The Word of God

by Christopher Cummings

  “Oh don’t be so boastful!” Joy cried. “Be careful you don’t go out into the wind or it will blow all your tickets off.”

  Stephen also snorted and chuckled. “He did kiss her. We watched from under cover.”

  Again Joy shook her head. “Oh poor girl! I would be so embarrassed and annoyed if it had been me. I would have felt used.”

  “She was,” Stephen commented. “She dumped Graham after that, even though he saved her from this gang of bird smugglers.”

  At that moment they heard a shout in the distance. Peter stopped talking and listened. It was Old Ned. He called again: “Frank! Frank it’s me, Ned! Where are ya mate? Frank! It’s me, Ned. Cooeeee!”

  Graham shook his heads. “I wish he wouldn’t do that,” he said.

  “He has to I suppose, if his mate is hiding,” Peter replied but he agreed.

  If the Black Monk and his team are in the area it is not good policy to be ‘Cooeeing’ at the top of your voice, he thought.

  The sound of shouting died away as Old Ned went over the top of the ridge. Peter and Graham continued with their tale about the previous adventure. Time started to drag. Peter kept glancing at his watch and saw that is was nearly 1700.

  No chance of getting off the mountain before dark now, he thought. The sun was already low and it was beginning to get cold. That was another unpleasant thought.

  “I hope he isn’t long. I don’t want to spend the night up here,” Peter said.

  Joy looked at him. “Why? We should be safe if we hide in the jungle shouldn’t we?” she asked.

  Peter made a face. “This is the Herberton Range. We are as high as we can get in this part of the world. And Herberton often has Queensland’s coldest temperatures. It could be a miserable night. I can feel a chill in the air already,” he said. Later he was to remember that remark and wonder.

  Graham had been watching the slope and he now pointed. “Look! He’s found him. Here they come,” he said.

  Over the crest of the low rise came two men: Old Ned and another old man in blue overalls and grey sweater. The other old man was smiling and carrying a sack and a shotgun.

  “Must be Frank Connolly,” Joy said.

  It was. He shook hands with them as Old Ned introduced them. Frank looked sick; his face was covered with stubble and his eyes were watering.

  Graham stuck out his hand. “Good to meet you,” he said. “We’ve been looking for you for a whole week.”

  Frank made a face. “So has every other bastard!” he cried. “I’ve been hiding like a mongrel dog ever since I discovered this bloody thing!” He held up the sack and shook it.

  Joy pointed to the sack. “Is that the Scroll?” she asked.

  Frank nodded. “Yes it is,” he replied. “Curse the bloody thing!”

  “Can we have a look at it?” Peter asked. He hadn’t meant to be so rude but he was consumed by curiosity.

  “If you like. Won’t help you much though. It’s all in bloody Hebrew or some other ancient language,” Frank replied.

  He reached inside the sack and drew out a large, flat bundle wrapped in plastic. He untied this and peeled the plastic off to expose a large picture frame about half a metre long and nearly as wide. Under the glass was the Scroll. It was a cracked brown leather sheet with black marks on it.

  Peter stared at it in fascination. He had expected the Scroll to be a roll, like he had seen in the movies, but saw the sense of what Frank’s father had done to both protect it and still be able to read it. On closer inspection he saw that the writing was faded in places but still clearly legible. It was in the peculiar squarish squiggles that he mentally associated with ancient documents.

  Joy stepped closer. “What does it say?” she asked as she studied it with fascination written all over her face.

  Frank shrugged. “Search me missie. It’s in Hebrew or Aramaic, or one of them old languages. I had enough trouble with bloody English at school so it’s no good asking me. We’ll have to wait till the experts decipher it for us.”

  Sir Miles reached out and reverently stroked the frame. His eyes were alight with the triumph of it and Peter felt very glad they had helped him on his quest. Sir Miles suddenly withdrew his hand, stood straight up and said: “The Lord sayeth: ‘Seek and ye shall find; ask and it shall be given unto you’.”

  Frank’s face broke into a grin. “That’s right. Here you are Sir Knight. You have the bloody thing.”

