Coasts of Cape York by Christopher Cummings

and he croaked, “Yes. I don’t want to talk about it thanks.”
    Marjorie, who had been at the farm the night Uncle Ted was murdered, gave him an understanding nod and squeezed his upper arm. Willy had to resist the temptation to put his arm around her and felt a surge of affection for her.
    The talk died away after a while as the cadets began to succumb to exhaustion. Just bracing against the continual rocking and sudden movements was tiring. When the anxiety and morbid memories were included it quickly added up. Willy badly wanted to be able to stretch out and sleep but there was nowhere he could.
    For another hour the flying boat powered up and down to maintain a safe position clear of the reefs. Willy found he needed to go to the toilet. He waited till he saw Flight Sgt Anderson come out and then made his way forward. After visiting the toilet, which was a nauseous experience because it was full to overflowing, Willy found he was thirsty. He made the few steps across to the galley to get a drink. A glance to the right showed Jacob sleeping on bedding placed on the floor of the crew cabin.
    The flight engineer was there and met his gaze. “Too rough for him to sleep on the bench seat,” he explained.
    â€œI’ll buy that,” Willy replied, bracing himself against another sudden lurch. “It’s getting rougher isn’t it?”
    â€œYes it is,” the flight engineer answered. He looked grey with fatigue himself and that made Willy even more anxious.
    At that moment the co-pilot came down the steps from the flight deck. He nodded to Willy and said to the flight engineer, “We are going to have to risk a take-off Cyril. The wind is not only picking up but is changing direction. It is swinging around to the north and is starting to blow straight down this channel between the two reefs.”
    The flight engineer nodded and looked grim. “So the sea will get even choppier and more unpredictable then. How long before the tide turns?”
    â€œIt turned about twenty minutes ago, just after midday,” the co-pilot answered, “But it will take a couple of hours to reverse its flow in any noticeable way. We can’t afford to hang around that long.”
    The co-pilot now turned to Willy. “Can you get your officer son? I need to brief him.”
    Willy made his way aft to the port blister where Flying Officer Turnbull was seated with two sick cadets. “Sir, the co-pilot would like to speak to you,” he said. From the blister he was able to see out over the miles of churned up sea and seeing that made him truly frightened. He realized he could no longer clearly see where the reefs were because the sea was so confused and there were so many whitecaps.
    â€˜We are in trouble,’ he thought.
    Flying Officer Turnbull made his way forward. A few minutes later he made his way aft, stopping to speak to groups of cadets as he did. At each person he checked they had their lifejackets on and their seatbelt securely fastened. When he reached Willy and his group he said, “We are going to take off. The captain warns that it will be rough and that it might be dangerous. You need to be ready to evacuate if we crash.”
    â€œCrash!” Marjorie gasped.
    Flight Sergeant Anderson gulped and looked scared. “Can’t they just motor around behind the reef or an island or something?”
    Flying Officer Turnbull shook his head. “I asked the captain that. He says that the problem is that the sea is becoming so confused that they can’t see the reefs clearly and we could run onto one.”
    â€œBetter to crash in the open sea,” CUO Mathieson added.
    Willy tried to imagine struggling out of a wrecked aircraft into the welter of surf on a coral reef. ‘We would just be ground to pulp,’ he thought. ‘That’s assuming we can even get out.’
    Then another ghastly thought came to him. ‘If we are down in the sea then the