Lost In Kakadu (21 page)

The tough bark resisted the blade and he grunted as he hacked at it. He paused to adjust his footing and his heart skipped a beat at movement out of the corner of his eye.

A scrub turkey raised its taloned foot and stepped in slow exaggerated movements toward him, apparently completely unaware he was even there. As it moved, the bird’s bald red head bobbed backward and forward as if it were nodding approval. The bright yellow wattle dangling below its beak swung from side to side in a slow rhythm and a thick plume of dark purple feathers spiked up from its back. The bird took another step and pecked at the ground.

Mackenzie held his breath and with a practiced aim, he pegged the axe. It sailed through the air, looking like it would hit its mark, but the weapon bounced off the bird’s back and slammed into the rotting forest floor.

“Shit!”

The turkey bolted, its three front claws digging into the red dirt as it powered through the underbrush.

Mackenzie raced after it, keeping his eyes on its tail as it darted left and right, trying to shake him. As they passed into a small clearing, he took a gamble and dived, and to his surprise—and the bird’s—came down with his hands around its neck. It was over in an instant.

He sat on the rust-coloured dirt with the carcass in his lap staring into the bird’s red-rimmed black eyes. The black hairs jutting from the bird’s wrinkled skin like a worn out hair brush were as coarse as wire.

“Sorry.” He smoothed its silken feathers with his palm. “I had to do it.”

Each time he killed an animal, Mackenzie marvelled at his accomplishment. Charlie had suggested that in order to survive he’d need to adapt, but he never thought he’d be capable of killing animals with his bare hands. It surprised him how much he thrived on the power of the chase and the thrill of capture. Having relied on Rodney for his entire adult life, he was empowered by his new found self-sufficiency. It was ultimate freedom.

We’re having roast turkey tonight.
He knew he’d utilise every part of the bird. The pieces they couldn’t eat would be perfect goanna bait, the feathers would plump up their pillows and the bones will make an excellent stock.

Cradling the heavy bird in his arms, he considered delicious meal options as he searched around for the axe. A collection of white rocks nestled high on a dirt mound attracted his attention and to his amazement he realised it was a bird’s nest. “Thank you.” After placing the bird into his pack he gathered the four eggs up in his shirt. He instantly began thinking of ways to cook them and grinned like a prize winner at the promise of a decent meal for a change.

When he reached the campsite, Abi was writing in her journal by the fire and the sun shone through the tree canopy like her own personal reading lamp.

“Close your eyes,” he called out as he hid behind the plane. “I have a surprise.”

He watched her sit up and place her diary on the seat next to her. “What is it?”

“Put your hands over your eyes, you cheater.”

She obeyed. “Tell me.”

“Wait.” Mackenzie placed the eggs in the bowl on the ground and then removed the turkey from his pack. He displayed the bird on the plane wing table and then raced over to Abi. He put one hand over her eyes and the other under her elbow to guide her. “No peeking.”

He walked her to the table and released his hands. “Ta da!”

“A chicken!”

“Actually, I believe it’s a scrub turkey.”

“It’s beautiful.” She stroked its feathers.

“And it’s going to taste bloody beautiful after I roast it.”

“Roast turkey! It’ll be like Christmas.”

“But wait, there’s more.” He reached down and presented her with the bowl of eggs.

Her eyes creased at the corners. “It is Christmas!”

“It’s better than Christmas,” he said flatly.

“Nothing’s better than Christmas.” She shook her head.

“Everything’s better than Christmas.”

She frowned at him and Mackenzie instantly regretted his comment. Abi was unrelenting when she sensed something amiss. Before the night was through he had no doubt he’d be telling her another childhood memory that he’d prefer to forget. He felt her gaze as he began plucking the feathers from the carcass.

Before long the large collection of dark purple feathers were secured within a T-shirt to produce a pillow and with a cheeky smile, Abi declared it as her own.

Mackenzie stuffed the bird with Kakadu plums and rubbed the outside with wattle flower-infused oil. “Hey Charlie, you should see what I’m doing with your plums today. Wish you were here, man.”

Abi helped him dig out the earth oven and he placed the bark wrapped bird amongst the hot stones.

