Flight to Coorah Creek (3 page)

‘This is Jessica. She's our new pilot. She hasn't had any dinner.' Adam guessed Jessica hadn't managed much in the way of lunch either.

‘Sure thing. Pull up a log, Missus.' Another stockman waved Jess to an empty place. Adam sat down next to her. The man nearest the fire, obviously the cook, reached for metal plates, and ladled some steaming stew out of a big black pot that sat amid the coals.

‘Thank you,' Jessica said, as she took the offered plate.

‘It's the best food for a hundred kilometres,' Adam said, as he accepted his meal. ‘Better that anything you'll get at the homestead – which is the only other food for a hundred kilometres.'

‘Too right,' the cook said.

‘Is everyone okay at the camp?' Adam asked.

‘Grandpa had a fall today hunting kangaroo.'

Adam saw Jessica start and glance down into her bowl. Her mouth stilled and he saw a touch of panic in her eyes.

‘It's all right,' he said softly, leaning towards her. ‘Dave's grandpa hasn't actually caught a roo for ten years or more. You're eating good outback beef.'

A chuckle around the campfire suggested he wasn't the only one who had noticed her sudden lack of enthusiasm for the food.

‘It's gotta be more like twenty years,' Dave offered cheerfully. ‘But Grandpa don't give up easy.'

‘Do you want me to take a look at him?' Adam asked.

‘It's all right, Doc,' Dave said. ‘Sister Luke came down and sorted him out. She says he'll be hunting again in a few days.'

‘Sister Luke?' Jess asked.

‘Her order works with the Aboriginal people,' Adam explained. ‘That's why she's here.'

‘Oh, I thought she worked for you.'

‘No. I'm just her charity case.'

She almost smiled at that. Adam wondered if she would smile if she knew just how close that was to the truth.

‘By the way,' he turned his attention back to the stockmen. ‘Where's Blue?'

‘Gone walkabout,' was the reply.

‘Walkabout?' Jess said.

‘It's something they do,' Adam started to explain. ‘The Aborigines have always been nomadic. Sometimes they just walk into the wilderness – particularly the young men. It's like a rite of passage for them.'

‘I know what it is,' Jess said. ‘I just didn't think in this day and age …'

‘We still do it, Missus,' the cook said. ‘To talk to the spirits of the Dreamtime.'

‘Oh.' Jess looked very serious.

‘It's better than a sickie to get off work,' Dave explained, his teeth flashing white in the dim light as he grinned. ‘I like to go fishing. Pete over there is too lazy to go into the desert proper. He just likes to get away from his wife and kids.'

The men around the camp laughed loudly.

For a brief moment, Jess looked uncertain. Then it came. A slow smile that spread across her face like the light of the sun peeping over the edge of the desert at daybreak. Adam watched her in the gentle glow of the fire. Again he wondered what had brought Jess Pearson to this remote place on the edge of nowhere. Whatever it was, at this moment, he was glad she was there.

The flickering of the fire dragged his eyes away from Jess. Flames curled around the dead tree branches. Sinuous. Seductive. Dangerous. Adam rubbed his shoulder, feeling remembered pain. Beside him, one of the stockmen leaned forward to drop more wood on the fire. Glowing red and orange sparks flew high into the night sky to mingle with the brilliant stars. The harsh crackling of the flames drowned out the ongoing conversation around him. Adam could feel himself being drawn into the flames. Losing himself as the flames reached for him. Then a sound pulled him back. A soft gentle sound. The sound of Jess laughing.

Jess was trying to fight her way through a wall of noise and flashing light. Leering, lusting faces in front of her.

‘Jessica, how does it feel to send your lover to jail?'

‘Jessica, shouldn't you be charged, too?'

She raised her hands to fend off the microphones waving just inches from her face. She ducked her head so her long dark hair fell forward, covering her face as the cameras flashed. Hunching her shoulders, she started to push her way through the crowd, but she made no headway. Then a man appeared in front of her, using his body to shield her.

‘Thanks, Dad,' she gasped.

