Deadly Sky (ePub), The

by Hill, David

  The voice crackled on. ‘Flight time today is a little under six hours … tail wind … Today we will not have any sinking boats, we hope.’ The passengers murmured.

  ‘We were glad to help yesterday,’ the voice said, then continued in French. Darryl peered out the window, trying to remember every detail he could. The palms, the glitter of waves, the slow procession of a few white clouds across the sky.

  He snapped back to listening. ‘As you probably know, a nuclear test takes place today at Mururoa, at midday. There will be no difficulty. We will have reached halfway to Papeete by them. We are well outside the exclusion zone. We may see a slight flash, that is all.’ Ahead of him, Alicia twisted around in her seat. She was staring towards the rear of the plane. At Raoul? Darryl couldn’t tell. Her face twitched as though she was about to cry again.

  His mother reached a hand forward, rested it on the girl’s shoulder, murmuring once more to her. Alicia seemed not to hear; she kept staring past them for a few more moments, then turned to face the front again, her back rigid. So, she was scared of the test as well as the plane? I’m glad it’s not a longer flight, Darryl told himself. With her on board, I’d be worn out.

  The engines growled. The plane trembled, then began to roll forward. Through the window, the coconut palms started flicking past. This time tomorrow, we’ll be home, Darryl told himself again.

  His mother smiled at him. He smiled back.

  The runway flashed beneath them. The nose of the plane lifted, and he was pressed back in his seat as they rose from the ground. The holiday, the adventure, would soon be over.

  TWENTY-ONE

  The engines kept roaring. Darryl could feel their vibration. Excitement welled up in him once more: yeah, it had been an adventure. He understood now why his dad had wanted to take off and see a totally different place. The world was full of adventures, and he was going to have as many as he could in his life.

  He was going to help people, too. Being with his mum over here had made him realise how good that could feel. She was still helping, with Alicia as well as the kids who might be coming to New Zealand.

  Darryl glanced forward. In the row ahead, the girl sat motionless. Was she still frightened and upset? He couldn’t tell.

  Another five minutes and the plane began to level out. The seatbelt sign blinked off. The air hostess began moving down the cabin, chatting to people. She rested a hand on Alicia’s shoulder, smiled and murmured to her for a moment. The girl must still be scared, all right. Maybe he’d go and sit by her; tell her it was OK. Or maybe he’d just tell his mum, and she could go.

  The air hostess reached their row.

  ‘’Allo. Is there anytheeng you need?’

  Mrs Davis smiled and shook her head. Darryl began to do the same, then asked: ‘Can I move across to the other side?’

  The air hostess raised her eyebrows. ‘You do not enjoy to sit with your mother?’

  Darryl shook his head, and started saying ‘No, I just want to see out—’, then realised both women were grinning at him. If he ever became (yerrrk) a parent, he was not going to embarrass his kids the way certain people did.

  Darryl stood, and began moving across the aisle to the empty seats opposite. He noticed Raoul, sitting by himself three rows back, gazing straight ahead. His eyes were narrowed, his lips pressed together. He stared straight past Darryl for a moment, then seemed to recognise him, and gave a nod. Man, he’s a real barrel of laughs, Darryl thought.

  Outside, a great curve of blue sky swept down to meet a deep green ocean. The whole world glowed. Darryl remembered the photograph taken by the first astronauts to walk on the moon, the one showing Earth floating blue and white and perfect against the blackness of space, with its pale skin of atmosphere surrounding it. Nuclear explosions could damage that atmosphere, his book said, and let in deadly gamma rays. Scary.

  He stared towards the horizon. Their flight path took them hundreds of miles out to the west of Mururoa. The pilot had said the test was at midday. He checked his watch: 9.05. Yeah, they’d be halfway to Tahiti by then. Oh, well.

  He settled back in his seat and gazed out the window again. Light. Clean, shining light, all through the sky and across the ocean below.

  Darryl pictured that TV documentary: the colossal explosion ripping upwards from under the sea, the great tsunami of water tearing outwards to destroy the warships moored around. He remembered the canoes he’d seen gliding across the water at Mangareva, canoes like the one Noah and the others had given him and his mum. He thought of them smashed to pieces, the people on board hurled to their deaths as the sky blazed and burned. A thing like that mustn’t be allowed to happen. It mustn’t.

