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    quokka
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

Desert Air - 9. DA Ch 9 - On the Loose

Firstly we need to get an update on what is happening, so Dad made a call to Mable Bar Police on the sat phone, and he went outside to make the call, so he could be undisturbed. When he returned about ten minutes later, he sighed and looked at the family, before taking a seat next to Mum.

“He is held up at our homestead, and although we didn’t know it before, we now know that his is armed, and very dangerous. All they have told me is that he has a foreign accent, and that he has already taken some pot shots at Sergeant Brooks, with Hedley Parkinson staying well back.

The police said they are sending more units from Newman and Port Hedland to the scene, and the tactical Response Group is flying up from Perth,” Dad announced. “Thank goodness you called us Jexon, to warn us of his approach, we are so glad that you thought of us,” Mums aid to me.

“Family always comes first, you guys taught me that,” I responded, and Dad nodded his head remembering the number of times he had mentioned it to me. “The Newman police will be coming up Marble Bar Road and turning off at Bonny Downs, so they will be passing us in about an hour’s time, while the Port Hedland Police are coming down the main highway and down the Woodstock road, and they will be there about 45 minutes before the Newman police.

The TRG will be flying to the Emu Pool Airstrip, and the Newman police will pick them up from there on their way through,” Dad informed us. “Wow, sounds like he is a really bad man,” Mary said to us looking a little upset.

“Yes, but we are all safe here, and we know where he is, so we don’t have to worry about him at all,” Mum responded. After our little family discussion, Mum and Dad thought that it is safe enough to let the kids play outside, but they had to keep very close to the main house, and not wonder off.

I sat under a tree to keep an eye on my younger siblings, and Rhodes sat next to me to read a book, as he was a very keen reader, and is rarely seen without a book in his hands.

As the day came to a close, we had Soup and toast for dinner, and luckily there was some teabags and sugar still in the cupboard, so our parents could enjoy a cuppa. When I was shaken awake in the very early hours of the night, I saw Dad standing over me, and he didn’t look to happy.

“Time to get back to work son, the madman as you called him has slipped past the police, and they are not sure where to look at this time of night,” Dad said to me. “Will you come with me?” I replied, as I jumped out of my swag on the lounge room floor and quickly dressed.

“Yes, I will be and Mum has made us some soup, and she we have already set out the vehicle along the side of the road to mark the road for you to take off,” Dad replied, as we headed outside, and rushed to the shed, where I left the plane, and I quickly did a spot check of the outside of the plane, while Dad climbed into the back passenger seat.

Once in the air, we headed for the homestead, and landed on the airfield, where police vehicles headlights were marking the runway. “We should get some lights set up on this airfield, it would be handy for situations like this,” I commented, as we taxied to the end of the runway and stopped.

“Mr Kendrik, this is Commander Dean York from the TRG,” Sergeant Brooks said, totally ignoring me, and Dad shook the TRG man’s hand. “Mr Kendrik, we estimated that he slipped out some time after midnight.

We didn’t realise how clever he would be, he must have pushed his vehicle for ages before getting it started, and when we did hear an engine, it was far enough away for us to think it was traffic from the highway,” the TRG man said.

“Have you done a scout around to work out which way he went?” Dad asked, “We think the Woodstock Road, but we can’t be certain, that is why we need the aircraft in the air, can you carry another passenger?” the TRG man asked Dad who smiled.

“You will have to ask the pilot, my son Jexon,” Dad responded as he indicated to me. “Oh sorry, I thought you were, my apologies,” the TRG man said as he frowned at Sergeant Brooks, then he held his hand out to me, which I shook.

“Yes, I can carry a maximum of two passengers, and about 25 kilo’s of cargo, we can head off right away, as I had refuelled late yesterday, so I have plenty of fuel,” I replied, before I walked back to the plane, and did some checks, until Dad and the TRG man arrived.

Once in the air, we headed westerly, and we followed the Woodstock road, and less then fifteen minutes later, we found the vehicle bogged on the northern bank of the Cooglegong Creek, and on hearing the plane approaching, the headlights of the vehicle went out, making it difficult to see, with there being very little moonlight tonight.

The TRG man was on his radio reporting the location of the stuck vehicle, with Dad providing the information of the creek, which is about 45 kilometres from the homestead, and with the TRG following our flight, they were at least 40 minutes behind us.

“Dad, how about we land at the Woodstock Station airfield and wait there,” I suggested, “That is about 14 kilometres north-west of here, and located on the side of this road,” Dad said to the TRG man, “Go ahead thanks pilot,” the man said in response, so I continued heading for Woodstock Station, which in the dark would be difficult firstly to find, and then to land on.

