Reg looked at his watch. It was 3.30, and still no sign of the Doc and his boy. His hands rested gently on the counter. He peered out the window at the now-dark cloudbank to the north. It just couldn’t be that they’d got into strife. It just couldn’t be. That boy was only, what? Twelve, thirteen?
He snatched up the two-way. ‘Skippers Cove to Drifter. Come in, Drifter.’
Nothing.
He enunciated his words, spoke slightly louder, in case the line was poor. ‘This is Skippers Cove to Drifter. Drifter, do you read me?’
Reg let out a hard breath of frustration. He had no other guys in the air, so couldn’t get anyone else to fill him in on the conditions up there. His take on the sky was simply that it didn’t look good.
‘Rory, this is Reg at Skippers. Do you read?’
The empty buzz on the other end was so loud it seemed to fill the office.
He looked out the window. The windsock swung about wildly. Filled then deflated. Filled hard.
3.40pm. Reg shook his head. Nah, something wasn’t right. He reached over to the landline. In twenty-five years he’d only had to do this once before. He hoped this time they were more successful.
The number was preset into the phone.
‘Southern Districts Police Station, this is Constable Fitch,’ said a young voice.
‘It’s Reg Calder, Duty Pilot at Skippers Cove airstrip. We’ve got a problem over here. I think we’re gunna need a ... a search-and-rescue.’
It didn’t take long before the emergency plan was activated. The rescue chopper pilot was called in, and a hastily arranged search-and-rescue team, made up of local police and State Emergency Service volunteers. Reg was kept on communications detail, in case Rory or Spencer made contact. Reg also had to let Suzie know. He looked at his watch, which he’d taken off his wrist and laid out in front of him on the counter. It was now 4.37. The weather was making itself increasingly felt, and, with every passing minute of roaring silence on the two-way, Reg knew: something had definitely gone wrong up there.
‘Hello?’
‘Suzie?’ Reg asked, knowing full well it was her.
‘Yes, speaking!’
‘Ah, Suzie, it’s Reg here from the airstrip.’
There was a long pause. ‘Oh, hi, Reg, is everything ... Oh_____’
‘They’re just a bit late coming in, Suzie.’
‘Oh no.’
‘Now, don’t get ahead of yourself, we’re just being extra cautious as there’s a bit of weather on the way.’
Silence.
‘We’re sending up the chopper to make sure they’re okay.’
‘They—they should’ve been back with you about 2.30!’
‘2.30 or 3 is what Rory said to me as they left, yes.’
‘Have you ... used the two-way, or whatever it is?’
Reg heard the little girl’s voice in the background.
‘It’s nothing, love,’ he heard Suzie say, the sound slightly muffled. ‘No, no, it’s okay. Off you go now. Put on a DVD if you want,’ she said. ‘Yes, love, Horton Hears a Who, that’s fine.’ There was a pause. ‘I’m back, Reg. Sorry about that.’ She sounded disorientated. ‘So ... have you been able to contact them?’
‘I’ve tried. I’ll keep trying. But they’re not ... answering at the moment. It could be nothin’ more than a bit of interference, but we’ve got things moving down here just in case.’
‘Oh, Reg,’ she whispered.
‘I know, Suzie. I know. Let’s just keep positive. You stay by the phone. I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.’
‘Yes—you must. I’ll be here.’