Ross River Fever
Page 1
Table of Contents
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
AUTHOR’S NOTE
THE NAVY CADETS SERIES
THE AIR CADETS SERIES
THE ARMY CADETS SERIES
ROSS RIVER FEVER
The Navy Cadets
CHRISTOPHER CUMMINGS
ALSO BY
C. R. CUMMINGS
THE GREEN IDOL OF KANAKA CREEK
*ROSS RIVER FEVER
TRAIN TO KURANDA
THE MUDSKIPPER CUP
DAVY JONES’S LOCKER
BELOW BARTLE FRERE
AIRSHIP OVER ATHERTON
THE CADET CORPORAL
STANNARY HILLS
COASTS OF CAPE YORK
KYLIE AND THE KELLY GANG
BEHIND MT BALDY
THE CADET SERGEANT MAJOR
COOKTOWN CHRISTMAS
THE SECRET IN THE CLOUDS
THE WORD OF GOD
THE CADET UNDER-OFFICER
THE SMILEY PEOPLE
ROSS RIVER FEVER
The Navy Cadets
CHRISTOPHER CUMMINGS
Ross River Fever
Copyright C. R. Cummings 2002
This book is copyright. Apart from fair dealings fro the purposes of private study, research, criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright Act, no part may be reproduced by any process without written permission.
National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry
for Seaview Press 1st ed (Abridged) 2002
Cummings, C. R.
Ross River fever: a north Queensland story.
For teenagers
ISBN 1 74008 187 0.
1. Military cadets – Queensland – Fiction.
2. Canoes and Canoeing – Queensland – Fiction
3. Teenagers – Queensland – Fiction. I. Title
A823.3
This eBook edition 2013
DoctorZed Publishing
www.doctorzed.com
eISBN: 978-0-9872495-0-0
Map 1: Coral Sea
CHAPTER 1
CHARLES BARTON BRIDGE
Thirteen year-old Andrew Collins wiped sweat from his forehead and pulled his cap lower to shield his blue eyes from the harsh glare of the North Queensland summer sun. His nose wrinkled in disgust as a passing truck spewed greasy diesel fumes over him. He turned to his companion, a boy of the same age with dark, curly hair atop a cheerful, freckled face.
“How much further Mark?”
“Not far, just around this bit of a bend,” Mark Swain replied.
“I hope so. Strewth, isn’t it hot! I’m sweating like a pig,” Andrew replied.
From behind the two boys came several ‘Oink, Oinks’ and the trill of girlish laughter. “Well, it is Summer, little brother,” called Carmen Collins. She was walking beside a dark-haired girl of Andrew’s age: Jill Cooper. Jill was a friend of Marks.
‘A very pretty friend too,’ Andrew privately thought. ‘Too pretty for Mark.’ He stole a glance at Jill, noting again the dark eyes which seemed to sparkle with mystery, the heart shaped face with skin so perfect, the black hair which gleamed in the sun. He sighed involuntarily. ‘Yes, very pretty. Beautiful even. Pity I am only in Townsville for a month.’
The four teenagers were walking south along the footpath beside Nathan Street in Townsville. On their left the constant roaring of traffic in both directions filled the street with fumes and noise. As they rounded a curve the impressive northern face of Mt Stuart came into view. It was several kilometres away, its highest point crowned by a variety of radio and television towers. A sullen mass of grey cloud loomed behind the mountain, indicating more heavy rain to come. Overhead the sky was still a brilliant blue and the tropical sun blazed down on them with an intensity which caused them all to perspire freely. It was early January in North Queensland.
After a couple of minutes walk the group reached the end of the Charles Barton Bridges, which spanned the Ross River at that point. There were two bridges, side by side. The bridges were concrete structures about 200 metres long which carried four lanes of traffic. On the outer side of each was a pedestrian walkway. The four stepped onto this and began to cross the bridge. The traffic rushed past, a constant stream which felt too close for comfort.
As he walked Andrew looked over the steel railings at the river. He came from Cairns, so the view was a novelty to him. The river appeared to be choked with waterweeds and the water had a black colour. Masses of lilies carpeted large areas of the river’s surface.
“Plenty of water anyway,” he observed.
Mark, a local, grunted and replied: “Only because there is a weir across further down. It would be dry otherwise. This is Townsville remember.”
At the point where the bridge crossed it the river changed direction. On Andrew’s right was a north-south reach which curved from view around a bend about two kilometres upstream. Both sides of the river had houses along them but most of the banks were still thickly clothed in long guinea grass and a tangle of trees and creepers.
Downstream on their left was another long reach which ran eastwards. This reach was much more open and pleasant, with green lawns running down to the waters edge. Several canoes and sail boards were visible on the sparkling water. At a pontoon moored under some overhanging trees half a kilometre downstream a group of kids could be seen splashing in the water.
“A swim, that would be nice,” he muttered, wiping more sweat from his face. A thought crossed his mind and he voiced it aloud, having to shout above the roar of a passing truck.
“Are there crocs in this river Mark?”
“Nah. Well, yes. But only ‘freshies’ up here. I saw one once. A kid brought it to school. It was only about ten centimetres long, just a baby.”
