The Word of God

by Christopher Cummings

  Graham, still bent double with pain, staggered across to look. “Let the bastard drown!” he snarled.

  “Oh we can’t! We must save him!” Joy cried.

  Sir Miles stepped over to join them. Peter was now appalled at what had happened. Equally he was stunned by the sheer strength of the current. Even as they watched he saw Sir Richard briefly appear fifty metres downstream, then an arm was upflung out of the welter of foam, then a leg ten metres further downstream. After that all he could see was just a black shape which went up over a large standing wave over a rock.

  Megan was wide-eyed with horror. “Oh what will we do?” she cried.

  For a moment Peter toyed with diving in to try to rescue Sir Richard. His rational mind immediately told him this would be very risky.

  I could be drowned as well, he reasoned, watching the water surging over the rocks.

  The next thought was to run down along the river bank to try to catch up. Even this appeared to be futile, so swiftly did the current carry the tumbling form out of sight.

  Once again Megan cried out asking what they could do. Gwen even moved to the end of the bridge, clearly intending to run downstream. Peter moved and grabbed her arm.

  Gwen tried to shake him off. “We must help him!” she cried.

  Peter shook his head. “No. If we go that way we will run into the Devil Worshippers. We must get away from here before they realize their contact has been broken.”

  Joy turned to stare at him, her face a mask of anguish. “But we can’t just leave him!” she cried.

  Peter felt anger surge. “Yes we can! They plan to kill us don’t forget; and he was a traitor. Now stop the argument and grab your gear,” he snapped.

  Graham supported him, and so did Stephen. “Serve the bastard right!” Stephen snarled as he bent to pick up the gun.

  Sir Miles seemed stunned by it all but he now shook his head vigorously and agreed. “Yes, we must leave this place. Let God decide. We must go on.”

  Graham hobbled over to his gear and began pulling it on. Peter followed, urging the others to move.

  “Which way?” Gwen asked, still clearly upset.

  “Up this ridge and back to Little Mulgrave,” Peter said.

  Sir Miles moved to the end of the bridge. “I must go back to the car,” he said.

  “No! You mustn’t use the car. Don’t forget that the Devil Worshippers are waiting back along the road,” Peter said.

  Sir Miles nodded. “I know that. There are some things I do not wish to leave.”

  “What about the car?” Joy asked.

  Sir Miles gave a wry smile, then replied: “I fear that the Car Hire company will not be happy with the church for a while. Forget it. They can come and collect it.”

  With that Sir Miles set off back to the car. Graham pushed Stephen: “Go with him Steve, as bodyguard, and give me that other pistol.”

  Stephen did as he was told. Graham took the captured pistol and looked at it. Even to Peter’s uninformed eyes it appeared to be a beautiful piece of engineering.

  Graham turned the gun over in his hands. “Nine millimetre Beretta,” he said. He slid the magazine out and checked it. “Eight rounds.”

  By then Peter had grabbed his pack and webbing. He walked to the far end of the bridge and into the overgrown cutting, half expecting to meet the bearded man in the red shirt. Joy, Gwen, Megan and Graham joined him. As soon as he was sure he was out of sight from the other bank Peter stopped, dropped his pack and opened it.

  “What are you doing?” Joy asked.

  “Same as before. I am going to give Sir Miles my spare camouflage uniform. That white shirt of his will stand out like a country dunny up on that ridge.” He indicated the open savannah beside them.

  “Are we going up that?” Megan asked.

  “Yes, but only to get around back to Little Mulgrave,” Peter answered.

  Megan looked doubtful. “It looks very steep.”

  Peter shook his head. “We went up this in the dark pulling the Navy Cadet’s cannon on a Senior Ex two years ago. There’s a vehicle track along the crest. It will be alright,” he explained. He extracted the spare shirt and trousers, then took the radio Joy offered him and replaced it in his basic pouch. Graham took out his map and carefully studied the route.

