At the next stop Megan had a drink, shook her water bottle and announced she was out of water.
“Me too,” Joy added.
That was potentially very serious. Peter bit his lip and wondered if he should send them back down. Even though it was June the air was hot and still and heat exhaustion was a distinct possibility. He decided to take a risk and push on, mostly because he did not like the idea of leaving two girls alone in the bush, particularly in these circumstances.
After another ten minutes of sweaty upward slog they again emerged from trees onto another stretch of open granite and grass. They were granted another glorious view, this time with even better views of distant Cairns.
“This is half way,” Graham said, pointing to where this fact was painted on a rock in white paint.
Joy looked puzzled. “Why would they paint that here?” she asked.
Stephen shrugged. “To demoralize Boy Scouts, Girl Guides and other idiots who set out to climb the thing,” he offered.
“Oh poo to you!” Joy replied, turning up her nose.
In spite of the growing feeling of dread which was now gripping him Peter managed a weak laugh. “It is for the race they have up here every year,” he explained.
“Race?” Joy asked.
“From Gordonvale. They start at the park and run to the Pyramid, then up it. From memory the record is about an hour and a quarter.”
“An hour and a quarter! I don’t believe you,” Megan cried.
Peter shrugged. He did not feel like arguing. “It is something like that,” he muttered.
Graham stopped and looked around. The hillside appeared to be a jumble of large rocks among trees. Numerous splintered trees and logs attested to the fury of a recent storm.
“I seem to have lost the track.”
“Doesn’t matter. Just keep following this ridge and we have to end up on top,” Peter replied.
Joy pointed up to where a distinct crest showed. “Is that the top we can see?” she asked.
“I think so,” Peter replied, although in fact he suspected it was only another false crest. He checked his watch again. Nearly four. He bit his lip. At that rate it was going to be well after five before they reached the crest. He began planning how they might spend the night on top.
Be no fun if it gets really cold, he surmised. Even though they were in the tropics he knew from hard experience that the June temperatures in the mountains frequently dropped to near zero.
Graham led them up around the side of a jumble of rocks, then across a large sheet of granite and grass. Peter drained the last of his water and knew he was thirsty. He bit his lip but said nothing. More worrying to him was the failing light. They were already in shadow on the side of the ridge and the sunlight was starting to get that rosy evening glow which presaged sunset. Anxiety at being too late; and fear of what they might find on top, both built up.
“Snake!” Graham cried. He sprang aside and pointed. Peter was just in time to see the movement as the reptile slid into a tuft of grass.
“Death Adder,” he commented.
Graham shook his head and gave a visible shudder. He had been bitten by a King Brown a few years before and loathed the things. “Nearly trod on the bastard,” he said, as he resumed his upward slog over the loose rocks.
Stephen studied the long grass carefully as he came up to the place. “Just the place to find the mongrels,” he added.
Fear of snakes helped focus their thoughts for a while. It slowed them up as they came to an area of steep rock slopes and huge boulders where they had to use their hands to help climb. Graham was very careful to look before he placed his hand on top of each rock.
Twenty minutes later they halted on a short level stretch for another rest.
Stephen looked around. “This is getting a ‘close-to-the-top’ look about it,” he commented.
Peter also looked around and nodded. The vegetation had changed. “She Oaks,” he said. The ridge had become a steep-sided razor back as well.
Graham gestured upwards. “We’d better go a bit more carefully,” he said.
Peter shook his head. “Not yet. We still have a couple of hundred metres to go and it is nearly five o’clock,” he replied.
They plodded on upwards. Now they were rapidly tiring. Peter licked dry lips and studied the faces of the others. He wasn’t worried about Graham. He was super fit and a very experienced bushwalker. Stephen was alright as well but all of the girls looked tired and drawn. Megan in particular was showing signs of exhaustion. Joy kept struggling up, her face a mask of concentration and determination which Peter found admirable.
