Hoki turned and saw the night had ended. The sun was burning a line on the horizon, marking the coming of a new day. Arnie was way ahead but the black squad of seashags was closing in.
Oh no, this can’t be happening, Hoki thought. She saw that Kawanatanga had been joined by all the seabirds of the world. For as far as she could see, seabirds had come to block the way to Wellington. They had come across the sea, white feathers across blue ocean. They were sitting on the telegraph poles, fences, everywhere.
Gasping with fear, Hoki realised that Skylark and Arnie needed reinforcements. But where from? She concentrated very hard, and the answer came to her.
Come, manu whenua, Hoki called. Cleave a path for Skylark so that she might fulfil her destiny.
The wind began to stir. There was a cyclone as birds of the land heeded Hoki’s calclass="underline" pigeons, thrushes, ducks, swans, quails, pheasants, waterfowls, parrots, stilts, kingfishers, cuckoos, doves, rollers all. Above the main body of birds, swifts volleyed across the sky on long scimitar-shaped wings. They were joined in their aerial acrobatics by the high-flying hawks and falcons. But their numbers were so small compared to the seabirds. Hoki’s heart went out to them as, with a great shrilling and whistling, they joined in battle with the seabirds. Even the humble sparrow was there, trying in his own way to help. The clamour shook Heaven, and Hoki put her hands up to her ears because of the din and closed her eyes because she was afraid to witness the outcome.
When Hoki opened her eyes, the dream had transformed itself. Well done, birds of the forest. The manu whenua had created enough of a diversion to allow Skylark and Arnie to pass through to Wellington. But not for long. As the ute approached Wellington Harbour, Hoki saw that Kawanatanga had resumed his relentless pursuit.
Skylark, beware the outstretched necks of the seashags.
Hoki’s dream exploded. She sat up, her heart pumping hard. She was so worried that it took her a long time to calm down. She went to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. The pot was still warm, so Hoki knew Mitch and Bella had already left for the morning shift on the cliff top. There, Mitch was talking to Bella about the seabirds, the ripped sky — and Skylark. Sometimes he had an uncanny knack of asking the right question, of moving a piece of jigsaw puzzle into a place where it might fit.
“There’s one thing about Skylark I don‘t understand,” he said to Bella. “How come she’s the chick? She doesn’t even come from here.”
Bella didn’t take much notice of Mitch’s question at first. She aimed her shotgun at the sky and let off the first shot of the day. Bang. And the jigsaw piece clicked into place: Cora’s hospital chart.
Middle name Agnes. Born Christchurch 1960.
What was it about 1960 that bothered her? Then she realised: 1960 was the same year that her sister, Agnes, had left Tuapa.
“Arnie? Arnie, are you awake?”
Skylark was sitting in the driver’s seat. Arnie was dozing beside her. They’d made good time to Wellington, and through the windscreen they saw vehicles being marshalled to drive onto the ferry. The day was dark, miserable, and bucketing down with rain. Ahead of them lay the prospect of another wild Cook Strait crossing.
“What’s up?” Arnie asked, as he stirred.
“We’ll be driving onto the ferry soon. I was wondering if you would like a coffee or something. You really need something warm inside you.”
“Not if I’m going sailing I don’t,” Arnie said. “Look at the weather! Won’t it ever let up?”
“Maybe you should stay in Wellington,” Skylark suggested. “You could wait for tomorrow’s sailing.”
“And let you go on by yourself? No way.”
Secretly, Skylark was glad that Arnie felt that way. She’d grown used to his company. Even though she’d never admit it, it would have been difficult to get this far without him.
“Whether you like it or not, you’re still getting something into your stomach before we get on the ferry,” she said.
Skylark got out of the ute and ran to the terminal. Inside, all was bedlam. A number of sailings had been cancelled. Passengers were sitting on the floors as well as the seats. Arguing. Playing cards. Sleeping. Waiting. The only sign of liveliness came from a group of Swedish backpackers for whom this kind of weather was second nature.
Skylark picked her way through the crowd to the self-service food bar: pies, oily chips in cardboard canisters, sandwiches masquerading as BLTs and, aha, soup with toast.
“I’ll have your soup to go,” Skylark ordered. “Two black coffees as well. Oh yes, and three of those milk chocolate bars, thanks.”
The waitperson, who seemed to think she was working at some upmarket establishment, took Skylark’s money and began to service the order … and that’s when it happened. Something clicked and popped inside her head, as if someone was dialling long distance. The connection was made — and Skylark’s first thought was: Oh no, maybe I am the one after all.
As clear as day she saw Kawanatanga and his seashag squad, and they were closing in on Wellington Harbour. Then she heard Hoki’s voice:
Skylark, beware the outstretched necks of the seashags.
The warning sent Skylark staggering out of the terminal. She pushed past the people in the waiting line, almost tripped.
“But Miss, your order,” the waitperson called.
Skylark was already running fast. Out of the humid interior she went, into the rain. For a moment all was confusion. The noise, the traffic, the bustling port. Where was the ute?
Skylark heard the giant rear doors of the ferry open. A marshall came forward and began to wave the cars in. Skylark kept looking at the sky. So far it was clear. She reached the ute, swung herself in and started the engine.
“I thought you were getting us some food,” Arnie said.
“There was a queue,” Skylark answered. “I realised we’d be boarding soon. See? We’re moving.”
But why was it taking so long? Skylark had never been patient. Not only that, but her mind was ticking over all the variables. Arnie and ferries didn’t mix, check. Out here they were sitting ducks, check. But even when they boarded the seashags would know they were on the ferry, checkmate. She compressed her lips, nodded to herself and made a decision.
“Hold on tight, Arnie, we’re going to Plan B.”
“Get a grip, Skylark, there isn’t a Plan B. We have to get on the ferry.”
Skylark reversed. The truck behind her blared its horn as she bumped it. Arnie watched wide-eyed.
“Rubbish,” Skylark said. “There’s always a Plan B. Harrison Ford had one in Star Wars. Bruce Willis had one in The Fifth Element. How are we going to save the world from the Evil Empire without a Plan B? Let me think. Wasn’t Carrie Fisher in this same situation in Star Wars? When the Imperial Troops boarded her spaceship and they had her trapped at both ends of the corridor, what did she do?”
“She blasted a hole through the wall.”
“Why, Arnie.” Skylark smiled sweetly. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
Next moment, Skylark had wrenched the steering wheel, this time bumping the car in front. She pulled out of the queue, made an illegal right turn and sped past the marshall. He waved desperately at her to stop. She saw a railway shunter coming towards her.
“Back up, Skylark! Back up,” Arnie yelled.
“Trust in the force,” Skylark answered. After all, there was plenty of room for her to squeeze through on the right of the train and — wasn’t that an exit coming up? Sure it was a one-way on-ramp, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Skylark touched the accelerator and roared up the on-ramp to the motorway. Now the problem was how to get into the correct citybound lane. No sweat. A couple of big bumps later, and Skylark had taken the ute across the median and pulled it into the line of traffic streaming into Wellington.