Poison Bay Read online

When the wave of water hit Sharon, it lifted her off her feet and threw her at Callie. They both fell, and were swept for meters before a tree snagged Callie’s rucksack. She instinctively reached out and grabbed the slender trunk with her left hand, wrapping the other arm under Sharon’s armpit. She struggled to maintain her grasp on either. Slowly, she found purchase under the torrent, her boot connecting with rock, and she worked her way forward till she could get the tree wedged into the crook of her left elbow, and bring her hands together to grip each other across Sharon’s chest. It was a fight to keep the other woman’s face out of the water. If Callie tipped back too far while trying to help her friend breathe, they’d both be swept away.

  “Sharon! Callie!” It was Adam. He’d shed his rucksack somewhere and clambered towards them, a rope in his hands. Behind him came Kain.

  Adam looped the rope around his chest and passed the other end to Kain. Callie couldn’t hear their conversation over the roar of the water, but Adam’s gestures to Kain made the plan clear. Kain would brace the rope around a sturdy tree, playing it out as Adam needed it, and help haul them back in when the moment came.

  Adam shouted, “Callie, you’ll need to let go of Sharon the moment we start pulling, and grab the tree at the same time. Can you do that?”

  “I think so.” What else could she say? She tried to wedge her boot more firmly into the notch in the rock below.

  “Sharon, give me your hands! On three. Ready? One. Two. Three. Let go!”

  Callie released and Sharon was free. The force of water swung Callie backwards but she fought her way back, renewing her grip on the narrow trunk.

  A few more moments and she too was up and out of the flood. She huddled with Sharon in the mud, holding her tight as the rain poured down, both of them weeping aloud. And she didn’t care who saw her tears this time.

  ***

  Callie looked for a chance to talk to Jack alone. She got it the next day, as the group lunched on crispbread and peanut butter, sitting in tussock grass on a mountain pass. They’d been climbing steeply upwards for hours, and she knew Bryan would crack the whip and drive them onwards again before she’d had nearly enough time to recover. At least it wasn’t raining.

  A fat and fluffy green and brown parrot walked right up to Jack’s rucksack when he was distracted, and used its hooked beak to explore and then grasp his boot-cleaning cloth where it dangled from the straps, drying. It tugged the cloth free, and waddled away with it. Jack crept after the kea, apparently hoping to trade a piece of his lunch (precious) for the cloth (irreplaceable).

  Callie waited till the hostage-ransom exchange had taken place, then walked over quietly to join man and bird, who were now “chatting”. The kea turned its head from side to side as Jack explained how much trouble he’d be in with his expedition leader if he couldn’t clean his boots at night.

  Callie smiled. “You’re a nutcase, Jack.”

  “Yeah, but you’ve gotta admit he’s cute.”

  She laughed. “He’s a thief and a vandal.”

  “He reminds me of Rufus. My dog.” When she gave him an incredulous look, he added, “It’s the head tilts. Rufus does that. It’s like kryptonite, I’m powerless before it. He might have just shredded the bath mat, and I’m trying to tell him off, but three head tilts and all is forgiven.”

  She laughed again, and felt some of the tension ease out of her shoulders.

  Jack said, “Oops. Attila alert.”

  She glanced around. About ten meters away, Bryan glared at them. For a conservationist, he had a patchy attitude to wildlife. He’d made his intolerance of the cheeky and destructive parrots quite clear during several previous encounters.

  Callie sat down on a rock. “Speaking of Attila… does he worry you?”

  “Yes.” He held her gaze, his face serious. “Something’s not right.”

  “He was always weird, but this is… different. Like he’s barely keeping his anger under control. And he just keeps pushing us, like recruits at boot camp, who need to be humiliated.” She looked at the ground. “I’m having trouble. Not fit enough.”

  “Me too. I expected a challenge, but there’s nothing like this terrain at home.” She could have kissed him for the admission.

  “I’m worried about Sharon,” she continued. “She needs rest. Her jeans are still damp from yesterday. Her thighs must be red-raw by now.”