But his brow furrowed. ‘You ignored the signs? Why Jess? Why?'

There was a boy. So young. His face so pale. His body painfully thin. Then Jessica heard a scream.

‘It's your fault. You killed my son!'

A grey-haired woman. Her lined face streaked with tears.

‘This was my son!' The woman held a photograph in her hand. She thrust it at Jessica. ‘You killed him with that poison you brought here. It's your fault my son is dead.'

‘No,' Jessica's voice came out as a croak. ‘I didn't know what was happening. I didn't know the drugs were on the plane.'

‘Didn't you?' the woman said, in a cold harsh voice. ‘You were the pilot. How could you not know?'

Jess woke suddenly, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she tried to shake herself free of the nightmare. Her pulse raced and she felt the tears pricking the back of her eyes. The boy had been just sixteen years old. Dead of a drug overdose. There was no way of knowing if the drugs that killed him had ever been on her plane. But for a grieving mother, that was irrelevant. She sat in the courtroom every day, her haunted eyes following every moment of the high profile trial. And when it was over, facing a life without her child, the woman had struck out at the only target within reach. Jess. The prosecutor told her not to take it personally. But how else was she to take it? What was more personal than a dead boy?

She pounded her fist into the bedclothes in a mixture of anger and pain. Would the ghosts of the past never leave her?

As her heartbeat slowed, Jess became aware of her surroundings. She lay in an unfamiliar bed, staring up at a fan circling slowly to stir the warm air against her sweat soaked body. Still struggling to regain her grip on the daylight world, she heard a baby cry. It took a second cry for her to realise it wasn't a child at all. Somewhere not far away, a crow was crying … a long mournful sound that in her mind was somehow associated with loss … and death.

Not the young drug addict. Another boy. The injured jackaroo.

Suddenly fully awake, Jess slipped out of bed. She pulled on her jeans and T-shirt as the events of the day before came flooding back with a little too much clarity. She had to find out how the injured boy fared. She had to know that the mad dash from Coorah Creek to this remote outpost hadn't been in vain. She had to know that this time, she had helped. That this boy would live.

She walked to the bedroom door and opened it. Almost opposite her, the door to another room stood half open. Through it she could see the foot of a bed and a figure draped in a white sheet. Silently on her bare feet, she entered the other room. The jackaroo was stretched on the bed, a drip attached to one arm. His eyes were closed, but she could hear his slow deep breathing. In a chair beside the bed, his back to her, sat Adam. His head was bowed forward and he was rubbing his neck. She couldn't see his face, but his weariness surrounded him like a cloak.

‘How is he doing?' Jess whispered, as she approached the bed.

Adam looked up at her. His brown eyes were shadowed with exhaustion. Jess realised he must have been sitting with his patient all night.

‘He's stabilised,' Adam spoke in a whisper, too. ‘We'll take him back to Mount Isa today. They can do more for him there.'

Jess looked down at the boy on the bed. ‘But he will …?' Jess couldn't put the thought into words.

‘Yes. He will.'

Jess felt a profound sense of relief. ‘Thank God.'

‘I'm sure Sister Luke already has.' The slow smile on his tired face softened the words.

Silence fell between them as they watched the sleeping boy, and brought with it a strange sense of intimacy. Together they had saved a life. In this moment, Jess felt closer to Adam than she had to any human being for such a very long time.

‘Adam …' It was the first time she had called him by name. Without really thinking, she reached out to lay a hand gently on his shoulder. Afterwards she wasn't sure why she had done it. The need to touch him, to make human contact was just so strong.

Her fingers were like burning embers on his skin. Adam flinched away from her. He felt her snatch her hand back, and that was even more painful than her touch. He wanted to tell her it wasn't her fault. That the problem was his. But he couldn't look at her. He didn't want to see her face. Instead, he reached for the drip line attached to the boy's arm. As if it needed checking.

‘I want to get him to the Isa as quickly as possible,' he said, his voice rough. ‘I imagine there are things you need to do to the plane.'

