Behind Mt. Baldy

by Christopher Cummings

  “Don’t wear yourself out. We’re going to have to step it out tomorrow to make up lost time,” Graham reminded.

  On hearing that Roger mentally groaned but he merely nodded.

  Stephen ate another mouthful then asked, “How far have we come so far?”

  “About twenty five kilometres,” Graham replied.

  “So we now do seventy five ‘Ks’ in three days?” Stephen said.

  Roger grimaced. “Steady on. It’s not a bloody death march,” he snapped.

  There was an embarrassed silence for a moment. Roger stirred the food heating in his mess tin. The others busied themselves with cooking and eating.

  The warm food helped restore Roger. His left hand still throbbed and there was a lump in the glands under his left armpit but the intense sting had subsided. He drank some more and ate a couple of biscuits. As he munched them he wondered why on earth he inflicted such pains on himself. ‘I’m certainly not a masochist,’ he told himself. But he knew why he came on hikes. These were his friends and he had a deep need to belong to the group.

  Stephen spoke next. “Will we light a fire?” he asked as he wiped his mess tins clean with toilet paper.

  Graham shook his head. “No. Better not. The glow might show in the trees and it will spoil our night vision,” he replied.

  “What about sentries?” Peter asked.

  Graham thought for a moment. “I suppose we’d better, only one person though.”

  “Why bother? Those blokes don’t know we are here and they won’t come blundering about the jungle in the dark,” Stephen replied.

  “Maybe not. But it’s better to be sure than sorry. Besides we need to be sure we wake up early,” Graham answered.

  “How early?” Roger asked. He hated early rising.

  “Six o’clock. So we can be on the road by seven,” Graham replied.

  “I still don’t reckon we need a sentry,” Stephen persisted. “We will get too tired. My watch has an alarm.”

  Roger spoke up. “Yes we do. What if the crooks drive off tonight or early in the morning? And how will we meet the cops when they arrive?”

  Graham said, “Roger’s right. Sentry duty it is. Two hours on. Let’s see. If we start at eight, that’s in fifteen minutes, we should all get about six hours sleep. That’s enough.”

  Stephen grumbled but accepted this. “What’s the roster?”

  “You and Peter work one out while Roger and I walk to the Forestry Barracks. We should be back by ten,” Graham replied.

  “Then the police will arrive and we will be up half the night,” Peter said.

  “Too bad. It’s got to be done.”

  “Will we put up hutchies?” Roger asked. He had turned off his torch after packing his stove and eating gear. With no fires or torches it was very dark. He literally could not see his hand in front of his face. He tried it. It gave him a very claustrophobic feeling. A hutchie might not keep anything out but it gave the illusion of security.

  “No,” Graham answered. “No hutchies. It won’t rain and there won’t be any dew under these trees. We’d better get going. Come on Roger.”

  “Just a minute Graham. Who else needs water bottles refilled?” Roger asked.

  Peter and Stephen both did so Roger took these and hung them on his webbing. He put this on and took out his torch.

  “Can we use a torch?” he asked. He had no desire to walk without a light two kilometres along a jungle road knowing that the snakes would be out hunting. He also knew Graham well enough to guess that he had planned on doing just that, despite a keen fear of snakes.

  Graham considered, then grudgingly conceded. “Aw. OK I suppose. The crooks aren’t likely to see us. Let’s go.”

  The two set off down the old road in the direction of the Forestry Barracks. Both held their torches low so their beams shone on the ground a couple of metres ahead. They had to take some care as there were a few small washouts and the odd fallen branch. Two minutes walking found them on the main road where it ran due west along the ridge top.

  Even though there were gaps in the tree canopy it was still very dark. Graham stopped for a moment and turned off his torch.

  “Sssh! Let’s listen for a moment.”

  The two stood silent. Roger reluctantly turned off his own torch and felt so oppressed and threatened by the enveloping blackness that he had to fight down the urge to turn it on again.

  Apart from the gentle sighing of the wind in the trees there was not another sound.

  Roger had an intense feeling of isolation.