The track continued on up the razor back at a steep angle. Graham pointed out to his right. “That is the Mulgrave Valley there; and that line of mountains that are flat on top is the edge of the Atherton Tablelands,” he explained. He loved North Queensland and was proud to display its beauty at every opportunity.
Joy looked and nodded. “It is certainly an impressive view,” she agreed.
Stephen made a face. “We have to come down again don’t forget,” he put in. “And going down is always harder on the legs.”
“Thanks Steve!” Gwen replied sarcastically.
The vegetation abruptly changed again and the track levelled out on a very narrow ridge. Peter felt his anxiety increase. They were certainly approaching the summit now. The track went around the side of the ridge through spiky bushes and long grass. In places it was deeply eroded and was so steep they had to climb in painful steps. The trees were all stunted and bent by the winds.
A hundred metres further up the ridge levelled out again. Ahead huge boulders stood up on the skyline. “The top,” Peter gasped.
They stopped and carefully scrutinized the summit but there was no sign of any Devil Worshipers, or any other sign of movement. After five minutes rest they continued walking, silent now, or conversing in whispers.
The track skirted below the huge boulders, then went very steeply up the side of the ridge onto the crest. As he climbed with labouring heart and gasping lungs Peter realized they had been mistaken. It was not the top, just another false crest!
“Why can’t these buggers carry out their sacrifices in cemeteries on flat ground,” he grumbled.
“They do sometimes,” Stephen commented.
As they halted to regain their breath Gwen looked hard at Stephen and asked: “How come you know so much about these people?”
Stephen made a face. “It is a long story.”
He was clearly unwilling to add more but Gwen pressed him: “Does it have something to do with that gang you were involved in when we were in Year Eight?”
Peter looked at both with interest. He had not realized that people like Gwen had even heard about that. Nor did he know the details himself as Stephen had always been very shy of talking about it.
Stephen shrugged. “Tell you later,” he replied. “Come on, it is getting late. The sun is starting to set.”
With a shock Peter realized that he was right. The light had a rosy glow to it and the air had suddenly taken on a distinct chill. A glance showed him that the crimson ball of the sun was almost down to the mountain tops of the Lamb Range. He looked at his watch. 5:15.
Graham led the way on up another very steep pinch through a thick belt of stunted trees and waist high bushes and ferns. The cadets climbed up past another huge boulder and stopped.
At last! The top! Or almost. The track went down across a low saddle thickly covered on small trees and ferns to a slightly higher point a hundred metres away.
Where are these Devil Worshippers? Peter wondered. Graham went into a crouch but Peter could see nothing. When the others had joined them and they had recovered their breath they began slowly moving forward.
Graham halted again and held up his hand, then pointed.
From the bushes ahead came the murmur of voices, then an eerie howl which set Peter’s hair on end.
Devil Worshippers!
Chapter 3
Devil Worshippers!
Peter’s blood ran cold. His head felt as though it was being gripped by an icy hand from behind. He crouched behind a bush and peered ahead. There was no sign of anyone amongst the trees.
Then a voice pierced the stillness. Its message chilled them all again.
“Satan! Satan! Your disciples call you. See our sacrifice!”
Graham turned with anxiety. “Sacrifice! We might be too late. Quick!”
Before Peter could stop him Graham moved forward at a crouching run. Without thinking Peter followed, aware that the others were behind him. The path led down a slight dip through a thicket of small trees and up to where a large, smooth, rounded rock marked the highest point.
Here Graham paused, his head questing from side to side as he peered through the trees. Peter joined him. Stephen and the girls closed up as well. Peter noted Joy’s anxious face and gave her a re-assuring nod.
There was still no sign of anyone, but the murmur of voices came from not far ahead. Graham began creeping around the large rock on its left hand side. Peter and the others followed. By then Peter was feeling scared and knew his heart was hammering from fear, not exertion. He swallowed and hoped his nervousness didn’t show.