“What are you doing with the eggs?” Abi asked, wide eyed.

“Well … we could have an omelette for breakfast. Or I could try and bake a cake.”

“A cake! Really, you could do that?”

“It wouldn’t be my best, of course, but I could give it a go.”

Abigail shook her head. “No, I’d rather wait until you can make me your best cake ever.”

He liked that and wished he could show her just how good he was at cooking. The meals he was preparing out here were out of desperation, not culinary perfection. He longed for his restaurant kitchen. “Abi, I know we’ve discussed this a few times but I really think we need to consider leaving here, searching for a way home.”

“Not this again.” She rolled her eyes. “Spencer always said that people who got lost should stay with their car or, in our case, plane. He said leaving it was a guaranteed way to die.”

“I know what he said, Abi. But how long do we wait? Don’t you think five months is long enough? We’re not going to be rescued.”

“Please don’t spoil our perfect meal.”

“Well, when do you think we’ll have waited long enough?” He waited for her answer. She had a way of shutting down this conversation every time he brought it up.

She raised her eyebrows at him. “You want a definite date?”

He nodded, hoping she’d give a real answer this time.

She placed her hands on her hips. “Okay, if we’re still roughing it out with our roast turkey and feather pillows by Christmas then you have my permission to drag my arse anywhere you want.” With a glint in her eyes, she slapped her well-toned bottom and began walking to the plane. But she turned, and when Mackenzie saw the look in her eye he knew exactly what she was going to say.
Here we go
.

“Speaking of Christmas …” She let the sentence hang.

Mackenzie sighed. “Let’s eat first.” He looked squarely into dark green eyes that he’d grown to love.

“Okay.” She walked away and he could’ve sworn she had a skip in her step.

After what Mackenzie assumed to be about forty minutes he removed the turkey from the oven and tied wire around it. He then juggled the hot meat onto a makeshift rotisserie that he placed over the hot coals. When the skin was crisp and golden he carried the roast from the fire and pushed it off the end of the stick and onto a tin sheet at their table.

They didn’t wait for it to cool, delving into the juicy meat, oblivious to the heat burning their fingers.

Juice trickled down Abi’s hands and chin. “Oh God, this is good,” she said, her mouth full.

Mackenzie grimaced at her choice of words. Despite how often they were spoken, those two words always conjured up the same image and constantly reminded him why he hated Christmas.

She licked her fingers. “This is the best meal yet. How good is it?”

“It’s good.”

“I’ll never be able to eat oven cooked turkey again.”

Mackenzie laughed. “And you thought barbecues were second rate.”

Gradually the sky washed with burnished light, creating a surreal orange glow over the surrounding vegetation. The sunset finale was accentuated by the chorus of birds singing their last song before the crickets took over. Night eased in and a layer of cold air descended upon them. Soon the black sky flaunted a blanket of stars from one horizon to the other.

They relaxed next to each other in their leather seats by the fire. Mackenzie was content with a full stomach, the warm fire and the mild evening weather. What else could he ask for? But he knew it wouldn’t be long before Abi brought up Christmas again, so he figured he might as well get it over with. “Do you remember me telling you about Grace?” he said.

“Yes, you lived with her and her brother Peter and she was the first girl you kissed.”

Mackenzie twisted in his seat to look at her. “Wow, you really were listening.”

“Some things I remember. Others …” She shrugged.

“Right. Well after Pete died, Grace … didn’t cope very well. She took up the drugs, big time. Then to support the habit she turned to prostitution.”

“Oh no.” A small crease formed between Abi’s brows.

“I tried to help her, but …” He could still see Grace’s eyes as if it had only happened yesterday. In the space of just five short months after Pete’s death, she went from being a vibrant full-of-life sixteen-year-old, to a girl who’d seen more horror than anyone should in a lifetime. Her eyes replicated her mind—hopeless, lifeless and lost.

“What happened to her?”

“I have no idea.”

Abi reached for his hand and when their fingers interlocked it was like a lost piece of a puzzle finding its correct place. “Tell me about it, Mack.”

He sighed. “It was my first Christmas after Pete died and I was still living in Kings Cross. My room was really small, you know … one of those rooms that smells old and is surrounded by sounds of sin.”

