CHAPTER 18
Every light blazed in the house. The front door was closed, but a pond of warm light poured through its glass panels on to the grass outside. Almost before Dan had brought his car to a sliding halt, Samuel leapt out. Fionna was on the telephone and was startled by the door bursting open. Immediate relief spread across her tense face.
‘They’ve just arrived,’ she said, her voice pitched high with excitement and relief. ‘I’ll get back to you soon.’
Replacing the receiver, her incredulous expression fixed on the boy for a moment before she exploded.
‘Samuel, where on earth have you been? We’ve been worried sick! Your father is—’
She broke off in mid-sentence as Dan’s frame filled the doorway. ‘Oh, hello,’ she said. ‘I didn’t realise . . . Did you find them and—’
Samuel ran around the kitchen bench to his mother. ‘Mum, they’ve got Alex. We have to go after them. Where’s Dad?’ he implored.
‘Who’s got Alex? What are you saying?’ Her eyes flicked from Samuel to Dan then back. ‘Who’s got Alex?’ she repeated, her voice barely under control.
‘We better call the police first,’ Dan said, reaching across the bench to lift the telephone.
She stood transfixed, tearfully hugging Samuel as Dan spoke into the hand-piece, her eyes widening with each revelation. Samuel tried several times to speak to her, but she quickly silenced him, intent upon hearing every detail relayed to the police. When he had finished, she went straight to the intercom.
‘Are you there, Greg?’ She waited. ‘Greg, can you hear me? Answer, please.’ There was an edge of desperation in her voice.
‘He’s down at the bach,’ she explained. ‘We expected the children to turn up down there . . . if they were . . . I mean, if they . . . if they hadn’t drowned.’
The last admission jerked from her chest amid released tears. She sank, trembling, to the floor beside the intercom and pressed and held the button that transmitted a call signal. The moment she lifted off, Greg’s breathy voice came through.
‘Sorry. I’ve been down at the beach. I only just heard you. Any news? Over.’
‘Yes, Samuel’s here, but Alex has been taken. Come up, Greg. I need you here. Over.’
‘Taken? Where? Where is she?’ Then processing the tone of her voice, he said, ‘OK, I’m coming straight away.’ The cable motor began almost immediately.
Dan stood the other side of the kitchen servery. A thick streak of dried blood ran from a congealed patch in his hair and blotched his collar tomato red. He looked faint.
‘Come and sit down, Mr . . .’ Fionna began.
‘Dan,’ he said. ‘I’m Dan.’
‘He tried to stop them taking us, Mum,’ Samuel said, ‘but they knocked him out.’
Dan sank into one of the armchairs. The ranch sliders, their glass blackened by the night, reflected dark images, scenes filtered through a portal from another hollow, unreal dimension. Like the events of the day.
‘Any chance of some aspirin or something for this head of mine? I’m feeling it a bit,’ Dan said, gingerly touching his head. He gently massaged his neck with both hands.
‘Who’s taken Alex? Where is she now?’ Fionna’s voice betrayed the hysteria forming like gas bubbles in boiling mud, barely below the surface, building in intensity, ready to burst through the surface without warning. She busied herself looking for a painkiller in the pantry.
‘You heard me tell the police about the Korean fishing boat and pāua smuggling? They’re probably on board that boat. The boss man we only know as Mr Liu. He found out the kids had seen what was happening. He wanted to take them with him. Unfortunately, I got put out of action when I tried to reason with him. This young fellow told me about what happened after that,’ Dan said, smiling wanly and nodding at Samuel.
‘You said “they”. You mean Alex, don’t you? Samuel’s here,’ Fionna said, handing over some soluble aspirin in a tumbler of water. Puzzlement briefly replaced anxiety.
‘Hāmuera was there too, Mum,’ Samuel interjected. ‘We’ve got to find them. They had guns.’
Just then, Greg pushed through the door. In a glance, he took in Fionna, hands to her pale face, Samuel looking oddly bigger than usual, and the stranger with a blood streak down his head.
‘OK, tell me where she is and if she’s all right, then tell me how this has happened.’
In response, three voices tumbled over each other informing, describing, explaining, to the increasing concern of detective Gregory Armstrong. Finally, he went to the telephone.
‘Police,’ he said abruptly. There was a brief pause during which his eyes looked intently beyond their hollow reflections in the ranch slider. The next moment, his gaze shifted to the telephone as he gave a string of information and requests.
