Secret in the Clouds

by Christopher Cummings

“I think we should move back under cover,” Graham said quietly.

  “Do you think those men might be here looking for us?” Stephen asked, his heart rate shooting up with anxiety.

  “What else would they be doing?” Graham asked. He stood up and moved to keep the tree between him and the men. “They haven’t seen us so let’s move.”

  Stephen stifled a groan as he got to his feet. Gripping his pack with his right hand he followed Graham along the footpath away from the men. By now he was sweating with anxiety again and kept glancing back at the parked car.

  As the boys reached the corner another grey car came racing from the direction of Cairns. As it went past Stephen noted the faint blur of the driver’s face as the person looked towards him. The car suddenly slowed and almost skidded to a stop behind the other car. The driver was out in a moment and ran to the first car and knocked on the window.

  Graham shook his head. “I don’t like the look of that,” he muttered.

  Stephen glanced back and saw a man looking back out of the first car and the man standing beside it pointing in their direction. The sight made Stephen’s stomach churn with anxiety.

  Suddenly a powerful spotlight came on from the first car. The beam swung and settled on Stephen and Graham. Graham let out an oath and cried, “Bloody hell! Let’s get out of here!” He broke into a run.

  CHAPTER 19

  RUN !

  “Run!” Graham cried. He set off across the side road away from the two cars. Stephen did not hesitate. He gripped his pack to his chest and set off after him. Glancing over his shoulders he saw one of the men scrambling back into his car. The other held the spotlight on them.

  “They are coming after us,” Stephen called, seeing the front car swing sharply around.

  “Into the scrub,” Graham said. He dashed straight across the side street and plunged into a wall of head-high blady grass. Normally Stephen would have hesitated and spent minutes beating the grass to chase away snakes but now he just crashed in behind Graham. The grass slashed at his face and hands but he ploughed on, determined not to lose Graham.

  Behind him he heard the roar of the car’s engine, then the screech of tyres skidding to a standstill on loose gravel. There was shouting and the slamming of car doors behind him. Something like panic gripped Stephen and gave him the strength to run on. The spotlight beam helped. It was no longer shining directly on them but lit up the bush and made it easier to see.

  The long grass gave way to a thicket of bushes and small trees. Graham just crashed through these like a Rhino. Stephen followed, heedless of scratches and bruises. Branches whacked and smacked at him and he twice had to pause to grab at his glasses as they were torn loose. Behind him he heard more shouts and the sound of men pushing into the long grass.

  A man shouted loudly, “Stop! This is the police! Stop!”

  ‘Police!’ Stephen thought in dismay. For a moment he hesitated. Running from the police was, he knew, an offence. There had been enough trouble with the police two years before, and when he was in Year Eight, to last him a lifetime.

  In front of him Graham stopped and peered back. “We’d better stop,” he said.

  Stephen stumbled to a standstill and glanced back. He and Graham were now at least fifty paces into the thicket and the men could be heard crashing and swearing behind them. Another man yelled, “Come and get a torch you bloody idiots!”

  Stephen paused to wipe his face and adjust his glasses. Something made him reluctant to give up. He shook his head. “No Graham, keep going. I don’t believe they are the police. I think that man who just called out is Henry from up on the mountain.”

  Graham listened, then grinned. “You might be right,” he replied. “Ok, come on.”

  With that he turned and began pushing through the scrub. There was no way they could move silently as the branches were too closely inter-woven and the deadfall underfoot kept snapping and crackling. The men heard them at once and again yelled to them to stop.

  Anxiety at being stupid and causing himself and Graham to get themselves into trouble with the authorities warred in Stephen with a desire not to let the men get his pack. A nagging suspicion that all was not right kept him pushing through the undergrowth. The sound of the men following them, and the flicker of their torches urged him to greater speed.

  Fears of snakes and other nameless dreads were pushed aside by the urge to flee. Graham smashed and crashed his way through, wrenching his webbing or clothing free whenever they snagged. He forced his way on, apparently regardless of the scratches and tears. Stephen found it relatively easy to follow him, but equally the men were finding it even easier as they could follow the cleared path.

