The white bird has led me to where dad is floating face down in the water. I want to run into the water but my head fills with images from that day in our pool when I almost drowned. And suddenly I’m there again at the bottom of our pool. The pain in my chest moves up to my head and fills it until it feels like it’s about to burst. And life starts to float away in slow motion. Then I feel a strong arm around my chest as I’m pulled upwards. I feel the relief of that first big gulp of air flooding my lungs. It feels so good that it hurts. Then I see dad’s face looking into mine. He was crying. “I thought I’d lost you!”
All at once the distance between dad and me doesn’t seem that great. Looking around I see a thin branch that just might be long enough. It has a bit of a hook on the end which makes it even better. Pole in hand I start wading into the dark water. Lightning splits the sky above me.
It gets deep more quickly than I had anticipated and soon it is up to my chest. My sneakers are being sucked into the mud. I lose my left shoe. By the time the water is up to my chin my right shoe has gone as well. My arm is stinging with pain. The bandage is soaked and starts to loosen. There is no way I will be able to reach out with the pole and drag dad towards me. He is still too far away. I let go of the pole and start to swim taking in mouthfuls of water as I go.
I’m still about ten metres away when I decide to just take a big breath, put my face in and stroke as strongly as I can - my first swim in four years!
With every stroke the wound in my arm stretches and opens up a little more. Refusing to give in to the pain I reach dad and grab onto his shirt. For a moment we both go under and I think that this is the end. But I direct every bit of strength I have left to my legs and kick as hard as I can for as long as I can. We surface. I gasp for air but there is no sound or movement from my father. He is like a corpse. I want to scream at him to wake up but I only manage to cough and splutter.
I’m exhausted but somehow I manage to flip dad onto his back. My damaged right arm is just long enough to wrap over his shoulder and around his chest. With a firm grip on his shirt I start to swim an awkward side stroke back to the bank. My bandage floats away.
I amaze myself by actually making it back. I pull dad halfway out of the water, roll him onto his back and shake him as hard as I can. No response. Think, Robbie! You’ve practised on a mannequin. You’ve done the lessons. You’ve passed the test. But this real!
I make myself take some deep breaths and I start to think a bit more clearly. His chest is still. Not a good sign. I put my cheek and ear close to his mouth. I can’t feel or hear any breathing. I grab his wrist and try to find a pulse. Nothing. I’m shaking like a half-drowned dingo. Calm down, Robbie! I press my fingers into his neck to find his carotid artery.
“Yes!” His pulse is weak but it’s there, at least.
I roll him away from me onto his side and stick my finger into his mouth. I almost gag as I feel a soft, gooey swab of who-knows-what in his throat. Luckily I’m able to scoop it all out in one green-brown, mushy lump. I roll dad onto his back, tilt his head, pinch his nose closed and start the resuscitation.
Blow. Blow. Get oxygen into his lungs. Despite having swallowed half the lake and most of the water weed he tastes just like I imagined a smoker would taste. Absolutely gross! And his whiskers are like little needles.
Suddenly he coughs once, and then a second time. Now he starts to breathe on his own. I’m so relieved I don’t care that he’s just covered my face in slime.
Recovery position, says a voice in my head. I try to roll him back onto his side but he comes around.
“What happened?” he croaks then spits up another wad of weed.
“I thought I’d lost you,” was all I could manage to say. I'm too exhausted to explain any of what had just transpired. Dad gradually becomes more aware of his surroundings and realises he’s soaked through. The bottom half of his body is still in the water. I don't want to talk. I just want to lie down on the bank.
“What happened?” he asks again. This time I decide to explain what had happened but before I manage to get a word out another bolt of lightning splits the paperbark. The branch where the white bird had landed falls into the water with a splash.
“Come on, Dad. Let’s get out of here!” I help him to his feet and together we half walk half run back towards camp. I really don't know whether we're running away from or towards danger. I can feel dad getting weaker as he leans more heavily on me with every step. We're still a hundred metres from camp when his legs give out completely.
“Robbie,” he coughs, “get yourself to the cave!”
“Get up, Dad. We can make it together!”
“Leave me. I'll be ok!”
“No way!” I shout back at him. But he doesn’t hear me. He has passed out.
I haven’t saved my father from drowning just to let him get fried by lightning. I know I'm not strong enough to carry him. And dragging him unconscious all the way to the cave is out of the question. My right arm is next to useless. I have an idea.
