The Word of God

by Christopher Cummings

  “Who is this Friar Boris?” Gwen asked Sir Miles as they puffed up another grassy slope.

  “I have never met him but I have heard of him. He is from Vacul, which is in Transylvania, and is one of the leading Devil Worshippers in the world. I think his boss is Barfout.”

  “Not Count Dracula?” Peter asked, his fear fuelling flippancy.

  Sir Miles smiled. “No.”

  “Transylvania?” Joy queried. “Isn’t that where the vampires come from?”

  “Allegedly,” Sir Miles replied. “And only in the movies. It is actually a province of Romania.”

  The trail crested a low, timbered knoll. A hundred metres ahead loomed a wall of rain forest. Peter sighed with relief. They were on top of the range. The trail led down along a gentle spur to the jungle. As he walked along it Peter felt scared and very vulnerable. If the Sniper, or another Devil Worshipper, was waiting in ambush, then this was the place to do it.

  Rather than just walk straight along the track on the open ridge he detoured off into the long grass and then into the trees lining a shallow gully. The others followed without comment and they puffed up this until they reached the jungle. Just inside the jungle the trail widened to become a road. This joined a second road at a T-junction. Both roads were obviously old timber snig tracks. The second road appeared to run along the crest of the range and there were signs of recent vehicle use in the mud and leaf mould.

  “Which way? Ooh!” Joy squeaked, as a flutter of movement just in the jungle startled them.

  It was only a scrub turkey. Peter felt his heart pound. He swallowed, then looked at her in surprise. As they had both been there before he was a little disappointed. He pointed left. “That way.”

  Both Gwen and Stephen nodded agreement. Peter started walking along the road. This went down a slope through jungle, then levelled out before coming out into open forest again at an upslope. They puffed up this, the sweat again coming in rivers. The road then dipped down again for a hundred paces, then curved left and went up another low rise.

  As they neared the top of this hill Peter abruptly halted and signalled them to cover. Twenty metres ahead, just on top he could hear noises. He cautiously crept forward and peered around the side of a large gum tree.

  It was the Sniper. His camouflage ‘Yowie Suit’ of netting and scrim was thrown back off his face and he was leaning against a tree and retching. Beside him on the track lay his rifle. The man straightened up and went to pick up his rifle. As he did he staggered. He was muttering and whimpering and a low moan escaped his lips. His skin looked very pale. Peter stared aghast.

  He has been bitten alright, and he is terrified of dying, he deduced.

  The man walked on quickly along the road out of sight. Peter moved up to watch, signalling the others to join him. They watched the Sniper go down into another dip, where the road vanished into a patch of rain forest.

  Gwen shook her head. “He shouldn’t be walking,” she said. “That is the worst thing he could be doing. It pumps the poison more quickly around his body.”

  Peter bit his lip, appalled at the situation. “What else can he do? He is on his own. He must get back to his car,” he replied. As soon as the man was out of sight he hurried on down the slope, pistol at the ready.

  At the bottom he saw the man again, still walking unsteadily along the road. After fifty metres the road went out into open forest again and up another steep slope for a hundred metres. From the edge of the jungle Peter watched the man toil up the slope. As he reached the top the man stopped to spew again and he appeared to stagger as he resumed walking. It was horrifying to watch, to know that death was working in the man’s bloodstream.

  They followed the man up the hill. On top Peter again signalled halt. The man was standing unsteadily in the middle of the track, chest heaving. He staggered, moaned, placed his rifle against a tree, then sat down abruptly. He lay back and groaned aloud.

  Peter motioned the others to wait and walked quietly forward. He was able to get to the tree near the man without being heard. For a moment he stood there, heart pounding. He wiped sweat from his eyes and peeked around the tree. The man was lying on his back, breathing heavily. In one swift motion Peter reached forward and seized the rifle.

  As soon as he had the rifle Peter signalled Stephen and the others forward. As they joined him the Sniper saw them. His eyes rolled and widened and he gasped. “Snake bite! Help me! Help me!”

  Joy pursed her lips. “You were going to shoot us!” she snapped.