  Stephen glanced back and saw that the torches were much closer, perhaps thirty of forty paces back, the men cursing and calling still. Then, as he turned to keep running, Stephen felt his glasses get snagged and go flying. He stopped and bent to scrabble at the ground. “Graham! Stop! I’ve lost my glasses!” he gasped.

  “Leave them! Keep going!” Graham called back.

  “No! I need them!” Stephen cried, aware to his shame that his voice must have sounded very like a wail of despair.

  “Bugger!” Graham snapped, but he came crashing back. He pulled his torch from his basic pouch and turned it on, shining the beam on the ground at Stephen’s feet. Stephen bent to look but it was no good. His poor eyesight and the exertion combined to make it all a blur. The men obviously saw the torch as they began shouting to stop.

  Graham crouched and slowly moved the beam of his torch too and fro. Behind him Stephen heard the men’s footsteps crashing closer. He felt panic surge to grip his throat, choking him with apprehension.

  “Here!” Graham cried. Stephen felt Graham’s hand thrust the glasses into his. Then Graham clicked off his torch and turned. Stephen gripped his glasses and followed almost blindly. In the darkness he could make out Graham’s shape and the larger branches and trees but not the smaller ones. These whipped and scratched his face but he kept gamely on. Now his trust was all in Graham’s leadership. He knew that Graham had night vision that was quite remarkable and that was now evidenced by the way he seemed to dash through the bush.

  The sound of the pursuer’s voices became fainter and the flicker of their torches was now lost from time to time because of the thickness of the intervening bush.

  ‘We might do it,’ Stephen thought.

  By now he was winded and gasping for breath. Holding his pack had become a real effort and he was sweating so much that drops of perspiration were trickling into his eyes. The salt in his sweat stung his eyes so much he could hardly see at all and finally had to call on Graham to slow down.

  Graham paused and looked back. Then he chuckled. “I don’t think our friends are enjoying themselves,” he muttered.

  “Nor am I,” Stephen retorted, annoyed at Graham’s attitude. He took the opportunity to slip an arm through one of his pack straps and then struggled to get it on. It snagged on his sleeve but a hard shake got it free.

  “You should dump that pack,” Graham suggested.

  “No fear! This is what it is all about,” Stephen croaked.

  “What is it?” Graham asked as he turned and resumed moving.

  “Better you don’t know,” Stephen replied. He was thankful that Graham had slowed down and now noted that they had come into a different sort of country. It was flat savannah woodland. The trees were larger and further apart and the waist-high grass was easier to walk through. It was also a lot quieter. Graham kept glancing back but held their speed to a walk. Stephen also kept looking over his shoulder but now only got occasional glimpses of flickering torchlight. The sound of the men’s voices and movement became quite muted.

  “What do you think we should do now?” Stephen asked.

  “Push on a bit further, then angle over to the highway and see if we can contact Peter,” Graham replied.

  Stephen agreed with that plan. They pushed through a line of thick scrub along a small
, dry creek, then turned right and headed for where the sound of almost constant traffic indicated the direction of the highway. After few minutes they were able to see the flicker of car headlights as vehicles rushed past.

  Suddenly Graham gripped Stephen’s sleeve and dragged him down. “Get under cover!” he hissed.

  Stephen did not need telling why. The beam of the spotlight had come on and was sweeping through the bush. He dropped to his hands and knees in the grass. Graham hissed to him to follow and set off crawling through the grass. With an effort of will Stephen made himself follow, but he found it truly terrifying. The ground between the tussocks was sandy and easy to move on but his imagination kept conjuring up ghastly images of snakes striking at his face.

  From near the road came another man’s shout. “Here they are! Get a move on Walters!”

  Stephen saw Graham’s face in the light of the spotlight, then noted his eyes looking up at his back. “It’s your pack,” Graham said. “It’s sticking up above the grass. Come on, run!”