“No ‘Salties’ then?” Andrew queried. He had a deep fear of the saltwater crocodiles, crocodilius porosus, that inhabited most North Queensland waterways, even fresh water ones.
Mark pointed to the left. “Only down below Aplins Weir. The river is tidal there. But I’ve never seen one myself but I know kids who have,” he replied.
A cry and a splash attracted Andrew’s attention. “Look at those silly kids,” he cried.
Up till now he had paid little attention to the other bridge users, there being half a dozen pedestrians and cyclists visible. Twenty metres ahead were two boys, clad only in shorts; primary school kids by the look of them. The boys were standing on the outside of the railings. Andrew stopped and peered over the side. The distance to the water was a good ten or fifteen metres, a fair drop to his eyes. As he looked down a head appeared amidst a swirl of bubbles and disturbed water. A boy’s face, topped by brown curls, grinned up at him.
“Come on ‘Maggot’, jump!” the boy called. “You won’t hurt yourself.”
‘Maggot’, a thin, pale-skinned boy, shook his head and continued to cling to the railing. Andrew thought he looked thoroughly scared. His com
panion, a wiry, brown-skinned lad, taunted him.
“Go on Maggot. Jump. If ya don’t jump ya got no guts!”
Maggot shook his head again and bit his lip. His wiry companion sneered.
“If ya don’t jump we don’t want ya in our gang. We ain’t gunna have gutless wonders in our gang.”
Maggot looked thoroughly miserable but still shook his head. His grip on the rail tightened. The boy in the water, who was now breast stroking towards the shore through the waterweeds, called up, “Push him in Rat!”
‘Rat’ sneered again. “Nah! He’s gotta do it himself or he ain’t good enough to be in the gang. You just stay there ‘Toad’, in case he needs help.”
By then Andrew and Mark were level with the two boys. Andrew again stopped and looked over the edge. He could see why Maggot didn’t want to jump. It looked a long way down.
“You kids are mad,” he said. “You could really hurt yourselves.”
“Ah crap!” Rat retorted. “We do this all the time. Go on Maggot, jump.”
Mark pursed his lips. “Don’t get tangled up in all that weed. It could drag you down and drown you,” he cautioned.
Rat’s answer was to curl his lip with disdain and to go on urging his friend to let go. The girls had caught up by this and looked concerned. Andrew felt he should do something. He said to Rat: “You kids are being stupid. Someone could get killed or seriously injured.”
“Mind yer own business and piss orf!” Rat snarled back.
Andrew felt his temper flare. He objected to foul language in front of girls. For an instant he was tempted to hit Rat’s fingers. Instead he took a deep breath, shrugged his shoulders and resumed walking.
He hadn’t gone ten paces when another incident attracted his attention. A boy of about his own age was walking across the bridge about 50 paces ahead. He was going in the same direction and was wheeling a bike. From the other direction three youths wearing black T-shirts came pedalling towards them on bikes. They were travelling fast along the pedestrian walkway. The boy in front stopped and moved over against the railings to make way for the three. The first youth came on, still pedalling furiously and travelling much too fast for safety. As he reached the boy he yelled out and swung his hand.
Slap!
The boy reeled back against the railings, holding his face. The attacker pedalled on towards Andrew and Mark, a wide grin on his face. The second youth had now reached the boy and also leaned out to slap him. The boy ducked so the second youth spat on him instead.
At that moment the second youth’s bicycle caught in the boy’s bike. The second youth let out a sharp cry. His bicycle went crashing onto the walkway but he went tumbling over the concrete safety barrier and out onto the roadway. Car tyres screeched as brakes locked on. The third youth pulled up just in time to prevent himself from running into the boy’s bike.
Crash! Bang!
A second car, unable to stop in time, ran into the back of the first vehicle, which had pulled up only centimetres from the second youth as he lay on the road. The first youth looked back, then braked to a halt only a few metres from Andrew and Mark. He was a solid brute in his late teens. He had a surly face and smooth black hair. Across the back of his black T-shirt was emblazoned SWEATHOG.
The second youth shouted an obscenity and sprang up, then scrambled back over the safety barrier. By then the whole lane of traffic had come to a standstill, with a line of cars and trucks stretching back off the far end of the bridge. Out of the first car climbed a woman in her thirties. She looked alarmed and distressed. From the back of the car came a baby’s wail, loud enough to penetrate above the traffic noises from the other lanes. An angry, red-faced business man heaved himself out of the second car.
The first youth now pedalled back towards his friends, both of whom began to abuse and hit the boy. They shouted a stream of gutter language and struck at him. Andrew watched this with amazement, then with rising anger. He quickened his pace, although with no clear idea of what he might do when he reached them.
“Turd!” screamed the first youth as he joined in the attack. “You get off the bridge when we come along shitface, ya hear!”
“How can I?” wailed the boy as he gamely tried to defend himself from a rain of kicks and punches. “I moved over.”
“Not far enough turd features! You git right over the side!” the first youth screamed. He landed a savage kick in the boy’s groin. This made him curl up in agony and fall to the walkway.
