Ross River Fever

by Christopher Cummings

  The two canoes proceeded slowly down the outside of the lines of boats. These were all moored to tall steel pilings driven into the bed of the river, or to mooring buoys.

  Mark gestured to them. “I didn’t know all these moorings were here,” he commented.

  The two canoes continued on past the yachts. On their left were houses and buildings and some dark green landing barges tied to a wharf. Mark pointed. “That is an army base, for Number Ten Force Support Battalion.”

  Andrew studied the place with great interest. He pointed to some dark green landing barges. “L.C.M. ‘Eights’,” he said, to show he was not completely ignorant.

  Now they began to pass a trawler base where a dozen large fishing boats were tied up. Several were large, ocean-going vessels but the others were smaller and obviously only intended for voyages inside the Barrier Reef. The right bank was still a mangrove forest and ahead they could now see the sand bars which marked the river mouth. Glimpses of the open sea became more frequent until it was visible all the time.

  A dredged channel marked by tall piles led out through the sand bars. Several small boats with fishermen in them were anchored just off the fairway. On the left a short rock breakwater marked the end of the trawler base. Several people of both sexes stood or sat on it fishing. Others could be seen wandering on the exposed tidal flats digging for yabbies and other bait. Over on the sand spit which marked the right mouth of the river were a group of Torres Strait Islanders, mostly large, fat women. They were fishing and singing, the cheerful sound carrying across the water to the teenagers.

  “How far out do we go?” Martin asked as they slid past the line of the original coast.

  “What about lunch? I’m starved,” Carmen said.

  With that incentive they turned and beached the canoes on the sandy beach on the left. Andrew stepped out and helped drag it up away from the small waves. In the process his sandshoes got wet but he did not mind. He stretched and looked around. On the left was a wide, flat area with railway lines on it. Half a kilometre or so away stood some large cylindrical storage tanks and sheds which were part of the Townsville Port. At the back of the beach was a long wall of rough stones which ran northwards for almost a kilometre to where a similar stone breakwater went out into the sea. More of the port facilities occupied this area. Off to the right was open water with distant mountains just visible.

  “What’s the name of this bay?” Andrew asked.

  “Cleveland Bay,” Mark replied. He pointed. “That is Cape Cleveland out there, the left hand end of those mountains.”

  Andrew studied the bay. It curved from the distant mountains across an area of flat land which appeared to be almost at sea level around to the sandy beaches across the river mouth. The sea for a long way out showed sand bars and white wave caps which indicated shallow water.

  Lunch was eaten sitting on the rocks beside the bitumen road which led along to the port. Numerous cars and trucks went past and people kept arriving to go fishing, or leaving. Andrew re-applied his suncream and screwed his eyes up against the glare. Clouds and showers of rain hid most of the distant mountains and he wished one of them would come and cool them down as it was very hot.

  He wanted to talk to Letitia on her own but she stayed firmly with the others and gave him no encouragement, although she was very friendly. He found this mildly frustrating.

  After lunch they set off back up the river. Now they had the outgoing tide against them, and, on some stretches, the wind. This had pushed up a lop large enough to make the canoes pitch and toss up showers of spray. Water began to slosh around the bottom of the canoe, wetting their pants. Andrew did not mind but Letitia grumbled and moved her towel to sit on that. She also mumbled about the sun as her legs were getting burnt. She smeared more cream over them and Andrew watched with fascination and yearning.

  The voyage back upstream was almost uneventful, enlivened only by the overloaded dinghy. This was an aluminium dinghy powered by a large outboard engine and loaded with three adults, four kids and a pile of gear. It went surging past close and fast and the resulting wash set the canoes rolling and pitching in an alarming way. Andrew had no desire to swim in this section of the river with the mangroves on both sides and in deep green water in which anything could lurk- anything being crocodiles and sharks! Once again he was afflicted by the fear of being grabbed by something which would drag him out of the canoe. He stopped paddling and looked fearfully into the water.

