half way there Vic called out, “Yoo Hoo.”

  Mark called straight back, “Come on, he’s dead now.” They continued and Mark met them in another 20 yards. He led them on the final part.

  Almost completely hidden, in a thick clump of paperbark saplings, lay a huge boar. It was as long as either of the men and twice their girth. One of its tusks was dug in the mud, as if in a final act of outrage at its untimely death.

  Vic said “So you finally got him. I spotted him once, about six months ago, but I did not have a rifle that day. Plus I knew you wanted him more.”

  Mark grinned widely. “This fellow will pay for our trip. I know a taxidermist who will give me at least 2 grand for this one. He is the biggest I have ever shot and close to the biggest I have ever heard of. You must be the source of my good luck, Susan.”

  Susan answered, “You don’t need any help from me in the hunting department. Apart from one other thing which we better not talk about here, it is what you are best at.”

  Mark looked uncomfortable, while Susan and Vic both laughed.

  Vic asked, “Was he easy to find? Last glance I saw him heading for that thick patch at the other side of the swamp. I thought you would be hard pressed to track him in there.”

  Mark said. “I thought he had gone that way too, so I cut to that side of the swamp but there were no fresh tracks. Then I realised that he must have been playing gamin to us and had cut back to the centre. I found a track coming back. So I scanned the swamp carefully but nothing was in sight. I finally realised that this little patch of saplings was the only place he could hide without being seen.

  “So I worked back, real slow and steady, watching for anything. Finally, when I was only thirty yards away, I saw a tiny movement in the shadow, the smallest flick of his ear in reflex to a fly. So I brought my gun up and there he was in my scope. He was so well camouflaged that he was almost invisible, facing up with his head up sniffing the wind. He seemed so surprised when the first bullet hit that he did not know what to do, but you can see how mad he was by the way this tusk has ripped into the ground.”

  They agreed they needed to get the boar to the chopper but there was a lot of weight. So, all straining together, they pulled him a few feet out of the patch of paperbarks. Mark carefully sliced him open and removed his innards. Then he used a short piece of
rope to tie his back feet together.

  Vic headed back to the helicopter to bring it round to them. After a few minutes Susan and Mark heard the helicopter roar to life and fly towards them.

  Hovering the helicopter directly above, Vic lowered a chain. There was a large hook hanging on the end of it. Susan guided the hook between the pig’s feet, while Mark lifted these towards her. When the pig was attached Susan gave thumbs up sign towards Vic.

  With a burst of power, the helicopter pulled the pig up into the sky. It hovered at fifty feet for a couple seconds. Then it was away, flying in a straight line to the southeast.

  “Vic is going back to the airstrip. He will arrange for the boar to be placed in a cool-room at the Mine until transport is organised to take it to the taxidermist in Mount Isa.” Mark explained, “Now we have a couple hours for fishing and lunch before he returns.”

  Vic had left the rest of their gear at the landing site. They collected it and walked towards the edge of the river. A sandy bar ran out from the bank, going a few metres into the water. It had the branches of a large dead tree to one side and clear water on the other.

  Before they came close to the water Mark said, “There are some really big crocodiles in here and we need to be careful.”

  They came to the bank looking out towards the sandbar. They sat on the bank and Mark watched closely for a couple minutes, scanning the banks and looking for any other signs to indicate that a large salt-water crocodile might be lurking. As he sat he pulled a crocodile, about hand width long, carved from timber and brightly painted in ochre colours, from his pocket. He looked at the crocodile closely and then at the water. To Susan it seemed as if her was talking in his mind to both.

  After a couple minutes he said. “It seems OK, but don’t get too close to the water. I’ll fish on the side of the sandbar with the dead tree. There could be a big barra lurking under the snags. You should try the open side. There’s a good chance for something there.”