Andrew saw red. “Hey! Stop that!” he yelled. He broke into a run.
The second youth grabbed the boy and hauled him to his knees, then slammed his knee into his stomach. “Mongrel! You nearly killed me then! I oughta beat you ter pulp!” he screamed angrily.
“Chuck him off the bridge,” yelled the third youth, a tall, thin, black-haired boy.
The first youth nodded. “Good idea. Grab him!” he agreed.
Andrew was astonished. He yelled: “Stop!” again but it had no effect. Before he could reach them the three youths had grabbed the boy, who was now curled up and whimpering in pain, and bundled him over the railings. As the boy fell out of sight the three let out a shriek of triumph and leaned over the railings to watch. With a splash that was more a splat the boy landed in the water.
By then Andrew had reached the scene, Mark and the girls pounding hot on his heels- to his considerable relief. He only knew Mark as a casual acquaintance from Navy Cadets and had been unsure of how he would react. On arriving at where the boy’s bike blocked the walkway Andrew stopped and looked over the side. The boy had gone under but now rose to the surface, struggling and splashing. The three youths jeered and laughed.
“Good job ‘Rocky’!” cried the thin youth to the one labelled SWEATHOG.
“Yeah! Let’s chuck his bike over too. That’ll teach the shit a lesson. Grab it Troy,” Rocky yelled to the second youth, a non-descript lout with wide-set blue eyes.
As Troy went to do so Andrew grabbed the bike at the same instant and shouted: “That’s enough of that!” His heart was pounding with fear but he was determined to act.
Rocky turned to face him. “What’s it ter you, turd-face? Mind your own business!”
“Leave it!” Andrew snapped, stepping forward and raising his fists. As he did he felt his throat go dry. The sky seemed to darken and his vision narrowed down to just Rocky. He was dimly aware of Mark and Troy pulling at the bike beside him; and of the third youth-‘Jay’-shouting crude abuse at the lady driver, who stood appalled beside her damaged car.
Carmen and Jill had joined them and both were saying something. Rocky turned to them and sneered. “You molls keep outa this.”
Carmen’s eyes widened at the crude insult. “Don’t you call me a moll, you creep!” she cried. She stepped forward and tried to slap Rocky but he sprang back. Andrew called to Carmen to keep out of it and stepped in front of her. Jill took her chance and sprang forward. Her hand lashed out.
Slap!
Rocky looked at her in pained astonishment. Then his eyes narrowed in fury, before widening with interest as he took in Jill’s beauty. “You bitch!” he screamed. “You’ll pay for that!” He swung a punch at Jill but Andrew was able to block it. The two boys lashed out at each other, then fell apart as they stumbled against the safety barrier and bikes.
At that moment the angry business man grabbed Jay by the shoulder and spun him round. The two began to shout at each other angrily. Rocky glanced nervously at them, then back at Andrew. He had his fists up but Andrew sensed he did not want to fight. Before he could press the issue the other youth, Troy, screamed out.
“Cops! Let’s split!”
Before anyone could react the three youths grabbed their bikes and leapt on them. Rocky and Jay sped back the way they had come. Andrew could not get past the boy’s bicycle on the walkway in time to grab at them. Mark made a lunge at Troy as he sprang over the barrier with his bike but missed. Troy leapt on his bike, swerved across behind the businessman’s car and pedal
led through onto the second lane. A truck’s brakes screeched and hissed and Graham glimpsed the driver’s alarmed face as he narrowly missed slamming into Troy. Then Troy was gone, riding down the far side of the bridge against the oncoming traffic.
Andrew turned. Jill was plucking at his sleeve. He ignored the angry business man, who had started yelling at them, and looked at Jill. “What?” he asked.
She pointed. “That boy. He’s in trouble. He’s gone under again.”
Andrew peered over the railing. In the murky water he could just make out a wriggling form. He did not hesitate. In an instant he had snatched off his gym boots and socks and clambered up onto the railing, dimly aware that Carmen was calling something. As he gripped the outside of the railing and looked down to pinpoint where the boy was he was conscious of Carmen’s anxious face, and of the rapidly approaching howl of a police siren.
For a moment Andrew poised. Yes! There was a flicker of movement below the surface. The boy was drowning alright. Aiming at the spot Andrew nerved himself, then launched himself into space.
It was a long way down.
Only as he fell did he experience fear. ‘I’ll be killed!’ he thought, ‘Or knocked unconscious and drown.’ Then into his mind flashed a warning from a Navy instructor on what to do when abandoning ship: ‘Feet together, knees bent, point the toes, protect the face!’
Splat!
Andrew struck the water with a stinging smack and went deep. The impact was so sudden he felt it as a massive blow, especially under his arms. His next sensation was of his feet driving into deep, cold ooze and then of slimy weeds. He opened his eyes to a vision of murk and bubbles.
Half stunned by the fall Andrew struggled to the surface and looked around. There was no sign of the boy. An awful dread seized his heart. ‘He must be drowning! Where is he?’ He heard shouting and looked up. A row of a dozen tiny heads were silhouetted along the railings far above him. They all seemed to be yelling and pointing.