‘Right,’ he said, placing the receiver down, ‘they’re organising Search and Rescue for first light, and the navy are sending a patrol vessel up from Auckland as soon as it can be crewed. The local coast guard have also been alerted.’
He put his arms around Fionna and held her tight. ‘There’s nothing we can do. It’s out of our hands now,’ he whispered. ‘Pray. That’s about all we can do.’
Alex awakened, disorientated. Clouds had consumed the stars. A brisk wind had corralled the sea into uncomfortable lumps and rolls. She sat up, aware that she had been snug against Hāmuera, who was now stretching, grasping for consciousness. He yawned then suddenly became alert.
‘You all right?’ he asked. His voice sounded unpractised.
‘A bit cool, that’s all,’ she replied.
‘Cool? You’re amazing, actually.’
‘You know what I mean. Don’t be silly,’ Alex responded. The mild reprimand in her tone couldn’t conceal her pleasure at the compliment.
He stood and rolled with the swell. ‘No. I mean it. You got a lot of guts for a girl. The girls I know would have been crying and wanting their mothers or something, but you’re not like that, eh.’
She balanced beside him in companionable silence. Somehow, each understood the other was processing events, exploring possibilities, considering actions.
Sea and sky were one dark mass, and without a horizon to view, after a while, Alex tasted the beginnings of motion sickness in her saliva.
Just my luck! The girl with guts gets to heave them over the side. Great! Now what will he think of me?
Suddenly, Hāmuera stiffened.
‘What?’ Alex asked, sensitive to the change in atmosphere.
‘Over there, just to starboard of our stern.’ He turned her by the shoulders. ‘See?’
Alex searched the dark. ‘What am I meant to be seeing?’
‘Can’t you see? Steaming lights. Red and green.’ He took her chin and guided her face. ‘You’re looking too high. Down.’ Almost instantly, she saw them, small but bright.
Over the next few minutes, the lights rose a little higher above their stern, growing steadily larger. She watched with increasing apprehension. Finally, Hāmuera said, ‘Reckon we’re pretty much in their path.’
‘Is it them, do you think?’ Alex found herself breathing rapidly.
‘Didn’t see any other boats out here, did we? Whether it’s them or not, we gotta be ready. So . . .’ His thoughts raced, but no clear plan would form. Steaming lights. Green for starboard, red for port. Red for danger, green for good. Danger or good? Red for panic, green for calm. Think green about the red.
Deep down drumming diesel in the dark. Without motors, they were powerless.
‘They probably won’t hit us, but if the worst does happen, stick with our boat. If we capsize, get back and cling on even if you can’t get back on board,’ he instructed.
His advice was sound, but it filled Alex with dread. Not even a faint glow from shore lights could be seen. They must be many kilometres from land. She knelt down and grasped the bench seat. The thought of being pitched into the black sea so far from everything strangled her courage. Perhaps she wouldn’t find their boat again. What then? How long could she stay afloat? How long before her muscles and organs, sucked clear of warm blood, doomed her to death by drowning?
Dear God, You’ve got to help us. Please, dear God, don’t let it happen.
Diesel engines reverberating. Steaming lights towering then disappearing abruptly overhead. A mass, blacker than the night, looming above.
A scream like a tormented gull escaped her mouth. She clung to her seat in mortal fear as it bucked and rolled in the solid wall of water punched aside by the ship’s bow.
She was aware in the same moment of Hāmuera’s scrambling, tumbling form sliding across the deck, and the massive hull continuously slicing past like a freight train over a rail crossing before, amazingly, the throbbing engines were behind them, the threshing propellers hissing at her.
‘Hāmuera!’ she called. ‘Hāmuera, are you OK?’
There was no reply. Diesel engines rumbled a dull decrescendo. She focussed her eyes, trying to analyse the darkness in the tossing boat. She called again, but louder. Still no reply.
Please, God, let him be all right.
‘Hāmuera!’ This time, she screeched at full volume.
‘Here.’ Her fear became reality. The faint reply came from astern.
‘Where? Call again!’ she yelled, hoping to gain some idea of direction and distance on the water. This time, she gauged him to be about twenty metres behind and to her right. A strange calm descended upon her, and a clear picture of what she had to do flooded her brain. On all fours, she made her way to the aft locker, where Travis had coiled the ties. Tossing the ties aside, her rummaging hands felt two neatly coiled ropes.
‘I’m throwing out some lines. Can you swim to them?’ she yelled. She stood, carefully keeping her balance, and threw one as far as she could. It didn’t seem to go far, but she tied it to a fixture anyway.
