The only thing Amelia could think about right now was getting Clarke and the other sick men safely to shore. Managing to reach their pinnace at the same time as two of the canoes, she climbed on board to discover the wounded were none the wiser about their situation. Clarke was gazing up at the sky – now fading into the blue hour – with a vacant stare. The Aussie man who was captaining this boat was trying to keep his cool, giving Amelia a stern look to warn her to keep quiet. She helped him tie the pinnace to the back of the canoes, then tended to Clarke as they were pulled towards shore.
She helped Clarke onto land, then lay him under a coconut tree before going to assess the damage to the pinnace. Evelyn was up on her feet, a touch of colour returned to her cheeks, and she helped to unload what they could salvage of the stores. All of the sugar, tea, biscuits and most of their rice was gone, sodden with sea water. Amelia sank to her knees.
“We might be able to dry it out,” Evelyn said in that encouraging way she was known for.
“What will we do?” Amelia asked, a desperate tinge to her voice.
Evelyn sighed and sat next to her. “What we always do. Get on it with it.”
Amelia nodded, but didn’t know how much more they could get on with without the appropriate supplies. The sick men needed nourishment, the able-bodied ones hope. The kind of hope that comes at the bottom of a cup of tea. They still had weeks left of their journey, being only halfway to Buna, from where they’d trek inland until they reached Kokoda. From there, they’d hopefully be evacuated by air – but weren’t certain Kokoda’s airfield was even operable. She loved Evelyn, but her sister’s overly positive nature was hard to stomach when they were faced with truly difficult circumstances. Sometimes she wanted to wallow in their misery. The rest of the trek would be near impossible without their stores; their reliance on the locals and their generosity would increase tenfold. And even though Amelia knew it was selfish, the idea of facing long days at sea and even longer nights without a cup of tea to look forward to was heartbreaking. She swallowed, throat burning as she held back the tears that threatened to spill out, the little hope she had left for the remainder of their journey sitting soaked on a beach in the middle of nowhere.
The huts that housed the sick were stifling, the smell of decaying flesh mixing with the pungent aroma of ammonia and sweat. Amelia held her breath as long as she could, but soon got used to the misery that swallowed these men, the hope for their survival diminishing each day. Their moans rattled in her ears. She and Evelyn had barely stopped since they’d arrived that afternoon, for the men who looked as if they had fared okay on the pinnace had taken a turn for the worse. Thankfully, Evelyn was well enough to help, having fully recovered from her bout of seasickness. But two nurses could do little to alleviate the trouble these men were in. Whenever she had finished tending to one man, she was summoned by the agonising groans of the next. The rain had started again too, a thunderous storm rolling in from the mountains, with bolts of lightning illuminating the hut and the worrying state they were in.
Clarke was by far the worst, with his wound slowly eating away at his flesh. He thrashed in his cot as he dozed in and out of delirium. Evelyn had changed his bandages and administered the only painkillers they had. Amelia remained by Clarke’s side for the rest of the night, feeding him sips of water whenever she was able to get him to hold still for long enough. He knocked the spoon out of her hand on several occasions and spat the liquid in her face whenever she did manage to get a small amount inside. He lunged at her twice, but she was able to thwart his swoops, his body too weakened to put up much of a fight. She patted his forehead with a wet cloth; the air was so sticky with heat she knew it wouldn’t do anything to cool his temperature, but she refused to give up.
When he finally settled, she stepped outside to catch her breath. She sat on the steps and listened as the rain splattered against the thatched roof. She pressed her face into her hands and cried, the release of emotion finally coming in her solitude. The salty tears stung her blistered cheeks, a reminder that she was, in fact, still alive. She thought of everything they’d been through this past week and what was still to come. There was no guarantee she’d make it out alive; the wilds of New Guinea unleashed themselves at every bend, this country she loved so dearly finally showing its true self. She could see now what a sheltered life she’d lived, gallivanting between Lae and Salamaua in her father’s planes, her biggest worry being whether her mother would reprimand her for wearing pants or not. She’d never had to experience the true hardships of life up here, not the way Niuginians had, and certainly not the way Daniel did.
Her chest hiccupped. The realisation of what her life had been up until that point made her laugh. And laugh she did, until all the feelings had released themselves from her body, and Amelia was finally ready to get on with it.