The Word of God

by Christopher Cummings

  The wounded man had been placed down in the Recovery Position. As Gwen tended him his eyes suddenly flickered open. They were quite clear.

  “Who are you?” the man asked.

  It was such a surprise that, for a moment, nobody could answer.

  The man tried to lift his head. “What happened? Who are you?” he asked again.

  Sir Miles knelt beside him. “I am Sir Miles Falworth, a Knight of the Holy Grail. You were shot by Devil Worshippers.”

  “No I wasn’t! I was shot by one of your lot, by Sir Richard somebody or other, you murdering … cough.. splutter… gag!”

  The man was wracked by a spasm of coughing. More blood trickled out. Gwen wiped it away and patted him. The man opened his eyes again and looked at her. “Who are you?”

  Gwen told him, and explained who she was, then introduced the others. “You met Sir Richard then?” she asked.

  “Yes I did,” the man said.

  “Did he have anyone with him?” Gwen asked.

  The man shook his head feebly. “I didn’t see anyone else. I was praying for forgiveness at the lookout. Where are we?”

  “In the jungle, escaping from Devil Worshippers,” Gwen explained.

  “You should pray for forgiveness,” the man said.

  “I do,” Gwen replied seriously.

  The man nodded. “You need to. You are all sinners. Repent while there is still time. Turn away from violence and evil. Beg forgiveness from God. I will ask him for you. I am Elijah, the mouth of God. I speak for him on this wicked earth. Me he trusts!”

  As he had been speaking the man’s voice had risen and his eyes glazed over. It made Peter’s skin break out in goose bumps.

  Out of his tree! he thought.

  Sir Miles knelt and answered: “We do ask for forgiveness brother, and also for your help. I was told to tell you that I am my brother’s keeper.”

  For a moment the prophet looked quizzically at Sir Miles. Then his face changed to a scowl. “I know that! Do you think me ignorant of the word of God? Do you heed his words? Do you not remember that Our Lord said that those who live by the sword die by the sword? Take off those killer’s uniforms and repent!”

  Stephen made a face and muttered: “I’d rather die by the sword than a lot of other ways I can think of.”

  This earned him frowns from both Gwen and Sir Miles. Sir Miles nodded to placate the man. “Yes, we do repent our sins. I knew that. I was using the quote as a password.”

  “Password?” the prophet replied, looking puzzled. He coughed and muttered, then continued: “Oh yes, we all need a password. Remember what the Lord said: ‘He that believeth in me shall have eternal life’.”

  “Who shall we say that to?” Sir Miles asked.

  “You don’t need to say it to anyone. God knows if you are a sinner and whether you believe or not. If you do not believe you do not go to heaven.”

  “Yes, you are right,” Sir Miles replied. “We were hoping you might help us with our quest.”

  “What quest is that?” the prophet asked. His eyes closed for a moment and he shuddered. Gwen tenderly wiped his mouth with her handkerchief.

  Sir Miles went on: “We seek a document that may prove God’s word to be the truth,” he said.

  The prophet opened his eyes and looked indignant. “The truth! Of course God’s word is the truth. How dare you question it!”

  “I do not doubt God’s word. But others do and need to be convinced.”

  The prophet nodded, then coughed before saying: “Yes, there are many unbelievers. They will burn in Hell fire as all sinners should.” He suddenly pointed at Stephen. “You are a sinner. Repent and be saved.”

  There were a few moments of silence. Peter exchanged glances with Stephen and had to hide a grin. Gwen gave Stephen a sharp glance as well, then gently wiped more blood from the prophet’s mouth. She asked: “Who does Sir Miles go to next? To whom do we say: ‘He that believeth in me shall have eternal life’?”

  The prophet was silent for a minute as his eyes searched Gwen’s face. Peter began to fret. He knew it was important to find out but he was also feeling very stressed over the possibility of the Devil Worshippers tracking them down.

  The prophet nodded and said: “You are a good person with a pure heart. Do you trust this man?” He indicated Sir Miles.

  “Yes, yes I do,” Gwen replied, nodding emphatically.

