Mike Dixon

He went to the door and shielded his eyes. A plane was
coming in low. So low it seemed to be surfing. The wings
dropped when the engines spluttered and rose when they
burst back into life. David was reminded of times when the
inflatable was low on fuel. When that happened he nursed his
craft home. He kept her on a level keel and didn‟t do anything
to upset the delicate balance.
The guy flying the plane hadn‟t learnt that simple lesson.
He was throwing his rig around like he could make it do any-
thing he wanted. His final stupid act was to go into a tight
turn. David watched in disbelief. Didn‟t the idiot know that
the little fuel remaining in his tanks would be swept to one
side? If it ended up in the fuel lines that was a plus. If it went
the other way it was a minus.
It was a catastrophic minus. The engines died halfway
through the turn. The plane lost power and the pilot was
forced to dump. He splashed down on the mudflat throwing
up sheets of spray. The undercarriage collapsed and the aircraft
continued on a forward glide, skidding towards the con-
trol shed.
It came so close David could see the people inside. They
stared back at him with startled faces. One had a flying jacket.
Another wore a business suit and held a doll in a cheq-
uered dress. Caught in a brilliant shaft of light the plane and
the people looked totally unreal. Then David realized that the
man was Harald and the doll was Anne. He jumped from the
shed and ran after them.
Only a few small mangroves stood between the plane and
the creek. It ploughed through their puny branches and
plunged into the raging waters. David ran to the bank and
saw the stricken craft carried along, nose up, tail down. It
smashed into a submerged tree and remained there – bob-
bing up and down.
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