  The two women had been sodden after the flash flood. As they were designed to do, Callie’s hi-tech garments had dried quickly, and they were wearable and warming even while wet. Sharon’s cheaper versions didn’t perform so well, and her jeans were hopeless. An hour steaming over the campfire hadn’t dried them.

  Jack said, “Erica’s knees are a mess too. It’s the downhills. She’s never been anywhere you have to descend so steeply for so long.”

  “Could you talk to Bryan? Ask him to slow down? You were always closest to him at school.” She saw Jack tense at that statement, and wondered why.

  “I’ll try.”

  She watched him have a discreet conversation with Bryan as they prepared to depart a short time later. Judging by Bryan’s posture, it wasn’t going well.

  ***

  Days passed, and nothing improved. Callie found distraction in helping Jack with his documentary. Here at least was something she was good at. She wangled interviews, set up shots, smoothed irritations when people resented the camera. They gradually grew immune to its watchful eye, as people do with any sustained intrusion.

  The camera was waterproof and shockproof—and it needed to be. She watched him mount it on a head strap to record his own eye view, hold it by hand, use a mini tripod with bendy legs to stand it on a rock, or attach it to a tree branch. The raw footage previewed on the tiny screen looked surprisingly good.

  ***

  As they made camp on Day Five, Callie listened to Kain and Erica bickering, and tried not to be pleased.

  She saw Adam head to the river for water. Jack followed, an intensity in his bearing. Callie decided she needed to see something down at the river too.

  As she approached them, Adam was saying, “I agree.” His expression was serious.

  Jack nodded to acknowledge her presence, but continued addressing Adam. “If we turned back, do you think you could find the way?”

  “The Northern Territory is nothing like here,” Adam said. “Maybe I’d find the way back, or maybe we’d cross into the wrong valley and go round in circles for weeks. Sharon wouldn’t cope with that, and Rachel would run out of insulin. That rain is unbelievable. It destroys our tracks.”

  Jack sighed, and shrugged.

  Adam said, “Today is the half-way point. Maybe we’re better off sticking with Bryan.”

  ***

  On Day Seven, the issue became more urgent when Sharon fell and struggled to get up again.

  This time, Erica joined the huddle. “Sharon needs to be airlifted out of here,” she said. “At the very least, she needs a rest day.”

  Callie nodded. “Somehow, we need to get Bryan to listen. He doesn’t understand what it’s like to be us.”

  Jack said, “But if we all gang up on him, he’ll probably dig his heels in.”

  Adam said, “How about you and I go talk to him, Jack?”

  Callie stayed beside Erica and watched what followed, trying not to be too obvious. Bryan kept his arms folded across his chest as the deputation made its case.

  When the men returned to them, Adam shrugged in frustration. “He says a helicopter wouldn’t be authorized unless her condition was life-threatening. And the best thing to do for her is to get to where we’re going.”

  Jack said, “I wouldn’t be surprised if he pushes us even harder now.”

  Erica huffed. “Why don’t you guys just hold him down while Callie and I dig that damn satellite phone out of his rucksack.” Her face was red with anger.

  Callie’s eyes went to the rucksack in question, and she saw the others looking too. But nobody acted.

  6
/>   Single file, they trudged along a gritty beach under a sky the color of hammered pewter. It was almost over.

  In the middle of the line-up, Callie’s ankle throbbed from a twisting skid on moss. She’d lost so much weight in the past ten days that her clothes were loose. This had thrilled her, one consolation on the dismal “holiday”. But now she’d consider trading a kidney for a greasy plate of hot chips.

  A hot shower. A steak. A soft bed. Soon.

  Ahead, Rachel was taking her turn to support Sharon as she limped along valiantly. They’d redistributed most of her load.

  The final challenge was to make their boat connection in time to beat the storm building offshore. Rolling swells heaved onto the beach and sucked back out into the long horseshoe-shaped bay, its sides steep and dark. They’d begun at a lake and finished at the ocean, water to water.

  Bryan turned to look back at the group. “Hurry. We must reach our target by eight o’clock.”

