Chapter Eighteen
CHAPTER
18
Astrid, sitting at the front of the twelve-seater bus that picks me up at five on Monday morning, introduces me to the driver and the rest of the crew. Dougie, the cameraman, is middle-aged with a cheeky smile, Sue and Lena oversee camp set-up and catering, and Adam, a gofer who was on The Dragon Slayers set when Athena fell, seems to be everybody’s assistant. Our first stop, a disused railway tunnel, is in a national park over a hundred kilometres south of Summerfield.
‘Why did you choose that location?’
Astrid pulls her hair into a bun. ‘Kit wanted it.’
Two hours later, after turning off the highway and bumping over potholed minor roads and fire trails, we arrive at a camping ground with toilet and showering facilities. Erik, dressed in similar khaki greens to the Viking, lifts a hand in welcome but Kit’s hands stay by his sides. He hasn’t shaved in a while: his stubble is particularly dark. My chest tightens with an emotion I’d prefer not to think about as I follow Astrid out of the bus to the trailer hitched to the back.
Kit intercepts me. ‘Mackenzie.’
Deep breath. ‘Hey.’
It’s not his most ferocious frown, but a frown nonetheless. ‘Do you fear the dark?’
I take a step back. ‘No.’
‘Do you have claustrophobia?’
‘No.’
What if I did have claustrophobia or was afraid of the dark? Is he being considerate or doubting my abilities?
‘Where should I put my bag?’
He points to the far side of two marquees with high roofs and square sides, where a family of eight two-man tents have been pitched.
‘Second from the left.’ He glances at my feet. ‘Do you have waterproof boots?’
‘As I have everything on Astrid’s list, yes.’
After Kit walks away to join Astrid and Dougie by the tents, Erik greets me warmly, taking my hand between both of his.
‘It’s good to see you looking so well. Any long-term side effects from your fall?’
‘I won’t be doing cartwheels for a while, but no.’
He laughs. ‘Excellent.’
‘Astrid told me about the disused rail tunnel. It’s the glow-worm tunnel, isn’t it?’
He glances at Kit, head lowered as he talks to Dougie. ‘There and back, including the tunnel, is a ten-kilometre trip. Manageable, I hope.’
‘I’m back at work. I’m fit.’
He rubs his hands together. ‘A jacket, footwear, get yourself something to eat.’ He looks at his watch. ‘We leave in an hour.’
***
The railway tunnel, dating from the late 1800s, was built to transport coal and other minerals to the coast at Wollongong, but as it was prone to flooding it was closed. Both sides of the track are fringed with native grasses and shrubs, banksia, bottlebrush and eucalypts. Rain, a light and powdery drizzle, dampens my hair and I pull up my hood. I walk silently, breathe in the scents and imagine—
‘What do you think?’ Astrid asks.
I know the scientific names of all of these plants, how they reproduce, their ideal growing conditions and a lot of other things. Is that what Astrid wants? Or …
‘The rain is good.’
Frowning slightly, she points through the trees to a gate and sign. ‘The tunnel is through there.’
The entrance is around five metres tall and the arch is brick and sandstone. We’re out of the rain, but there are puddles on the ground.
Dougie winks. ‘I hope it doesn’t flood.’
Within seconds of entering the tunnel, the light disappears and we rely on torches. Ground water laps over my gumboots and splashes the legs of my jeans. The walls are wet too. Damp and close and—
Astrid touches my arm. ‘All right?’
We’ve walked four kilometres and there are only six to go. ‘I’m fine.’
The ground is level, but the rocks underfoot are fist sized and slippery and the railway tracks are a trip hazard. Astrid, Dougie and I lead the way. Behind us, Adam, earphones over his ears, clicks a beat. Kit and Erik speak in Norwegian. Mostly the Viking says ‘nei’ and ‘ja’. Once, he laughs, a rumble that bounces off the walls.
The torch lights shine cylindrical cones at our feet. Astrid’s boots are boring black like Dougie’s, mine are red and white and—
‘Stop,’ Kit says quietly. Up ahead of us, the ceiling is scattered with pinpricks of light. ‘Night light only.’
‘We got the directive,’ Dougie says.
‘Keep your voice down,’ Astrid whispers. ‘They don’t like light or noise.’
Glow-worms aren’t strictly worms, but bioluminescent bugs. To attract prey—insects like mosquitos, midges and mayflies—they produce stringy, sticky, luminous blue threads. The longer we stand in the dark, the more lights we see. Thousands of lights, sparkling constellations. I blink and rub my eyes. More appear.
Keeping our torches on the puddles in front of us, we walk a few hundred metres through the lights.
‘ Arachnocampa richardsae ,’ I whisper.
Astrid touches my arm. ‘What?’
‘The Latin name.’
***
Erik tells me that Astrid will ask the on-camera questions. The rain has eased, but the track leading from the far end of the tunnel to the camping ground is overgrown and the foliage is wet. Dougie positions me in a clearing, the upright gold flowers of a bottlebrush behind me, and measures the light.
‘Give me a hand, Adam.’
Adam pulls a protein ball from his pocket, throwing it high before catching it and popping it into his mouth. He sets up the tripod and Dougie attaches the video camera. Erik and Kit stand next to Astrid, facing me. Why don’t they turn around and look at the towering gums or the watery orange sun?
As Dougie stands behind the camera, I do my best to remember James’s instructions and search for the dot he told me about. Did he say it’d be red? Does it only light up when the camera is on? Am I supposed to tidy my hair? I didn’t worry about any of these things when Dad held up his camera. I raise my arms to pull my hair back before lowering my right arm to rub the ache away.
Astrid looks up from her notebook. ‘Can I ask questions?’
