A cheerful, middle aged lady served them. “It will take a few minutes to cook these hamburgers dearies,” she said.
With nothing better to do the group drifted back outside to where two tables and eight chairs allowed them somewhere to sit. While they waited they talked and drank fruit juice or flavoured milk. The town was very quiet. There were noises of voices and the clink of glasses from the hotel on the corner and there was another shop open over the road but hardly any traffic and not a pedestrian to be seen.
“Malanda by night eh?” Stephen offered.
Peter smiled. “Like it was when we were here for New Year’s Eve a couple of years ago.”
The boys all laughed at the memory. Graham chuckled. “It has its moments I’m told,” he replied. “Now you lot, give us the details of what happened on the mountain.”
They began to discuss and recount the events of the day. As they talked something that Inspector Goldstein had said niggled in the back of Peter’s mind, but he couldn’t pin down what it was that was worrying him.
A car went past and he watched it idly. Then a dog walked across the road further along. A truck roared past, slowed, then went around the corner near the hotel. Sir Miles was required to explain the quest for the scroll to Graham and Megan. Peter could tell instantly that the idea of helping the knight on his quest appealed strongly to Graham.
Too romantic for his own good! Peter thought fondly.
A truck came slowly along the street from the direction of the police station.
Peter took no notice of it until it pulled in to the kerb next to them. Then he glanced at it idly. It was of the sort used to deliver milk or bread with a cabin on the tray. The driver and another man climbed out on different sides. The passenger was a lean, hard looking man in his thirties, dressed in greasy brown trousers and a grey woollen shirt. On his belt was a huge bowie knife.
The man walked straight over to them. Peter thought he was going to ask a question but found himself staring at a huge revolver that the man produced from behind his back. He pointed this at Joy. Fear and shock froze the group.
Peter found he was quite calm, though utterly surprised.
The man spoke, his voice a sharp American accent. “Not a sound folks, or this little lady gets it. Now grab your gear and get into the back of the truck. Nobody call out or make a fuss. Be quick about it.”
The revolver looked positively enormous. It also looked very old fashioned.
A Navy Colt .44? Peter wondered.
He wasn’t really interested in guns but had followed all the movies as a youngster. He found himself standing up, tensed and ready to spring.
The driver of the truck, a solid, middle aged man in grey trousers and a dark green army jacket, had opened the back doors and now called: “Don’t try anything stupid son, or the whole lot of you is history.”
Peter saw that the driver had an automatic shotgun and knew that any attempt to overpower the men would be suicidal. In desperation he glanced along the footpath but there wasn’t a soul in sight. The shop was also deserted, the lady being in the kitchen cooking their hamburgers.
There was nothing for it but to obey. Reluctantly they grabbed their gear and walked sullenly to the rear of the truck. The interior was in darkness but Peter saw that there was a third man there, a thin, weasel faced man in jeans and red and black flannel ‘Lumberjack’ shirt. He levelled an M16 automatic rifle on them.
“Git in!”
Reluctantly they did so. When they were all in the man in the grey shirt stepped up as well and turned on an interior light. The whole time he kept the revolver levelled on them. The back doors were swung shut. The man with the M16 stood at the back and covered them. “Lean on the side one at a time,” he ordered. He was also an American.
They did so. The man with the revolver tucked it into his waistband at the back and swiftly and efficiently searched them for weapons. He found both Sir Miles’ pistol and Stephen’s. That done the man ordered them to sit against the sides. As he did the truck began to move. There were no seats so they had to wedge themselves on the floor and in the corners. The man with the M16 sat against the doors, his weapon pointing at Megan.
The man in the grey shirt indicated their webbing. “Open it up and show me what’s in it.”
They did so. Peter then repacked the tins of food and odd items he had removed. The man nudged the set of webbing lying near him.
“Whose is this?”
“The girl who got kidnapped,” Peter replied. Now he knew what it was that had bothered him about the Inspector’s statement.