  He placed the Scroll in Sir Miles’ hands. Sir Miles nodded and smiled. For a minute he stared at the Scroll. Then he carefully wrapped it up and placed it back in the bag.

  “What now?” Joy asked.

  Graham gestured to his right. “Get down off this bloody mountain and get the police so we can find Gwen,” he replied.

  “Which way?” Sir Miles asked.

  Old Ned pointed along the right hand vehicle track. “Down the road be the easiest,” he replied.

  Graham looked doubtful. “Might not be the safest though,” he said.

  “Too right,” Frank agreed. “I seen two blokes with guns not half an hour ago and they looked like they was searching.”

  On hearing that Peter’s heart seemed to stop and then it palpitated wildly. “What were they wearing?” he asked.

  “Black,” Frank replied. “Sweaters and trousers and one of those woolly things rolled up on their heads.”

  Joy gasped. “Devil Worshippers!” she said in a frightened whisper.

  Graham nodded and looked grim. “Yes. We aren’t out of the woods yet, if you’ll excuse the pun,” he said.

  Frank frowned. “Who are these blokes?” he asked. “Are they the same crowd as those bloody ‘born-again’ Yanks who’ve been crawling all over my farm all week?”

  “Not Yanks, Confederates,” Graham replied. “Tell you while we walk. Now, I reckon our best plan is to walk to the top of the range, then go down through the bush.”

  Peter thought about the topography of the area as he remembered it. During the cadet exercise he had climbed to the highest point, a great rocky knob called Stuarts Head, so he had not been in this area but he knew the mountains formed a semi-circle around the headwaters of the Wild River basin. He nodded. “I agree,” he added.

  Without further debate they set off along the road. Once again Graham led. He followed the vehicle track and wasted no time. The others followed, but at a slower pace. This was mostly dictated by Old Ned who was hobbling from blisters and chafing. “I ain’t done a walk like this in twenty years!” he moaned.

  The vehicle track ran along beside the long ridge. Peter found it fascinating country, huge, tall trees standing straight up for thirty metres or so; the undergrowth a matt of waist high ferns and long grass. On their right along the lower ground was a wall of dense rainforest.

  As before the walk seemed to go on for ever, although Peter knew it was actually only about one kilometre to the top of the escarpment. In places trees had fallen across the road and the vehicle track wound uphill around these. These small detours were the most wearing off all, both physically and psychologically. The walk became another endurance test. Peter was so tired and hungry by then that he felt he was ready to collapse and Joy looked pale and strained.

  The sun sank until it was shining sideways through the trees and the evening shadows rapidly lengthened. With them came the cold. It started as a nipping feeling on the ears and tingles in the fingers.

  1730hrs found them crossing a small creek. Graham was there and insisted they refill their water bottles. “We could be walking half the night,” he said.

  Old Ned groaned. “Gawd! I hope not!” he muttered. “I’m knackered now!”

  Graham pointed up the slope. “The edge of the mountain is just up on top of this rise. We can head downhill there.”

  Peter knew what he meant. They were actually on a sort of hilly plateau. Beyond was a wide, semi-circular valley down which the Wild River (South Branch) flowed. The slopes and valley were all open forest.

  While
they knelt to drink and wash their faces and refill water bottles Graham scouted on up the track. Peter had to urge Old Ned to keep moving as he began to complain of cramps. They plodded up the rise.

  On top Peter felt his spirits rise. There was another old road junction at a flat area. Beyond this the ground dropped steeply away into the valley. Graham waited for them, crouched behind a huge log.

  “This is where we camped on the night of the exercise,” he said.

  Peter’s gaze went out through the trees to where the last of the sunlight lit up a rocky knoll on the other side of the valley. Stewarts Head! He shivered at the memory of the freezing night he had spent on that windy knoll. “Not me. I was up there, sending bloody light signals in Morse code to a mob of noddies who couldn’t spell. Strewth it was cold! The bloody wind…”

  He tailed off as a terrible scream shattered the stillness of the evening. The whole group froze, then crouched under cover.

  Joy’s eyes opened wide in terror. “Oh my God! What was that?” she cried.

