Page 9 of Lost In Kakadu

A stray tear tickled her cheek, but as she flicked it away, she conceded that Spencer wouldn’t have wanted to die any other way. He thrived on being thrown into the jungle with nothing more than a Swiss Army knife and a bottle of water. But she preferred the society pages and a masseuse on demand.

As she twisted her princess-cut diamond ring she imagined his funeral. Hundreds of people would jostle for a key position next to the most influential members in the crowd. His mates would lineup to tell humorous anecdotes about Spencer’s adventures. Everybody would want to console her.

As she tried to imagine life without him, her eyes wandered out the hole in the side of the plane. The view was a tangle of harsh, virgin bush, nothing orderly about it. Unlike her life, which was structured, planned, and always revolved around Spencer in one way or another.

What am I going to do?

“Jesus, Spencer.” Staring at his unblinking eyes, she knew she’d see that ghastly image over and over for the rest of her life.

“I tried to tell you there was something wrong with the plane.” She thumped his shoulder, and when his head rolled to his chest she turned away.

Her gaze fell on the body of Madonna. The beautiful reporter was a crumpled mess and Abigail stared at her for a full minute before she saw the bloody metal pole. Her eyes darted from Madonna to Toni to Rodney. She grasped the seat, digging her fingernails into the leather as the cabin spun in lazy loops. Her neck hairs bristled, and she choked on odours of fumes, metal, and blood.

I have to get out of here.

Her stilettos were useless on the angled floor, and she had to hold onto the back of the seats to move. It took her a moment to understand that the entire tail end of the plane was missing.

Oh God! Charlie’s fading scream.

Now I know how he fell out.

She shuddered at the thought.

Looking down, she tried to comprehend why the plane wasn’t on the ground. Shaking her head, she searched for a better exit. There wasn’t one. Where she stood was closest to the ground.

She sat on the floor and holding onto the back of a seat, stretched her legs downward, closed her eyes and let go. To her surprise she landed safely on her feet.

She staggered away from the plane. Its final resting place was a small clearing surrounded by dense bush and towering trees. Slivers of light shone through the leaves like laser beams. Beyond the clearing, debris littered the forest floor, a dark foliage backdrop splattered everywhere withwhite scraps.

Mackenzie stood in the clearing, arms by his sides, facing skyward, his eyes closed. A beam of sunlight shone directly upon him.

Abigail couldn’t understand why he wasn’t doing something. She folded her arms across her chest and waited for him to open his eyes before she spoke. “What do we do now?”

He jumped but didn’t respond straight away. Finally, he cleared his throat. “I guess we wait to be rescued.”

“And how long will that be?”

He frowned at her. “I don’t know.”

Unlike Spencer who knew everything, she suspected he wouldn’t have any answers. But she persisted anyway. “Just have a guess.”

He turned toward the plane. “Well, they’re expecting us around five, too late to organise a search party, so I guess they’ll start looking for us tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow!” She gasped. “What are we going to do tonight?”

He scanned the sky, and she followed his gaze wondering what he could possibly be looking at. His silence was infuriating.

“Sleep in the plane, I guess.” His twisted expression showed his horror over that suggestion.

Her gaze darted to the wreck, and she understood why it wasn’t on the ground. It was wedged at a forty-degree angle, stuck between two giant gum trees. The damaged nose was a jagged shell, open toward the sky. The other end looked like it had been carved off by a blunt can opener and remained suspended above the ground by about a metre. A large section stripped from the side of the plane allowed her to see Spencer in his seat, gruesome and still.

She looked away. “But there are dead people in there,” she whispered.

“So, what do you suggest?”

Abigail looked for an alternative. The surrounding bush was a gnarled mess of vines and trees and things she didn’t even want to consider. She’d never seen anything like it and shuddered at the thought of sleeping out here. “I guess you’re right.”

Sinking onto the warm grass, she pulled her knees to her chest. Her mind was a fog, nothing seemed real and yet each time she replayed the crash in her mind, she remembered another detail—Spencer squeezing her hand tighter, the whites of Madonna’s eyes, Charlie’s scream—andalthough the crash only took a couple of minutes, her recall could replay for hours.

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