  “Help me!” the Sniper croaked. His eyes rolled and then closed. He lay back, gasping and muttering.

  Peter looked at the rifle, noted it was cocked and that the safety catch was off.

  Slack bugger! he thought.

  He put it on safe and handed it to Joy. “Go to the bend in the track just ahead and act as sentry in case more of them come along. Steve, you watch the rear.”

  “What are you going to do with this mongrel?” Stephen asked.

  “Fix him up. We must get him to a doctor,” Peter replied.

  “Let the bastard die!” Stephen snapped. “He was going to kill us.”

  Peter shook his head. “No. We must try to save him,” he insisted.

  Gwen supported him. “I don’t care what he was trying to do to us. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I just left him here to die.”

  Stephen curled his lip. “I could!” he replied.

  “That’s your problem!” Gwen snapped. Already she was kneeling, searching for the bite.

  Stephen bent to watch. “How are you going to get him to a doctor?” he persisted.

  “Make a stretcher and carry him, exactly the way we have been taught to do it in cadets,” Gwen replied.

  “Carry him!” Stephen cried. “We have to keep moving or those mongrels behind us will catch up!”

  “Well you can keep going if you want,” Gwen replied, “But I am staying to help.”

  Sir Miles weighed in. “I must help also: it is one of my oaths. I am bound to do so.”

  Stephen looked amazed. “Even for one of your mortal enemies?” he cried incredulously.

  “Yes. Remember what Christ said: ‘Forgive your enemies.’ Now, what should we do?” Sir Miles asked Gwen, who had now taken charge.

  Stephen shook his head in disgust and walked back to where he could see back along the track. Peter knelt and helped remove the man’s Yowie suit, then went through his pockets.

  As he did the man opened his eyes again. Already they appeared unfocused and he was sweating. His skin was cold to touch and his pulse rapid but weak. The man suddenly gripped Peter’s arm and a look of desperation came into his face. “Help me! Oh God help me!” he croaked.

  “God help me!” Stephen jibed. “What a turncoat. If he was a true Devil Worshipper he would welcome Satan!”

  “Just keep watch!” Peter snapped. He felt sick with dread.

  Gwen pointed to the man’s cheek. Two inflamed red puncture wounds were clearly visible. “It bit him on the face.”

  “Is that bad?” Sir Miles asked.

  Gwen swallowed and nodded. “Couldn’t really be worse. It means we cannot put on a restrictive bandage to prevent the poison reaching his heart,” she explained.

  Stephen snorted. “You could put it around the bastard’s throat and make it tight,” he suggested.

  By this time Peter was feeling terrible. Apprehension gripped him and he was in no mood for an argument. “Leave it be Steve!” he snarled. He felt so upset he thought he was going to throw up.

  Sir Miles studied the Sniper’s face. “Will the poison take long to work?” he asked.

  Gwen shrugged. “Depends on how big the snake was and how much venom it injected,” she replied. “There are two different types of venom. One causes the blood to clot so the victim dies of heart attack. The other attacks the nervous system and causes the heart muscles and breathing to stop.”

  “Which type are we dealing with?” Sir Miles asked. He pushed
up the man’s eyelid as he did. The eye showed white, having rolled up into the head.

  Gwen shook her head. Tears of frustration were brimming in her eyes and she was shaking. “Don’t know!”

  “How long might he live?”

  “A few hours at most I’d say,” Gwen replied. She bit her lip and looked at Peter helplessly. “There’s nothing we can do except get him to a doctor.”

  Peter nodded. Gwen looked around. “We need to make a stretcher.”

  “No good,” Peter replied. “We haven’t anything to cut saplings down with; and being green wood it would just bend. We will have to carry him in a chair lift.” By then he had extracted a wallet, codebook, radio, money and a spare rifle magazine from the man’s pockets.

  “Let’s get moving then,” Gwen said. She stood up and called Stephen back. He was reluctant to help but pocketed his pistol and bent to seize the man’s left arm. Peter handed his pistol to Gwen and took the other arm. The boys linked arms in a chair lift under the Sniper’s bottom. Sir Miles took the man’s upper body and lifted the unconscious form upright, then held him in position while the boys stood up.