  Two minutes later Sir Miles and Stephen rejoined them. Peter held up the camouflage uniform and the knight accepted it without argument. Gwen led the girls on to the next bend and around it while Sir Miles quickly changed. His civilian clothes were stuffed into Peter’s pack.

  That done they set off. Graham led. He took them around the next bend to join the girls, then turned right and began climbing up a steep sided and narrow re-entrant. This was overgrown with long grass but he pushed through this, brushing aside spider webs and overhanging lantana. After fifty hot, sweaty metres of climbing he angled to the left up a faint animal pad out of the re-entrant and onto the south side of a long, grassy spur. This was thinly clad with short Ti trees and spindly ironbarks, plus a scattering of grasstrees.

  “We must keep over on this side of the ridge to stay off the skyline,” Graham cautioned. He led the way up the side of the re-entrant. After a hundred paces he stopped to allow the slower and less fit ones to catch up. While they got their breath back he walked over to the crest and carefully looked over from behind a bush. When he came back he shook his head and continued on up the spur.

  It took them twenty minutes to climb up the spur to the top of the first rise. Towards the end they had to go straight up the slope and were exposed to any observer watching the ridge but none was apparent to them when they scanned the valley and farm behind them during the frequent short breathers.

  At the top was a graded dirt road which ran along the spine of the ridge line. The ridge climbed unevenly upwards to join the main range a couple of kilometres away. By mutual consent they paused to get their breath back again as they reached the road. Peter took out his water bottle and had a drink, then offered it to a white faced and puffing Sir Miles.

  “My Heavens! I’m not used to this anymore,” Sir Miles gasped as he took the bottle gratefully.

  Joy took a big gulp of water. “Which way now?” she asked.

  Graham first pointed up the road. “West. Up this ridge to near that knoll, then down that other ridge to the right to Little Mulgrave. You can just see Little Mulgrave from here,” he replied, pointing back the way they had come.

  Peter shielded his eyes and scanned the valley below. “I can see the Devil Worshipper’s car at Fairweathers Bridge,” he said.

  “Oh no!” Joy gasped.

  They all stared back at the now distant farm. The car could be clearly seen at the far end of the bridge. From that distance it looked exactly like a model car.

  “Can they see us?” Megan asked. She looked very strained.

  Peter nodded. “They might, if they are looking and if they have binoculars,” he replied.

  Graham stared at the distant car. “Let’s keep moving; and keep over on the far side of the track,” he said. He then resumed walking. The route he followed was through the bush and long grass on the south slope of the ridge so that they were out of sight of the car.

  The next ten minutes turned out to be nearly as hard as the climb up the hill because while the gravel road went along the very backbone of the ridge, climbing over low knolls and dropping down into the saddles between them, the group walked on the side of a slope that grew increasingly steep. This was taxing to both leg muscles and lungs but they made good progress.

  At frequent intervals Peter moved to look over the crest of the ridge back to the right rear. Each time he was relieved to note that the Devil Worshipper’s car was still parked at the bridge.

  Graham came to a halt and shook his head. “This is getting too steep for safety,” he said, indicating the almost vertical slopes ahead.

  “I didn’t notice this when we went up it last time,” Stephen commented.

  “That’s because it
was dark and we were busy dragging the cannon up the road with blocks and tackles,” Graham answered. “Anyway, we will just have to risk being seen and walk up the road,” he added.

  Peter studied the almost sheer drop beside them on their left. This plummeted down for hundreds of metres to the bed of the Mulgrave, which he saw had curled around the spur to flow parallel below them. He nodded but then noticed the view and pointed.

  “You can see all the way up the valley to Bartle Frere,” he commented.

  “To where?” Joy called from behind him.

  “Mt Bartle Frere, the highest mountain in Queensland,” Peter replied, pointing to the distant bulk of the mountain.

  “Or Choorichullum, if you are an Aborigine,” Stephen added.

  Megan frowned. “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “That is the Aboriginal name,” Stephen explained.

  “Why didn’t the first settlers call it that?” Megan asked.

  Peter laughed. “Because Captain Cook named it I think and he didn’t come ashore to ask the locals what its name was.”