I’ve never been interviewed for a job. Besides mucking around with Dad and riding on Athena’s back, I’ve never been filmed. But …
I do my best to smile at Astrid. ‘That’s why I’m here.’
‘What did you think about the walk through the tunnel?’
Cold. Dark. Wet. ‘I liked the glow-worms.’
Her gaze goes back to the notebook. ‘How did the tunnel and the glow-worms make you feel? Was there a contrast to the Summerfield mine?’
Is this a trick question? ‘Nothing grows at the mine.’
‘How can that be improved?’
‘Get water back into the environment.’ My words are stilted. ‘Rehabilitation.’
A hesitation. ‘What would your grandfather have thought of the glow-worms?’
I’ve had zero reception since we left the campsite. If I can’t get onto the nursing home when we get back, I’ll have to ask Astrid if I can borrow the satellite phone and—
‘Mac?’
‘Grandpa would’ve liked them.’
‘How did you know their Latin name?’
What if Grandpa isn’t okay? What if … ‘Probably Dad.’
Kit pockets his compass. Dougie pops up from around the camera, gives me a smiling nod.
‘That’s the way. Keep going.’
‘Glow-worms are larvae.’ The words shoot out.
‘Let’s try something else.’ Astrid flicks a page. ‘The tunnel was associated with mines that operated over a hundred years ago. Does seeing life in the tunnel give you hope?’
‘Summerfield is an open-cut mine. It doesn’t have tunnels.’
‘What do you hope for at Summerfield?’
‘Not glow-worms but …’ My gumboot squeaks when I move my toes. My shoulder is throbbing, not unusual at the end of a day. ‘Insects, plants, animals, birds. Like I’ve told you before, if there’s water, they’ll come back.’
‘Look up, Mac,’ Dougie says kindly. ‘And speak a little louder if you can.’
Kit steps forward. ‘That’s enough.’
‘I can—’
‘We’ll go back.’
I want to go back. I want to change my clothes and call the nursing home. But I can’t help imagining how Grandpa, likely dancing on the spot with enthusiasm, would have answered Astrid’s questions. In all of my seventy-five years, I’ve never seen stars glowing as much as those little critters! Imagine! Bugs thriving in a tunnel that, in my grand-father’s day, lugged loads of coal down the coast. The glow from those worms was energy pure and simple. A natural source of energy like solar and wind and hydro …
‘Will I have other opportunities?’ I ask. ‘Other chances?’
Astrid closes her notebook. ‘If that’s what you want.’
‘Isn’t that what this is all about? Me being able to talk in front of a camera?’
‘It’s essential.’
‘I might have done better in an environment I’m familiar with. If I were sketching or talking to you about plants, it would have been easier.’
Kit unlocks his jaw. ‘This isn’t personal.’
‘It is to me.’
His eyes are unreadable. ‘We didn’t—’
‘Did we come here because the hiking was easy?’
Erik considers me closely before turning to Kit. ‘Selvtillit. What is the English word?’
A frown. Then, after glancing at me, he expels a breath. ‘Confidence.’
‘Mac isn’t accustomed to communicating her passion for Summerfield, or for the planet.’ Erik nods thoughtfully. ‘She lacks confidence in this.’
The rain has eased but the shadows are long and the sky is streaky grey. Suddenly cold, I pick up my bag, undo the zip and search for my beanie.
‘Adam …’ Dougie struggles to separate the camera from the tripod. ‘What have you done here?’ Muttering in annoyance, Dougie balances one of the tripod’s legs on his knee and wrestles with a fastening. When he yanks at a clip and yanks again, the tripod tips forward and slips from his grasp.
‘Mac!’
I hold my arm in front of my face and turn to one side. ‘Oh!’
The pain in my chest takes my breath. My knees wobble. A wave of nausea. My legs give way and I drop to my knees.
‘Mackenzie!’ Kit, cursing expletives as he pushes the others aside, puts a hand either side of my body and lowers me to the ground so I’m sitting. I put my head between my knees. My eyes water. I gag and rock back and forth. Kit’s hand sweeps up my back, across my shoulders and down my back again. ‘Fuck.’
‘Mac?’ Astrid kneels in front of me. ‘Where did it hit? Your arm?’
Turning my head, I wipe my face on my sleeve. I scrub my face on my sleeve. ‘My eyes are watering. I’m not …’ I suck in a breath. ‘I’m not crying.’
Dougie curses. ‘Call for help!’
‘No.’ I sniff, hiccup. ‘Give me a minute.’
Kit’s hand is steady on my back, but his body is tense. Does he want to cut through my jacket with his knife? I move my arm tentatively. Sore but not too sore. My chest hurts but there are no sharp pains, and besides swallowing tears, my breathing is okay. Birds whistle and screech. My knees are wet and dirty. A frog croaks.
I’m not sure how long my head is down, but by the time I look up, it’s darker than it was. I bite my lip, feel gingerly around my arm. When I put my good hand on the ground, water seeps through my fingers. I sit straighter again, wipe my hand on my pants.
I’m not aware of shivering until Kit takes off his jacket and wraps it carefully over my shoulders. When he leans over me and fastens a clasp at my neck, my heart rate picks up. I shouldn’t feel like this, I don’t want to. As I sit forward to support my own weight, he shifts from sitting to crouching and puts his hands either side of my waist.
‘I’ll help you to stand.’
Isn’t it safer like this? On the ground. Out of his way. ‘I’ll be okay.’ I wriggle backwards, roll onto my knees, take a very deep breath and—
‘Ahhh.’ I squeeze my eyes tight, sit back on my bottom, lighten my breaths. When I open my eyes, Kit is staring.
‘It’s your collarbone,’ he says.