by Tom Hoyle
And now we’re all alone at last.
HA!
Does that hurt?
Your powers are weak.
THE END IS NEAR.
CHAPTER 14
(SIX HOURS BEFORE):
THE FOURTEENTH PART OF GEORGE’S STATEMENT
Lee and I leant against the cliff and stared at the river. It had been completely hidden by the hills we had just cut through, but now it dominated the huge valley, slowly finding its way through the flat landscape.
Voices appeared – three of them. For a lifetime, I had taken it for granted that people emerged from cliff paths alive, but after everything that had happened I wasn’t sure of anything any more. I was relieved to see Matt in particular, but also Nick.
‘There was some bastard up there!’ spat Nick. ‘That wasn’t coincidence.’
Though I never saw a glimpse, I’m sure Nick was right, and there was someone up there, dislodging stones at the very top of the cliff – stones that then gathered others as they fell, stones that nearly killed me.
We were all confused and (apart from me) told little extracts of what had happened to us.
‘I think we should move on,’ I said. ‘If someone is up there, we’re not safe.’
First, though, we paused to take a drink from a fairly small waterfall that was coming out of the rock face. The water was surprisingly cold, massively refreshing, and we drank all we could. The others filled their bottles.
Jason came over and put his hand on my shoulder. ‘I’m so pleased that you’ve come through this.’
To have been so close to death and survived: it changes you. I’m sitting in my cell writing this in the half-hour before we’re ordered downstairs to eat. My room-mate is staring at me and telling me to make it good and introduce some naked ladies (or words to that effect). There’s a metal door and a metal bed and it smells a bit of urine. But I’d rather be here than at the bottom of that narrow canyon, smashed to bits. If I ever get out of here, I’ll try to do good for the rest of my life.
We went down the broad slope towards the river. The vegetation was much thinner, and going downhill we made really good time. But the riverbank wasn’t a neat boundary between land and water. It was sometimes marshy, and that meant possibile crocodiles. We thought we saw some sliding into the river in the far distance while we were looking for the boats and it made us wary.
Without a compass or map we didn’t arrive in exactly the right place for the kayaks, and we spent almost two hours looking for them – for much of the time searching in completely the wrong direction. Eventually we took the chance that they were upstream and had what I thought at the time was our one stoke of luck.
All five of the two-man kayaks were there. We seemed to be making actual progress. I dared to think that we might get out of it alive, and then leave the police to work out who was responsible.
Jason explained that the original plan of Ultimate Bushcraft was to go downstream for about ninety minutes – it was the gentlest part of the river – then walk to the next hut. He thought he could remember the way.
‘I think we should just keep on going,’ I said. ‘It’ll put distance between us and . . .’ I didn’t finish the sentence. ‘We can travel so much faster with the flow of the water, and we’re bound to find someone on a river or by the coast.’ I didn’t mention it, but I also couldn’t bear the thought of going to another cabin.
Matt nodded. ‘I’m with George.’
‘I agree,’ said Lee, pointing to the north. ‘That way just takes us further into the middle of Cape York and away from any sort of human life. Rivers are arteries. They attract people.’
Nick shrugged. ‘It’s all luck. Blah-bloody-blah.’
Jason took a boat on his own, Nick went with Lee in one boat and I went with Matt. The logic was that Jason, Nick and I were the more powerful and could keep the same pace.
It was Jason’s idea to hide the remaining two boats in case someone was following. We didn’t take them far, but they were dragged up on to the bank and hidden under a bush. It would have been almost impossible for them to be found – unless the person following us was told where to look . . .
The first section of the river was easy to navigate and we made steady progress. Trees dipped down into the river on either side and sometimes cut into the channel, but it was easy to glide past them. My arms ached, and I could see that Nick and Jason were also straining. Each stroke, I said to myself, was one I wouldn’t have to make again – one nearer freedom.
