Page 23 of Lost In Kakadu

She could recall only one other time when she thought she was going to die and at that point she’d wanted to. She’d only been a child then.

The memory crawled into her mind.

Her father had loomed over her, his eyes as dark and menacing as the double-barrel shotgun over his shoulder. But the grin on his face was more terrifying.

Wisps of smoke drifted from the gun that he’d just used to kill her horse.

Excruciating pain had radiated through her legs, back, arms and her heart as her mother struggled to free her from the tangle of grape vines that the horse had thrown her into.

She had glared at her father, willing him to use the gun on her.

A little piece of her did die that day. . . the scathing words he’d used, that her mother begged him not to say, cut deeper than any wire trellis could.

But it was different now. She didn’t want to die, especiallynot here.

Mackenzie returned looking lost for words and the sadness in his eyes made her feel terrible. “It’s just a theory,” she said.

“Yes, but it might be right.”

Abigail decided to change the subject. “What should we do tomorrow?”

He stared into the fire. “I’m going to look for the other half of the plane. See if anyone else is alive.”

“Oh God, those other people.” She closed her eyes remembering Charlie’s scream as he fell out of the plane. “Do you think they survived?”

“Probably not.”

Abigail imagined falling from the sky and didn’t want to go looking for Charlie. She shivered.

“Are you cold?”

“A little.”

“Do you want a jacket?” His eyes were the colour of raw honey in the firelight.

“No thanks. I’m fine.” She was surprised by how considerate he was and scowled at herself for being so difficult.

Mackenzie stirred the embers with a long stick but the warmth from the fire was of little comfort to her. Not knowing what to do, she stood and feeling Mackenzie’s gaze on her, she walked to her case, unzipped it, and aimlessly rummaged through her clothing.

Her red leather diary flipped open, and she pulled it out and fingered through it. An entry caught her eye, and she could just make out the date in the firelight,January 5th.

She remembered that day well. It was the day before the Governor’s ball and the first time she had hard evidence of Spencer’s infidelities. She’d only overheard his side of the phone conversation, but she could tell he was talking to a woman that she knew. And although the Governor’s ball promised an evening full of decadence and chivalry, she’d spent the whole night wondering just which one of her friends was sleeping with him.

She snapped the diary shut, tossed it into her luggage and stalked back to the fire.

“I’m making coffee. Do you want one?” Mackenzie’s voice startled her. His silhouette against the firelight was like a crouching gargoyle.

“Yes, please. That would be lovely.”

She marvelled at how much heat the fire gave off in such an open space. And she almost laughed aloud as she recalled complaining on many occasions about the useless marble fireplace in her formal loungeroom at home.

Water bubbled in one bean can as Mackenzie shook grains of coffee into two clean cans. Protecting his hands with a rolled-up shirt, he poured boiling water onto the coffee.

“Sugar?”

“No, thanks.”

“Sorry, we’re fresh out of milk.” He smiled as he presented her with the coffee. “Careful, it’ll be hot.”

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