  “Come on, paddle!” Mark called in annoyance. Andrew resumed paddling, but kept a wary eye on the water. When a school of small fish suddenly broke the surface nearby in a ripple of silver splashes he again lifted his hands well clear of the water. As Letitia did almost no paddling Mark once more complained.

  They arrived back at the boat ramp at 3:15, sunburnt, thirsty and pleasantly tired. The canoes were beached and they gathered on the rough concrete ramp to unload and empty them. There were two middle-aged fishermen and three little kids, two girls and a boy, standing on the ramp fishing and they were not happy at the disturbance. Andrew felt a bit embarrassed by this.

  The canoe had collected quite an amount of water and had to be rolled on its side to empty it. Letitia was asked by Mark to help but did so with poor grace. As they rolled it she left it slip. The canoe slid back onto its bottom and water sloshed around. Andrew stepped quickly back and swore in annoyance. Letitia made a face at him and he cursed himself for being so silly as to offend her.

  Mrs Schipholl arrived twenty minutes later and they rinsed the canoes and paddles with fresh water to wash off the salt so it did not drip onto the car. The canoes were then lifted on to the roof rack- by the boys and Carmen, Andrew noted. Letitia stood to one side and did little to help. That did not bother him but it annoyed Carmen who snapped at her.

  “Letitia, stop standing there trying to look pretty and help us!”

  Letitia pouted and Andrew gave her an anxious glance but she moved to pick up some lifejackets. The teenagers then squeezed into the car for the journey home. Towels were spread on the seats because of their wet clothes.

  The drive was uneventful. On arrival at Aunty Bev’s Letitia said: “Can you come to our place Andrew, to help unload these canoes? They are a bit heavy for me and Mum.”

  Andrew did not know if this was just a ploy for her to get him on his own but he jumped at the chance. Mark climbed out and so did Carmen. She asked: “How will you get home Andrew? I don’t want you walking on your own with those bullies around.”

  Mrs Schipholl turned and said: “I will drive you home when I take Anne home Andrew.”

  Andrew was happy with that but surprised that Anne was going to the Schipholl’s as well. ‘Martin must be winning,’ he decided.

  Ten minutes later they drew up in the driveway of the Schipholl’s house. As they swung in off the street Mrs Schipholl braked abruptly.

  “Snoopy!” she cried. “What’s he doing there?”

  Snoopy lay in the middle of the driveway. At glance Andrew could see he was injured. Blood was trickling from his mouth and he looked dirty. ‘Hit by car!’ was his first thought.

  “He’s hurt!” Martin cried. He flung open his door and rushed to where the puppy lay. The others followed quickly. As Andrew knelt beside Martin he could see that Snoopy was badly injured. One eye was closed and had blood around it. There were marks on his fur and cuts where dried blood showed. One leg was twisted at an odd angle. A sick feeling of dread seized Andrew.

  Martin moved to gently pick the puppy up but it was obvious that this caused pain as Snoopy whimpered and opened one eye. He snuffled and tried to wag his tail. The movement wrenched Andrew’s heart.

  Mrs Schipholl shook her head. “Oh dear! He’s badly hurt alright,” she cried, her face screwed up by anxiety. “I’ll phone the vet. You children find a way to pick him up without hurting him.”

  She strode to the side door of the garage then stopped and let out a cry of horror. Andrew looked up sharply and a terrible, sinkin
g feeling gripped the pit of his stomach. He sprang up and ran to join her. A glance showed the glass sliding door was shattered. On the concrete beside it lay the bird cage. The parrots and budgerigars all lay scattered around with their necks wrung.

  In a flash of sickening insight Andrew realized the truth. The house had been broken into. Snoopy had not had an accident. He had been attacked and beaten!

  “The bullies!” Andrew cried hoarsely.

  CHAPTER 23

  HORROR PILED ON HORROR

  For another few moments they stared at the strangled budgerigars. Then the full import of Andrew’s cry came to them.

  Mrs Schipholl looked horrified. “The house has been burgled!” she cried. She stepped forward through the broken door, closely followed by Andrew. Letitia and Anne left Martin, who still knelt beside Snoopy’s broken body.