  Graham grunted with satisfaction. “Good, let’s move.”

  “What will we do if a car comes along? Do we flag it down or hide?” Roger asked as they began walking side by side, torches once more on.

  “Flag it down,” Graham replied.

  “What if it is the crooks?”

  “We tell them one of us has got sick and we are going to phone his parents.”

  “What sort of sickness?” Roger asked.

  “Oh I don’t know, the flu I suppose.”

  “What about a fever, say from ticks or something like that,” Roger suggested. He was feeling a bit feverish himself and had broken into a gentle sweat.

  “Good idea.”

  They walked in silence for a few minutes. A sudden scuffling in the leaves made Roger stop in fright.

  “What’s that?” he cried, shining his torch around. The beam exposed a large rat which stared in surprise before scampering out of sight.

  “Only a bandicoot,” Graham laughed.

  “I thought it might have been a wild pig,” Roger replied.

  “Shut up Roger. Stop thinking about things or you’ll put the wind up yourself,” Graham advised.

  Roger bit his lip and made no reply as they continued to walk. It was easy to say and hard to do. ‘And easy for Graham. He’s brave,’ Roger thought.

  After less than ten minutes they reached the road junction where the road switched back on itself and went down the north side of the mountain. Roger found it easier going and said nothing. The two just tramped quietly along. There were several more minor frights from unidentified nocturnal creatures and once the swish of dark wings overhead. At length the road straightened out and they emerged from the tunnel of rainforest.

  “It isn’t much further is it? It’s just along here somewhere isn’t it?” Roger asked, looking eagerly ahead for the first glimmer of electric light.

  “Stop for a minute and turn off your torch,” Graham commanded.

  Roger did so and they stood silently. The straight road became visible as a grey blur bordered by pitch black.

  “What’s wrong?” Roger asked, sensing Graham’s concern.

  “I think we are going to find no-one home again. The barracks is just on our left and there isn’t a light to be seen,” Graham replied.

  Roger felt a surge of dismay and a quite irrational spasm of fear.

  “What will we do?” he asked.

  “Go and have a look.”

  CHAPTER 11

  THE JUNGLE AT NIGHT

  Graham turned on his torch and resumed walking. Roger hurried to catch up. Both shone their torches off through the trees to the left. Roger saw they were pine trees and could just discern a building but neither torch was powerful enough to light up things more than a few metres away.

  After two minutes walking Graham’s torch pointed out the turnoff and entrance to the barracks yard. The row of buildings began beside it, all black and silent.

  “Maybe they’ve gone to bed,” Roger suggested. He felt very disappointed and worried.

  “Fair go Roger! It’s only eight p.m. More likely they’ve gone to town.”

  “Will we wait?”

  “For half an hour maybe. Let’s have a look around,” Graham replied. He led the way in through the open gate and walked up a short flight of steps onto a timber veranda. He shone his torch on the door of the building and in a window.

  Roger felt very uneasy about it. “C
ome on Graham, let’s go back to the others,” he said. To his shame his voice had a distinct quaver in it. By an effort of will power he mastered it. “I don’t like this. It’s spooky and we could get into trouble for trespassing.”

  “Rot Roger! Let’s fill our water bottles anyway. There’s a tap just there,” Graham retorted. He clumped down the steps and walked to a tap at the corner of the building.

  Roger followed and they stood and filled all the water bottles and had a drink. As they did the wind moaned in the pine trees and Roger found the silent buildings very threatening. A feeling of intense isolation crept over him as it occurred to him that the nearest house where there would be people with electric light and a telephone was probably 25 km one way or 10 km the other, and all through the jungle.

  Graham sat down on the steps, took out his map and studied it using his torch.

  Roger looked over his shoulder. “What will we do Graham?” he asked, trying not to let the nervousness (or was it just plain funk!) show.

  “I suppose we could walk to one of these farmhouses out to the South-East. It would only take a couple of hours if we stepped it out,” Graham replied.

  The thought of ‘stepping it out’ was bad enough for Roger but the prospect of those seemingly endless kilometres through the dark jungle was more than he wanted to face.