Because it is one airfield that is regularly graded, and with white gravel on it I was able to located it easily, and we were soon on the ground and parked at the north-west end of the runway. “That is some pretty damn good flying you did there young man, I am not sure if I would land on an airfield in the middle of the desert in near pitch darkness,” the TRG man said to me, and I saw Dad was smiling broadly.

“Sir, if you are not aware, this station, and nearby Abydos Station are owned by the state government, for Aboriginal Cultural purposes, so we must adhere to any request that they make,” I said to the TRG officer, “Is that correct Mr Kendrik?” the officer asked Dad, “It is correct, but my son knows more about it than me, as he is the history buff in the family,” Dad replied.

“Then you may know about the rumours flying around the district, that the old WW2 airbase is currently closed and being restored?” the TRG officer asked, and I chuckled at this question, and Dad smiled, “What is funny?” the TRG officer asked looking a little confused.

“Sorry, yes we do know about it, our family bought the land off the Federal Government, and it is us who is restoring the airbase back to the way it was during the war,” Dad replied. “Oh, well I look forward to the day when we can come and take a look at it,” the TRG officer said.

“I am sure you will sir, the official opening is happening in late July this coming year,” I said, “Great, I look forward to it, I have heard a lot about it, but never had the chance to come down and see it, is it far from your homestead?” the officer asked.

“By air it is 50 kilometres from our homestead, but it is only 6 kilometres from Corunna Downs Station,” I replied. “I see, so do you know how all of this drama started, as we haven’t had a full briefing about it yet,” the officer asked.

“Yes, I was there when it all started, I was at the airbase after dropping off the Parkinson’s back home, as they spent a few days over Christmas with our family, and I saw a reflection off glass or something, when I was walking around the buildings, but I didn’t react straight away.

Instead, I spent a bit more time, looking at the buildings, before jumping in the plane, and I did a low level sweep over the hills to the north, where I spotted the vehicle and campsite, and reported it in to Mr Parkinson, since it is on his land, about 1.5 kilometres north of the boundary with the airbase.

He contacted the police, and that is when the man fled in a north-west direction, on a station track instead of north-east towards Marble Bar, on the station access road, and by pure luck he managed to get through all of the crossings, without being stuck until tonight,” I explained.

“The track he went on leads to the main station access tack for Hillside Station, our home, so my son had the good thought to call home and get the family to evacuate, which they did, as we camped out at our outstation last night,” Dad added.

“Where is that?” the TRG officer asked, “Just off the Bonny Downs Road between the two station homesteads,” Dad replied. Finally when three police vehicles arrived, they collected the TRG commander and headed back the way they came, as the vehicle had been abandoned, so it was now a search on foot.

Before leaving the airfield, the Commander was informed that the man they were after was a prison escapee from Perth, who had strangled a FIFO worker, and taken his seat on a flight from Perth to Christmas Creek Mine Site, where he stole a vehicle and has been on the loose since.

By air that mine site is only 35 kilometres due south of the outstation, and 75 kilometres from the main homestead, but what he was snooping around the old airbase for, we had no idea, as we prepared to take off again, with day break now providing enough light for me to take off safely.

I decided to do a few sweeps in the area, to see if we could possible see the escapee, but with the rough terrain and plenty of places to hide, we didn’t spot him, so we headed back to the outstation. “What did you have a quiet work to the commander about?” I asked Dad, as we headed for the out station.

“He informed me that the escapee has made a fair mess of the homestead, and that it would need some cleaning up, before it is liveable again, “ Dad said to me. “So are we going to stay at the out station for a bit longer?” I asked.

“Yes, it looks that way, I will drive over there today to assess the damage, and we can decide from there. We may even make a holiday out of it, by sending the family to South Hedland for a week, so we can get the homestead looking good again,” Dad announced.

“Do you want me to fly there, it would be quicker,” I suggested, “Let me have a chat with your mother first, then we will decide a plan of action,” Dad replied, as we circled the outstation, before I landed on the road and taxied up to the shed behind the house.

Mum was cooking breakfast when we walked into the house, and she looked very pleased to see us, wrapping us both in a tight hug. Once we had eaten and had a chat, while the little ones were still sleeping, it was decided that I would fly Dad back home so he can assess the damage, while I fly to the airbase to check that everything is ok there, before collecting Dad again.

We arrived back at the Outstation just before lunch time, and my brothers and sisters were wondering where we have been all morning, and I explained to them that we have been helping the police with the search, as we decided to not tell them about the mess at the station.

Once we had all eaten lunch, we helped to pack everything, with most of the family to travel to Port Hedland for a short holiday, while Dad and I remain behind to help with the search, and I wanted to do one job at the airbase, before to many people begin to turn up to look around, even with the solid fence now in place, and the two solid gates padlocked shut, it still wouldn’t stop people from ignoring the signs and just walking into the base.

Copyright © 2020 quokka; All Rights Reserved.
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
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