  “I ask because another man who claimed to be a Knight of the Holy Grail, and who gave me the correct password then betrayed me.”

  “Did you tell him where to go next?” Gwen asked.

  The prophet nodded. “Yes I…” Cough. “Yes, I did. Curse his black heart.”

  “Where is that? Who do we have to see? Please tell us. We may still be in time to save that person from being shot as well,” Gwen said.

  The prophet coughed more blood and nodded. “Yes, you are right. Go to old Ned Durward, the gardener in the park in Malanda. Give him the password.”

  “How do we find him?” Gwen asked.

  For a moment the lines of pain cleared from the prophet’s face and he smiled.

  “If you can’t find the town of Malanda you haven’t much chance of finding the scroll!”

  Gwen smiled too and wiped his face again. “You are right. Now, we must get you to a doctor. Sorry, but this may hurt.”

  She motioned the others into position. Peter told Joy to take her place. Joy handed her the compass and took her place carrying. They lifted the man as gently as they could but he still groaned with pain and coughed again. Then it was on through the jungle, getting snagged on trees and vines, stumbling, bumping against the man; their free hands constantly in use to steady themselves against trees or to disentangle vines.

  The ground began to slope down to the west. Peter found that very heartening. Stephen took over as lead and Gwen took his place. They resumed walking. Peter glanced at his watch and saw that it was 4:30. Time seemed to be flying by and he became anxious that they would be still in the rainforest when darkness fell.

  Sir Miles took over leading and they struggled on. To Peter’s relief the rainforest ahead became lighter and a few paces it on it became apparent they were nearing the edge of the jungle.

  Thank God for that! Peter thought. But open country raised other problems. We will be visible from a long way off. We must be careful.

  They reached the edge of the forest and halted, lowering the wounded prophet with sighs of relief. There was a barbed wire fence along the edge of the jungle. The prophet had lapsed into unconsciousness again, which was both a worry and a relief. Gwen checked his pulse. “It is very weak. We’d better keep moving.”

  Peter stood behind a tree and scanned the open country. It was rolling hills covered with long grass and dotted with dairy cattle. There were a few clumps of trees. No buildings were visible but Peter was confident there would be a farmhouse not far away.

  “Which way?” Sir Miles asked.

  Peter studied the ground. He was very reluctant to move out into the open country but knew they had to take the risk. To both right and left there were large re-entrants. To the right the ground fell away into a small grassy valley a hundred metres wide. Beyond it was more rainforest so going west down that re-entrant certainly looked the best option.

  And heading right takes us further from the road the Devil Worshippers are on, he thought.

  He pointed that way. “We will follow that re-entrant down,” he explained. “Once we are in it we should mostly be in dead ground.”

  At that moment Stephen grabbed Peter’s arm and pointed to the left. “Look! Devil Worshippers!”

  Chapter 22

  THE LUCK OF THE DEVIL

  Devil Worshippers! Again!

  Peter swore under his breath and felt his stomach churn with fear. Along the edge of the rainforest on the other side of the re-entrant on their left there was obviously a road as the white 4WD was driving down it, crammed with Devil Worshippers.

  Gwen crouched i
n the long grass beside him. “They are on their way to Malanda! Oh! They’ll beat us to the scroll,” she said.

  Sir Miles chewed his lip. “And to the contact man. We must get to a telephone and warn the police,” he added.

  Peter felt an intense surge of emotion: defeat, anxiety, frustration, as he watched the vehicle drive down the hill.

  The vehicle stopped at the edge of the rainforest. There was a gate in the fence. One of the Devil Worshippers got out and opened it. The vehicle then drove through and stopped again while the man closed the gate.

  Joy suddenly pointed off to the south west. “Look! The police!” she cried.

  Peter looked. Just coming into view through a small glade of trees out in the open country were three white vehicles, two with blue and red lights on top. At that moment the Devil Worshippers also saw them. The man who had closed the gate was just walking forward when the white 4WD suddenly reversed, almost hitting him. There were shouts about the gate but the vehicle kept going. It ran into the gate which broke under the impact. But then the driver’s plan went wrong. The steel frame of the gate jammed under the vehicle and it slewed to a stop. Doors were flung open and there was a scramble of black clad figures out of the vehicle.