  The man was heavier than they had expected and it took a real effort. Almost at once Peter felt a sinking feeling of despair.

  This is going to be bloody hard, he told himself.

  He gritted his teeth and began walking. Stephen muttered aloud but kept pace.

  They made their way down the next slope, collecting Joy on the way. She went ahead as a very nervous scout. The track led along the edge of the escarpment, going up and down over small hills. On their left was open bush on a long downslope. On the right was thick tropical rainforest.

  After five minutes they had to stop. Sir Miles and Gwen took over carrying, with Joy holding the man upright. He was shaking and shivering by this, adding to Peter’s sense of dread. Stephen dropped back to the rear and Peter took the rifle and went on ahead. Progress was very slow, a shuffling walk. After fifty paces they had to stop again.

  As they lowered the man Joy let out a little cry of anguish. She looked very upset. Peter was about to move back to take over when his eyes caught something ahead. He motioned them to wait and moved quickly forward along the track.

  What he could see was the back of a sign. Beyond it was some sort of clearing. He moved another twenty paces and saw that it was a picnic area with mowed grass and a good gravel road. He signalled the others to keep moving and continued on to the edge of the clearing. From there he could see a car parked in the car park. There were log railings and concrete pathways.

  Some sort of civilization, he concluded, relief flooding through him.

  While the others puffed up to join him he scanned the clearing very carefully. There was no sign of movement. This was both a relief and a disappointment. He had been hoping to find people. There was no sign of the Black Monk.

  The others joined him and the Sniper was laid on the grass. Gwen looked around. “This is Gillies Lookout,” she said. “The Hang Glider launch ramp is down over there.” She pointed to where a gap in the trees allowed a view of the valley.

  “I was hoping the people who own this car might be here so we could get this bloke to hospital,” Peter said, indicating the battered old brown sedan.

  “It might be the Sniper’s?” Joy suggested.

  Peter shook his head. “Don’t think so,” Peter replied. “He didn’t have any car keys in his pocket. I think he came in the same vehicle as the Black Monk.”

  “So where is he?” Joy asked fearfully, her eyes darting in all directions.

  Peter shrugged and scanned the surrounding forest for any sign of an enemy in hiding. “No idea,” he replied.

  “Maybe it belongs to a hang glider?” Stephen suggested.

  Gwen looked doubtful. “No roof rack or trailer,” she answered.

  Peter clenched his teeth and took a deep breath. “We will look anyway. Steve, keep watching the rear. Joy, you and Gwen stay here. Keep your eyes peeled for the Black Monk or any of this joker’s cronies,” he instructed.

  Gulping with fear he walked forward, rifle at the ready. Sir Miles followed, pistol in hand. Peter kept over against the edge of the trees at the top of the slope. His eyes searched the clearing but it appeared peaceful and deserted. As he made his way forward he swallowed and wiped sweaty palms on his trousers. He was very scared and he knew it.

  The clearing sloped down to an open area. A chain wire fence and concrete platform marked the edge of the hang glider launch ramp. On the mountainside below that the trees had been felled for a hundred metres. This allowed a magnificent view of the whole Mulgrave Valley. For a minute Peter stood and took in the view. He realized he could see all the way down the valley to Gordonvale and the Pyramid. Off to his right the valley stretched away to the base of Mt Bartle Frere.

  He was about to turn away when marks on the concrete launch platform caught his eye.

  That looks like blood, he thought.

  Feeling both very exposed and very apprehensive he walked quickly down the steps. As he got closer he felt his stomach lurch and he had to steel himself to go on.

  It was blood.

  There was a pool of it, then smears, drops and dribbles, leading to the edge of the platform. With an effort of willpower he stepped forward and looked over. His worst fears were immediately confirmed. Five metres below, sprawled among the tree stumps and long grass, was a body.

  Sir Miles came down to join him. “What is it?”

  “A man. Dead I think,” Peter replied. He pointed down.

  “Probably the man I was supposed to meet,” Sir Miles replied grimly. He hurried back off the platform, climbed over the fence and made his way down the slope, to kneel at the body.

