By now it was early afternoon. They had been on the ground for several hours. There was still no sound of rescue – no faint, distant drone of an aeroplane or helicopter on a search pattern.
Beck’s thoughts turned reluctantly to long-term plans. ‘We need to unpack the plane,’ he said.
And so Tikaani stood on the fuselage while Beck passed him the bags up from inside, and then chucked them onto the ground.
‘Hey, I should get a job as a baggage handler!’
When everything was unloaded, Beck opened up the first bag. As he had expected, it was mostly clothes. Good. They had all packed several changes of gear – and that meant there was plenty to spare.
He picked up a shirt and thrust the knife into the cotton fabric. It split apart with a satisfying tearing sound. Beck began to methodically reduce the shirt to shreds.
‘Say what . . . ?’ Tikaani demanded.
Al had been watching without comment, leaning back on his elbows. He hadn’t needed Beck to explain his actions. ‘Beck is taking precautions,’ he explained, ‘just in case the rescuers don’t get here in time.’
‘They won’t,’ said Beck. ‘And you know it.’ He carried on cutting.
‘Beck,’ Al said, and Beck heard something very like pleading in his voice. ‘You know the procedure. If there’s a crash, you stay with the wreck. You don’t go wandering off. They’re much more likely to see the plane than to see you, so you stay with it.’
‘Yes, and usually you’d be right, but’ – Beck nodded back at the plane – ‘our plane’s going to be practically invisible from the air. It’s half covered already.’
Tikaani was looking from one to the other, utterly baffled. ‘Did I miss half the conversation? Cutting up a few shirts will help us how?’ he asked.
Beck smiled. ‘I’m going to make rope. You always need rope in the wilderness.’
‘Rope?’
‘Sure. You plait and twist this all together, and you get some good, strong—’
‘But . . . rope? Why do we need that?’
‘Haven’t you guessed?’ Al asked him. ‘Beck doesn’t think they’re going to come for us – and that means he’ll have to go and get help. And unfortunately I’m not sure I can stop him.’
‘We’ll give it a few more hours,’ Beck said, just in case Tikaani thought he was going to disappear into the wilderness there and then. ‘See what happens in the morning.’
Tikaani looked at Beck with eyes that were comically round. And again, he darted his eyes over to the mountains – the biggest obstacle to any plan that involved walking.
‘You really don’t think they’re coming?’
‘Forty miles off course,’ Beck reminded him. ‘And practically no one has any idea we’ve even taken off yet. No, I think the only way they’ll come looking for us is . . . if one of us goes and tells them to.’
By slashing up shirts and the plane’s seat covers, Beck was able to make two good lengths of rope. They held together even when he and Tikaani pulled the two ends in opposite directions with all their strength. Then he checked the contents of the bags again for the clothes they were going to need.
‘Hey, no problem there,’ Tikaani said proudly. He indicated the coat he had been wearing since they got out of the plane. It was a thick, padded parka with a fur-lined hood. ‘My aunt gave me this and I can stay warm in a blizzard in it.’
Beck took one look. ‘Sorry, but . . . no.’
Tikaani’s face fell. ‘No? But it’s warm!’
‘It’s too warm,’ Beck told him. ‘We’re going to have to cross the mountains. That thing will weigh you down, and it’ll be freezing, and you’ll sweat, and the sweat won’t be able to evaporate through that, and it will freeze and chill you. Water conducts heat away from the body much more quickly than air. No, you need lots of thin layers, so that you can add them or take them off as necessary, and the air can get at you and dry the sweat before you know it’s there. Don’t worry, I’ll show you how.’
Tikaani looked ruefully at his parka, holding his arms out, then let them drop to his side. ‘Sorry, Auntie . . .’ he murmured.
‘We’re going to need walking sticks,’ Beck said. ‘Could you look around for a couple? They need to be straight, and strong, and not too heavy.’
‘Walking sticks? You know, I have legs!’ Tikaani pointed out.
‘Sure, and they carry all your weight. A stick just takes a little of the weight off but it helps you add miles to your journey.’
Tikaani pursed his lips thoughtfully. ‘My grandfather always used a stick. I thought he was just geriatric . . .’
Meanwhile Beck had thought of something else he could be doing. While Tikaani wandered off into the trees, he climbed back into the plane for the last time. He squeezed himself into the foot space by the rudder pedals, next to the pilot’s shrouded form, and started to attack the wiring behind the control panel with the knife.
‘Well, it’s definitely not going anywhere now,’ Tikaani said dolefully. He had returned with two likely candidates for walking sticks, and found Beck with a bundle of the plane’s wiring in his hands.
‘It’s stronger than rope,’ Beck said logically. ‘You never know. What did you get? Hey, good choice!’ he added when Tikaani held the sticks up for inspection.
Tikaani had chosen two branches, long and thin, but not so thin that they would bend under pressure. They only needed a bit of work with the Bowie knife – cutting off leaves, shaving down knots in the wood – to be suitable. Beck saw his words take root inside the other boy and lift his spirits a bit.