Jason, who was on his own in a kayak and slightly ahead, stopped just before a sweeping curve in the river and explained that it was at this point that Ultimate Bushcraft would usually cut across country to the third hut. This was our last chance to take that route. If we went on, it was also burning the chance to meet with the girls’ group in thirty-six hours or so, to have the safety of far greater numbers, and access to working radios.
The river and the possibility of a quick rescue, or a couple of days, including one more night, of battling through the wilderness?
I will never know what the right decision was. But we went on, down the river. Rolling the dice.
After about ninety minutes we found that we no longer had to paddle. Another fairly big river had joined ours and that significantly increased the flow of water.
Good: more speed. Quicker escape. Faster rescue.
The hills on either side also hemmed the river in, forcing it left and then right, and then squeezing it downhill.
We were guided into the first set of rapids gradually. We saw the curls and splashes of water grow and had a chance to talk to one another and think about our descent. Jason went down first, then Nick and Lee, and then Matt and myself. We dipped and wobbled, but there was never any real danger of falling out until the end, when there was a steep ten-foot slope. We pointed our boats downwards and let the river take us. In other circumstances it would have been fun, but no one smiled or whooped. We knew that one mistake could cause a delay or cost a life – potentially both. It was agonizing.
Behind us, birds cartwheeled through the sky and the forest hummed with life, but there was no other boat within sight.
We all tried our walkie-talkies from time to time, but, again, nothing.
‘If you can hear us, we’re heading down the river,’ was said more than once into channel 9.
I believe that someone was also using their walkie-talkie as a way to communicate with the person who was coming after us.
Someone did hear. And someone did follow.
But in any case, even if I’d been certain we were being followed, it would have been stupid to keep radio silence when we were so desperate for rescue. The girls were only thirty miles or so away. Had we known their course better, we would have battled upstream and been saved. But we were ignorant.
The second set of rapids were upon us before we realized what was happening. The river, now threateningly hedged in by cliffs, went into a jagged ‘S’ bend and rocks jutted up beneath the surface.
‘Can we stop?’ shouted Lee, foam splashing in his face. ‘This is dangerous.’
It was difficult to steer at all – there was no way that we could reach the side. Turning back, even slowing down, was impossible; we were like corks being swept down a drain.
There was no sign of it ending. Curve came after curve and large rocks sometimes blocked the way. We were nudged and shoved, the kayaks scraping against rocks that hid themselves just below the surface. The boats dipped down and up; angry water soaked us. It was beyond what we could cope with and beyond what the boats were designed for.
Jason’s boat was carried ahead. Maybe this was because it was lighter, or perhaps he just happened to find a faster course. Matt and I were next, but then we were dashed forward, nearly tipping out, and careered into the bank – and were caught in one of the few pools that were there. I dug my paddle between two rocks and held it firm. Perhaps we would be able to clamber out and make our way along the rocks that ran alongs
ide the channel?
Nick and Lee sped past us. Their faces were a mix of terror and gritty determination. Then they were gone, disappearing into the distance and then round the next bend in the river.
It was soon obvious that Matt and I wouldn’t be able to get out of the kayak and that I wouldn’t be able to hold it in position forever.
‘Just keep us here as long as you can!’ shouted Matt.
I knew that we’d have to brave it sooner or later, but we were recovering our composure and strength, and the few minutes that we paused made the final leg of the rapids easier – easier, but certainly not easy. I pushed us away from the rocks and we were soon to our limit again, all our power used to stay upright and inside the boat rather than actually steering.
Finally, we came to the most extreme set of rapids – more of a stepped waterfall.
A wide, calm lake surrounded by drooping trees was in the distance. Beyond it, the river, now very broad and lazy, continued to the sea.
A calm lake? Only in one sense.
One part of my brain was concentrating on getting down the cascading drop, but another part was taking snapshots of what was in the distance.
In the first frame I saw Nick swimming to one side, away from his upturned boat.
(All the time, I was concentrating on keeping our kayak level in the water.)