  Inside Mrs Schipholl stood in dismay. The lounge room had been thoroughly vandalized: furniture smashed, pictures torn from walls, sound equipment and CDs strewn around the room, the TV broken. For a minute they stood in stunned contemplation of the destruction. Then they moved to explore the remainder of the house.

  “Don’t touch anything,” Andrew cautioned. “The police will want to study it for fingerprints and so on.”

  The kitchen was also a wreck; broken crockery, the refrigerator open and food splattered and dribbled everywhere. The lounge room was worse. The upholstery of the furniture had been slashed with sharp knives and the vandals had done several turds and smeared them into the thick pile carpet. The master bedroom had been ransacked and some money and jewellery was missing.

  Letitia’s bedroom had been turned upside down. All of her clothes were out on the floor and her underwear had been slashed and torn. Her makeup was scattered and spilt everywhere and filthy drawings and obscenities were scrawled in lipstick on her mirror and walls. It made Andrew feel sick to contemplate and he wished the females had not seen it, if only because of the ugly threats to do vile sexual things to Letitia.

  He went on along the corridor and into Martin’s room. As he expected the model ships were nothing but tangled wrecks, the Cutty Sark being reduced to almost matchwood and Martin’s pride and joy, the Dutch East Indiaman, smashed and jumped on. But what he had not expected, and which sickened him even more than the senseless waste of breaking the models was that the fish tank had been broken. One whole side was gone and the goldfish lay on the carpet, which was soaked across half its area.

  One of the goldfish flapped feebly. Andrew knelt to look at it. “This didn’t happen very long ago,” he cried. “One of the fish is still alive. Quick Anne, get a container with some water in it!”

  Anne ran to do this while Letitia and Mrs Schipholl came to study the mess in stunned shock. An idea flitted through Andrew’s mind. He stood up. “Mrs Schipholl, phone the police, quick!”

  Without waiting to see if he was obeyed he ran back out to the carport. Martin still crouched over Snoopy, softly speaking to him and gently stroking him. Andrew made no explanation but ran past and across the road. He dashed down the grassy bank to the edge of the river and looked upstream.

  Two canoes were visible in the distance, just going out of sight away from him. Both were dark coloured but he could not count the number of people in them. All he could tell was that they wore dark clothing.

  “The bullies, I’ll bet!” he muttered savagely. A deep, burning anger flared as he turned and ran back up the slope and across to Martin.

  Martin looked up as he approached, tears streaming down his face. “Who? Why?” he sobbed.

  “The bullies. To get back at us,” Andrew replied grimly. Sick at heart he went back into the house. Mrs Schipholl was on the phone and he reminded her to call the vet. Then he looked around. The back door was open so he went to it and looked out, then stopped as a new horror attracted his attention.

  Terry the Tortoise lay there on the tiles. He had been killed by someone crushing his shell and then by stamping his head flat. A smear of blood and yellowish-green body fluids lay around his shattered corpse.

  ‘I mustn’t let the girls see this,’ he thought. He stepped forward and picked the dead tortoise up by its shell and started walking into the back yard, only to be brought to a standstill by an even worse outrage. Tiptoe the Cat was nailed to the tree near the shed! Even as he watched the cat moved. It was still alive!

  For a moment he was too appalled to move. Then steps behind him made him turn. It was Mrs Schipholl, with Letitia behind her. He turned, forgetting he had the dead tortoise in his hand and tried to wave them back.

  “No! Don’t come out here!” he cried, his voice a choking croak.

  “What is that Andrew?.. Oh no! Oh poor Terry!” Mrs Schipholl said, her voice shaking with emotion.

  Andrew cursed himself for letting them see it. “No! Go back! Go back inside please!” he said as forcefully as he could. Too late. Mrs Schipholl saw the cat and her face paled as the true horror of it burst upon her with ghastly force.

  “Oh my God! What animals!” she whispered. For a moment Andrew thought she was going to faint as she went deathly pale and swayed on her feet. Then Letitia saw the cat as well and screamed. Anne and Martin both came running. Andrew dropped Terry’s remains on the lawn and moved to block them. He shoved hard and turned them all around.

