It was the fourth day when Willy shook Martin. His black silhouette was standing above him with the red ball of the sun just above his shoulder. It was an amusing sight. A little more to the left and the sun would have been behind his head, making him look like a saint.
“Why is the sun so red?” Martin asked.
“Bad sun,” Willy replied, handing Martin another strip of jerky and his gourd of water. He was in a different mood this morning. He seemed in a hurry.
“What’s your hurry, Willy?” Martin said, as he was lifted onto his feet.
“We must hurry…find shelter before it comes.”
“Before what comes?”
“Before that comes,” he shouted, turning Martin around to face the wall of dust heading their way.
Martin was in no mood for more disasters. His head was aching, his arm was giving him hell and despite a full night of sleep, he felt exhausted. He suspected his afflictions were due to lying on the ground, regardless of Willy digging a bed for him.
Despite not seeing so well, there was no mistaking the swirling mass heading in their direction. Willy had already set off and Martin turned to follow him. He was setting a brisk pace, too brisk for Martin to catch up, so he decided it was enough to keep him in view. He had no idea where he was going to avoid the storm and wondered why he had left the trees, until he realised Willy was heading for a small mound in the distance. Under normal circumstances it would be insignificant, but out here, where you can see to infinity, the slightest bump becomes important.
When Martin finally arrived at a small outcrop of sandstone slabs, Willy was already digging furiously between two upright rocks. On the surface they were no more than a metre high; hardly a worthwhile barrier against the raging mass that was almost upon them. But below that, Willy was up to his waist.
Martin kneeled down, removed his hard-hat and began scraping away the sand Willy had already excavated. It had begun to fall back into the hole and Willy nodded his approval as he continued to dig.
“You pile all this sand up like a wall over there,” Willy said, climbing out of the hole and walking over to the scattered trees nearby.
Although Martin vowed he would not look at the approaching mass, his curiosity got the better of him. The swirling miasma was almost upon them and as he continued frantically building the wall he shouted at Willy, “What the Hell is that thing? It doesn’t look like the sandstorm I was in the other day.”
Willy returned with a handful of branches. “We call it a willy-willy,” he said, digging the branches into the bank Martin was making.
Martin had to laugh, despite the situation. “Don’t tell me that’s something to do with your name.”
“Sometime I’ll tell you the story,” he said, walking back to the trees.
As soon as Willy had thrust the last branch into the embankment, which now would act as a shield to protect the hole, he helped Martin into the bottom close up to the rock he had been digging against and jumped in himself. Once inside, he pulled the shield over them and they waited.
It was an agonising wait. They heard it first. An express train that Martin was sure was about to tear them apart. It seemed to have the same ferocity as the one that had attacked the plane. But there was a difference. With the first one Joe and Martin had the protection of the fuselage to save them; here, all Willy and Martin had were a couple of rocks, a few acacia branches and each other.
At first Martin felt a suffocatingly warm blast of air that popped his ears and took his breath away. According to Willy, it was the desert air that was being pushed out of the way. Then there was a short calm and as Martin closed his eyes and prayed, the corkscrew hit them.
The sound was unbelievable. It was what Martin imagined it would be like in a washing machine without the water. Although he was not tumbled about as he had the rock to hold onto, a force beyond his description was trying to suck him out of the hole. Every piece of loose material was spinning around the hole with them. Martin had to bury his face in his free hand whilst trying to hold onto his hat. Willy was trying his best to protect Martin’s arm and at the same time hang onto his own belongings.
The willy-willies came in waves. No sooner had one passed, another followed, with the only consolation being that with each successive attack they grew weaker. They were blowing themselves out until eventually the swirling mass was reduced to no more than a normal sandstorm. That was bad enough, as Willy found out when he tried to see outside the hole.
“No good yet,” he said, spluttering and spitting out sand.
By late afternoon, when the express train had passed and the cacophony had diminished, Martin still had an irritating ringing in his ears. Willy was trying to say something, but it sounded far away and muffled. He resorted to sign language. He was attempting to get Martin out of the hole.
“Now it’s good to leave. We must make camp.”
Apart from the bottom of the hole being full of sand up to his calves, his upper body was entangled with the branches. Willy wriggled his way clear and freed Martin from the branches. He then reached down for Martin’s waist and dragged him out of the hole.
The sight was amazing. The sky was bright blue again and as Martin turned a full circle he regained his position with the sun. It was to his right, well past the overhead position but not yet heading for sunset in the west. He could hear Willy but not see him. He was rummaging about somewhere amongst the group of rocks. He had taken his spear with him and there was an occasional sound of digging.
Martin left the edge of the hole and followed Willy’s footprints. On the other side of the largest of the rocks, he came across a campsite. Willy had been busy. He had cleared an area up against the rock with the same type of windbreak he’d made the night before, laid a pile of branches ready to light about two metres in front and as he expected there were two hollows for them to lie in.
Martin, who had already chosen his hollow, took out a painkiller and washed it down with a mouthful of his own bottled water from the first aid bag when Willy returned. He looked as if his rummage in the rocks had not been successful but after stabbing his spear into the ground he dropped two small creatures beside the fire. Martin could not see what they were from where he was, but the idea of small animals being good eating offended him.
Without a word Willy started the fire, went off a short way for a handful of spinifex and returned to stoke it. They were facing west. The trees were in front of them and the sun was just clipping their spiky tops. He put the first spidery ball in the flames, tamped it down with a branch and waited until the first embers formed. Then he picked up the tiny bodies and tossed them into the flames. Straightaway they began to hiss and crackle and Martin turned his head. During the whole episode Willy did not talk to Martin; he was in his own world.