An instant later, I caught sight of Jason, further in the distance, mouth wide as he bellowed, an oar above his head in anger or anguish or both.
As we splashed down into the lake, for a split second I saw Lee to the right, in the water, being smothered by crocodiles. There were three, each perhaps ten feet long, slipping over one another, competing for the kill. (I’ve been told that they were probably saltwater crocodiles, about as far upstream as they ever venture. If so, they can kill cattle and horses – people are small fry.)
I’m sorry, but I can’t bring myself to describe the scene properly.
Nick was swimming away towards the shore on the opposite side to Lee, his paddle still in his hand.
‘Go back and help him! Go back and help him!’ shouted Jason, who was now paddling towards Lee as fast as he could.
It was too late. The three large crocodiles had done their work: Lee was submerged and had stopped making any noise. A deep red cloud was rising up through the water.
I immediately angled our kayak towards Lee but the crocodiles were aggressive, fired by the taste of blood, and one swam towards us, bumping into the boat, snapping furiously, razor-like teeth thrashing around in the water. Roaring with frantic desperation, I beat down at the creature with my paddle, smashing its broad snout and then jabbing for its eye. On another day it could easily have bitten my arm and dragged me into the water. I’ve been told since that I was very lucky (and I know that some doubt this part of the story – but it is completely true). Then, perhaps because I was lucky, perhaps because it felt there was easier food to be had, it slid away; but it was too late, too late for Lee.
‘What have you done?’ shouted Jason. ‘Why did you do that?’ At first I thought he was shouting at me, that we had done something wrong, but then I saw Jason was focused solely on Nick.
Nick’s kayak had filled with water and was bobbing around at the edge of the area that was tinged with blood. He had now dropped his paddle and was swimming powerfully towards the side.
Jason called over to me and we paddled our kayaks towards one another. Matt was shaking, gazing vacantly ahead, his knees pulled into his chest.
Jason hissed through clenched teeth: ‘Did you see that? Did you see what he did? The bastard! They arrived, paddled around for a bit, and Nick saw the crocodiles and tipped the boat over. Lee was helpless – he just splashed around in the water, crying out in terror, until the crocs grabbed him.’ He glanced in Nick’s direction, seeing him reach the shore. ‘I always thought that it was Nick.’ Confidently, ferociously, Jason looked me in the eye. ‘We have to do something about this. We have to stop Nick before he kills the rest of us.’
What follows is probably the hardest part of the account for me. You have to understand that Jason had just saved my life, and that we had seen Lee killed, and that Nick had been malicious throughout the entire trip. Jason was also the closest we had to an adult. Who would not have tried to control Nick – to deal with him before we were killed like the others?
Matt spoke quietly. ‘He’s going to kill us. I don’t want to die.’ Even quieter: ‘I don’t want to die. My life has hardly started.’
I’m not blaming Matt one bit, but I agreed. If we didn’t do something, Nick was surely going to murder us all. With Jason, I could do something – but on my own? And if Nick was somehow left with Matt, there would be no contest.
‘Come on, Georgey,’ said Jason. ‘We can do this if we work together. If you don’t help me, you’ll be responsible for our deaths.’
I saw a need to do something dangerous, possibly bad, to save us from something much worse. ‘We’ll have to tie him up and force him down the river with us in a boat.’
Jason nodded. ‘We can pin him down and tie his hands with one of the safety ropes.’
Nick had now reached the other side, dragged himself out of the river and was warily standing about three or four feet off the ground on a tree branch that was bent at a 45-degree angle over the water. The crocodiles had slipped out of the river on the opposite bank.
We drifted closer, silent about our intent.
Nick swore several times. ‘I – I – can’t believe that happened.’
We reached the edge of the pool and our kayaks grounded on rocks. Still without a word, Jason and I climbed out of our boats, splashed through the water, and strode towards Nick. I felt nervous; I’d never been in a proper fight before. Matt stayed in the boat, paralysed into silence and confusion by what had happened to Lee.
