“I have read in a magazine that addiction is a complex disorder characterized by compulsive drug use. While each drug produces different physical effects, all abused substances share one thing in common; repeated use can alter the way the brain looks and functions. Changes in their brain interfere with their ability to think clearly, exercise good judgment, control their behaviour, and feel normal without drugs” Michael said, remembering the story in the magazine his grandfather always read.
Time Magazine had some stories he liked, but mostly it’s full of politics, which he didn’t like. Occasionally a story or article caught his eye, but mostly he didn’t read it right through. Michael hoped the large words he used would make him sound older and it would ease her despair.
“I think that you and your mother should leave as soon as possible” he suggested.
“Well I better go back” she whispered.
“I walk back with you” he said.
“That would be nice, Michael. Thank you that” she said.
They wandered back along Loam Island until they reached the, now quiet, sand mining road. It was an extremely hot and dry afternoon and the columns of heat waves rose steadily, but they continued on. Five minutes later Sally and Michael reached the main road and they were walking along the side track to Sally’s house, when a group of motorcycles pulled up alongside them. The noise from the twenty-one motorcycles was overwhelming, but the gang all shut their Harleys down so that their leader could talk.
“Where are your brothers, bitch” the leader of the Renegades asked when he stopped his Harley Davidson motorcycle.
“They’re…They’re at home” she stuttered.
“Well they’re not there now. They have our merchandise and we want it. Do you know where they could have gone, Sally?” he asked, less aggressively now as he approached us.
“They were talking about going to the pub and they normally drink at the Vale Hotel. They could be there” she admitted nervously.
“We need some insurance, so you both are coming with us. Frank, can you grab the girl and Jake, you grab the boy” he ordered as he reached out to hold her arm.
“Run Sally” Michael shouted as he ran back down the river.
“Go after him, Jake” ordered Wayne.
Michael ran for his life down the track until he reached the dirt road leading to the river. He could hear the roar of a motorcycle getting closer, but Michael kept running as hard as he could. The biker was closing in as he jumped into the long grass and rolled down a washout. He knew the river intimately, so he jumped up quickly and pushed further into the grass. The washout would stop the rider from following him on his bike, but he would continue to hunt Michael on foot. He knew of several of several areas where the water had scoured away the soil from river bank, leaving behind deep underscores or caves under the tree roots.
“Stop kid or you will cop it when I catch you” he shouted.
“Fuck you” Michael retaliated.
The biker’s heavy boots didn’t allow him to run quickly, so Michael slowly gained some distance between them. Michael knew they couldn’t see each other, due to the long guinea grass, but he could hear his panting and cursing getting softer.
“You little shit! You better stop now” he cursed again.
Michael plunged into his hide-hole, aware that the biker may have heard him.
“I’m going to find you, you little piece of shit” he shouted in-between gulps of air, somewhere above Michael’s head. Slowly he heard the biker move away and then it was very quiet. He knew that the biker was waiting for Michael to come out, but he stayed where he was.
* * *
Ten minutes later Michael heard a motorcycle start up and the biker move away from him and up the hill, but he stayed really quiet, paralysed with fear.
“I couldn’t find the little shit” Jake mentioned to his leader, Wayne.
“Where does he live, Bitch?” he asked, twisting Sally’s nipples.
“Ow” she cried. “I don’t fucking know, because I’ve only just met him.”
“Tell me, bitch” he shouted twisting them again.
“Ow. Stop that” she sobbed; tears flowing down her face. “I don’t know where he lives, because I have only just met him. I don’t even know his name.”
“We can find him another time. We still have you for insurance. You’re coming with us, so hop on the back of Frank’s bike and hold on. We’re going to the Vale to find your brothers” he said. “Let’s go.”
“Step-brothers” she shouted back at him.
“What did you say, bitch?” he sneered.
“I said they’re my step- brothers” she mentioned, less confidently now.
“Whatever!” Wayne sneered.
Wayne quickly started the bike and completed a U turn, so the whole group of twenty gang members followed him, with Sally holding on tightly behind Frank.
“Good luck, Sally” Michael thought, when he heard the roar of the bikes. “You’re going to need it.”
There were very few people, his age, around here, but there wasn’t anything he could do to help her. His friend Robert and his sister Robyn, who lived further up the road near the shop, were away on holidays, so they couldn’t help him. Michael suddenly realized that he hadn’t mentioned his holiday at the beach hut, but if Sally was leaving town it probably wouldn’t matter then. It was getting late, because the sun had gone down and darkness was setting in. Michael gritted his teeth, crawled out of his hiding spot and ran as fast as he could. A tree root tripped him up and he crashed to the ground. He got up, half-sobbing, and scrambled up the steep river bank then across the road and into the safety of his house.
“What were you doing to be so late, Michael? I was becoming worried about you” mum said angrily.
“I walked a long way down the river, but when I realized that it was so late I ran all the way back” he lied.
If his mother knew that there were bikers around, she would never let him go back down there.
