Authors: Kendall Talbot
Taking care to avoid looking at the pilot’s remains, he checked out the equipment. A microphone dangled above the floor by a black spiral cord. He snatched at it and pressed the red button on top. It was dead. He followed the cord to the instrument panel and flicked the switch next to it. Still nothing. He clicked it over and over and then flung the microphone to the floor in frustration. It fell with a hollow thud and bounced up and down like a bungee. Not recognising anything else useful, he stepped away from the doorway.
The entrance door with the built-in steps was at his side. When he twisted the latch the door thumped backwards and he climbed onto the top step to look out above the forest floor.
“What are you doing?” Abigail yelled across the clearing.
“Trying to find another way to the luggage.” He bent down and ran his fingers along a metal strip framing the edge. The two inch strip was held in place by dozens of screws.
“Can you help me up?” Abigail called from the back of the plane.
He sighed and reluctantly sidled to the back of the wreck.
“What can I do?” she said after he lifted her into the cabin. The bruise on her forehead was still deep purple despite a layer of fresh makeup, and she’d obviously applied a dash of colour to her cheeks. Her lips were now glossy pink.
“Well.” He ran his finger over the scar on his chin, knowing it would be more obvious after a day’s beard growth. But he didn’t mind. This was a scar he was proud of. “I need to find something I can use as a screwdriver.”
She turned to her husband’s body. “Spencer always carried a fancy knife in his pocket.” She cringed as she patted the front of his jeans. “Here it is.”
The heavy one-inch thick multi tool housed a dozen gadgets. Using his fingernail Mackenzie flicked out tools one by one—several knives, scissors, a small saw, a corkscrew, pliers and, to his relief, both a slotted and a Phillips-head screwdriver.
“Perfect.” He moved past Abigail and knelt at the door frame.
The process to remove all the screws in the trimming was painfully slow and with each passing minute the temperature in the cabin soared. Sweat dripped down his temple, back and underarms, but with the determination of a hungry man, he continued until the
trimming finally released with a metallic twang. He wedged the knife under the floor panel to peel it back like the lid on a sardine can. Leaning on the edges, he peered into the hole.
“What’s in there?”
“I can’t see yet. We need to open it more.”
After what seemed like hours they had only removed a section large enough for him to fit his head through. When his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he recognised shapes in the gloom. “The luggage is still here.”
He fed his arm into the space and moments later raised a duffle bag and wrestled it through the hole. Resisting the urge to immediately look inside the bag he tossed it aside and reached back into the hole. He touched the curved edge of a case, felt around for the handle and pulled. The case was so heavy he wondered if it were actually a piece of the plane or some other cargo. But as he raised it, its floral pattern squashed any doubts he had. It was so big it jammed against the rim of the hole and no matter how hard he tried it wouldn’t fit. He finally gave up and dropped it.
“Hey, careful! That’s my bag.”
He glared up at her, open mouthed.
I could’ve guessed it was hers.
“You’ve got to be kidding. The fucking plane crashed and you want me to be careful with your case.” He shook his head. “Help me make the hole bigger.”
“There’s no need to swear at me,” she said with a pout.
Mackenzie bit his tongue as he put his muscles into pulling at the metal. It was a fierce tug of war in which the metal lost and eventually the opening was big enough for him to climb in. In the back corner of the enclosed space, a hole about the size of a milk crate had been punched through the plane’s wall. It gave him just enough light to see around. The petrol fumes were suffocating, but he ignored them as he reached for the floral case and wrestled it up through the hole. “Grab the handle. Pull!”
“I am!”
Finally, it drove through the hole and landed with a thud above him. He crawled to the next case, repeating the process. With all the cases removed, he noticed cargo netting stretched across the back of the hold, shielding a jumble of boxes.
He read the writing on the first box out loud. “Baked beans.”
“What?”
“We’ve got food.” The netting fell into a crumpled heap as he pulled it down. A burnished brown sack was wedged into a corner, he tugged at it and saw the word ‘flour’ emblazoned across the front. “There’s flour, too.”
“Flowers?”