Nick was the most timid I had ever seen him, but I thought that was because he had been caught committing a terrible murder. Perhaps even he had limits? Perhaps he knew that we were coming for him?
Did I wonder whether helping Jason was right? No, I didn’t sit down and write a list of arguments for and against. You can’t understand if you haven’t been in that sort of position. It just seemed obvious. I thought I was going to die.
It’s not easy to write this, you know.
Jason had a cold determination. ‘Why did you do that?’ he asked. ‘I saw it all. You [word deleted] murderer.’
To begin with, Nick was startled. Then he stubbornly protested for a bit in a way that wasn’t like the usual Nick. ‘How can you say that, man?’ he said to Jason. ‘You saw it.’
I was sure that Nick was manipulating us.
‘LIAR!’ Jason’s hands were fists.
I remember that after the word liar Nick snarled in his usual way: ‘What the hell are you talking about? The kayak just tipped as we fell down that thing.’ He pointed to the waterfall in the distance. ‘There was nothing I could do.’ He stared at us. ‘You two can go to hell.’
‘This has got to end,’ I said. ‘You can’t do it again, Nick.’
‘Do what again?’ replied Nick. ‘And what do you think you’re going to do? Eh?’ He was now preparing to fight, standing upright, jutting his chest out.
‘Now!’ Jason shouted, and we both surged forward.
Nick was quick to react. He threw a punch at Jason – connecting with his cheek – and kicked me in the upper leg.
We were immediately upon him again, throwing punches ourselves, but Nick was sturdy and aggressive. Within seconds we were grappling with him rather than throwing punches – it was chaos, a tangle of legs and arms – and then all three of us collapsed to the ground, jarring ourselves on rocks, still punching and scratching and holding and stamping. I discovered that real fights are not easy to remember; they are punch and counterpunch, all happening at the same time, squirming and shoving and swearing.
If only Nick had stopped – but he would never give up. Even when we had him pinned down, we couldn’
t turn him over to tie his hands; he continued biting and jostling, using his knees and elbows and fists. After a brief lull, he was at us again – and his fist caught me straight in the nose. A red-hot bar of excruciating pain was slammed through my face. I retaliated in exactly the same way, partly out of anger, partly out of fear.
But even this didn’t quell Nick’s desire to fight; if anything, it was inflamed. Nick’s fist made contact with Jason’s lip and there was an explosion of blood.
Jason was forced back for an instant, then retaliated by striking Nick hard on his left cheek, then nose, then forehead and eye. While Nick was dazed, I managed to get both my hands round his neck and hold his head to the ground, pinning him down by kneeling either side of his chest.
We could have stopped then. We should have stopped then. We had the rope, and Nick was beginning to fight less. But Jason suddenly brought a stone crashing down on the side of Nick’s head. Nick was knocked out and stopped struggling.
Jason brought the stone down again.
Nick was still. He didn’t breathe. As I understand it, he died at that moment.
I think it was two or three seconds before I let go. Blood had dribbled from Nick’s mouth and was heading towards my hands. I was mesmerized, adrenalin pumping, knees still either side of Nick’s chest, while the trail of blood ran down and dripped from the side of Nick’s cheek on to the stone that Jason had used. Jason, not me.
Matt’s voice jarred me back to the present. He was still in the kayak: ‘Is he dead?’
Nick’s hand was on my leg, but it flopped away on to the ground.
‘Yes,’ I answered. ‘He’s dead.’
‘It’s all over,’ Jason said. ‘I can look after you on my own now. It’s finished.’
‘Yes,’ I said, not really thinking of anything. ‘But I wish it’d finished differently.’ I never actually wanted Nick dead, even if he had shown absolutely no mercy to others. I didn’t want Jason to do what he did with that rock. But he couldn’t have done it without me.
We drifted away from the body and sat away from the river on rocks. Matt, zombie-like, came to join us. I squeezed his shoulder a bit, to reassure him.
