25
Every so often, Goosen would see something silver flicker past his feet. It was a local fish, he told himself. They looked harmless. At least the things were not nibbling at him. Bing looked uneasy.
‘There’s more of them now, Bing. They’re popping up out of the ground. I wonder what they are.’
‘They’re frigging fish, Birdie,’ Bing replied, forging ahead. ‘Let’s just find some dry ground, eh?’
‘Dry ground?’ Goosen looked around him. The place was flat. The forest floor was uniform. The water pooled in shallow depressions, but quickly merged. The place was becoming a swamp.
Goosen let go of the life raft and let it float free for a moment. He stooped down and plunged his hand down into the ankle deep water. Up came a handful of mud.
‘The grass is like a moss,’ he said, looking closely at the fine, hair-like mass. ‘It’s a matted mess. Looks like that stuff they plant in fish tanks. I wonder if this place floods a lot.’
‘It does, Birdie. A lot. The whole planet floods. Then it dries out. Then it floods again.’
‘Is that why the branches don’t start until higher up?’ Goosen asked pointing up at the first layer of branches. He grabbed the life raft line and started hauling again.
‘Possibly, Birdie. Not my thing, though. Nature I mean.’
‘Don’t you know anything about this place?’
‘Nadda. Zip. I was here for what, three or four weeks.’
Goosen caught up to wade along side of him.
‘Another memory?’
‘Maybe. Nothing relevant though. Nothing since leaving this place, that is.’
‘So you couldn’t guess as to how far we are from Welywn?’
‘None. How far were we when they shot us down?’
Goosen made a guess of his own.
‘About 400 kilometres west, give or take a few hundred. I kind of lost interest when the RAV took the second shot at us.’ Besides, Goosen was never sure whether he should think in kilometres or miles, in the air or on the ground.
Bing tried to remember his geography, but gave up. 400 was a long way. None of the city guides he pictured in his head went out that far.
‘And you’re sure the crash site was only two klicks away?’ Bing asked.
‘Yep. Two.’ Goosen replied confidently. At least he hoped so. Hauling the light-tug along on the life raft was not his idea of fun. ‘About that I’m very sure. It’ll not be far from here.’
They fell silent. Bing surged on. Goosen maintained an even stride but kept Bing in sight.
The forest had not changed since leaving their crash site: the trees were evenly spaced, all of them appeared to be ancient, and the bark was patchy for the first metre or so, then as smooth as glass all the way up before branching out at around 30 metres. From the lowest branches, the canopy seemed to soar for another hundred metres or so before reaching the sky. It was as if the canopy was the prime ecological zone: it was so deep and so evenly layered.
If anything, the ground below them was a sterile place, only occasionally sprouting undergrowth more substantial than the swamp grass. The ground appeared subterranean, almost inconsequential. Sound carried well, but the spongy ground muffled the higher tones.
Goosen looked through the canopy. The sun shone through the upper reaches. Leaves of different colours seemed to sparkle, reminding him again of the few remaining stained glass windows of that French cathedral from years ago. There was a majesty about this place, but also a sense of desolation. He then realised the forest made no noise. Other than the leaves rustling, the sound of their chatter, and the earlier splash of rain, it was deadly silent.
‘This is a creepy place, Bing, don’t you think?’ he said, raising his voice a tad. Bing was some 20 metres ahead of him on a narrow corridor of higher ground.
Bing did not answer. He had stopped walking. His head twizzled left and right. Goosen caught up, sticking to the water: it was easier for him to pull a floating life raft than to drag it across the drier ground.
Ahead of them was a shallow lake in a forest clearing. On the other side the water was red. It stank of blood and fish guts.
‘I’m not wading through that,’ Goosen said. ‘We’ll go around.’
Bing grabbed him by the arm before he could set off. He pointed to the far side of the clearing. There was a row of shuttle seats sitting half in and half out of the water.
Goosen squinted. The seats were red and covered in what looked like forest junk; possibly small branches and large leaves.
‘Jeeze!’ he said. He looked at Bing then back to the far side. ‘We’re close. Look! Just beside the seats. There’s a gash in the trees. And there’s an engine.’
‘But where did all this blood come from?’ Bing asked. Goosen did not answer so Bing took his eyes off the lake and turned to face him. ‘It’s a lot of—’
He did not finish the sentence. Goosen had ditched the life raft and was already making his way around to the other side. He hurried to catch up.