  “It’s not that urgent is it? I mean, it can wait till tomorrow can’t it?” he said.

  “I thought you wanted these crooks caught Roger.”

  “I do, but it’s not an emergency and the police will soon pick them up when we give them the descriptions and vehicle numbers,” Roger replied. In his heart he knew that the march Graham was contemplating would be a real ordeal. He also knew Graham was quite capable of it. On other occasions he had done just that. That got Roger thinking about the previous year at Stannary Hills when Graham had walked much further than that, at night, and with a broken arm, to save Peter and Stephen from some thieves.

  In an attempt to dismiss this idea Roger said, “Besides, our torches wouldn’t last that long.” He blushed, knowing it sounded lame, so he cast about in his mind seeking for further good reasons.

  Graham grinned and folded his map up. “OK mate. We won’t go. We will just go back to the others and make an early start instead. Come on.”

  Roger felt simultaneous relief and shame. He knew Graham guessed he was scared but also sensed that it didn’t affect their friendship.

  They made their way back out onto the main road and began the walk home. The darkness was just as frightening and the steep uphill stretch reduced Roger to a sweating, panting wreck but he didn’t stop. He forced himself on. All he wanted was to get back to the safety of their camp. In part of his mind he knew the safety was illusory but the place still represented sanctuary.

  By pushing himself he managed to keep up and even recover his breath a little on the stretch along the ridge top.

  ‘God it’s dark!’ he thought, dismayed by the whole situation.

  He heaved an audible sigh of relief when the beam of Graham’s torch lit up the overgrown turnoff of the old road. They went up it in silence. The stiff climb for two hundred metres again made Roger’s heart hammer at an alarming rate and his breath was coming in hot gasps by the time they reached the camp.

  Stephen sat on guard. Peter was asleep.

  “Anything happen while we were away?” Graham asked.

  “Not a thing. Did you contact the police?”

  “No. Nobody home,” Graham replied. He gave a brief description of their walk. Peter stirred and rolled over.

  Roger eased off his webbing. All around his waist was sore from chafing and where the equipment had dug into his too ample flesh. He rubbed it ruefully then found his pack. While the others talked quietly he cleared sticks and leaves away to make a bed-space. Then he dug a hip-hole and unrolled his bedding. Thankfully he sat down on it.

  “Can we have a brew?” he asked.

  “Yes. I’m going to,” replied Graham who was engaged in the same chores.

  “What about boots?” Roger queried.

  “You can have one if you like. I’m going to have coffee,” Graham replied.

  “What do you mean? Oh. I get it. I meant, can we take our boots off?”

  “No. We are in the presence of the enemy I reckon,” Graham replied.

  Roger had expected this and he didn’t grumble. In their cadet unit when they were ‘tactical’ they slept fully dressed with their boots on.

  The boys prepared supper in silence so as not to wake Peter. The glow of flames was wonderfully heartening to Roger and the warm, sweet drink restored some of his spirits. He pulled a chocolate from his pack, broke off four squares and passed them to the others. Stephen thanked him but declined. Graham loved chocolate and accepted.

  Roger then packed his stove and cup and stretched out on his sleeping bag with his pack for a pillow. As the perspiration dried he felt a bit chilled, but was aware that it wasn’t really a cold night. Over the next twenty minutes he lay silently, popping squares of chocolate into his mouth and savouring them as they slowly melted.

  Some time later he was shaken awake by Graham. He opened his eyes, then tried again before realising it was so dark it made almost no difference.

  “What? What is it?” he asked muzzily.

  “Roll on your side. You were snoring. You’d better get into your sleeping bag too. It’s getting a bit chilly,” came Graham’s voice, quiet but reassuring.

  “Sorry. What time is it?” Roger replied.

  “A bit after midnight,” Graham answered.

  Roger was amazed. They had returned to camp at 9:30 pm. “Strewth! Isn’t it dark.”

  Graham chuckled. “Too bloody right!”

  “I’m on sentry next aren’t I?”