  Graham now led the way across onto the road, continually looking to his right rear as he went. Peter followed and noted that the car was just visible through the trees.

  I hope they can’t see us, he worried.

  For the next five minutes they slogged up the steep slope and then halted on an even steeper upslope to get their breath and to take in the view. To Peter’s eyes it was magnificent. They could see for thirty kilometres up the Mulgrave valley to the south. He also pointed out the massive, jungle clad bulk of the Bellenden Ker Range on the left.

  “That is Bartle Frere at the end of the valley on the right. Babinda is across that saddle between Bartle Frere and Bellenden Ker.”

  “Isn’t that where we are going?” Megan asked.

  “Steve thinks so,” Peter replied.

  Stephen made a face. “We will, if we don’t keep getting side-tracked by these bloody Devil Worshippers.”

  Sir Miles wiped perspiration from his face. “Sorry about that,” he said.

  Peter gave a short laugh. “Don’t worry about it. Hiking is our hobby. Come on.” He resumed slogging up the steep pinch. The gravel road led up over another low rise and down into another small saddle, then up onto another rise. The vegetation remained open savannah.

  “What is that mark that cuts across the mountainside ahead of us?” Joy asked.

  Peter’s gaze followed her pointing finger. “The Gillies Highway. It leads up to the Atherton Tablelands, which are on top of the range ahead of us.”

  From where they were the line of the highway showed clearly as it cut diagonally up to the left across the face of the escarpment.

  Megan looked up towards the top of the mountain and looked worried. “We don’t have to climb all the way up there do we?” she called.

  Peter glanced at the top of the range, which now towered above them. He laughed then said: “No. We turn right at that pointy hill there, the one the highway goes behind.”

  “It is called the Knob,” Graham added, consulting his map.

  Stephen gestured to the right. “We could go north anywhere along here couldn’t we?” he suggested.

  Again Peter laughed, then gestured at the very steep slopes. “Yes, if you like. Off you go. I will follow a nice gentle ridge down myself.”

  Sir Miles, who had been puffing along behind Megan spoke up: “Where is Little Mulgrave?”

  Peter pointed down into the valley to the right. “Those buildings you can just see over there,” he replied.

  Even as he did the radio in his basic pouch crackled to life. “Hello! Quick Joy, notebook ready,” he called as he pulled the radio out and lifted it to his ears.

  While Joy took down the radio message they stopped walking. The others gulped water and got their breath back. Peter dropped his pack and sat on it, then decoded as fast as he could, helped by Gwen. Graham and Stephen moved on their own initiative to guard the front and rear.

  As the message took form Peter felt the same sickening tightness in the stomach again. When he finished he bit his lip and gave the others a grim smile.

  “Bad news. It seems that Sir Richard has survived. Listen to this. It is from Six Five Six to Brave Mike.”

  “The Black Monk!” Joy breathed.

  Peter nodded. “It says: Have rescued Sir Richard from the river. He reports cover exposed. Second knight now with army cadets.”

  The friends looked at each other, worry written on all their faces. Peter pocketed his notebook and moved to stand up, thinking that the sooner they reached Little Mulgrave the better. At that moment the radio crackled again. Joy let out a little cry and started writing again. Peter still stood and pulled on his pack. “We must keep moving. I will try to decode as we walk along,” he said.

  As soon as the message was written down Peter took the copy from Joy as she tore it out of her Field Message Notebook with its carbon pages. It was, as he had expected, the answer from the Black Monk to 656. The group trudged up another steep slope and down another dip, Graham now walking fifty paces in front as scout and Stephen well to the rear.

  On the next steep upslope when they ground to a halt to get their breath back Peter finished the decoding and felt even sicker. He eyed the others grimly, then told them what it said.

  “It is from the Black Monk to 656. It says: Search for cadets and follow them. Send Sir Richard to me. Report all sightings.”

  “Follow them!” Joy gasped. “Oh no!”

  “Let’s move!” Peter said. Without waiting to see if he was obeyed he started walking.

