Two years ago surveyors from the oil giant Lumos Petroleum had learned that Anakat sat slap-bang on top of a huge untapped oil field.
There had been village meetings to discuss the matter, of course – to discuss what to do when a multinational oil corporation wants to buy your ancestral land, destroy your way of life, relocate you . . . and sweetens the pill by offering every man, woman and child a brand-new home, with all modern amenities, and enough money in the bank to buy all the iPods you could ever want.
Beck knew that Tikaani, for one, was all in favour of it. He couldn’t wait to be relocated. Among the adults of Anakat, the matter wasn’t so clear cut. Even the money Lumos was offering didn’t mean a lot to people who had never wanted much in the first place. It was that oral tradition again. They knew that what they could lose from their way of life was priceless in a way that Lumos’s accountants would never understand.
And so Uncle Al was flying up to film a TV documentary about the village and the traditional Anak way of life. If it all changed, then at least there would be some record of it. Even better, the programme would make more people aware of just what was going on.
Suddenly there was a huge BANG and the plane lurched. Beck clutched at the armrests of his seat. The plane stabilized again; the engine was still running smoothly. Tikaani was sitting bolt upright, staring ahead, his face pale. Beck forced a smile. Wow! They must have hit an air pocket, and how! For a moment he had thought—
The engine stuttered and the plane shook. And then Beck realized that a trail of dark smoke was streaming past his window. It was coming from the engine. It grew thicker as he watched, from an innocuous wisp to an evil dark cloud in the freezing air outside.
And now the plane was very clearly banking to one side. It steadied again, but Beck could feel his insides lurching. The plane was dropping, and fast.
‘Something’s blown.’ The pilot’s calm tones in the earphones had gone, replaced with professional crispness. ‘Oil feed’s not getting through and engine temp’s way up. I’m going to put the nose down and hope the air cools her enough to restart.’
Hope!? Beck wanted to scream. With the plane plummeting out of the sky, he could do with something a little more concrete than that . . .
The static went away and all that was left in Beck’s ears was the roaring of his blood. The engine had stopped. No noise, no vibration. He pulled off the earphones. Air rushed past the plane’s hull.
All he could see through the front windows was ground. Beck could hear the pilot’s calm, urgent tones. ‘Mayday, mayday, mayday. Anchorage, this is Golf Mike Oscar . . .’
‘Beck . . .’
Beck barely heard. He was staring at the approaching trees. This must have been what it was like—
‘Beck!’ Uncle Al had turned in his seat again and his shout broke into Beck’s reverie. ‘And you too, Tikaani.’
Tikaani was also staring ahead like a mesmerized rabbit. Al had to click his fingers in front of the boy’s face to get his attention.
‘Both of you. You know the emergency position. Adopt it now.’
Beck and Tikaani glanced at each other, and then without a word they bent over double in their seats, arms wrapped around their knees, and waited. Beck had no idea what was going through Tikaani’s head but his own thoughts continued to run away with him.
This must have been what it was like for Mum and Dad.
Three years earlier, they had been in a plane like this. It had crashed in the jungle. The plane had been found; they had not. They were presumed dead.
It had never occurred to Beck until now that a plane crash isn’t instant. Something falling out of the sky takes time to reach the ground. And all you can do if you’re on it is wait, and try not to picture the ground approaching . . .
The engine roared into life again and the pilot pulled back on the column. A mighty force pressed Beck back into his seat as the plane lifted. Tikaani shouted with triumph. Beck felt the plane levelling off, and lifted his head just in time to see trees rise up in front and smash into them.