  Once again both boys started running. As they did so Stephen heard the man near the road shouting on them to stop and for a fleeting moment he tensed in fear in case the man had a gun. He thought the police were allowed to shoot people who tried to escape but wasn’t sure. The men who had been following through the bush also began yelling.

  Stephen glanced at them as he raced after Graham. In the flickering torch light he glimpsed two big men in suits running diagonally through the weeds and long grass about thirty paces to his left rear. The men kept yelling for them to stop but Stephen and Graham ran on. The bush changed and Stephen found himself struggling through another thicket of bushes, then scrabbling up a sand dune through lantana bushes.

  As they went up the dune the spotlight held them for a moment but on the other side they were in shadow. As soon as they went over the crest Graham changed direction and went right, pushing through the bushes. They floundered across a muddy hollow full of reeds and then encountered a wide belt of waist-high ferns among larger trees.

  “Down!” Graham hissed. He dropped among the ferns and Stephen did likewise. By now Stephen was gasping for breath and his throat felt hot and dry. Back behind him he heard the men arrive on top of the dune, then swearing and the crackling of bushes as they pushed through them.

  One of the men swore. “Which way did the bastards go?” he asked the other.

  To Stephen’s immense relief he heard the men go crashing on down the other side and into the scrub off to their left. ‘They have missed us,’ he thought hopefully.

  Graham now began crawling through the ferns, pausing to bob up for frequent checks on the men’s location. The men had only run another twenty or so paces and had stopped. Stephen bit his lip in anxiety as he tried to move silently. Then he was dismayed to hear one of the men say, “Back to that sand dune and look for their tracks.”

  As the men back-tracked Graham hissed and got up. He and Stephen quickly walked away from the men and were soon fifty metres from them, their torches barely visible. But it was obvious the men had found their tracks and were following so Graham increased speed.

  This went on for the next half hour. The men drew slowly closer and again began calling out to them to stop. ‘They can hear us,’ Stephen thought unhappily. He began wondering how to hide his pack. They pushed through another thick belt of small trees and bushes with hard, dry branches that scratched and crackled, went over another sand dune through more prickly bushes and then encountered mangroves.

  Graham suddenly stopped. “Uh oh!” he muttered.

  “What?” gasped Stephen. He was sure he could not run any further and was contemplating giving up.

  “A creek. We’ll have to swim,” Graham replied.

  Stephen put his glasses on and looked. In the starlight he was able to see that it was a creek about ten metres wide. Into his mind flashed images of the crocodile back at the zoo. “There might be crocs,” he cried. Behind him he heard the men’s voices and the sound of their movement getting closer. It was enough to make him want to whimper with fear.

  “Come on,” Graham said. With that he pushed through the mangroves and waded into the black, smelly water.

  Stephen let out a sob of near despair and followed him, wading and slipping into muddy, waist-deep water. The first sensation to over-ride sheer fear was the temperature of the water. It was so warm it felt sticky. This was almost immediately replaced by stinging pain as the salt water stung the numerous cuts and raw skin from chafing. Stephen gasped and found his eyes watering. He found it took a conscious effort to take each step. As he did he hated the squelchy feeling of his boots sinking into mud. In an attempt to detect crocodiles his eyes flicked rapidly from side to side, straining to see into the shadows and black water.

  Graham slipped over with a curse and a splash. After trying to regain his feet he gave up and began swimming. Gasping with fear and exhaustion Stephen did likewise. The creek was only a few metres wide but he floundered and splashed across it as fast as he could. At every moment he imagined the dreadful crunching bite of a crocodile. Both boys scrambled up into the mangroves on the other side, tripping and sliding as they did.

  “Made it!” Graham gasped. He pushed his way into the thicket of entangling aerial roots and branches. As they pushed their way forward water streamed off them and Stephen experienced another sensation he disliked: water squelching inside his boots. The fleeting thought that everything in his pockets was now soaked was pushed aside by the physical effort of keeping up with Graham. The stench of salt and rotting sea things assailed Stephen’s nostrils. He now realised he could plainly hear the pounding of surf on the beach. ‘We must be close to the sea,’ he thought.