‘Yes. There are.' Her voice was little more than a whisper.

‘If you're looking for breakfast …'

‘I can find the kitchen. I'll send word when we are ready to leave.'

Adam didn't so much hear her go as feel her absence. He dropped the drip line, and tentatively rubbed his shoulder, feeling the roughness of the skin beneath his shirt. There was no new wound there. No burn. Why then did it hurt?

Because it always did. When people got too close they hurt. They laughed, or they left or they just hurt. The only way to avoid the hurt was to keep people away. He was very good at that. Oh, people liked him. He was friendly. He cared about his patients. There were times he knew he touched their lives. But that was different. No one touched his life. No one touched him.

Adam took a deep breath and regained his equilibrium as the only person who had never deliberately hurt him walked into the room.

‘I'll look after him if you want to get some breakfast,' Sister Luke said.

‘Thanks. I'll go in a minute. I just want to check the wound.' Adam busied himself with his patient for a few minutes. Sister Luke was, as always, the perfect nurse – assisting him without being told what he needed.

‘It's probably safe to go into the kitchen now,' Sister Luke said, as they finished.

‘I don't know what you mean?' Adam fiddled with the drip in his patient's arm again rather than look into the nun's too-knowing grey eyes.

‘I heard Jess asking for someone to drive her to the airstrip. My guess is she's finished her breakfast and gone.'

‘That's good. We need to get this kid to hospital,' Adam said, firmly ignoring Sister Luke's tone. ‘Can you stay with him while I get something to eat? I don't want to disturb him any more than we have to, so I won't shift him until Jess sends word that the plane is ready.'

‘Of course.'

Sister Luke was smiling in that annoyingly satisfied way she had. Adam almost snorted as he left the room.

Sure enough, there was no sign of Jess in the homestead's big kitchen. The station owner and his wife were effusive in their thanks as they served him a huge breakfast of steak and eggs, with more coffee on the side than he would drink in a week.

Just as he was finishing, the loud clump of boots on the wooden veranda heralded the return of one of the stockmen. Removing his hat, the man put his head inside the door.

‘Doc, the plane is ready to go,' he said.

‘Great.' Adam got to his feet.

‘Jess said you'd probably need the stretcher from the plane,' the stockman continued. ‘It's in the ute.'

The stretcher. How had he not thought of that? That was unlike him. He put it down to tiredness.

With the assistance of another stockman, they carefully carried the jackaroo out of the house, and laid him in the back of the ute. Adam rode with his patient, wincing every time the slow-moving vehicle hit a pothole in the red dirt track. There were far more than Adam would have liked, but thanks to the drugs, the injured boy was oblivious to the harsh bumps.

At the airstrip, the plane was waiting, the steps lowered. As the driver pulled the ute up close to the aircraft doors, Adam could see Jess in the pilot's seat making her pre-flight checks.

‘Gently now,' Adam cautioned, as together the driver and the stockman lifted the stretcher from the back of the vehicle. They carried it to the plane and manoeuvred it through the door. Adam followed them on board to make sure his patient was safely strapped in for the flight. The straps secured across his chest and legs would keep him safe through any turbulence they encountered. Making sure the saline drip was still in place; Adam knew they were ready to go.

Sister Luke was already on board. He stepped to the doorway.

‘Thanks a lot,' he called to the stockman below, as he pulled the stairs up and latched the door.

He leaned into the cockpit, where Jess was strapped in to the pilot's seat.

‘Are you ready to go?' she asked, without turning to look at him.

Adam hated that she didn't meet his eyes. He hated the distance in her voice. Hated the knowledge that he had put it there. And most of all, he regretted that was the way it had to be, but at this moment, he needed that distance. So did Jess. And so did the injured boy in the back of the plane. He was their first priority.

‘Yes. We're ready,' he said, and made his way back to a seat close to his patient.