“Well you better have a bath, because dinner will be ready soon” she suggested.
Later that night Michael vowed not to go back down the river for a while and he just hoped Sally was alright.
* * *
Mum, Rebecca and Michael finally arrived at the beach hut, late in the morning on Monday. After opening all the windows, cleaning everything, unpacking the station wagon and eating lunch, mum finally helped Michael with the dinghy, by taking it down to Rollingstone Creek, and he tied it up to the mangroves. It was low tide, but it would begin to float in a few hours’ time, when the tide turned. The two of them returned to the hut, just as his sister, Rebecca, was walking out in her bikini and heading to the beach to suntan. The weather was hot and humid, but the sky was clear above their heads. An occasional rumble of thunder could be heard in the distance, which would mean that there would be a storm that night. Michael set off down the creek with his fishing lines, tackle box, a bucket with a bottle of water and a cast net in it. This was all he wanted to do today; catch some bait and go fishing in some of his favourite fishing spots.
Just as he cast out his three hand lines, with live baits on the hooks, a storm broke and it began to rain. He loved the rain, because the fresh water run off stirred up the fish and it helped to cool him down. The rain became a downpour, but, as swiftly as it started, it stopped. The fish Michael caught over the next few days were only small, so he threw them back. Michael thought he had plenty of time to catch some decent sized fish during the time his family would be staying at the hut.
Chapter 3
In the hot, steamy atmosphere of the ocean near the Solomon Islands and about the middle of December, a larger than usual area of cloud began to develop. The winds below this cloud began to strengthen and meteorologists saw definite indications of a developing cyclone. Every twenty-four hours, the U.S. meteorological satellite transmitted a photograph to Australian receiving stations and by 21st December the meteorological offices issued a “tropical advisory w
arning”. A tropical low, 250 miles southwest of Honiara, began to develop into a cyclone.
The photo, taken as the satellite flashed by on the following the third morning, left no room for doubt that the cyclone was a developing force. The cyclone, named Althea, continued to move in the direction of the Queensland coast and during that day the pressure at the centre fell gradually and the winds intensified.
“You need to get home now, because there’s a cyclone coming” said dad to mum on the phone in the beach house.
“The reports said that it wasn’t going to come near us” argued mum, remembering that she hadn’t heard an updated report in the last twenty-four hours.
The Macquarie News broadcast, emanating from 4BH Brisbane and relayed during the night to all commercial stations on the Queensland coast were issuing outdated warnings. It was understood that the news broad-casts after midnight are from pre-recorded tapes and may have contained outdated warnings.
“Well it is coming straight for us, so pack everything up and come back to Townsville” he said, becoming worried about them.
“Rebecca can start packing everything up, while I help Michael get the dinghy out of the creek. We should be home in about four hours” she said.
“Just get home as soon as you can” he suggested as he ended the call.
“Rebecca, can you start cleaning out the fridge and packing the food into the cooler box? After that can you pack our clothes and anything else we need to take home, like the Christmas presents?” she asked. “Just leave us a set of clothes each and a few towels, because we’re going to get soaked.”
“Ok mum” she replied.
“Let’s go down and get that dinghy out of the creek” she said to Michael.
The wind was howling around them and the rain was bucketing down as mum drove down to the creek with the trailer. The creek had risen steadily over the past hour, but they managed to retrieve the boat and return to the hut. Loose objects were either put away or tied down and finally the three of them were ready to head for home. The main road was already covered with some surface water from the heavy rain and there were trees and debris everywhere from the gale-force winds, but they managed to get home safely.
* * *
About noon on 23rd December it was again photographed by the satellite and, as the day went by, reports from the automatic station on Flinders Reef indicated that the centre was passing just south of that location. From these sources of information it was clear that “Althea” was still building up its energy and that its landfall would occur before noon the next day. Gusts reaching 125 mph picked up debris tore building components loose and drove them with such force that it tore the iron off roofs and smashed holes in fibre-cement walls. The unrelenting pressure of the wind drove the tide to a height never seen before, causing a rise in the sea-level of 9 foot in the estuary of the Ross River and flooding the main streets of the city. The tidal surge and powerful wave action totally destroyed the rock wall along the strand and the bitumen road to Pallarenda. Luckily the cyclone arrived on a low tide, because if the storm surge had arrived 5 hours later, the damage would have been far greater.
At 10am on 24th December, the relatively calm area of the “eye” crossed the coast some 30 miles north of Townsville so that Palm Island, Magnetic Island and Townsville bore the brunt of the very destructive winds. Within eight hours of crossing the coast and moving inland in a south-westerly direction, the winds had dropped below gale force but rainfall was exceptionally heavy on 25th, 26th and 27th December causing major flooding in all the central and southern interior river systems of Queensland. “Althea” crossed the coast again towards midnight on 27 December between Double Island Point and Maryborough. The cyclone showed evidence of some regeneration and winds once more rose to gale force, but its path in a south-westerly direction took it into colder waters and its identity was lost in the Tasman Sea by the end of December.