  Behind them he could hear angry exclamations and muttering as the men reached the creek. ‘They won’t be too keen to swim that in their suits,’ he thought. As he and Graham pushed on through the scratching thicket he was relieved to realise that the men had apparently given up.

  “We’ve lost them,” he called.

  “For the moment,” Graham agreed. “They will try to find a way around.”

  That was a depressing thought. Stephen could do nothing but follow Graham. They pushed on through more bushes, then across a damp, grassy flat with large paperbarks. The whitish bark of these looked very spooky in the starlight and Stephen found he was again straining his eyes to see if there were any crocodiles around. ‘This is bloody stupid!’ he thought. ‘And why are we running anyway?’

  Once again he considered giving up. As well he was very anxious about what else was happening. “Peter will be driving up and down looking for us,” he said. “Those men might catch him.”

  “So what? Driving along the highway isn’t a crime,” Graham replied.

  Anxious thoughts about what his parents must be thinking also gnawed at Stephen. Then he remembered another reason to be home. “We are supposed to be training for the swimming carnival tomorrow morning,” he said.

  “We just did our training,” Graham replied. “I’ll bet we don’t swim that fast in the pool,” he added with a chuckle.

  “It’s not funny!” Stephen snapped. “We have to escape from these men yet.”

  “We will make it,” Graham answered.

  “My oldies must be having a fit,” Stephen replied miserably. ‘I’ll be grounded again,’ he thought unhappily, ‘and just when I want to be able to move around.’

  All the while they had been getting closer to the sea and they now came out into an open area of sand among large bushes. Ten more paces brought the sea into view. The sight of it gave Stephen a huge psychological lift although his mind told him it was bad news. ‘We are now trapped between the highway and the sea,’ he thought.

  Graham was thinking the same thing as he said, “We had better move fast and find a way back inland before these jokers can organise to cordon us off.”

  “They wouldn’t have the numbers to do that would they?” Stephen replied.

  “If they are
the police they soon will have,” Graham replied. He then grunted with satisfaction, pointed down and turned right to follow a set of wheel tracks which wound their way along in the edge of the trees.

  “Do you think they really are the police?” Stephen asked.

  “No, or I wouldn’t have bolted,” Graham replied.

  “How many are there do you think?”

  “Four at least,” Graham replied.

  The boys were now hurrying along the sandy track as fast as they could force themselves to walk in the soft sand. The track wound around clumps of bushes and among stands of She-Oaks just back from the edge of the beach. Out to their left Stephen got views out over a tumbling froth of white. The sea was quite rough and a strong, cold wind was blowing in off it. Damp clothes quickly became chilled by the breeze.

  Quite unexpectedly they came upon a camp. A Kombi van was parked in behind a clump of bushes. By the light of a pressure lantern Stephen saw that the van had flowers and marijuana leaves painted on it. Sitting under a tent fly was a man. The moment the man saw them he sprang up, calling out in alarm. Even as Stephen noted that the man had a massive black beard and only wore some sort of sarong or lap lap he also realised the man was picking up a gun.

  “Get the hell out of here!” the man shouted. He raised the gun.

  “Run!” Graham cried.

  CHAPTER 20

  ONE PROBLEM SOLVED

  The two boys raced on along the sandy vehicle track past the Kombi van. The man again shouted threats, speeding them on their way. As Stephen ran he felt the hair on the back of his head prickling up in fear. And he found the effort of running on the soft sand very trying and within fifty paces was panting. The pack pounded heavily against his back.

  However no shot came and the man’s voice stayed in the same place. As soon as they were safely out of sight behind more bushes both boys slowed to a fast walk. Stephen found sweat running into his eyes and he had to gasp as he tried to keep up. “Slow down Graham,” he croaked.