I’ve stopped sweating. I need to find water soon or I will be in trouble, he thought.
He tried to estimate how far it was to the cattle station but could only guess at about five kilometres. I should be able to do that, he decided. A glance at his watch told him it was 1755hrs. Another hour and a half of daylight, he thought, knowing that last light at that time of year was about 1930hrs.
After another careful look in all directions Willy set off up the side of the limestone ridge, keeping as low as he could in a small gully. Even so he knew he would be very exposed to anyone directly behind him on the ridge he had first crossed. But he made it to the crest and knelt to peek over. The first thing he noted was another long limestone ridge athwart his path. It was about half a kilometre away and on the other side of another grassy valley. But he had been expecting that so it occasioned no surprise. Of more interest was the sharp grey-black peak that was just visible in the distance through the dust haze.
That is Mt Whetstone, Willy thought. I need to aim a bit more to the right.
He then studied the ground ahead to select a route. While he was doing this the heat of the rock caused him to break into a sweat again and he found he was gasping and whimpering from the pain as it burnt his knees and uncovered hand.
But the pause was worth it. As he knelt there the dreaded vibration of the helicopter reached his ears, sending darts of terror through him.
Must hide, he thought.
Off to his left he heard the sound of motor vehicles. Ten paces to his left, on the forward slope, was a big clump of bushes. Accepting green ant bites as the lesser of the evils he hurried to it and crawled into its cover and shade.
Through a gap in the trees Willy glimpsed a large yellow front-end loader type machine. It was about a kilometre away and was heading through the bush towards the ridge. Circling ahead of it was the helicopter. The earth mover was followed by a truck and a 4WD. They were all heading south.
Must be a gap in the ridge, Willy surmised, noting several obvious gaps in the next ridge ahead of him.
The helicopter vanished off to the south beyond the first ridge and Willy assumed it had gone to search for him. This idea was reinforced when he glimpsed the helicopter circling back over the area where the plane had crashed.
I had better keep moving. I need to get as far from here as I can, he thought.
But before he moved he made a final check of the valley he had just crossed. Satisfied that there was no-one following yet he carefully made his way down the north face of the ridge.
Five painful minutes later he was at the bottom. He set off across the floor of the valley, angling to the right to get away from the route followed by the vehicles. The walking was easy but by now he was feeling battered and tired and very thirsty. Concern about possible heat exhaustion niggled at him and he was very aware that his tongue felt very dry and larger than normal. As well he could feel the sun’s heat on his bare back and shoulders. Briefly he considered putting on his shirt but he shook his head.
Make me too visible, he decided.
Sunburn was a much lesser price to pay. So he clutched his bundled up shirt in his right hand and walked on.
As before he kept stopping at trees or bushes to check he was alone. From time to time the buzz of the distant helicopter grew louder and he crouched in cover until it had again vanished from view. Then he hurried on to the next piece of cover.
Once again he climbed up the next ridge at a low point, continually looking back to check no-one was watching. At the crest, he hid himself in a niche among bushes. Carefully raising his head, he looked over the top. To his very mixed satisfaction he saw the airstrip and the buildings of the station spread out on the plain about a kilometre away. In the late afternoon light, it all looked quite attractive and peaceful. Beyond the buildings were the trees lining the river and beyond them the sharp pointed peak of Mt Whetstone.
Then Willy heard the faint sound of an aero engine and his hopes shot up.
A search plane? he wondered, scanning the sky off to the east. Then he saw it—a Cessna similar to the one he had been in. It was just a speck in the distance but seemed to be heading in a straight line and losing height. That must be Mr Dawlish’s plane, Willy thought. His hopes went sharply up.
But how to attract its attention?
He stood up but took care to keep back off the skyline. For a second he was tempted to wave his white shirt but a prickling sense of unease and the awareness that Zoltan was somewhere back there with his rifle caused him to keep the material in a tight bundle.
Only if it comes really close, he decided.
Then he watched in puzzlement as the Cessna began to descend at an even steeper angle. It is going to land at the station, Willy thought. But even as the light plane went down to make a perfect landing on the station airstrip he understood. We told them on the radio that we were heading for there. They must be checking, he decided.
Anxious for the safety of the people in the aircraft and feeling helpless and frustrated Willy could only watch. The aircraft taxied to the apron in front of the hangar and even at that distance Willy could make out a couple of men standing there to meet it. After the aircraft stopped and the engine was switched off there was a short delay and then he saw two figures climb out and walk over to the waiting men. There was short conversation and Willy distinctly saw both men raise their arms and point off to the southeast.
“You lying bastards!” Willy muttered. It was obvious they were diverting any search from the area of the real crash. The deceit fuelled his anger and added to his determination to rescue the girl.
It also occurred to him that it was probably a good time to make his way down the north slope of the ridge. Those men will be busy talking and not looking, he thought.
So he crawled across the crestline and scrambled quickly down the other side, not slowing until the canopies of the trees on the plain hid him from the buildings.
Soon after he reached the bottom Willy heard the Cessna’s engine restart and five minutes later it took off and swung away to the north, coming around to a south-easterly. Willy only glimpsed it once and the sound soon died away, leaving him feeling very isolated and anxious.
By then it was 1820hrs and he estimated that he had less than an hour of daylight left. He set off walking towards the station. But he did not walk directly towards where the main group of buildings lay. To reach them from that direction meant crossing the open ground of the airfield and he had more sense than that. Also he needed water and he reasoned that it should be easier to find it in the river upstream of the weir.
But his intentions were slowed by his body. After only ten minutes of limping along Willy felt exhausted and found he was gasping and shivering. Darts of pain kept shooting up through his right arm and shoulder and he could not go on. Nearby was a large log with several bushes growing around it so he made his way into the cover and slumped down in what shade he could find.
No sooner had he done so than the clatter of the helicopter rotors sounded loud and close. For a few seconds, shards of terror tore through Willy as the machine came straight for him. Hunching in a ball he resisted the urge to look up.
Then the helicopter flew over very low and fast and directly over his hiding place. As it went by Willy risked a peek through his fingers. He tensed, ready to run. But it kept on flying and vanished from view as fast as it had come. From the straight line it was flying Willy thought it might be heading for the airstrip. When the distant engine note changed a few seconds later he knew he was right.
It is landing, he deduced. Then the engine noise ceased. Even better! he told himself.
Relief flooded through him and he slumped against the log and trembled. So great had been his fear that he was ashamed of himself. Despite that he found he was sobbing and shaking his head. It had been a close call and he needed