  Oh no, he realised. Oh no, I’m actually agreeing with Alicia!

  Darryl sat there, trying to believe it: he’d left home feeling one way; now he was going back feeling completely the opposite. Incredible.

  Finally, he took out his book, opened it. Takahiro was a ten-year-old boy in Nagasaki, on 9 August 1945. It was three days after Hiroshima, and he’d been swimming with friends near a wharf, seeing how deep they could dive. Takahiro had plunged down and nearly touched the bottom, when up above him the sky flashed ‘as bright as a thousand suns’. He kicked his way back to the surface, and burst out into the air, to find his friends screaming, blinded, their hair burned from their heads. He staggered through a city on fire, where people lay in blackened, twisted shapes, past where a woman hunched wailing over a dead baby, skin peeling from both of their bodies. The sky was dark; strange heavy raindrops fell, leaving black stains on his skin. When he finally found his street, his house was gone, smeared out of existence. Only a few charred bits of timber remained; the ground was fused and cracked like glass. He never saw his parents or sister again. After three days, Takahiro himself began to vomit; sores appeared on his body; his mouth and eyes filled with ulcers. Radiation sickness. He died when he was twelve.

  No, it mustn’t be allowed to happen again. Ever.

  It was 10.17. The sky was paler. A thin veil of cloud spread above. His mother sat reading her notes. Alicia’s head was bent. She was reading, too? Praying? Maybe she felt better now that she realised the plane wasn’t going to drop out of the sky. Darryl gazed around. The other passengers were dozing or slowly turning pages.

  The air hostess, Françoise, was coming down the aisle with a tray of tall glasses. A pineapple drink? He’d better have one – or two – while he still could.

  Someone moved past him. Raoul, heading for the front of the cabin. He took no notice of Darryl or his mother, and began talking to Françoise. The air hostess’s polite smile faded. Then she nodded, and set off towards the cockpit, Raoul behind her. She knocked, opened the door, and started talking to those inside. The young man stood silently, hands by his sides. Françoise turned, nodded to him again, and he disappeared through the door.

  Must be going to do more training, Darryl decided. Nah, he hasn’t got his uniform on. Maybe he just wants to watch.

  Come on, he urged the air hostess. I’m thirsty. 10.30: they’d been flying for an hour and a half. About four hours to go.

  Françoise was talking to Alicia, offering her one of the drinks. She spoke again as the girl jerkily shook her head, looked concerned, then put the drink back on the tray. Alicia must still be frightened. Yeah, he’d go and talk to her, as soon as he’d got his drink.

  The air hostess straightened up and moved on. Behind her, the cockpit door opened, and Raoul emerged. He stood there, looking down the rows of seats.

  At the same moment, Alicia rose. She turned to step into the aisle. Darryl saw her face, and felt his breath catch. Her eyes stared; her mouth trembled. She was terrified. In her hands she clutched the brown bag. She wasn’t going to be sick in it, was she?

  Raoul hadn’t moved. He’s waiting for her, Darryl realised. What was going on?

  The girl had reached the aisle. She stood there, one hand gripping the back of a seat. She seemed unable to move. Raoul spoke to her, a cou
ple of words, harsh and angry. She jerked, then stumbled forward.

  From back down the aisle, Françoise was calling, asking something. The other passengers craned their necks, trying to see what was happening.

  Words began pouring from Alicia, high, shrill, frightened. She reached Raoul; he stretched out an arm to hold her, comfort her.

  No, it wasn’t for comfort. The young man seized the brown bag, shoved his hand into it. He was talking, too, loud and fast, over-riding Alicia, shaking his head at her. He yanked something out of the bag, thrust it into the girl’s hand. She tried to push it away, crying ‘Non! Non!’ Raoul shook her, hissed more words at her. In the cockpit, one of the pilots had turned to watch.

  Darryl was on his feet. His mother began to stand as well. Françoise, still holding the part-empty tray of drinks, was coming back up the aisle.

  At the same moment, the two figures at the front turned. Alicia faced the cabin; Raoul took a stride back into the cockpit. Both of them held guns.

  TWENTY-TWO

  It’s a joke, Darryl knew. Some sort of weird joke.