Jack parked his dusty ute in front of the railway station. The doc had called earlier this morning to say they were flying the injured jackaroo to Mount Isa hospital. They wouldn't be back in Coorah Creek until late this afternoon. Jack shook his head. What a way to start a new job! He hoped Jess wasn't already regretting her decision. It was hard enough to get pilots willing to work in the outback, without this sort of an introduction to their new life. He wondered just what had brought Jess to the Creek. She appeared fragile, but Jack had the impression she was a lot tougher than she looked. He hoped she was strong enough to stay. They needed her.

Jack got out of his vehicle just as the train pulled into the station. It should be carrying some parts for the emergency power generator at the hospital. Trains came in and out of the mine compound on a regular basis, carting the ore back to the coast. On some days, the mine train broke into two parts, the smaller engine and just a few carriages heading along the short spur to the town itself. Those trains carried freight. Supplies for the stores. Equipment ordered from back east by local businesses and outlying cattle stations. And, very occasionally, a passenger.

Today there were three of them.

The first passenger to alight was clutching a large and battered teddy bear. She had fine blonde hair and a big brother attached to one hand. The boy was trying to look tough, but his wide eyes gave him away. Jack didn't know much about kids. He guessed the little girl was maybe five, her brother a year or two older. Where was their mother? A few seconds later, he saw movement in the train's doorway. Someone was struggling to get a large blue suitcase out of the carriage. The suitcase suddenly slid forward, then toppled sideways. The little girl darted out of the way, tripping over her brother as she did, and went sprawling to the rough wooden platform. The resulting cries were staggeringly loud for such a small girl.

A woman darted out of the train and bundled the little girl up in her arms. Jack couldn't see much of the woman, but the protective arch of her body as she cradled her child said everything he needed to know.

‘Do you need some help with your bags?' Jack touched one finger to the brim of his Akubra hat.

The woman looked up at him. She had the bluest eyes Jack had ever seen, but right now they were glistening with unshed tears. The woman was obviously fighting to hold herself together for the kids.

‘Thank you,' she said. ‘There's two more, just inside the door. If you could …'

Before she'd finished speaking, he had the bags in a pile on the platform. The woman stood up, smoothing her cotton skirt. Jack smiled down at the little girl, who retreated behind her brother and peeked up at him with eyes almost as blue as her mother's.

‘Do you need a ride?'

The woman looked around. The railway station was at the eastern edge of town. From the platform there was little to see. A few shabby wooden huts. The railway line leading to the mine and some scrubby bush beyond. Jack realised that to a stranger, it must seem the edge of nowhere.

‘No. Thank you. I'll take a taxi.' She offered him a polite, but distant smile.

‘There aren't any taxis,' Jack said with a rueful grin. ‘If you're heading to town, I'm very happy to give you a lift. My ute is just outside. It's a long walk for a couple of tired kids.'

The woman reached out a hand to rest on her son's shoulder. Jack could see her hesitate. She knew she needed a lift, but he could read the wariness in her eyes. Something wasn't going to allow her to accept.

‘I'm Jack North,' he said, removing his hat and holding out a hand. ‘I work for the local air ambulance.'

‘You're a doctor?' she asked.

‘No. The engineer.' That was strange. Usually he referred to himself as the maintenance man. Engineer always seemed too grand a title for a man who just fixed things.

‘Nice to meet you.' The woman finally held out her hand. ‘I'm Ellen Parkes.'

She looked to be in her early thirties. She was quite small, barely reaching his shoulder. There were lines around her mouth and eyes. They should have been laughter lines, but Jack had the impression they had been etched into her face by a difficult life. Her hand when he took it was a little rough. The nails were blunt and unpainted. This was a woman who understood hard work. But when Jack looked at her eyes, all he saw was how beautiful she was.

‘So, now that we've been introduced, will you let me give you a lift?' he asked again.

Still she hesitated.

‘I have to pick up some packages. Why don't you think about it while I load them?'

He located his packages in the freight car. He could sense Ellen watching him as he carried the heavy boxes out to his ute. They were clearly addressed to him, at the Coorah Creek Hospital. Maybe that would make her feel more secure in accepting his help. After loading them into the tray of his vehicle, Jack turned back to find Ellen and her children standing at the station entrance, looking down the road towards town. The look on her face said enough.