  As they panted up the slope Megan called to him: “They won’t know which way we went will they?”

  “I wouldn’t bet on it,” Peter replied. “We didn’t take any special precautions to hide our tracks.” It was something he was now regretting but when he thought about it he could see that they were too concerned with just getting out of the area.

  Confirmation came within five minutes. The radio began again as they crested the next rise. Joy again did the writing and Peter started decoding as he walked along. He had the message decoded by the time they halted on the next upslope.

  “It is from 656 to the Black Monk and says: Enemy are moving west up ridge from Potts Bridge.”

  “They are onto us!” Stephen said. He had the pistol in his hand.

  “Oh my God!” Megan wailed. “We must get out of here!”

  “Keep moving,” Peter said. As they started again so did the radio. Once again Joy wrote and Peter decoded as they walked. It was a very long message and took five minutes to copy. By this time they were approaching the knoll called ‘The Knob’. This was a sparsely forested conical hill. The road went up a long, steep climb to about half the height of the Knob before cutting right across the edge of a very steep grassy slope.

  Once again their lack of fitness brought them to a standstill on the long steep upslope. Peter finished decoding. The others stood panting and waiting anxiously, their eyes fixed on him. Once again Peter felt his stomach churn and contract with fear. He had to swallow and lick his lips to speak and only with an effort managed to keep a quaver out of his voice.

  “It is from the Black Monk to 65. It says: Six Five Five to drive to the Knob, Grid Reference 625027. Intercept enemy and hold them. Six Five Six and Six Five Three to follow up along ridge to join. Kill cadets and hold knight for questioning. I am moving with knight and Six One Four to next contact.”

  “Kill the cadets!” Megan gasped.

  Chapter 18

  THE QUEST

  “Kill us! They won’t will they?” Joy asked anxiously.

  Sir Miles nodded grimly. “Yes they will. I am very sorry I got you into this.”

  “You didn’t,” Peter replied. “Now let’s think this out.”

  Megan shook her head. “No! We must get away!” she cried.

  Peter frowned at her. “Take it easy! We don’t want to run around like headless chooks. We need a sensib
le plan,” he replied. He was aware that his own heart rate had shot up and that he was feeling very pressured and flustered. The fear now crawled and slithered in his belly making him feel ill.

  “But what can we do?” Megan wailed.

  Graham took out the Beretta. “Fight the bastards!” he growled. “We have got three guns and should be able to make a good stand.”

  The thought of shooting and death made Peter feel nauseous but he grimly conceded it was an option. However he shook his head. “Not until we have no other alternative. If need be we can just walk off down the slope into the bush and hide. As a first move we are going to dump these packs. Get extra food and put it in your webbing, then hide the packs over there in the grass.”

  So saying he swung off his own pack and opened it. The others burst into frantic activity. Megan was sobbing with fear by this and Joy kept muttering. Only Graham looked happy and he kept looking around to ensure they weren’t taken by surprise while they worked. Five minutes later the packs had been placed on the other side of a log in the long grass.

  This time Peter remembered to tell Stephen to brush out their tracks so that the packs wouldn’t be found. As soon as everyone had their webbing back on Peter signalled to start walking. All the while his mind had been busy trying to decide what the best plan was.

  A glance at his watch told Peter it was 10:30. He increased his pace, slogging up the slope. Graham strode along beside him, map in hand. For the next two minutes they puffed up the slope until the road levelled out briefly. The Knob was now only a hundred metres ahead. A glance behind showed the group spreading out again so Peter slowed his pace.

  Graham pointed over the side of the ridge. “We could go down this spur here. It runs almost all the way down to Little Mulgrave.”

  Peter leaned over to study the map and saw that Graham was right. It was only about two kilometres in a straight line.

  Graham raised an eyebrow enquiringly. “Twenty minutes if we run. Half an hour at the most,” he added.

  For a few seconds Peter weighed the options. Then, “Yes, we will do that. They will have more trouble finding and trapping us in the bush,” he agreed. They stopped walking and waited till the others had all puffed up to join them.