  Callie guessed they must have hiked two or three kilometers along the waterline, from sand to shingle and now jagged rocks, and yet the headland where the bay met the ocean seemed just as far away. Her thighs were strong after so many days of trekking, and yet they ached from the long descent. Her sore ankle notified her of every false step on the haphazard surface.

  “How will they ever get us on a boat in this sea?” she said to Adam behind her.

  “They can’t. We’ll have to find somewhere to camp for the night and hope they come back in the morning.”

  “So why do we keep on marching like maniacs?”

  “Because when Bryan says march, we march. That’s the way it works, apparently. I don’t care anymore.”

  Bryan strode onwards, surefooted through fallen boulders and striated granite. They followed numbly, dipping close to the waterline, skidding on the slime. He led them in a last exhausting upward scramble onto a huge, elevated slab of granite that jutted out into the water, moved confidently to the seaward edge and turned to face them. Glancing over her shoulder, Callie checked that Jack’s camera was rolling as he clambered up behind the others. He had it clamped in the head-strap, and nodded at her.

  The walkers jostled for a safe perch. The granite surface was difficult for their boots to grip and sloped gently but meaningfully towards the pumping sea. The platform on which they stood had commenced life as part of the mountain somewhere far above, and apparently had ambitions to one day become part of the ocean floor. Behind Bryan, the restless bay made a monochrome backdrop in the dull light—black water, white foam, steely sky. One careless step backwards would be enough to take him off the edge, dropping at least the height of a two-story building into that demented water. Part of her was tempted to give him a shove, after the horror he’d put them through. The other part knew they couldn’t afford to lose the safety and navigational gear that he carried—not just yet.

  Callie could see she wasn’t the only one who found the setting intimidating. Erica was breathing hard. Kain looked uneasy. Sharon teetered and gasped, almost losing her balance. Rachel grabbed the hand she thrust out sideways, steadying her. Behind them, the fortress of forested rock rose steeply above, offering no refuge.

  “Where’s the boat?” said Sharon. “Have we missed it?”

  “We’re at the end of our journey,” Bryan announced.

  Cold fingers of foreboding ran down Callie’s spine. He was much too close to the edge. And how could anything but a very large vessel collect them from this high platform?

  “Welcome to Poison Bay.” Bryan’s voice was like dry ice.

  Kain said, “What do you mean? Why is it poison?”

  Bryan flushed. “That’s its name: Poison Bay.”

  “Why is it called that?”

  Jack said, “Kain, I think the point is why Bryan has brought us here instead of to Milford Sound.”

  “Why have you brought us here, Bryan?” said Callie. She used her television voice, calm and strong. Her insides felt more like the sea.

  “Because the Shadow Land told me that I must bring you to the bay of poison.”

  He sounded like a Tolkien character, but no one teased him.

  “This day and this hour is ten years, the time of completion. My suffering is ending, and yours is beginning. I have earned my release. It has been a battle to get you all here at the appointed time. But it is finished, and now the Shadow Land will purify us all.”

  They stared, speechless, and then Jack spoke. “Purify us from what?”

  “How can you be so complacent that you forget what you owe? You must pay for the murder of Liana and her baby!”

  “Bryan, we didn’t murder Liana,” Callie said. “We all let her down in different ways. We were gutted by her death, and we will see it in our heads forever. But we didn’t kill Liana, and neither did you. Liana killed Liana.”

  “You did kill her! Some of you did wicked things. Others avoided doing the right things. You all know the secrets you carry. For ten years Liana and her baby have lain in the cemetery, waiting for justice. I have paid and paid, and now you will too.” He paused and stared at them, one by one. Callie found herself transfixed by the way his nostrils flared in and out with each breath. “You know what you deserve. Not one of you will leave the Shadow Land alive!”

  He took a decisive step backwards, the arch of his sole connecting firmly with the angled edge of the rock. He pushed hard, launching his body up and out. The weight of the rucksack tipped him as he fell, so that he hit the ocean spreadeagled. The black water rose up and swallowed him whole.

  7

  The oxygen was sucked out of the universe and time stopped for one second, two seconds, three seconds.