Martin had no idea how long they would take to cook or if he would be able to eat them without being sick, but he knew one thing – he was hungry, and at this moment anything would be better than jerky.
Martin was so tired. He closed his eyes and visualised the last time he and Kate had gone to the restaurant at the end of Cable Beach. It was their wedding anniversary and the sky had been the limit. The seafood platter looked inviting and they agreed on that: a whole lobster cut in half surrounded with scallops, prawns, shrimps and mussels with a side dish of tossed salad in Hollandaise sauce.
Martin heard a sound close by. He opened his eyes to see Willy standing over him with his spear. He knew he was annoyed with his catch, but he had no idea he would take it out on him. He was motionless. His knees were bent, his spear raised and his attention was focused on something just above Martin’s shoulder.
As quick as lightning, his spear left his hand, passed Martin’s head too closely to think about and a wriggling mass shot across his shoulder. It was a huge snake, the back end still thrashing across Martin’s chest. It was covered in reddish-brown and cream stripes and was about as thick as his arm at its widest part.
Willy grabbed his spear with the coiling snake still alive and lifted it over Martin’s head. He placed it on the ground with his foot over the snake’s neck, removed the spear and thrust it once or twice again into its large head. It struggled for a few moments until it went still.
“No trouble from him no more,” he said, with a broad smile on his face as he tossed it on the fire. “Good tucker tonight. You have fat belly at last.”
By the time Philip had spoken to the man from CASA and determined they would deal with the formalities regarding Joe’s body, witnessed his remains transferred from the helicopter to the waiting ambulance and sat in on the debriefing of the men who inspected the crash site, it was late afternoon before he left to see Kate.
After another long day Kate was back in her usual spot on the balcony overlooking Cable Beach waiting for the sunset. As she took another sip of wine her attention was diverted to a strange car slowly pausing for a moment outside each house until it stopped opposite hers.
She was not familiar with Philip’s car but when the grey-haired man got out and casually looked up at the balcony, she knew it was bad news. She stood up, walked into the bedroom, checked her hair and dried the tears that were beginning to form in the corner of her eyes, and then she walked out onto the landing.
Jennifer was standing at the bottom of the stairs and just as she spotted her mother she called out, “Oh Mum…it’s Mr Hastings.”
Kate took in several deep breaths, prepared herself for the possibility of bad news and walked downstairs to the lounge. Philip was standing talking to Adam. He turned to face her as soon as she entered the room and she studied the expression on his face. He too looked as if he was attempting to mask his true feelings. He had a pleasant smile – one that sent out the message that this was just a casual visit. But she could see it in his eyes; they were full of pain.
“What’s so important a phone call wouldn’t do?” she questioned. “It’s bad news, isn’t it? They’re dead, aren’t they?”
“No, Kate. As usual that mind of yours is racing ahead. For the past four days you’ve been one step ahead of me all the time and in each case your suspicions have been wrong; like they are now.”
A glimmer of relief crossed her face. He was right. Already, before he had a chance to tell her why he was here, her thoughts had created another outcome. She braced herself for the true reason a phone call would not have sufficed.
“I’m sorry, Philip. Why don’t you sit down and tell us why you’re here?”
He did that and everyone sat down in the small group of easy chairs.
“After leaving at first light, the helicopter landed at the site around seven and found no activity. Inside the plane they found the dead body of the pilot. Martin was not there and by the condition of the cockpit, he had left some time earlier.”
While Adam and Jennifer were evidently bursting with questions, they held back. Kate was almost gagging with the shock and took a moment before she replied.
She cleared her throat and wiped the beginnings of a tear from her eye; then she blurted out her question in a sudden outburst. “What do you mean, Martin was not there? He had to be…where else could he go?”
“They found a note in Joe’s hand. Apparently an Aborigine found Martin dying of thirst and, as it said on the note, he took him away.”
Adam could not hold his tongue any longer and while his mother came to terms with her shock he interrupted. “Didn’t they investigate the site for any clues as to where this Aborigine took my father?”
Philip reached into his inside pocket and removed the notebook he’d brought with him for such questions. He flicked over a few pages and stopped at the page that covered what the pilot had said about the site. “They didn’t say a lot…apparently they were in a hurry. According to the radio message, they did inspect the crash site and found two sets of footprints leading away towards the west.”
“Why were they in a hurry?” Jennifer asked. “I thought you said it was only seven. They had plenty of time to take off and head in that direction.”
“Jennifer, don’t you think I asked the very same question? The pilot’s reply was that there was a serious-looking weather pattern closing in on the site and they had to leave before they were caught in it—”
Kate suddenly jumped into his explanation. “Do you mean to say Martin is out in the desert with this… weather thing, about to hit them?”
“Kate…I’m only the messenger.”
Kate stared at Philip for what seemed ages until she finally came to terms with what he’d said. “Oh, sorry, Philip…this is all getting too much.”
“Look, Kate…as I see it, if the Aborigine hadn’t come along when he did, Martin may well have died of thirst and the helicopter would have been bringing two bodies back. As it stands, he will be safe with the Aborigine. The Sandy Desert is his country and he must be taking him somewhere.”
“What is CASA doing now?” Adam asked.
“As soon as the weather clears the helicopter is going back to see if they can pick up their tracks. That’s all I can say at this point.”