Mackenzie chuckled to himself and bit back a sarcastic comeback. The next bag was made of thick, brown paper and white crystals flowed from the crushed corner.
Sugar
. He manipulated the bag upright, careful not to lose any more grains and then scooped up what had spilled out.
“What are you doing?” Abigail’s voice was distant above him.
“Collecting spilt sugar.”
“What else is in there?”
Beyond the box of baked beans he noticed a large wooden crate. He choked back petrol infused air as he crawled toward it. Several wooden planks on the crate had shattered in the crash and he peeled one back. It screeched as the nail released its hold and popped free. He repeated the process with the next one. A metal cylinder rolled out. In the dim light its circular lid looked like a dulled headlight.
“There’s something else,” he called out as he gathered the tin and read the label. “Coffee. I hope you like International Roast.”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
Of course you haven’t.
Reaching into the crate, he removed seven more coffee tins to reveal a parcel wrapped in black plastic. The vacuum sealed black film gave him little indication of what was inside. He removed the knife from his pocket and sliced across the plastic.
The smell hit him like a long forgotten nightmare.
Although he hadn’t smoked marijuana since he was a teenager he’d never forget its distinct smell. Resting on his haunches he absorbed the enormity of the find.
“What else is in there?” Abigail jolted him back to the present.
“You don’t want to know,” he whispered to himself.
The plastic covered bundle was about the size of two beer cartons and he knew from experience that if it was full of dried marijuana then it was worth a lot of money. This changed their situation drastically.
“Are you okay?” By the way she’d said it, he couldn’t decide if she was frustrated or concerned.
Hiding the drugs from Abigail was an option he considered, however this affected both of them and he decided she needed to know. “I’m coming.” Gathering two coffee tins he crawled back to the opening and handed them up through the hole. He decided to leave the plastic bundle until they discussed it. Once he’d passed all the food up to Abigail, he crawled out of the stifling hole.
By the time they finished unloading the last parcel from the plane the sun glowed above them as a searing hot ball. His hunger pains screamed at him as if they could smell the food. He couldn’t wait another minute and with trembling fingers he cut a bean can from the carton, flicked out the can opener, drove the spear into the tin and hacked off the lid. Handing the can to Abigail, he salivated as he opened another tin for himself and then gulped down the contents.
He’d already finished his tin before Abigail even started. The look on her face was one of pure disgust as she pushed two fingers into the tin to scoop out a couple of beans.
She popped them in her mouth then huffed. “I never knew cold beans would taste so good.”
“You’re not kidding.” He grabbed another can and carried it to the fire. “I’ll heat this one up.” He stabbed the lid several times and then steadied it on the glowing coals.
Abigail continued to pick the beans from her can with animated precision. “Why haven’t we heard any planes?” she said. “It’s after three.”
He wiped his forehead on his sleeve. “I don’t know.”
Mackenzie pulled a fresh T-shirt out of his suitcase to replace his sweat-soaked one and when Abigail turned away he changed out of his jeans too.
“There was something else in the plane.”
She frowned at him. “What?”
“Drugs.”
“What? Like Aspirin?”
He nearly laughed out loud at her naivety. “No. Marijuana.”
“What?” Her hand went to her mouth. “How do you know?”
“Believe me, I know.”
“But … how much is there?”
“A lot, way too much to be a private stash.”
“Show me,” Abigail demanded.
“It’s at the back of the cargo area. You’ll have to climb in to see it.”
“Can’t you just bring it out?”
“I’m not touching it.”
She tutted. “It’s not like we’re going to use it.”
“Exactly! So we leave it where it is. It’s dangerous.”
“Why?”
“I think the pilot was shipping drugs.”
She frowned again. “So?”
He realised he’d need to explain the whole scenario. “So whoever’s profiting from this deal might come after it.”
She blinked and for the first time he noticed just how long her eyelashes were. “Jesus. You think drug lords will come looking for it?”
He shrugged. In his experience, a large bundle like that was a serious amount of money and he couldn’t imagine the owner giving up on it easily.
“We should burn it,” said Abigail.
“No way.”
“Why not?”
