Page 18 of Lost In Kakadu

Mackenzie dusted his hands. “What are you doing?”

“I’m not sitting on the dirt anymore.”

He strolled to her. “Here let me do it.”

“Oh. . . thank you. Can you put it here?” She indicated to one of the few patches of grass near the fire.

She release a heavy sigh when she sat on her case. “Did you find any more food?”

“No.”

They shook heads at each other, and Mackenzie couldn’t stand waiting any more. He had to do something.

He tightened the shirt around his leg and returned to the plane. A circular glass panel in the cockpit winked in the sun and he kept his eyes trained on the light as he pulled himself toward it.

Avoiding looking at the pilot’s body, he checked out the equipment. He snatched up a microphone that dangled above the floor on a black spiral cord and pressed the red button. It was dead.

He jabbed buttons and flicked switches. Still nothing.

“Shit!” He tossed the microphone and it thudded into the metal floor and bounced like a bungee.

Not recognizing anything else useful, he stepped away from the doorway.

The entrance door with the built-in steps was at his side. Twisting the latch, the door thumped backwards, and he climbed onto the top step to look out over the forest.

“What are you doing?” Abigail yelled across the clearing.

“Trying to find another way to the luggage.” He ran his fingers along a metal band 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.

Sighing, he reluctantly sidled to the back of the wreck and lifted her into the cabin.

“What can I do?” The bruise on her forehead was still deep purple despite a layer of fresh makeup that also added a dash of colour to her cheeks and glossed her lips pink.

“Well.” He ran his finger over the scar on his chin, knowing it wouldbe 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. Mackenzie flicked out tools one by one—several knives, scissors, a small saw, a corkscrew, pliers and both a slotted and a Phillips-head screwdriver.

The process to remove all the screws in the trimming was painfully slow and with each passing minute the temperature in the cabin intensified. 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?” she asked.

“I can’t see yet. We need to open it more.”

After several hours, he’d removed a section large enough to fit his head through and when his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he recognised shapes in the gloom. “Hey, we’re in luck, the luggage is still here.”

He fed his arm into the space, raised a duffle bag, and wrestled it through the hole. Resisting the urge to look inside the bag, he tossed it aside, reached back into the hole, touched the curved edge of a case, and felt around for the handle.

The case was damn heavy.Maybe it’s a piece of the plane, or cargo.

He couldn’t make it fit through the hole, but its floral pattern confirmed it was indeed a suitcase. Finally, he gave up and dropped it.

“Hey, careful! That’s my bag.”

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