The route to where the shuttle came to rest was just as messy as the lake. The water was shallower, but equally bloody. Ripped fins and small pieces of torn flesh floated on the surface, or bobbed up and down as the two of them waded past. The stink was overpowering. Bing held his hand across his nose and mouth. Goosen held an arm across his face, trying to smell his own armpit.
‘I see it, Birdie!’ Bing said. ‘Look, there ... That’s the cockpit.’
They hurried across, kicking up red sprays. Goosen leaned against the front of the cockpit and peered inside. There was nothing.
Bing scanned the surrounding area, holding his nose. He dropped his bag onto the cockpit’s glass.
‘Do you think it was like this when they arrived?’ he asked referring to the bloody water. ‘This can’t be them. It’s got to be the fish.’
‘I haven’t the foggiest, Bing. I hope so.’
Goosen stepped away from the cockpit and walked across to a jacket lying on a box. The box did not float. It was set into the bog, as though someone had sat on it. Across the way, Goosen could see a couple of life rafts tied to trees. He felt the jacket in his hand.
‘There are survivors,’ he declared, thrusting the jacket into Bing’s chest. ‘Not only are there survivors, but they’re organised.’
Bing’s expression asked him to explain. Goosen pointed at the jacket then across to the life rafts.
‘That’s dry. Not even we’re dry. It was either pulled from the wreckage after the rain, or was kept dry during the storm. The life rafts didn’t get there by accident. There were one or more survivors, and they were doing OK for themselves until just recently.’
Bing looked around him. There was not much left of the fuselage; it lay scattered and partially submerged. Goosen might be right but there could not be many survivors.
Goosen waded across to the life rafts and checked under them. Other than bits of fish there was nothing.
Bing joined him and looked beyond the shelter. Something caught his eye. Instinctively he turned his back on it, but Goosen had caught him looking.
‘That, Bing, is an airbed,’ Goosen said, wondering why Bing had not mention it. ‘This must have been the hospital run. Matheson and Rolf.’
Bing looked away as Goosen waded across to it. Goosen grabbed the bed to stop it turning in lazy circles. He waved back at Bing.
‘Someone’s in it. Give me a hand.’
Bing tried to ignore him. He looked around but there was nowhere to hide. Goosen shouted at him again. There was no avoiding it. He walked slowly across.
Goosen pulled at the glass canopy but it would not move. He pulled at it again, but his feet just sank deeper into the swamp. He slapped at the lid.
‘Let go of it. Let it go,’ he shouted through the glass. He pulled again and the lid popped up. He pushed it all the way back to splash into the water on the other side. ‘Well bless,’ he said, holding the lip of the airbed to stop it moving about. ‘If I’m not saving you’re skin for a seco
nd time.’
Rolf reluctantly lifted his head. He glanced about, turning his whole upper body, careful not to strain his neck.
‘Have they gone?’ he croaked.
‘Glad to see me?’ Goosen asked.
Rolf struggled to speak again.
‘Seriously, have they gone?’
‘Have what gone?’
‘The friggin’ rats.’
Goosen made a show of looking around the inside of the bed, and around its edges.
‘All gone, Rolf. And there’s nothing under the bed either.’
Rolf shot him a look.
‘Who’s left?’ he asked.
Goosen paused. He glanced back at Bing. Bing was still reluctant to help out.
‘No one. Just you. At least we haven’t found anyone else yet. How many were there?’
Rolf trembled with frustration. He was close to tears.
‘That louse Matheson left us all to die.’
‘OK,’ Goosen said, apprehensively. ‘So how many?’ Where are they?’
‘Twelve of us. All of us who couldn’t walk.’ He sat up. ‘I told him I’d come looking for him if he left us. But he did.’ Rolf then stiffened up as though remembering something. ‘We’ve got to look for them. They might have made it into the trees.’
Goosen screwed up his face.
‘I doubt it. Look at them. It would be a hard climb, even for me.’
Rolf caught sight of Bing’s back.
‘Are you the rescue party?’ he asked. ‘The two of you?’
‘Well not really. It’s a long story.’ Goosen turned to Bing. ‘Get your butt over here, Bing. Give me a hand.’
Bing took a breath. He turned around and waded across.
‘Hello, Johann,’ he said, stopping to stand a few paces away.
Rolf looked at him. He frowned. Then there was recognition.
‘Hello Bernard. Didn’t I kill you a while back?’