  “Yeah. In about three-quarters of an hour. Go back to sleep.”

  Roger squirmed into his sleeping bag and was amazed how stiff and sore his muscles were. He had trouble getting back to sleep but he lay quiet and pretended to be. Once again he drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep, to be roused at 01:00 by Graham.

  Roger sat up and rubbed sleep from his eyes. It was still pitch dark; no moon and no wind. He assured Graham he was awake, then had a drink and rubbed his eyes with wet fingers to help freshen up. Groaning softly at his sore muscles he got out of his sleeping bag and stood up. It was just cold enough to need a jacket so he extracted this from his pack and pulled it on.

  Then he stood for a while flexing his legs. Graham fidgeted for a while as he made himself comfortable and then almost complete silence settled. Roger listened in wonder. Even the usual small night noises: crickets, lizards, frogs and so on, seemed absent.

  Once again he had the impression of being very isolated and the knowledge of the men in black less than half a kilometre away added to a deep feeling of concern. (He refused to concede it was fear.) One consequence was a continual shifting of position to look and listen in different directions.

  As he stood there Roger went over in his mind the events of the last two days. He also gently rubbed his chafed skin and sore muscles. Not knowing who the men were or what they were searching for now nagged at Roger’s mind as insistently as his bodily aches.

  So they were Kosarians. Well, maybe not, but Boris Krapinski was a Kosarian. That idea led to the presumption that they were the murderers. Roger was sure they were but uneasily recognised this feeling of certainty was not based on real proof and he was, possibly, being unjust. ‘But the guns, the black clothing, the odd behaviour and the police interest? It all looks very suspicious,’ he thought. ‘And who, or what, were the KSS?’

  Roger had a wrist watch with a small light in it. He checked the time. 0145. ‘It’s going to be a long night,’ he mused. He sat down to massage his thigh and calf muscles, then had another drink.

  So the two hours of his duty slowly passed, the thoughts and fears going round and round in his head. Nothing disturbed the night and the other three slept on, stirring from
time to time to change position. Roger became bored and tiredness began to drag his eyelids down. Aware that he was in danger of nodding off he shook himself and washed his face. Then he stood up again to stop dozing off.

  At last 0300 came round. Roger walked carefully the five paces to where Peter slept. As he did his boots crunched on the dry leaves and Graham stirred and looked up. Roger shook Peter awake and waited until he assured him he was ready and wouldn’t go back to sleep.

  “Anything happen?” Peter asked.

  “Not a thing. Don’t forget to wake Stephen at five o’clock,” Roger replied.

  “Don’t worry about that,” Peter replied with a soft laugh.

  Roger groped his way back to his bedding and thankfully slid into his sleeping bag. He was asleep in minutes.

  Roger was so tired that he slept soundly for the next three hours with only an occasional movement to ease his discomfort.

  He was shaken awake by Peter. With an effort he opened his eyes and rolled onto his back. It was still dark.

  “What is it?” he asked, dimly aware that Graham and Stephen were awake too.

  Peter answered. “Six o’clock. Time to get up.”

  “But it’s still dark!”

  Graham spoke. “Tough! Up you get Roger. Roll up your bedding straight away and get ready to move.”

  “Will we have breakfast first?” Roger asked.

  “Yes, as soon as everything else is packed.”

  “What will we do then, go back to the Forestry Barracks?”

  “No. Push on till we come to a farm house.”

  Roger squirmed out of his sleeping bag and rubbed his eyes. By feel he straightened out the bedding on the groundsheet, then rolled it up, kneeling on it after each roll while he dusted off dirt and leaves which clung to the plastic. The bedroll was strapped into the bottom of his pack within a couple of minutes. This was a drill they often did on cadet exercises so he had no difficulty with it. Then he stood and stretched.

  At once all his aches and pains returned and he became aware his left hand was throbbing from the stinging tree. He didn’t feel at all like a forced march carrying a pack. After going to the toilet he washed his hands and instantly regretted it. The water activated the poison barbs of the stinging tree which were now embedded in his flesh and they stung!