The few days of its contact with the Australian mainland were extremely costly: three people died, the material damage in the Townsville region alone was conservatively estimated at 25 millions of dollars and the terror, anxiety and sheer inconvenience it produced was beyond assessment.
A few days later Michael’s family returned to the beach hut to access the damage caused by the intense winds. The damage was minimal, so they decided to continue their holiday whilst the repairs were carried out.
* * *
The honest truth was, Michael had a vivid imagination and, when he was younger, didn’t like going outside at night. He used to read books on UFO’s and outer space and he imagined the shadows cloaking wriggling creatures and monsters. With every creak in the house at night Michael imagined there was a thief or a monster walking around, just waiting to grab him. As Michael became older he lost most of his fears but retained his vivid imagination and it was evident when he found something unusual on the beach that day. Michael found the object under a massive Indian almond tree, way down near the old fish traps in the middle of the bay.
“I wonder what it is” he whispered with glee. “It must have been washed up with the storm surge.”
Tina, his dog, woofed a quick reply as they both ran over to investigate. It was buried in the sand and covered with leaves.
“It’s been in the water for a long time, because it’s covered with barnacles and oysters. I think its pirate’s treasure” Michael whispered, letting his imagination take over. “I’ll bet it’s full of jewels and gold. I’m going to be able to buy my sports car!”
Michael didn’t really know what it was, because he could only see a corner and it looked like it was made out of wood. As he dug away the soft sand, he began to think about all the things he could buy with the riches he’d find.
Twenty minutes later Michael had revealed part of it and his imagination began to soar.
“It is a pirate’s chest!” he shouted as he studied the intricately decorated timber.
Michael had revealed one end and in the middle he could see two metal swords and a metal skull with a metal ring through its nose. All the edges were strengthened with metal and the lid was curved, but the feet looked like dragons. Urgently now he kept digging, trying to uncover more of his prize.
The time pushed on towards 12pm and mum would become worried about him soon, but he didn’t want to leave his future wealth for everyone to find so he kept digging. Michael didn’t have any drinking water with him, but Tina could drink from the small creek which had filled with the recent rains.
By 3pm Michael had revealed the entire chest and he felt dizzy from a combination of dehydration and exhaustion, but he continued to examine the wonderfully decorated item. The front of the chest was decorated with a large skull and cross bones, as he called it. The two swords pierced the eye sockets of the skull and there was a large lock to seal the lid from prying eyes. The armada of carved ships added to the mystery surrounding it.
“I have to open it, girl” he slurred to no one in particular. “It’s too heavy for me to carry.”
Michael stumbled around looking for a large rock to use as a hammer and he found one where the water in the creek became shallow. As he tried to lift the rock, his arms felt like they were lead weights and he collapsed, hitting his head on the rock.
* * *
Michael woke up several hours later. He was lying on the bank of the creek and it was dark. Tina his dog wasn’t around and he wondered why his parents hadn’t come looking for him.
“Where are you kid?” a voice boomed from the top of the nearby hill.
“Who in the hell is that?” Michael thought to himself.
“I’m over here!” he shouted, thinking that someone was looking for him to take him home.
Michael could see the dark figure of a lone horseman silhouetted by the full moon; something in his hand flashed occasionally in the moonlight.
“I’m going to kill you for stealing from me” the person shouted again, before disappearing down the slopes and into the shadows.
&n
bsp; Michael could hear him closing in through the trees and then it was quiet again.
“What in the hell is going on and why does he have a sword?” he thought to himself. “This can’t be happening to me.”
The killer was somewhere near, but it was impossible to tell because the moon had disappeared behind a dark cloud. A strong wind began as lightning traced a jagged path across the dark sky: the telltale sign that a storm was brewing. Michael decided to move while it was dark and try and get home, away from this weirdness, the thunder and lightning. As he crawled towards the beach, he suddenly realized that there wasn’t any beach.
“Where in the hell am I?” he thought to himself again as the rain began.
The bone-chilling wind was making him shiver as he crawled away from the danger, but with each lull in the storm Michael could hear the dull thudding of hooves, the creak of saddle leather and a horse’s strained snorting breath. Michael was so confused, but he gritted his teeth, rose to full height and ran as hard as he could. When he stumbled he glanced back and saw that the horseman was further away now, again briefly silhouetted by the shimmering sky. Michael kept running until suddenly, the ground dropped away and he rolled and tumbled down a slope. He rose quickly and ran, bruised and battered, when he reached the bottom, only to fall flat on the deck of a boat. Michael crawled over to what looked like an upturned rowboat and hid underneath it, silent and confused as he tried to piece together what had happened. With the combination of warmth, exhaustion and an awareness of the relative safety of his hiding spot he closed his eyes. He fell asleep due to the steady rocking of the vessel, unaware of his surroundings.
* * *
Slave Of Destiny Page 2