He said that all the Black Monk’s gang had been arrested, but they work in sixes. We caught one on top of the Pyramid. They killed one for talking to us, then we captured one at Little Mulgrave, yet we captured four at the edge of the jungle. That makes seven. And we caught the Sniper too; and his number is 614. So there is more than one group.
Having reasoned this he was surprised when the man in the grey shirt asked: “What girl got kidnapped? Who by?”
Peter had begun to concentrate on the motions of the vehicle, trying to work out which way they were going but this distracted him. “Gwen Copeland. She was with us at Mr Durward’s. The Black Monk and Sir Richard took her.”
“Who took her?” the man asked, obviously puzzled.
“The Black Monk, Friar Boris,” Peter replied.
“The Black Monk! Who the hell is he?”
“The leader of the Devil Worshippers,” Peter replied. As he did his mind was busy noting the turning.
We are going west out of town. We are just crossing the bridge at Malanda Falls.
The man gaped. “Devil Worshippers! What the hell! Are you kidding me?” he cried. He was plainly surprised and disturbed. His companion moved restlessly and looked anxious.
Peter shook his head. “No. They have been after us for three days. Aren’t you Devil Worshippers?”
“Hell no! We are Christ’s good and faithful soldiers,” the man in the grey shirt replied with conviction. “We shoot Devil Worshippers whenever we meet ‘em.”
That was a surprise to Peter. As he pondered this Joy asked: “Are you the Americans who took Old Ned?”
“None o’ your business girlie. What we wanta know is how you army types fit into the picture. What you all doin’ searching his house with the police for?” grey shirt asked.
As the question was directed at him Peter answered. “Looking for Old Ned.. er. for Mr Durward.”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”
That put Peter on the spot. He shook his head and bit his lip while he tried to think of an answer. The truck slowed and turned sharply left at the top of a hill.
Heading west along the road past Bromfield Swamp, he deduced.
Megan interrupted. “Where have you taken Gwen? Why have you kidnapped her?”
“We haven’t taken any girl anywhere. Tell us about these here Devil Worshippers?” grey shirt answered.
Joy shook her head. “No. Not till you tell us who you are and where you are taking us,” she replied.
“You’ll find out,” grey shirt replied. “And you’ll talk. We got ways of makin’ people talk.”
The man said no more but seated himself in the other corner beside the man with the M16. The cadets and Sir Miles were left to contemplate their possible fate as the truck roared on through the night.
Chapter 25
HEY!
As the truck roared along in the dark Peter’s mind was furiously busy: Who were these Americans? And where were they taking them? At first he had been able to keep track of the route but after several stops and sharp turns, right, left, right, he was lost. From the fast, smooth running at one stage he deduced they might have been on a highway, rather than one of the narrow farm roads.
Joy was huddled against him and he put his arm around her shoulders without realizing it. In response she snuggled close “Who are these people?” she whispered.
Instantly Grey Shirt’s eyes sw
ivelled. “No talking!” he rapped.
Peter met the man’s eyes. He appeared watchful but not particularly hostile; just a man carrying out orders. Peter looked around at the others. Graham was sitting trying to look unconcerned but Peter knew him well enough to realize he was actually a coiled spring waiting for any opportunity. Megan looked haggard and miserable. Stephen was stony faced and glum. Sir Miles had his head down resting on his arms. Joy was white faced but looked calm.
The truck slowed and turned hard left, so that they had to grab what they could to stop sliding across the floor. The same applied to the two guards and Peter fervently hoped the man with the M16 wouldn’t accidentally pull the trigger. To his relief the man took his hand off the pistol grip to hang on to the metal bars which worked the lock on the back door. Grey Shirt kept his revolver in his hand but also used the cross bars to hold on to.
Holding on to a steel rail to stop from sliding across the floor as the vehicle went fast around bends Peter thought:
How do Americans come into this if they aren’t Devil Worshippers? From their reactions earlier he was sure they weren’t.