  Peter clearly saw the Black Monk jump out and run back. He encountered the barbed wire fence and had to crawl under it, snagging his cassock as he did. Sir Richard also appeared and ran back but did not see the barbed wire fence and ran into it. His yelp of pain was clearly heard by the cadets and they let out murmurs of delight. The other Devil Worshippers, four of them, all ran back up into the jungle. Sir Richard freed himself and scrambled for cover.

  A shot rang out, fired by the last Devil Worshipper, who then dived for cover. The police vehicles stopped and hastily reversed, pursued by more shots. The rear police car suddenly stopped, causing the other two to stop as well. More shots rang out. Doors were flung open and people could be glimpsed diving for cover behind the cars and in the long grass.

  Peter saw men in suits, blue police shirts and also camouflage uniforms. “Graham and Megan are there!” he cried.

  Joy stared, open-mouthed and white-faced as the gunfire crackled. “What will we do?” she cried.

  “What can we do?” Gwen said. Now the police were firing back but there was no doubt the Devil Worshippers had the upper hand.

  “They are pinned down out in the open country,” Peter said. “We must do something.” It was obvious that Graham and the police were in serious trouble.

  “But what can we do?” Joy asked.

  Stephen held up his pistol. “Join in the battle,” he replied. He checked the number of bullets in the cylinder.

  Peter shook his head. “Not from here,” he said. “The range is too great. We must get closer.” He paused to think for a moment then said: “Joy, you and Gwen stay here with this bloke. We will try to get behind those mongrels. If you have to, go on down that other re-entrant and try to get to safety.”

  Without waiting for argument Peter passed the Beretta to Joy, scooped up the rifle, groped in his webbing for the spare bullets, then began running along the narrow strip of cleared land between the fence and the jungle. Stephen and Sir Miles followed.

  The easiest way was along the edge of the open country beside the fence. That meant they would be visible to any Devil Worshipper looking that way for part of the distance but it was safer than running directly down the open grassy slope.

  And it will take too long in the bloody jungle! Peter thought. But even so his heart was in his mouth at the fearful risk.

  The firing had died down by this as some sort of stalemate set in. Peter ran on, his heart pounding and eyes misting red with excitement and exertion. Several times he stumbled on the rough ground but later could barely remember the run. After two minutes he found himself crouched in the long grass beside the fence where it did a right angle turn a hundred paces uphill from the white 4WD.

  Stephen and Sir Miles flung themselves down near him, chests heaving. No sooner had they done this than Peter signalled frantically to them to stay under cover. A flurry of shots had broken out. Peter saw that one of the Devil Worshippers had run back out to the vehicle and tried to get in. The man was hit and went down. There was a pause.

  Stephen blinked through his glasses, which had fogged up from the condensation. “What do we do now?” he gasped.

  “Cross the road and try to sneak up behind them,” Peter said. He was feeling intense surges of fear and excitement.

  But Sir Miles shook his head. “Three against four,” he said. “Not good odds.”

  “We will have surprise on our side,” Peter replied. He found he was having severe doubts about whether he could creep up behind someone and shoot them.

  This will be deadly, he thought, his emotions swirling through fear and doubt.

  Then an alternative occurred to him. “When we get there we call on them to surrender,” he said.

  Stephen made a face. “And if they don’t?”

  “We shoot them,” Peter replied grimly. The idea produced a sickening feeling that seemed to well up and choke him.

  “Wait! Look!” Sir Miles hissed.

  Stephen blinked myopically. “Where? What?” he said. He had taken of his glasses and was wiping them. Peter anxiously looked down the road. From out of the jungle on their side of the 4WD, and obviously out of sight of the police, a Devil Worshipper had appeared. He crawled across the road into the long grass on their side of the road, then went forward to the fallen man. As he did other Devil Worshippers opened up covering fire from the jungle on the left.