  He gaped at the guns. Alicia’s was small and flat and grey, Raoul’s was longer; its barrel gleamed. Alicia’s eyes were wide, her teeth clenched. Her whole body twitched and shuddered. She gripped the gun with both hands, fighting to hold it steady as she aimed it down the cabin. Darryl’s stomach went heavy. This wasn’t a joke.

  Raoul had begun shouting, voice lifted so that it rang down the rows of seats. He stood with legs apart, gun pointed into the cockpit, jerking his head towards the cabin. He was yelling in French, but Darryl heard ‘bombe atomique … Mururoa’. Suddenly, he guessed what this was about.

  He was still on his feet. Opposite him, his mother stood too, starting to speak. Françoise hurried past them towards the front of the cabin, protesting and waving her hands, tray abandoned. Alicia’s mouth opened. ‘Non!’ she said again. ‘Non!’ Her gun swung towards the advancing air hostess, jerking in her grasp. She was shaking so much that the weapon looked as though it might go off by itself.

  Françoise kept moving, one arm out-stretched. A male passenger ahead of Darryl was struggling up as well, stabbing his finger at Alicia, mouthing words angrily. Other voices joined in. Françoise had almost reached the front row. Alicia’s gun jerked again. She screamed. ‘Non!’

  Behind her, Raoul wheeled around. His face twisted; he grabbed the air hostess by one arm, flung her down into a seat. Her head rammed into the hard leather. Raoul snarled something at her and Alicia, then swung back, gun pointing into the cockpit again. Whatever was happening here, it was no joke. Those voices in the dark on Mangareva. Those half-glimpsed meetings. They’d all been about this.

  Raoul had started shouting again, in English this time. ‘The nuclear tests fill our sky and sea with poison! The government does nothing. We will make them! We fly to test area, say on the radio what we do. Everyone in world will know. The tests must end!’

  As Darryl stood there, hands locked on the seatback, he remembered Alicia’s words on the beach. ‘Someone must stop.’ Why hadn’t he recognised then what she meant? Why hadn’t he understood that Raoul wouldn’t be satisfied with little protests on a little island?

  He looked at the girl again. She still trembled and gasped, but her hold on the gun seemed steadier, and she echoed her cousin’s words. ‘Tests must end.’

  More angry words from the passengers. Frightened ones, too: a woman had started wailing. Raoul shouted into the cockpit once more; a voice yelled back at him, and he thrust the long barrel of his gun towards the speaker.

  Someone called Darryl’s name. His mother, across the aisle, still standing. ‘Darryl, sit down. Sit down.’ She sounded calm, and he found himself sliding back into his seat. His mum kept facing the front. ‘Alicia?’ she went. ‘Pourquoi, Alicia? Why?’

  The girl stared. Her words came in shuddering bursts. ‘Tests must stop. Mon père – my father die of bomb. Others will, too.’ Darryl remembered what Lily had said: Alicia’s father and others, barred from their usual fishing grounds during the tests, had drowned in a part of the ocean they didn’t know. He remembered the expression on Alicia’s face after the boat had sunk the day before. Why hadn’t he taken more notice of all that?

  Raoul swung around again. He saw Darryl’s mother standing. ‘Asseyez-vous! Sit!’ His voice was harsh and strained. ‘Sit!’

  Darryl’s mum raised her hands. ‘Raoul, this won’t stop the tests. People will think you are a … a criminal.’

  The young man seemed to recognise her. His expression changed, became sad. ‘Madame Day-vees. Je regrette – I am sorry. We march. We write. Nobody listens. Now they will. We fly to Mururoa. We send radio messages. Everyone hears. We—’ He whirled, thrust his gun into the cockpit, shouted in French. More cries from some of the passengers.

  Alicia was gabbling at her cousin. She seemed frightened by something he’d said. Raoul didn’t look at her, just shook his head impatiently.

  What if the pilots won’t do it? The thought beat in Darryl’s head. What if they refuse to do what he says? He won’t shoot, will he?

  Yes, he will. He’s been building up to something like this. Other people argue that thousands may have to die from nuclear weapons, so millions can live in peace. If that means that a plane-load of fifteen passengers has to die to stop those weapons, then all of us on Flight 766 could be killed.

  Raoul took a step away from the cockpit, gun still levelled into it. He snapped something over his shoulder at Alicia; she jerked, and made way for him.