The road became rougher, causing them to bump and bounce around. Joy sat up and tried to find something to hold on to. The road went down a long hill, across a short bridge, then along a rough level for a kilometre or so. Peter had no real idea where they were except that they were still on the Atherton Tablelands.
Still on bitumen, he thought. But it must be a country road with potholes. Ouch! And there’s one of them now!
The truck went up over a low ridge, curved right and went down a long slope, then up a steep slope, so steep that the engine laboured and the driver had to change to low gear. All the cadets slid towards the back in a heap, causing Grey Shirt to raise his revolver and M16 to look worried. The truck went over a crest and down an even steeper slope with its brakes squealing all the way. The cadets all slid down against the front of the cab in a heap, while the two guards hung on tightly to the doors.
A bump and change in the tyre tone, then another bump told Peter they had crossed a small bridge. Abruptly the noises changed to a louder, rougher rumble.
On gravel now.
The road curved right and went up a long slope; swung sharply left and went over a crest and down a long gentle run. The truck slowed and bumped over corrugations and potholes. It swung right, then left as the road curved. Another short concrete bridge was crossed and then they roared and bumped their way up a steep slope, and stopped.
The cadets tensed themselves but it was only a gate. They heard the driver slam his door, drive them through, open the door, get out, walk back and close the gate then go back to the cab. After that the road deteriorated to a rough track. The truck went slowly but they were still bumped around.
Megan became very pale and sweaty. “I’m going to be sick,” she croaked.
Grey Shirt shrugged. “Too bad! We ain’t stoppin’,” he answered.
But soon after that they did. It must have been another gate but this time there were voices. Grey Shirt banged on the side. The voices came along the side of the truck. Peter tensed himself ready.
“What is it?” came an American voice.
“One of these girls is gunna puke,” Grey Shirt replied.
“So what?” the man replied.
“Don’t be a shit Jake. We gotta sit in here with ‘em,” Grey Shirt snarled back.
The door was unlocked and one half swung open. “Send her out and no funny business,” the man named Jake said.
Peter took in the situation. Grey Shirt had his gun pointed at them and so did M16. Outside all Peter could see was dark bush. Megan clambered out and was helped down by the driver. They heard her begin to retch. Into the light came two more men, both carrying rifles. They peered in. To Peter’s surprise one of them wore a grey ‘Kepi’ cap of the type worn during the American Civil War. He also wore dark grey clothes. His companion was bearded and wore a flannel jacket. On his head was a battered felt hat.
This one squinted in at them. “What for did you capture this lot Jed?” he asked.
“The Major said to get one of ‘em to find out what they was up to,” Jed, alias Grey Shirt, replied.
“So what did you bring ‘em all for?”
“They was all in one bunch,” Jed replied. “We couldn’t get one on their own.”
“Did anyone see ya?”
Jed sneered. “Nah! Course not. We ain’t stupid.”
M16 turned to the man in the Confederate cap. “That old guy talked yet?” he asked.
The man wearing the cap shook his head. “We’um still here ain’t we!” he replied sarcastically. “Now stop talkin’ in front of the prisoners.”
“Sorry Corporal.”
Megan was helped back up. Peter was really puzzled now.
Corporal? Who are these Americans?
He had been going to label them ‘Bloody Yanks’ in his mind but their dress and speech made him revise that. ‘Southern Gentlemen’. It was the way they helped Megan that made the word ‘gentlemen’ come to mind. They were rough characters, but not just thugs or brutes.
These two men are guards or something, he decided.
The men called: “See you-all later!” and the door was swung shut. The truck started up and drove on. Peter met Graham’s eye and they exchanged quizzical glances and shrugs. The truck swung right and bounced on along what was obviously a rough bush track. After a few minutes it began to climb. The road was really rough now, the truck bumping in ruts and potholes and against rocks. In the back they found it increasingly hard to hold on. Even the guards had to use one hand to hold on with and all they had to grip was the horizontal bars which worked the lock.