  Another scream sounded. It was some distance away. The sound caused the hairs on the back of Peter’s neck to stand on end and he shivered. Fear gripped him so that he trembled and felt paralyzed. He just knew it meant something horrible they would have to confront. There was a third scream, weaker and uluating. It ended abruptly in a choking gargle.

  “What is it?” Frank asked, fingering his shotgun nervously.

  Peter swallowed, and moistened his throat. “Devil Worshippers,” he croaked.

  Old Ned looked frightened. “Let’s get out of here!” he cried.

  Graham stood up. “You people stay here. I’ll have a look.”

  “Oh Graham! Be careful,” Joy said. “It might be a trap.”

  Graham nodded grimly. “It might be, but we must find out. We can’t just leave someone to be tortured by those mongrels. Besides, Gwen might be there.”

  That thought appalled Peter and he knew he could not just run away. His stomach churning with fear he stood up. “I’ll come with you,” he said.

  Joy stood up as well. “So will I.”

  Old Ned complained but they ignored him. Graham said to Sir Miles: “You people do what you like. If you walk downhill and follow the creeks you will come to a railway. The highway is just past that. It is only four or five kilometres.”

  Sir Miles frowned. “I think we are safer together,” he replied. “I must come too. If a person is in peril it is my duty as a knight.”

  That settled it. Ignoring Old Ned’s grumbles and Franks request to go the other way they set off, walking slowly as though patrolling. The road went along the very top of the range for a hundred paces, then swung right to go over a low rise. On their left after that was a wooded hill studded with rocks. To their right was the fern forest, sloping downhill into shadows and rainforest.

  Graham scouted carefully, rifle at the ready, with Peter behind him. The road went down a long slope into a re-entrant a few hundred metres wide. They went cautiously down into the gloom of the forest. Despite the cold Peter found he was sweating and his heart was hammering hard in a dry mouth. His eyes flicked rapidly around searching for any hint of ambush.

  Near the bottom of the dip something white caught Peter’s eye. It was about a hundred metres off and only when they were closer did he see that it was a piece of paper pinned to a…a..

  Oh my God! Peter thought, his mind and emotions reeling in terrified shock.

  Graham come scuttling back. “Take Joy back. Don’t let her see this,” he hissed urgently. He looked very strained.

  “See what?” Joy asked, peering ahead. Peter turned and tried to block her view but knew he was too late when he saw her eyes dilate in horror and disgusted disbelief. “Oh my God! A man!”

  “Go back Joy. Don’t look!” Peter cried. He seized her arm and turned her around, then walked her back up the slope and then pulled her in behind a large tree. Sir Miles, Old Ned and Frank all wanted to know what was going on and moved forward to look, only to be overcome by revulsion and fear when they saw.

  Graham bit his lip and scanned the surrounding country, rifle at the ready. “We have to look,” he said. “He might still be alive.” ‘He’ being the man who was apparently crucified, hanging naked from the tree ahead.

  Peter shook his head. “It might be a trap,” he warned. “The old tethered goat trick.” His every instinct was to run and only his sense of duty held him there.

  Graham nodded grimly. “The Body and the Sniper. Yes, I know. Cover me and I’ll go and have a look.”

  Peter felt sick to the bottom of his stomach with horror and terror but knew Graham was right. They couldn’t just walk away.

  I’ll never sleep again if I leave someone who is still alive, he told himself.

  He took the shotgun from Joy and gave her the pistol. Sir Miles moved forward. “Give me the rifle Graham,” he said, offering his automatic pistol in exchange.

  Graham nodded and made the swap.

  Peter could only agree. The rifle is much better for covering fire, he thought.

  His heart hammering and his hands slippery with perspiration he looked in all directions and crouched behind a big tree. Old Ned cowered behind another tree but Frank nodded agreement and gripped his shotgun ready.

  Graham cautiously made his way forward through the trees on the right of the road. He circled fifty metres out. Peter, Sir Miles and Frank moved slowly down the track from tree to tree. To Peter’s annoyance and distress Joy followed them. So did Old Ned who obviously did not want to be left alone in the darkening forest.

  Graham crossed the small creek well away from the crucified man and scouted around the other slope and then circled back. Peter knelt behind a tree with the shotgun aimed at likely enemy firing positions.