Suddenly a piercing scream rent the still air. The cadets stopped and crouched down in shocked silence. A voice called: “Talk, or it will be ten times as bad. We haven’t even started yet!”
Peter swallowed, then whispered: “They must be torturing a prisoner. Perhaps we are in time after all.”
Graham nodded. “Not sunset yet.”
Peter glanced over his shoulder. The sun was now like a huge red disc and its lower edge was just dipping below the top of the distant Lamb Range. The mountains looked like black cardboard cut-outs and all the valleys in between were hazy in shadows.
Graham continued his cautious advance and came to a small, flat, open area ringed by small boulders and stunted trees. Scattered around it were packs and clothing. The voices came from just beyond and below this.
Once again Graham led, crossing the open space in ten paces, to crouch among rocks and bushes on the far side. From there he beckoned the others forward, even as another terrible scream rang out. Peter wanted the girls to stay back and motioned to them not to follow him but they ignored him.
The cadets crouched under cover and stared down in horror at a scene that shocked them all. Just below them was a large, flat topped boulder half the size of a house. The boulder jutted out from the very crest of the mountain. Beyond it was a drop that made Peter dizzy just to look at it. On top of the boulder was a tableau of sickening evil which made Peter’s heart skip.
Four men in black clothes stood around the edge of the boulder. To one side sat another Devil Worshipper, busy writing in a notebook. Spread-eagled and tied down side by side in the middle were three naked men. The captives had been stripped and were held down by ropes. Blood streaked their bodies, showing where they had been whipped, slashed and beaten. Even as the cadets crept into positions from which they could see better one of the men in black lashed out with a boot, driving it savagely into the ribs of one of the prisoners.
“Talk you fool and you might live! Tell us what we want to know and your life will be spared.”
Sick with apprehension Peter motioned for the girls to go back. “Go back you girls! Don’t look!” he hissed. To his dismay Gwen just shook her head and crept over beside him, followed by Joy.
As she took in the scene Joy’s eyes widened in horror and she gasped: “What disgusting animals.”
Again Peter gestured or them to move away. “Go back! You shouldn’t see this,” he hissed. “They haven’t got any clothes on.”
But Joy kept looking. She gave a little grunt to show what she thought of this then murmured: “You need us. Three boys can’t beat five men.”
That stabbed right to the nub of what Peter had been thinking about: how could they save the prisoners? He was now desperately torn, between anxiety for the girl’s safety; and the urgent desire to save the prisoners. The story was so obviously true that he had no doubt that human sacrifice was intended.
I can’t just stand by and let murder happen, he thought.
Creeping away and hoping the police might arrive in time was an option, but not an honourable one. Even considering it made Peter feel sick loathing at his own weakness and cowardice.
Peter switched his disgusted gaze from the prisoners to the five Devil Worshippers. Three were completely dressed in black and wore black balaclavas with red ‘Devil’s horns’ on them. They carried knives and one had a short whip. The other two, including the one who was doing the talking, had their balaclavas rolled up to expose their faces. The leader, Peter noted, had a soft, round face, which in ordinary circumstances would appear friendly and appealing. The leader also had a pistol tucked into his waistband. The seated man was still busy writing in his notebook.
Once more the leader of the Devil Worshippers demanded that the three prisoners talk. They remained silent, only their eyes moving to follow his movements. All three were bleeding from the mouth and had bruised faces and black eyes. When none responded the leader spat and turned to the other man with his face exposed.
“Give them another working over while I check there are no problems,” he instructed.
The second man nodded and knelt to apply a lighted cigarette to the genitals of the first prisoner. The man shrieked in agony and the cadets gasped with horror and revulsion. The leader turned and walked towards where the cadets crouched.
“Down!” Graham hissed.
Even as Peter’s mind registered that they had made a mistake by moving to that spot he noted that the man was coming up a faint trail through the trees and bushes. It was only ten paces and he covered it in seconds. The cadets crouched among the bushes and held their breaths. Peter peered through the thin screen of leaves and saw the man’s legs pass only metres to his right.
