Witi Ihimaera - Sky Dancer

“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.

“Stop the ute,” Arnie roared. “Stop it right now. Now get out of the driver’s seat. Don’t even think of saying no. Just do it.” He was really angry, not to mention worried about his paintwork. “Now just tell me, Skylark, what is this all about?”

“I’ve already told you,” Skylark answered. “This is Plan B.”

Half an hour later, the ferry was ready for sailing. The marshall signalled the rear doors closed. All the vehicles were aboard. The ferry weighed anchor and headed out of the harbour. As it approached the heads, it began to pitch and yaw in the currents coming from the Straits. The captain, looking ahead, saw the white-tipped waves just waiting to have fun with his ship. “Tell the crew to prepare for a rough-weather running,” he said. “Better let the passengers know it’s not going to be an easy crossing.”

The open sea was a fist which hit the ferry hard. The ship shuddered, dipped, and mountainous waves sprayed across its bow. For a second it wallowed in a trough, until the next fist hit it again. Behind, the captain saw a huge black storm cloud approaching from the rear, broiling over the sea.

Approaching from the rear?

The storm cloud splintered, separated and fragmented. When the captain looked again he saw black seashags diving down upon his ship. As they hurtled lower, their leader, Kawanatanga, uttered his hunting cry.

Find the chick. Kill her. Do it now. Now.

The seashag squad entered the companionways, flying into the staterooms, along corridors and down stairways. There was pandemonium as passengers and seashags confronted each other. News broadcasts would later report that the incident was a freak occurrence to do with seabirds confused by the weather and trying to find shelter.

Where is she! She must be here. Find her.

Meantime, at Wellington Airport, the morning flight to Nelson took to the air. Arnie looked out of the window and saw the ferry ploughing its way through the waves below. He thanked his lucky stars for Skylark’s credit card.

“This is a great Plan B,” he said. “Thank you. Are you sure you don’t want the window seat?”

Skylark’s face was white and she was clutching the arms of her seat as if her life depended on it. “Please don’t make this any more difficult than it is,” she said. “Did I tell you that I hate flying?”

“So I guess,” Arnie said, “you wouldn’t want a triple cheeseburger followed by a chocolate ice cream sundae, would you?”

Skylark glared at him.

“Look, mate,” she hissed, “I’d quit while I was ahead if I was you.”

“You mean Deedee is dead?”