I run back to camp as fast as my aching legs allow. I don’t know how I muster the strength to drag the fallen tree off the tent. I fight my way through the collapsed maze of polythene folds and find my camp bed. Perfect, I think. “You don't have to be uncomfortable just because you're camping,” dad had said as we packed the ute three days earlier.
I drag my bed out and throw my sleeping bag to the side. Our camp beds were not much smaller than regular beds, just lower to the ground. And the only difference between dad's bed and mine is that, for easy movement, the legs at the bottom end of mine are fitted with small wheels. I lift the bed at the top end and wheel it out of tent.
"Over my dead body!” he had said when I asked if I could ride his mountain bike. Well, it's near enough to that, I figure. I fetch a length of nylon rope from the back of the ute, tie one end around the bike seat and the other to the head of the bed. I don't feel at all safe being so close to this frame of metal while Yilkgawu-mirrin is in this mood.
I know that neither the bed nor the bike was designed for this but I just can't think of another way. I pull the rope tight so that the bed head is off the ground and I have myself a passable trailer. I jump on the bike and pedal hard.
When I reach dad he is lying motionless where I had left him. Dropping the bike, I kneel beside him. I grab him by the shoulders and shake him hard.
“Dad!” No response. I try to manoeuvre him onto the camp bed. First his legs then the heavy end. His body gets quite a work out and his head hits hard against the metal frame a few times before his whole body is on the bed.
I mutter an apology. I don't know if he'll appreciate my explanation of all his bruising, but I can only hope that I get a chance to try.
Suddenly I realise I'm facing in the wrong direction and turning the bike and bed around in the tight space between the water's edge on one side of the narrow track and the scrub on the other is impossible. I should have turned the bike around before loading dad on but it's too late now. I untie the rope from the bike seat, lower the bed to the ground and turn the bike around.
Finally I'm oriented in the right direction. I hitch my bed-trailer to the bike, jump on and push hard on the pedals. But I don't move. Without dad's weight the bed frame had just bounced against the tyre. Now, with dad on it, the bed presses hard against the rubber and acts like a brake. I'm not going anywhere. I should have known that would happen, I reprimand myself.
I untie the bed and push the bike out of the way. Figuring I might need the rope I wind it in a loop and throw it over my shoulder. I pick up the head end of the bed and start to drag it along the track. Now my good arm is aching badly. I must have strained it hauling dad from the water.
Another lightning strike. I hear a crash behind me and the scrub lights up. I don't need to turn around to know that dad's bike now looks a lot like mine.
The bed's wheels are not made for this sort of terrain. The holes and the tree roots are easy enough to step
over but the wheels hit each obstacle with a thud. Every step is a huge effort and I continually lose my footing since I’m watching where the wheels are going instead of my own feet.
It is getting quite dark now, not just because the sky is full of that monstrous, angry cloud but also because it’s past sunset. Once I round the bend I can just manage to make out the shape of the tent about two hundred metres away. At this rate, by the time I reach camp it will be pitch black. I study the track ahead and try to commit it to memory. I am still well short of the campsite when one wheel falls off. I lower the bed, retrieve the wheel and inspect it. There is no point in trying to refit it; it hasn’t just come loose - it’s split almost in half.
I continue on with a wobbling wheel on one side and the corner of the bed frame digging a rutted trail on the other. Dad looks in danger of falling off so I stop to rearrange his limp body. But first I check that he is still breathing.
"Hang on in there, Dad," I encourage him; although I know he can't hear me. I tie the rope around his chest but under his arms, secure him to the frame and continue on.
It takes another ten minutes to reach camp. I drop the bed and try again to wake dad up. My water bottle is where I left it beside the fire place. Although a splash of water in the face always seems to work in the movies, it doesn't do anything to dad. He is still out cold.
I’m totally exhausted. I know dad said that the cave would be the safest place but I'm not sure I have the strength to get him there. I suck on water while I consider my options. There hasn't been any lightning for a few minutes, and no ground strikes since dad's bike got blown to bike heaven.
But suddenly any thought that the storm might be over erupts and disintegrates with the tent as it takes a direct hit and bursts into flames.
The decision has been made for me. Picking up the end of the bed I summon strength from I-don't-know-where and go as fast as I can in the direction of the cave. By now it is so dark that I rely on the intermittent flashes from the sky to light the way. With dad in tow, I make my way beneath the tree, past the strange circle of rocks and over to the edge of the small ravine. And I am ...totally lost.