She frowned and shook her head.

“Well, it was about the size of the plane, bloody small. All I had was a mattress, bar fridge, sink, shower and toilet. And the walls were so thin, it was nothing to hear people having sex at all times of the day and night.”

“Oh God. How old were you?”

He shrugged. “I would’ve been nearly fifteen.”

She shook her head. “So young.”

“One night it was stinking hot and I was trying to pull up my window to let some breeze in. The damn thing always stuck in the heat and of course that’s when I needed it open. Anyway, when I got the window up I heard some of those dreadful Christmas carollers.”

“What’s wrong with carollers?”

He glanced sidelong at her. “Um, well these ones sounded like crap. But when Grace joined them it got even worse. She was so funny. She thought she sounded good, but really, it was like she’d sucked on a helium balloon first.” Mackenzie watched Abigail as she laughed. She was beautiful. In the firelight her skin had a heavenly glow and her eyes, he swore he could get lost in her eyes.

“So don’t tell me,” she said. “You rescued her.”

“Her? She wasn’t the one who needed rescuing. Those poor carollers, they didn’t know what to do. But yes, I went downstairs and dragged her away. She wanted to go to this church down the road. I’d heard some of my other friends talk about Father Bateman and I guess I was curious. So that’s where we went. The church was in a really weird spot, surrounded by three roads, not very picturesque for a church.” Mackenzie huffed, surprised at the trivial things he remembered.

“Anyway, we went into the church and just as we arrived at the altar this little man in a heavy robe came out. It was the middle of summer, stinking hot, and this guy’s in a robe. Grace wrapped her arms around him and I remember thinking that they hugged for a very long time. It’s funny what you think about after.”

Mackenzie shoved another log onto the fire.

“So Father Bateman was really nice. He gave us Christmas cake and hot chocolate, and Grace practically chewed his ear off with her nonstop talking. After a while he said he was tired and we went home.”

Abi turned to him with one of her looks that said she couldn’t be fooled. “That doesn’t sound like a bad Christmas.”

“No. You’re right. It’s all very normal for a fourteen year old.”

“I’m sorry. But I know you haven’t told me everything.”

Beyond the fire, everything was blacked out. Sometimes he wished he could do the same with his past. But when he least expected it, it would always creep to the surface. He leant forward, elbows on his knees, chin on his hands and sighed, long and loud. Abi placed her hand on his shoulder and squeezed. After a long pause he fell back into his seat and Abi reached for his hand again.

“So it became a nightly ritual. I’d go to the church, stand at the altar, and Father Bateman would appear. I’d eat cake and drink hot chocolate and then I’d go home. I really liked his company. He was a good listener. But I got curious about how he knew I was there. I didn’t knock on any doors or ring any bells or anything, but he’d always appear just as I got to the altar. I remember thinking it was some sort of divine conspiracy.”

Abi chuckled. “Did you ever figure it out?”

“Yep. A sensor. I found it just below the statue of Jesus, half way up the aisle. I remember being so chuffed about finding it. Anyway, the next night I went back, but this time I ducked under the sensor. I was standing at the altar, all smug about defeating Father Bateman and that’s when I heard it.”

“What?”

“The sound I’d heard almost every day and night since I’d moved into my shit box apartment. Sex.”

“What?”

“Someone was having sex in the church.”

Abi’s hand went to her chest. “Who?”

“Father Bateman.”

“No.” She fanned her hand at Mackenzie. “It wouldn’t have been him.”

“I saw him, Abi. His robe was pulled up under his armpits as he screwed Grace on the kitchen table.”

“Your Grace?” Her eyes widened.

Mackenzie shrugged. He remembered Grace blowing a bubble with purple chewing gum right when the filthy old priest screamed ‘Oh God’ over and over. The image and those words were forever ingrained in his memory. Witnessing that affected him more than it should have. But after losing his mum and Pete he was angry at yet another betrayal. He’d cried until he was numb. He’d also wished Father Bateman a slow and painful death.

“But I thought you said you didn’t know what happened to Grace.”

“I don’t. I never saw her again.” He looked out toward where he knew the tree line was. “A few nights later, I heard Father Bateman had been stabbed to death.”