  A figure emerged from the cockpit. A short, thick-set man in a white shirt with gold shoulder stripes. One of the pilots. His face was set and angry. He ignored Raoul, and began speaking instead to the passengers. A spate of French, then, ‘This crazy fool! But stay calm … we have plenty of fuel …’

  Raoul shoved him into the seat next to Françoise, and whipped around to face into the cockpit again. The gun in Alicia’s hands had begun to shake once more, and her lips trembled.

  A second uniformed figure appeared, taller and younger than the first. Darryl’s stomach clenched. Who was flying the plane? It must be on automatic pilot or something. Of course – Raoul! He would fly them to Mururoa. How long had he been planning this? Was it already in his mind when he went to Sydney for training? Jeez, thought Darryl, I hope he paid attention in the lessons!

  The second pilot began moving past Raoul, face as grim as the first. Raoul hissed words to Alicia, and Darryl saw that the girl was crying again, hands quivering worse than ever as she grasped her gun. Her cousin saw it, too; half-turned towards her. Right then, the second pilot leaped at him.

  The two men slammed against the doorway, then fell back into the cockpit, flailing and punching at each other. Darryl glimpsed them crashing against the control panels, before going down in a tangle of writhing arms and legs. Screams from Alicia and passengers.

  The plane bucked sideways, flinging Darryl against the cabin wall. It plunged vertically, jolted so hard that his teeth clacked together, then started skidding downwards through the sky. The screams rose to a frenzy. Alicia clung to an overhead locker with one hand, gun swinging wildly, mouth open in terror. If she’d been frightened of flying before; how was she feeling now?

  The aircraft levelled out. The other pilot had half-risen in his seat, yelling. Alicia tried to point her gun at him, gabbling in French. Behind her, Raoul and the second uniformed figure wrenched and punched. The aircraft slewed sideways; dropped a second time. The thick-set pilot threw himself at Alicia.

  BLAM! The shot rang and echoed through the cabin. Alicia shrieked and fell. The pilot dropped back in his seat.

  Darryl twisted out into the aisle and plunged towards the front, ramming against arm-rests as the plane bucked sideways again. Behind him, he heard his mother scream. He took no notice. Alicia was hurt or dead.

  In the cockpit, Raoul slumped against the control panel, panting, trying to stare into the cabin. Blood welled from one corner of
his mouth. The gun was in his hand, pointing at the younger pilot, who crouched on the narrow floor-space, head turned to where the shot had sounded. Broken glass glinted on the cockpit floor; lights flashed above the dials.

  Raoul glimpsed Darryl struggling forward. ‘Alicia! Vite! Vite!’ The girl clawed her way up, shuddering and whimpering, gun swinging in all directions. She was unhurt. The pilot who’d attacked her seemed OK, also. Darryl gaped around, then saw the shredded bits of plastic dangling from an overhead locker. Alicia had shot someone’s hand luggage.

  She stared at the weapon in her hand. For a second, she seemed about to hurl it from her. She began yelling – howling – at Raoul. French first, the words tumbling over one another. Then, ‘You tell me the gun is pretend! You lie! You—’ More French, her voice high and furious.

  Darryl took another step towards the shuddering girl. She was gabbling at him now. ‘Please! Non! Please!’ The square, blunt shape of the gun wobbled in his direction. Her hair had come loose; it tumbled across her face. A scratch showed on her neck. ‘Please!’

  She staggered sideways as Raoul shoved the other pilot through from the cockpit, half-throwing him into a second-row seat. Raoul’s eyes were slitted; his teeth bared. It was the way he’d looked as he began to crash the handle of his sign down on the fallen policeman in Tahiti. Except that this time, Darryl knew, he wasn’t going to stop.

  Raoul thrust his gun forward. ‘Sit! There – you sit there! We see you!’ Carefully, Darryl lowered himself down beside the younger pilot. The plane seemed to be flying steadily. Thank God for that.

  ‘Tu – menteur! You lie!’ English and French together kept pouring from Alicia. ‘You say nobody hurt! Gun is pretend! Menteur!’

  Raoul grabbed his cousin by one elbow, shaking her, urging her. Again, she looked as though she might throw away the gun she held. She closed her eyes, then clutched it in both hands. Raoul sucked in deep breaths; Darryl could see him fighting to get control of himself.