  Peter stared in grisly fascination, from time to time tearing his gaze away to look at the view. He focused on the distant shape of the Pyramid and his mind was flooded with ghastly images of the rotting corpse there.

  Sir Miles looked up. “He is alive!” he called.

  Peter hurried down to join him. The man appeared to be about thirty years of age. He was very thin and bearded. He wore a ragged sort of striped cloak or cassock. There was blood all over one side of his head and also on his back.

  “He’s been shot,” Sir Miles said. “But he isn’t dead. They must have shot him and tossed him over the edge without checking.”

  Looking at the blood, still seeping out and attracting flies and ants Peter could see why. “Is he your man?”

  “I think so. I was told there was a Prophet who would meet me at the Lookout. From his.. er.. eccentric clothing, I suspect this may be the man. Let’s get him up to the road.”

  The two of them lifted the badly wounded man between them and half carried, half dragged the man up to the fence. It took a real effort to get him over. As they did the man let out a groan and his eyes flickered open briefly. That both cheered and horrified Peter. He climbed over and helped Sir Miles to carry the man up the slope.

  They laid him on the grass near the car. As they did Gwen and Joy came running across. “Who is that? Oh! Oh! What’s happened to him?” Gwen cried.

  Sir Miles looked up at her. “I think he is my next contact,” he replied. “Quick, have you got any bandages?”

  “Yes,” Gwen replied. She and Joy knelt to extract First Aid kits. Sir Miles searched the man’s ragged clothing but found only a set of keys.

  “Is he your man?” Peter asked.

  Sir Miles shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  Joy handed him a bandage. “Who shot him?” Joy asked.

  Sir Miles shrugged. “The Black Monk or one of his crew I guess,” he replied.

  Gwen used water from her bottle to wash away some of the blood from the man’s face. “He hasn’t been there long. This blood isn’t dry yet,” she observed.

  That made Peter glance around the clearing. If the Black Monk shot him, where was he? He voiced his concern.

  Sir Miles replied. “If it was him then I fear they are
gone. Sir Richard knew the password.”

  Joy looked dismayed. “You mean he might have asked this man for where to go next and then shot him?” she asked, horror and disgust clear in her voice.

  “I fear so,” Sir Miles replied.

  Gwen wiped more blood away to expose a huge weal across the back and side of the man’s skull. “But that is awful!” she cried. “That means they will get to the scroll before you.”

  Sir Miles nodded. “Yes, and possibly kill several more people. But never mind that. We must get this poor fellow to a doctor and quickly.”

  The thought crossed Peter’s mind that, if the Black Monk was now ahead of them, and this man died, then the chain was broken and they would never find the scroll in time. It was a bitter thought.

  Sir Miles took the keys and stood up. “I will see if these keys fit this car,” he said.

  They did. As soon as Sir Miles had the doors open he called to them. “Quickly! Load the two injured men and get in. We must go fast!”

  Joy looked at the car and frowned. “Will we all fit?” she asked doubtfully.

  “We will fit!” Sir Miles said emphatically. He walked over and hoisted the wounded man up. Gwen had started bandaging the head wound. “Wait! I have to finish this,” she said. “And I haven’t looked at the wound in his back yet.”

  “Do it in the car. Time is more important,” Sir Miles replied. He lugged the man to the back passenger seat of the car and placed him inside. Gwen climbed in and resumed bandaging.

  Sir Miles pointed back to the end of the walking track. “Now the Sniper,” he said.

  “Oh leave him,” Gwen said. “They are just murderers!”

  Sir Miles shook his head. “I agree, but I am taking him. It is my Christian duty. Please help me.”

  He strode over to the Sniper and roughly hauled him back across the lawn. Peter reluctantly helped. Stephen shook his head and sneered, then followed, still warily covering their rear.

  Getting everyone in was a problem. Sir Miles was driver. Peter squeezed in the front, holding the Sniper upright on his left. With difficulty he held the rifle between his legs so that it wasn’t pointing at anyone. Joy placed his webbing on his lap. Then she and Gwen climbed in the back, holding the wounded man upright.