The low gear grind went on for what seemed ages but was actually only a few minutes. The truck then stopped and there were voices. Peter couldn’t hear what was said except that they were American accents with a ‘Deep South’ twang. The truck began grinding on up the slope.
More bumps had them tossed around and bruised. Joy cried out in pain and Megan cried she was going to be sick again. Grey Shirt just shrugged and hung on. He and M16 did not look like they were enjoying the trip either.
The truck hit another rough patch. The back heaved up, lifting them right off the floor. There were cries of alarm, anger and pain as they were bounced around. Peter lost his grip and slid half across the floor. He grabbed at some webbing as the first thing which came to hand. Even Grey Shirt yelled out in exasperation.
The driver obviously did not hear them as he gunned it. The truck struck rocks and bounced viciously, throwing them all in a heap. Whatever they had encountered was too much for the two wheel drive truck as it stopped moving forward. Its engine roared and Peter felt one of the back wheels spinning. Dust and the smell of burning rubber filled the air.
The driver suddenly allowed the truck to roll back off the obstruction. He then braked abruptly. The truck struck something behind very hard and they were all thrown back in a heap.
Peter found himself tumbling towards the back. Grey Shirt let out a yell and put up the hand with the revolver in it to fend him off. Peter thudded against him and the door. Suddenly one of the doors burst open. Before Peter could even call out he and Grey Shirt went tumbling out into the darkness.
Peter landed hard on top of Grey Shirt. He let out a strangled yelp, which was drowned by the sound of the truck’s engine as it roared. The truck leapt forward to try to climb the obstacle. Lying on his back Peter saw M16 try to stand and point his rifle, but then go swinging out of sight, clinging to the other half of the door with one hand and his M16 with the other.
Half stunned and shaken Peter scrambled to his feet. As he did Grey Shirt also rose, his revolver still in his hand. He called out, but the sound was lost in the bumping of the truck as it struck something hard. The forward movement stopped abruptly and the half door swung shut, narrowly missing Peter and striking Grey Shirt hard on the side.
He was knocked down. Now thinking fa
st and feeling desperate Peter bent and picked up the webbing at his feet, to use as a weapon. At that moment the truck rolled back again.
He’ll be crushed! Peter thought.
With his free hand he reached down and grabbed Grey Shirt by the sleeve and hauled. Just in time he dragged him clear of the back wheels. From inside the truck came more loud yells.
Grey Shirt scrambled to his feet and rolled clear, off to the right. Peter sprang the other way as the truck rolled back even more until it stopped against the bank. Peter found himself alone with Grey Shirt on the other side of the truck.
He can’t see me. I can escape. But can I get away without being shot?
The thoughts sped through Peter’s mind. Even as he spotted the chance and took it Peter felt a sharp twinge about leaving Joy and the others. He spun round and ran into the dark bush. This, he discovered almost instantly, was something of a mistake. The road was cut out of the side of a steep mountain and Peter at once lost his footing and went crashing down a very steep slope.
The mountainside was mostly loose leaves and dirt with small bushes. It had been recently burnt off so there was almost no undergrowth. There were numerous trees and it was one of these that brought Peter to a painful standstill after about twenty metres. As he struggled to orient himself and to get up he heard shouts and knew that his escape had been detected.
Fear lent him speed. Ignoring the numbness and bruises he stood up, still clutching the webbing, which some part of his mind told him to hang on to. On down the slope he dashed. It was very dark and he could only just discern the black tree trunks enough to avoid them. Risking a bad fall and serious injury he kept going at breakneck speed.
Up behind him he heard Grey Shirt shout to stop. Peter ignored him and ran on. There were two loud bangs and a bullet cracked past to thump into a tree off to his left. That slowed Peter. He swerved, lost his footing, and crashed hard against a tree. That at least stopped him rolling further down the slope.
The Word of God Page 30