  “Go back inside!” he commanded savagely. They wanted to come out but he pushed and shouted again until they stopped. Letitia broke down in hysterical sobbing. Anne comforted her and led her inside, luckily not having seen the cat. Martin had but Andrew blocked him. “Look after your mother,” he ordered. Martin nodded and turned to help his mother inside.

  A terrible cold rage now gripped Andrew. He strode over to the crucified cat and saw that it had been cruelly maltreated before it had been nailed to the tree. Two six inch nails had been driven through its body. Blood trickled from its mouth and one eye was torn from its socket. A minute of grim examination convinced Andrew that no vet could possibly save the injured animal. Feeling nauseous but grimly determined he turned and walked to the shed. That was still locked but around the back were some gardening tools. He selected a spade and returned to the tree.

  Without hesitation he swung the spade hard. The sharp edge took the cat in the throat and almost severed its head from its body. He struck again, furious that his first blow had not achieved its aim. The cat went rigid, then hung limply. The head dangled by a few threads of sinew. With two sharp tugs Andrew wrenched the body from the tree, oblivious to the mucous and blood which covered his hands. He strode to the garden behind the shed and laid the body on the grass. Then he returned to the back patio and retrieved the broken wreck of Terry the Tortoise and placed him next to the cat. Then he began to dig.

  ‘I’d better make it a big hole,’ he told himself. ‘Poor little Snoopy won’t last either.’

  Driven by surging emotions he dug with furious energy and soon had a hole big enough for the cat and tortoise. He kept on digging until the hole was nearly a metre deep. By then he was gasping for breath and sweat was pouring out of him. He paused and leaned on the shovel, feeling sick at the horror of it all.

  Voices carried to him. He placed the shovel against the shed and walked sadly back to the house to find it swarming with neighbours and police. The inspector and Sgt Bailey were there and so was Constable Fort. For a moment Andrew stood in the back doorway and surveyed them grimly. “Come and see this,” he grated. The policemen followed Andrew to the back of the shed. He described what he had found and what he had done.

  The inspector shook his head. “You should have left it all to be photographed,” he said.

  “Sorry,” Andrew replied. “I just couldn’t bear to leave it so the girls could see.”

  Sgt Bailey nodded and said grimly, “We will need to involve the RSPCA in this one as well.”

  The group turned and walked back to the house. Andrew left the police to their duties and went to the back shower and washed his hands. That done he went in search o
f Martin. He was sitting with Anne and Letitia on the driveway in front of the car, cradling Snoopy on his lap.

  Andrew knelt and watched. He put his hand on his friend’s shoulder but could not bring himself to speak. Snoopy was obviously dead.

  Martin sobbed and gently stroked his fur. After a time he turned his tear-streaked face to Andrew. “He’s dead!” he sobbed.

  Andrew nodded. “I know. Give him to me.” He reached down and gripped the dead puppy’s body. The body felt different from that of the cat, colder and stiffer. It revolted him and made him shiver at the reality and horror of it. For a moment he thought Martin would not let go. Then he gave a shuddering sigh and let Andrew take the body.

  The two girls moved to comfort Martin and each other. Andrew walked sadly back along the driveway and placed Snoopy gently beside the other bodies. For a moment he paused as tears coursed down his own cheeks, making it hard to see. A hand rested on his shoulder.

  Through his tears Andrew saw Constable Fort. That shook him. He did not want the shame of tears to be added to his grief. Constable Fort said quietly, “You did well young Collins.”

  “What disgusting animals!” Andrew cried, more tears of outrage spilling out.

  Constable Fort agreed. He then asked Andrew to step aside while another policeman in overalls and an RSPCA Inspector both examined the dead animals and took photos of them. When that was done the RSPCA Inspector said, “OK, you can bury them now.”

  Andrew sniffed and moved to take up the spade. Constable Fort said: “I can do that. You go inside and sit down.”

  Andrew shook his head fiercely. “No! You go out and catch those thugs!”

  “We don’t know it was them yet,” Constable Fort replied.