‘Let me get your bags.' Jack retrieved the suitcases and placed them in the back of the ute. ‘It's going to be a tight fit, the cab only seats three.'

‘Bethany's so small, she doesn't count,' a boyish voice piped up.

Jack crouched down to bring his own eyes level with the boy's.

‘What's your name?' he asked.

‘Harry.'

‘How old are you, Harry?'

‘I'm seven.'

‘And Bethany is your little sister, right?'

‘Right. She's five and a half. She's only in prep school.'

‘Well, Harry, can I tell you a secret?' Jack said in a serious voice. The little boy nodded. ‘Girls always count. Especially little ones like Bethany. It's our job, as men, to look after them.'

Harry was silent. He looked up at his mother. Jack glanced at Ellen too. Her lips were pressed tightly together, as if to stop herself from crying. She nodded to her son.

‘See, your mum knows the secret too,' Jack said. ‘It's supposed to be just for men to know, but I think it's okay if your mum knows. What do you say?'

‘I think so too,' Harry said importantly.

‘All right then.' Jack stood up and turned to open the car door. ‘How about you squeeze in the middle, young Harry? Then Bethany can sit on your mum's lap. Does that sound all right?'

Harry nodded and scrambled up into the ute.

Ellen seemed to hesitate one last time, then climbed into the cab after her son.

What was she thinking? Ellen's emotions were running on adrenaline – and not going in a good direction. What on earth had possessed her to bring the kids to this town on the edge of nowhere? She had to get away, but surely she could have picked somewhere better than this? She had two children who needed a home and a father. She hadn't done very well so far in providing them with either. Although she'd long since given up any hope of a fairy tale ending for herself, her kids deserved to be safe. They deserved a future. But was this the right future?

Here she was riding into some town at the back of beyond, in a beat-up old ute, with a strange man at her side. She cast a quick sideways glance at Jack. His face was tanned and he needed a shave. She had also glimpsed a tattoo on his upper arm. Ellen guessed he might be a year or two younger than she was. The hands gripping the steering wheel were possibly not the cleanest she'd ever seen, but they were the hands of a man who was not afraid of a bit of hard work. He was a big man, but not frightening. He'd been so gentle with the kids. And it was good of him to give her a lift. Town was a longer walk than the kids could have managed, tired as they were from the journey. She was tired too, but not tired enough to let down her guard. Jack North seemed nice enough, but she'd met a ‘nice' man once before and still carried the scars.

Jack turned and smiled in her direction. Embarrassed at being caught watching him, Ellen turned to look out of the window. They drove past a line of wooden houses. The paint was faded and peeling and the yards messy and overgrown with weeds. Here and there the wrecks of cars sat rusting under the outback sun. The homes looked deserted and reeked of failure. Not only that, it was far hotter than she expected. Already she could feel the sweat staining her armpits. And the dust! A cloud of it seemed to follow the car as it moved. This was no place for her kids.

‘Don't be put off.' As if he'd been reading her mind, the man at her side indicated the row of shabby buildings. ‘Those were originally part of an old Aboriginal reserve. They've been empty for years. They should have been pulled down long ago, when the mine built better houses.'

That wasn't very comforting.

‘Where do you want me to drop you off?'

It was an obvious question – and she had no answer.

‘The motel?' she said hesitantly.

‘Sorry. There isn't one.'

Ellen's heart sank another notch. No motel? Then where would she and the kids stay? She'd been in such a hurry to get away, she hadn't given any thought to finding somewhere to stay. After all, every small town had a motel. Except, it seemed, this one.

‘Caravan park?' She hated the thought, but if there was no motel …

‘Not really,' Jack said. ‘There's a campsite near the river, but no vans for hire.'

This was just getting worse! Ellen tightened her arms around Bethany. The little girl was exhausted after the long journey. So was Ellen. All she wanted right now was a bath and a bed. Somewhere she could close her eyes and know her children were safe.

