Walkabout Read Free

Uncle Keith. In Adelaide.’
    She was surprised how much he’d remembered. Their plane had been bound for Adelaide.
    â€˜All right,’ she said slowly. ‘I’ll take you to Uncle Keith.’
    Instantly his sobbing stopped.
    â€˜When? Now?’
    â€˜Yes,’ she said, ‘now. We’ll start to walk to Adelaide.’

CHAPTER THREE
    S TURT PLAIN , where the aircraft had crashed, is in the centre of the Northern Territory. It is roughly the size of England and Wales combined; but instead of some 45,000,000 inhabitants, it has roughly 4,500, and instead of some 200,000 roads, it has two, of which one is a fair-weather stock route. Most of the inhabitants are grouped round three or four small towns – Tennant Creek, Hooker Creek, and Daly Waters – which means that the rest of the area is virtually uninhabited. The Plain is fourteen hundred miles from Adelaide and is not a good place to be lost in.
    Had they known enough to weigh up their chances, the children would have realized their only hope was to stay beside the wrecked plane; to rely on rescue from the air. But this never occurred to them. Adelaide was somewhere to the south. So southward they started to walk.
    The girl worked things out quietly, sensibly – she wasn’t the sort to get into a panic. The sun had risen there: on the left of the gully: so that would be east. South, then, must be straight ahead; down-stream. That was lucky. Perhaps they’d be able to follow the creek all the way to the sea; all the way to Adelaide. She knotted the four corners of Peter’s handkerchief,dipped it in the water, and draped it over his head – for already the sun was uncomfortably hot.
    â€˜Come on, Peter,’ she said, ‘let’s go.’
    She led the way down the gully.
    At first the going was easy. Close to the stream, rocks of granite and quartz provided safe footing; and the trees, sprouting from every pocket of clay, were thick enough to give a welcome shade, but not so thick that they hindered progress. Mary pushed steadily on.
    Soon the gully became wider, flatter, fanning into an open plain. Another rivulet joined theirs, and together the two of them went looping away down a shallow, sand-fringed valley. In the middle of the valley the undergrowth was thick; luxuriant. Brambles and underscrub slowed down their progress. But Mary didn’t want to lose sight of the stream. Determinedly she forced a way through the tangle of vegetation, turning every now and then to give her brother a hand. Ground-vines coiled and snaked and clutched at their feet; the decaying trunks of fallen trees perversely blocked their path; but the girl kept on, sorting out a line of least resistance, holding back the lower branches to protect Peter from their swing back.
    For two hours the boy followed her manfully; then he started to lag. Mary noticed at once; she cut across to the stream and sat down on a shelving slab of quartz.
    â€˜We’ll rest now,’ she said.
    Thankfully he collapsed beside her. She smoothedthe hair out of his eyes, plastering it back with its own sweat.
    For a long time there was silence; then came the question she had been dreading.
    â€˜I’m hungry, Mary. What we going to eat?’
    â€˜Oh, Peter! It’s not lunch-time yet.’
    â€˜When will it be?’
    â€˜I’ll tell you when.’
    But he wasn’t satisfied; not satisfied at all.
    â€˜When it is time, what we going to eat?’
    â€˜I’ll find something.’
    She didn’t tell him that ever since leaving the gully she’d been searching for berries; in vain. But he sensed her anxiety. His mouth started to droop.
    â€˜I’m hungry now,’ he said.
    Quickly she got up.
    â€˜All right. Let’s look for something to eat.’
    To start with – at least for the boy – it was an amusing game: part of their Big Adventure. They looked in the stream for fish; but the fish, such as