Free The Amazing Spencer Gray by Deb Fitzpatrick Page B

over and over above his head, but he knew there was no way anyone in the chopper could see him through the thick grey curtain of rain. They weren’t up high enough to see them. They’d have to change direction and altitude; the best chance he had of being found was if the chopper flew directly over the crash site. He imagined the scene the rescue people would glimpse from above: the sudden whiteness of the Drifter, the trail of flattened trees, the smear of destruction.
    Then, all of a sudden, as if it were sucked into a black hole, it was gone. The sound and the colour just disappeared. Spencer turned around, put his hands around his ears to maybe catch the vibration of the big rotor through the air—any noise from the helicopterat all—but there was nothing. Nothing but gutless punches from the wind. Spencer fell backwards off the Drifter, and lay there, on a medley of bushes, winded, shocked, wild with hope and fear.
    Had the rescue chopper crashed as well? Or had the crew just not seen the Drifter and decided to look elsewhere, or go back? Spencer’s stomach inside-outed itself. He wondered if he would ever find out.

31
    â€˜Bell Rescue to Skippers Cove, pick up Skippers, over.’
    Reg picked up the receiver. ‘I read you, Bell Rescue, over.’
    There was a bit of static on the line, but Reg could make out the words, delivered with some anxiety: ‘Squally winds making it too dangerous up here. We’re coming back in to Skippers, Reg, I repeat, we are returning to base, over.’
    â€˜Copy that, Dan. Take it easy up there. Over and out.’
    Reg looked at the landline out of the corner of his eye. Bugger. The search wouldn’t resume now until first light tomorrow.
    Next to him, the window was suddenly peppered with heavy rain spots. It was dark, and it was only 5pm.
    Reg picked up the phone again and dialed Suzie’s number.

32
    Spencer’s voice sounded strange in the space around them. ‘It’s getting dark, Dad,’ he said. ‘Here, have some more water.’ Spencer felt like an alien as he dabbed Dad’s lips. He hadn’t told him about the chopper; what was the point?
    â€˜I’m gunna see if I can sleep now, Dad. Well, I’m gunna try. And in the morning I’m going to head down to the road.’
    The rain filled the gaps.
    â€˜To get help. It might be quicker than ... waiting, you know?’ They’d never come back now. ‘It shouldn’t take too long for me to get down to the road. Not more than a few hours. We’re not at the top of the Bluff—I can’t even see the top—so that’s good.
    â€˜And I’ll leave a note, in case someone finds you here while I’m gone. I’ll put our names on it, and say that we’re from Skippers, and that it’s Saturday—well, it’ll be Sunday tomorrow, so I’ll put Sunday—and thatI’ve gone to get help. And what time it is when I leave.
    â€˜Okay, Dad?’
    Spencer nodded like his dad might. ‘Okay,’ he said to himself, in his deepest voice.
    Then he cleared a bit of space to lie down in. He had to curl up his body to make it fit. He reached over to the door, which was open a crack. Rain dripped over his hand as he pushed it open a little further.
    â€˜Bit of fresh air, hey, Dad?’ he whispered. ‘Bit of fresh air.’
    Okay.
    He imagined being at home in his bed, his special super-duper goosedown doona light and warm on top of him. His stomach pulled in tight.
    Quietly, Spencer cried hard. He was so scared. He tried to keep it down in that small space. The rain helped with that too.
    It was the longest of nights. How could the wreck of a plane make so much noise? From time to time it creaked like his dad moaned. It was like the Drifter was alive. The sounds were metallic, as if it was trying to un-wreck itself, twisting against its injuries. The wind found the crack of the door and swept in like an