  Sir Miles grunted approval. “That boy knows his job,” he commented.

  “He’s a bloody good soldier,” Peter replied.

  And a bloody good mate too, he thought.

  After ten minutes of careful searching Graham finally walked out into the open and over to the crucified man. He reached up and felt the man’s neck, then pulled down the piece of paper. This was obviously a note as he read it, then turned to face them, the grime on his face unable to mask his distress.

  Peter studied the man. He was nailed up by his hands. His body was streaked with blood and he appeared to have been tortured and mutilated. From the amount of blood on his chest his throat had been cut. It was apparent that he was dead as Graham made no attempt to get him down.

  Crucified! he thought in shocked disbelief. Just like Jesus!

  Suddenly it was too much for him and he bent over and retched. Water and mucous mostly as he had not eaten properly for two days. He was not alone. Sir Miles broke into a sweat and looked very pale and Frank also vomited. Joy sat further back, her pale face just visible.

  Graham came back to them and crouched under cover. “Dead,” he said flatly. “Nailed up and mutilated. They must have tortured the poor bugger for quite a while. This was on the body.” He held out the note and from the haunted look of anguish in his eyes Peter knew it was more bad news.

  He read it. As he did he felt a wave of cold shock and dread such as he had never experienced grip him. It said:

  GIVE ME THE SCROLL AND I WILL GIVE YOU

  THE GIRL. IF YOU DO NOT THEN SHE WILL DIE

  A HORRIBLE DEATH WORSE THAN THIS FOOL

  AND YOU WILL HEAR HER DIE.

  TO ARRANGE THIS MEET ME AT THE NEW DAM

  AT SUNSET. YOU MAY BRING ONE OTHER.

  WALK OUT ONTO THE SOUTH END OF THE

  WALKWAY ALONE AND UNARMED AND WAIT.

  signed

  BORIS OF VACUL

  Peter felt nauseous. “Oh my God!” he cried.

  Poor Gwen! He glanced at the bloody wreck hanging from the tree and shuddered. The note was passed to the others. Sir Miles and Frank both went forward to look at the body and to check that he really was dead. Joy and Old Ned joined Peter and were show
n the note.

  Frank and Sir Miles walked back both looking anxiously over their shoulders.

  Frank said: “Well, that explains how these Devil Worshipper mongrels knew where to search. That is…was… Jack Rossiter. We went to school together. He is… was… a neighbour of mine. We used to come up here pig shooting a few years ago.” A look of anguish crossed his face. “Poor bastard! He didn’t know about our hut, so it wouldn’t have mattered how much they tortured him, he couldn’t tell them.”

  A deep, burning rage suddenly gripped Peter. He stood up and aimed the shotgun at Sir Miles. “Give it to me.”

  Sir Miles looked at him in shocked disbelief. “What?”

  “The Scroll. Give it to me. Gwen’s life is more important than any bloody religious document,” Peter grated.

  Graham spoke from beside him. “Give Peter the Scroll.”

  Something in Graham’s voice made Peter glance at him. He was also pointing his rifle at Sir Miles and it was obvious he was in deadly earnest.

  Sir Miles suddenly smiled and held out the bag. “Of course. I agree with you. Here.”

  Peter took the bag and lowered the shotgun. He shuddered. “Sorry. I’m a bit overwrought.”

  Sir Miles nodded. “That’s alright. We all are,” he replied.

  “What do we do now?” Frank asked.

  Peter faced them. “You people should head down the mountain while it is still light. We are going to rescue Gwen.”

  Chapter 31

  DUSK AT THE DAM

  Graham turned and started walking into the bush towards the hill. “Come on, let’s move. It is less than half an hour to dark.”

  Joy hesitated. “But… But what about… about that poor man?”

  Peter put his arm around her. “Nothing we can do for him. He is dead. We can’t take him with us.”

  Sir Miles supported him. “He is better off where he is. The police will be able to find him more easily and the animals won’t be able to get at him.”

  Animals! Peter felt sick at the thought.

  So did Joy. She retched and he held her till she finished. He had trouble controlling his own stomach.