“What if they turn up and the drugs are gone?”
She put her hands on her hips. “We’ll just deny any knowledge of it and they’ll think the pilot got rid of it.”
Mackenzie held up his palms and backed away. “Let’s just leave it for now. We’ll be rescued soon, then the police can handle it.”
Abigail nodded her head. “Okay.”
* * *
Mackenzie was amazed how quickly the sun disappeared below the trees, leaving the sky washed with a brilliant burnt orange colour. A chorus of bird songs intensified as the sun set, and as it grew darker, crickets joined in. Mackenzie became frustrated by the darkening sky. It meant they were destined to spend another night in the bush.
“I can’t understand why they didn’t come today.” His voice was more aggressive than he intended.
Abigail turned to him. “Me neither. What would be taking them so long?”
Mackenzie shook his head. “I don’t know.” He looked at the collection they’d removed from the cargo hold; two sacks of flour, eight tins of coffee, a bag of sugar and, after the four they’d already eaten, just forty-four cans of baked beans.
“I hope they’re here tomorrow,” he said. “Or we might have to do something with them.”
“Who?”
“The people in the plane.” He held his palm toward the wreck.
“Like what?” Her eyes bulged. “Bury them?”
“We can’t leave them like that or the flies will …” He lowered his eyes.
“Oh God.” She covered her face.
Mackenzie fought his own urge to cry as he watched her succumb to tears. He placed his hand on Rodney’s suitcase and felt warmth emanating through the fabric. With closed eyes, he said a silent prayer, something he hadn’t done in over eighteen years.
* * *
Abigail sat on her case, curled her legs to the side and watched flame fingers twist together, stretching for the night sky. The coals glowed like bright orange crocodile skin and popping sounds interrupted the silence.
Mackenzie sat cross-legged beside her and the bulge around his calf jogged her memory. “How’s your leg?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Frowning, he rolled up his jeans and unwrapped the T-shirt.
Abigail flinched at the sight of it. “Oh my. That looks terrible.”
The cut was in the middle of his calf and more swollen and bruised than it had been earlier. With all the dried blood around it, it looked hideous. Although, she wondered if it just looked worse because of their limited light.
“It’s nothing. It looks bad because I haven’t washed it. At least the bleeding’s stopped.” He rolled his jeans down and reached for the bean can in the fire.
With a shirt wrapped around her hand she took the charred can from Mackenzie and hesitated before scooping out a couple of beans. The warmth was like a slice of heaven in her mouth.
She smiled at him. “They’re much better warm.”
“I reckon.” His smile was genuine.
The flickering flames made his beard stubble appear thicker, blending it with his olive skin, and for the first time she noticed a tiny scar that ran below the left side of his mouth. As if reading her mind he touched it and she shifted her eyes back to the fire. They finished sharing the can and Mackenzie tossed it into the flames creating a frenzy of floating sparks.
She watched the embers in their drive to the black sky and Mackenzie’s comment about burying the dead invaded her thoughts. “I can’t bury Spencer here. He wouldn’t want that.”
Mackenzie raised an eyebrow. “He might not have a choice. We shouldn’t wait much longer.”
“They’ll be here tomorrow,” she said, although her confidence was waning.
“I’ve been thinking about that. Don’t you think it’s strange we haven’t heard even one plane?”
“No. This forest is so dense we can’t hear anything.”
Mackenzie remained quiet for a moment. “I think we might be here a bit longer than we thought.”
She glared at him. “What? How much longer?”
“A long time.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Spencer’s family will never stop looking for us. Ever.”
“It’s not that. We were turning around when we crashed. God knows how far we went off course.”
She remembered the plane actually tried to turn twice. “Surely we didn’t go that far?”
Mackenzie shrugged his shoulders. “Out here, finding two people lost amongst these trees would be like finding a chilli flake in bolognese sauce.”
Abigail blinked. “You have no idea how to cheer people up.”
“Just being practical.”
Abigail considered his comment as a question that had been playing on her mind bubbled to the surface. “Something else has been bothering me.”
“What’s that?” He scratched his stubble again.
“What if our pilot had other plans?”