  Callie started as Jack and Adam moved simultaneously. In swift silence, they unclipped harnesses, piled packs against the rock wall with jackets, followed by boots. Jack shoved his camera, still rolling, into Callie’s hand and she stared at it, her mind stuck. It only dislodged itself as the two men leaped off that awful edge, following Bryan into the water.

  “Jack! Adam!” she screamed. “The water’s too cold. You won’t survive!” Twelve degrees, that’s all she could think of. With ice on the bottom, and Bryan’s mouth frozen open eternally. And she had made it happen by imagining it that first day.

  The men dived frantically after Bryan, again and again, disappearing for eternal seconds before bobbing up to gulp air.

  The whole time, pressed hard against the rock wall, Sharon screamed—thin, terrified, animal noises. Rachel tried to quieten her, an arm around Sharon’s shoulders, rubbing her arm, rubbing, rubbing.

  Kain and Erica stood like pillars of salt, watching with their mouths open. Callie ditched her pack and scrabbled back down the brutal rocks they’d climbed just minutes ago, her goal the slippery section near the waterline, low enough and wide enough for the swimmers to come ashore. She stood panting, pointing the camera in their general direction, but couldn’t bring herself to focus on the viewfinder.

  The two men were tiring.

  “Adam! Jack! You have to come in,” she yelled, but the wind grabbed her words and flung them into the mountains.

  Finally the two men began to swim for the position where she stood, and she was glad of her orange jacket to guide them to shore in the failing light. Her heart hammered against her ribcage. The sea was still rising, sometimes slopping across her boots, but she ignored it.

  Adam drew close, but he couldn’t grip the slimy rock. Each time, the sea sucked him away. She shoved the camera in her pocket and tried to grab him, but he was pulled from her grasp, and she felt her back muscles scream.

  “Kain!” Callie screamed. Still on the platform above, he stared at her, eyes wide. “Help me get him in!”

  Finally his paralysis broke. He shouldered out of his pack and clambered down to where she stood. His strong arms grabbed Adam’s hand on the next heave of water, and hauled him ashore over the rock.

  Adam lay gasping, and Callie looked back to Jack. She grabbed the camera again and point
ed it towards him, out of some inexplicable instinct to honor his wishes, and thought: Am I filming his death? He was maybe twenty meters from shore now, caught in the current. He was trying to swim, but his arms slopped feebly against the waves.

  Kain’s voice boomed, startling Callie. “Swim across the current, Jack! Don’t swim against it!”

  Jack seemed to hear and struck out in a different direction. After just a few strokes, he disappeared under a huge swell. When he finally came up, he sputtered and looked around desperately.

  Callie realized she was weeping aloud. Oh God, save him.

  Kain cast his boots and jacket aside and dived into the water, striking out smoothly towards Jack. Even his effortless strokes weren’t fast enough, and Jack disappeared again.

  The tawny head reappeared, mouth gaping to suck in air, just as Kain reached him. In one fluid movement Kain tucked him under his arm in the lifesaving position. He pulled him back across the heaving water with efficient, practiced strokes.

  Drawing near to Callie, Kain trod water, and judged his approach. He swept ashore on the peak of the wave, dragging Jack with him, their clothes and flesh tearing against the rock. The two lay tangled, Kain catching his breath while Jack vomited seawater and heaved with shock and exhaustion.

  Kain clambered upright and began a first-aid assessment of Jack, while glancing over his shoulder at Adam, who was shivering violently and weeping in gasps.

  “Where was Kain when Bryan was sinking?” Erica said, materializing at Callie’s shoulder. “Surely if anyone could have saved him, he was the one.”

  Callie snapped, “Everyone reacts differently to shock.” But disturbingly similar questions were swirling in her own mind.

  8

  We were supposed to be eating at a restaurant tonight. That was all Jack could think of as a small part of his brain listened to Callie and Rachel rummaging in packs behind him. Not much food left—why would there be? They were meant to be in a hotel.

  A friend was dead, seven lives were on the line, and all he could think about was the food he was meant to be eating. Beef maybe, or some succulent NZ lamb. Something hot and fresh and real, and not decreed for him by another. A thought that he could almost taste.