Before any of them realized what the leader was going to do, the man had picked up a radio off one of the packs and spoken into it. “Michael, this is Six Six, over.”
Even as he heard the radio Peter cursed for not thinking about it. The radio held by Stephen crackled to life in instant response. Peter had a glimpse of the leader’s face as he whirled around in their direction.
We are discovered! he thought. Fear and panic surged to momentarily paralyze.
The leader was also stunned by the discovery. For an instant his eyes boggled as they registered the crouching forms, then his mouth opened to shout and his hand whipped down to the butt of the pistol.
Peter’s mind registered the need to act and he shouted: “Move!” at the same instant the man let out a yell.
The gun! We must stop him using it! Peter told himself.
He found himself rising and tensing to run even as the necessity registered. Sheer survival instinct took over and he bounded forward even as the man hauled the pistol free.
Thoughts flashed across Peter’s mind at incredible speed. He noted the fact that the man had the pistol out while he was still at least five paces away. He also noted that it was an automatic and that the man was struggling to cock it in time.
At the instant the man managed this Peter grappled with him, his hand reaching frantically for the gun. Both went down in a bruising, struggling heap. There were shouts and the thud of running feet but Peter had no time to look. He knew he was involved in a desperate fight for his life. The man’s face was only centimetres from his own and was suffused with hate. Shouted obscenities rang in Peter’s ear and spittle flecked his face.
Oh my God! Help me Lord! Peter prayed.
It was instantly apparent that the man was much stronger; and that he had murderous intent. With all his strength Peter clung to the man’s right arm, trying desperately to keep the gun from being pointed his way. They rolled over and over on the rocks and dust, the man screaming foul oaths and punching at Peter’s head.
&nbs
p; Bang!
The pistol went off close to Peter’s left ear. He felt the heat and blast but was aware that he hadn’t been hit. The man swore again, then screamed in pain as another person launched into the fight. Peter noted the camouflage uniform and then the voice and realized it was Joy. She used her boots and kicked savagely. The man shouted vile threats and swear words but it was too much for him. He released the grip he had gained on Peter’s throat and tried to break free.
To Peter’s relief he saw Joy kick the pistol out of the man’s hand. The man heaved convulsively and rolled over, breaking their grip. In a flash he was on his feet, searching for the gun.
Peter heard the word: “Army!” shouted by one of the Devil Worshippers. Gwen’s voice cut across it, screaming: “Stop!”
By then Peter was on his feet facing the leader. A second Devil Worshipper burst through the bushes, knocking Megan aside as she tried to grab at him. The second man dodged around Peter and Joy, then fled over the side of the slope, ignoring the shouted commands of his leader to help.
Another yell from Gwen caused Peter to glance anxiously in her direction. He was just in time to see another Devil Worshipper lunge at her with a knife. In a twinkling the man’s arm had been grabbed and he was hurled on his back, the knife skittering off over the cliff. The man scrambled to his feet, avoiding Gwen as she closed to grab him again. Mixed emotions flitted across Peter’s mind: concern for Gwen, replaced by wry amusement as he remembered that she was a Black Belt in Judo. He had never seen her in a fight before and was impressed.
Satisfied that Gwen and Megan needed no help Peter turned back to face the furious leader. For a moment longer Peter and Joy faced the man. Peter’s eyes scanned frantically for sight of the pistol. He did not want to get involved in wrestling with the man again.
Shouts and screams again distracted Peter for a moment. He glanced over his shoulder, just in time to see one of the Devil Worshippers slashing at one of the prisoners with his knife. Red blood flowed. The Devil Worshipper raised his knife to plunge it into the prisoner’s chest. Stephen was nearest. He moved with incredible speed, hurling his walking stick. The stick struck the Devil Worshipper hard in the temple. The man reeled back and clutched at his head.
The Word of God Page 3