They were approaching a T-intersection. To her left was a petrol station. On the right she saw a large two-storey pub with beautiful wrought iron railings around the upper veranda. As they turned right, Ellen could see a long straight road, with shops either side. It wasn't exactly a city centre shopping mall, but things were looking a bit better. Almost immediately Jack swung the car off the road, to park in front of the pub.

‘I hope you don't mind, but I need to stop here for a moment. While I do, you can have a think about where you want to go.'

He was gone before she could answer, and Ellen felt the fear start to rise. It was barely lunchtime and here they were at a pub. This Jack was just the same as the loser she had married. From bed to bar and back again. That was it. Why had she thought things would be any different here?

‘Mum, I'm hungry.'

Harry's plaintive voice dragged Ellen back from the gulf of self-pity at her feet.

‘I know, honey,' she said, dropping an arm around his thin shoulders. ‘It won't be long now. I just need to find us somewhere to stay.'

She kept her voice cheerful, for Harry's sake, but inside she felt nothing but despair. No motel. No caravan park. Was there a church somewhere? Maybe a priest would know of somewhere safe for her to go. Or perhaps if she went to the hospital, they might suggest something. There was no one here who knew her. No one who would help her. She would have to rely on charity, but not for long. Just for a few days. Until she got her feet back under her. Then she'd find a job, a place to live and start again. This time she'd do it all herself and not rely on anyone else. Especially not a man.

‘Mrs Parkes?'

The woman standing beside the car had to be in her sixties. She had short, silver-white hair that framed a lined face and a pair of sympathetic brown eyes. She wiped her hands on an apron that looked to have seen a lot of service.

‘Yes.'

‘I'm Trish Warren. My husband Syd and I own the pub.'

‘Oh. Nice to meet you …' Ellen said hesitantly.

‘Jack is helping Syd with some barrels. Despite what Syd thinks, he's getting a bit old for the heavy lifting. It's really good of Jack to help him out like he does, but that's Jack all over. Anyway, he said you needed somewhere to stay the night. You and your kids.'

‘Well, yes. But …'

‘I know, it's a pub. Not your first choice for a place to stay. Particularly for the kids. But please believe me when I say that it's okay. Out here, the pub is the centre of the town. Families come here. It'll be fine for your kids. Honestly. Besides, it's the only place in town,' Trish added with a smile.

‘Well.' Ellen didn't like it, but what other option did she have? ‘All right. Is there a room I can have for the night? Somewhere away from the bar,' she added quickly. ‘The kids are going to need to sleep.'

‘There's a big room on the top floor at the back which is just what you need,' Trish said with a smile. ‘Two beds. I guess it will be okay for the little ones to share? It's nothing fancy, mind you. But it's clean and comfortable. You have to share a bathroom, but there are no other guests at the moment.'

‘That'll be fine. How much?' Ellen held her breath. She didn't have a lot of money.

Trish named a price so low Ellen could hardly believe she heard it right. ‘Thank you,' she said.

‘It's no problem at all. Now, kids, I'm Mrs Warren. Why don't you come with me to the kitchen? You must be tired and hungry after your long trip. I think I've got some chocolate biscuits. And milk. I hope you like milk. It's really good for you.'

That seemed to do the trick. Harry and Bethany scrambled out of the cab. Ellen and the kids followed Trish inside the pub. It was cool and dark after the heat outside. A long polished wooden bar ran almost the entire length of the room. Behind it, from the open door of a giant cool room, Ellen could hear men's voices.

They made their way through the bar into a lounge area, liberally dotted with tables and chairs. Although it was empty, it had an aura of homeliness that Ellen found very welcoming. A door on one side led to a large and airy kitchen, which was spotlessly clean. Trish headed for the fridge and removed a bottle of milk. From an adjoining cupboard she produced a container of what were obviously home-baked biscuits. In a few seconds, Harry and Bethany were seated at a well-scrubbed wooden table, happily working their way through a generous serving of both.