  The Devil Worshipper reached his mate, seized him and quickly dragged him back up the road. The man then knelt and checked the fallen man. The covering fire died down and stopped.

  Stephen put his glasses back on and shook his head. “That was a gutsy thing to do,” he observed.

  “Yes,” Peter conceded, not wanting to give any credit for noble feelings to such people.

  As they watched two other Devil Worshippers came out of the jungle and stood talking to the kneeling man who shook his head.

  Stephen stared at them. “Our mates who followed us up the mountain,” he observed.

  Peter scanned the jungle across the road. “Where are the Black Monk and Sir Miles then?” he wondered aloud. As he said this one of the men moved at a crouch to the corner of the rainforest and fired his shotgun twice in the direction of the police. He then came walking back.

  “Out of ammo,” he said. The words clearly reached the cadets.

  The kneeling man stood up and said: “Time we got out of here then. Let’s go.” To Peter’s surprise the three Devil Worshippers began running up the road towards them.

  “Keep down. We will ambush them,” Peter ordered. He crouched and pushed off the safety catch on the rifle. By peering through a clump of grass he could see the men as they got closer. The sight filled him with fear: the black clothes, black balaclavas and guns.

  Then things happened too fast to feel much emotion. When the first of the running men was only ten metres away Peter aimed the rifle and yelled out: “Stop! Put your hands up!”

  The man swore and skidded to a halt. The man behind had pulled his balaclava up and Peter distinctly saw the look of astonishment on his face. The third Devil Worshipper swore and dived for cover.

  Crack!

  Sir Miles’s pistol went off close to Peter’s head. The man who had dived for cover let out a yelp of pain and grabbed his arm, dropping his rifle as he did so. He then lay groaning beside the road.

  “Hands up!” Peter shrieked. He was on the edge of panic and knew his voice showed this. The Devil Worshippers stopped and did as they were told, their faces a mixture of surprise and anger.

  For a moment Peter was too surprised by the success of his plan to act.

  We did it! he marvelled, staring along the rifle at the agitated Devil Worshipper.

  Then training reasserted itself. “Throw down the guns and lie down on the
road,” he ordered.

  The men did as they were told. Peter stood up and pointed down the road.

  “Sir Miles, go down that way twenty paces and cover us in case there are more of them,” he instructed.

  Sir Miles did as he was told. As soon as he was in position Peter knelt in the long grass where he could cover all three prisoners at once. “OK Steve, grab their guns and put them over here.”

  Stephen knew what to do. He moved so that he never went between Peter and any of the Devil Worshippers and he kept well clear of their reach while he collected the guns and placed them beside the road. He was obviously thinking along the same lines as Peter as he said: “I wonder where the Black Monk and Sir Richard are?”

  “Still in the jungle?” Peter suggested.

  “Done a bunk more likely, and left these jokers to delay the police,” Stephen replied.

  A fractional scowl on the face of the nearest Devil Worshipper made Peter suspect this was the case. “We have to contact the coppers,” he said. His mind tried to work out how to do this. The easiest way was to run down the road but that was far from the safest, if the Black Monk and Sir Richard were actually still in the jungle.

  He pointed back through the fence: “Duck under the fence Steve, and run down in the dead ground to get the cops.”

  Stephen understood instantly, the experience of dozens of fieldcraft exercises giving him a good understanding of how to use ground. He rolled under the fence and set off at a run through the long grass, keeping just far enough down the slope to be invisible from anyone in the edge of the jungle on the other side of the road.

  Peter concentrated on covering the three prisoners. They were now looking around and plainly seeking a way of escape. One of them still had his balaclava pulled down and his eyes seemed to glitter with hate. Peter found he was shaking and had to force himself to focus and to keep the rifle steady.

  Ten anxious minutes passed. The sun sank slowly to the west. Peter looked out in that direction. Beyond the open country were jungle covered hills, and beyond them were dark blue mountains that he recognized as the Lamb Range. Satisfied he knew roughly where he was he settled down to waiting.