‘Keep calling so I know where you are.’ His voice was edgy.
‘Cooee!’ she called, remembering the bush call the Australian ranger had taught her. It should travel easier over water than in the bush. ‘Cooee!’
‘Good . . . I can hear.’
She imagined he was closer.
‘I’ve thrown one. Can you find it?’ He didn’t answer immediately.
‘Keep calling,’ he said, and then amid some coughing and choking, he said, ‘I’m swimming to you . . . a bit tired.’
‘Here’s the next one,’ she shrilled. It snaked out, and a faint grey line scribed the water as it slapped across the surface.
‘Can’t see it . . . water’s a bit rough.’
His voice sounded further away this time.
God, I know you can see the end from the beginning, but don’t let this be his end. Please help him get back. Don’t let him drown.
A heavy sensation settled over her at the thought of Hāmuera drowning and being washed up like that body at the lagoon.
‘Cooee! Cooee!’ Her calls came with renewed strength.
Wind tugged at her hair and rippled her clothes. The boat presented more surface to the wind than a body barely out of the water. He was falling further behind even though he was swimming.
It was a seriously flawed decision that followed and one that later Alex agreed was foolhardy. She scrabbled for the ties she had tossed on the floor, and passing one through panicking fingers, she found an end. She swiftly tied it around her waist, and the other end she clamped between her teeth.
In a moment, she was sliding into the water, ignoring the initial shock of cold. At once, she began to side crawl, her right arm swimming, her left hand keeping contact with one of the floating ropes.
She heard Hāmuera calling, more urgently this time, but she couldn’t answer for fear of losing the tie end between her teeth. And then she found it—the end of the rope. With her left hand, she held it securely, and with her right hand, she removed the tie from her mouth. Left over right and right over left. The reef knot wouldn’t slip. She let the rope go.
‘Cooee!’ she called, trying to lift her head above the waves. ‘Hāmuera? Where are you?’
A wave slopped over her face, and the bite of salty water filled her throat and nose. She shook her head and wiped the stinging water from her eyes as her lungs fought for air.
‘Alex . . . here!’ His voice was to her left and not far away.
‘Where? Keep talking.’
‘Can’t swim much . . . more.’
She heard his exhausted gasps faintly over the breaking waves. In the same moment, she caught sight of a dark blob on the crest of a swell.
‘I can see you!’ she shouted. ‘Hold on, Hāmuera.’
She struck out in her practised freestyle, and as she rose on a swell, she saw him clearly in the trough below. He was struggling, his strength almost gone.
‘I’m here. Hold on, Hāmuera.’
She swam down the swell, but he rose on the next and slid down the other side before she could reach him.
The next moment, Alex felt the tie pull firmly around her waist. She had reached the end of the line. So close but so far. Panic took possession of her. She lowered her head and threshed her arms and kicked her legs in desperation, not lifting for breath until her lungs began to siphon in water. And then he was there, just beyond reach.
‘Can’t come further . . . rope tight.’ She gasped. ‘Come on, help me . . . swim . . . here.’
His arms struggled to clear the surface. After four feeble attempts, he stopped. His head disappeared below the surface as they both slid into the next trough. As she mounted the next wave, Alex turned her head, searching desperately for him. And then she saw him. He was face down, but his feet kicked slowly and his arms languidly swept at the water.
Please, dear God. The wave lifted, and the next moment, her fingers touched clothing. Thank you, thank you. She wasn’t going to let go now. She grasped the material and hauled on it. His pale face broke the surface as a wave slid under them. He gasped for air and gagged on the water that flooded his throat.
‘Hold my belt. Can you hear me, Hāmuera? Hold my belt,’ she implored. His hands groped for her waist and latched weakly onto the waistband of her shorts. ‘Just hold on. Don’t try to swim, OK? I’ll do the work.’
Hāmuera didn’t answer, but she sensed his concession, for his grip remained on her waistband and his body floated out behind. She began pulling the two of them, hand over hand along the tie and then the rope, back towards their boat.
After the initial shock, the water had seemed warm, but her hands had become fumbling cold and spasms gripped her stomach. Once, she lost her grip on the rope and, for a terrifying moment, floundered to regain it. After silently reprimanding herself, she concentrated fiercely. Her own strength was waning. She doubted she would have had strength to reach the boat without the rope. Hāmuera definitely wouldn’t. He depended on her.
The boat was a ghostly form above her, the outboard motors projecting like horns of some weird aquatic animal, when Hāmuera lost his grip.