Ross River Fever

by Christopher Cummings

  To save from blundering straight into trouble Andrew swam to one side of the trees. Thankfully he reached the edge of the tall reeds. After a careful look for snakes he grabbed a handful of reeds and rested. Mark slid to a standstill alongside. There was no need for words. Eyes and gestures conveyed enough.

  For a minute they remained listening but all they could hear was the sound of the rain on the leaves and reeds. With a nod Andrew began slowly moving along the outer edge of the reeds. That was even worse than swimming as the reeds were all slimy and stiff, with sharp edges in places. Worse still was the fear of the snakes which he knew must lurk in them.

  After several minutes of cautious approach the two boys reached the overhanging branches. These drooped right down into the water and the boys had to push through them to see into the shadows underneath.

  Ah! Yes! There were two black kayaks. The kayaks were drawn up on a small muddy beach under the far side of the tree. To Andrew’s intense relief there was no-one there. He beckoned Mark in and pointed, then slid forward to the shore.

  The sound of voices reached him and he smelt smoke. Carefully raising his head he peeked through the fringe of the reeds.

  And there was the camp.

  It was about ten metres away, on a low sandy rise and comprised two dark green tarpaulins slung between the trees. Underneath the closest sat Forman, Shaun and Jay. A small smoky fire struggled for life against the raindrops.

  Mark crawled up beside Andrew to look and hissed with satisfaction at what he saw. Andrew studied the layout, noting that the island was only about ten metres wide and perhaps twenty long. It was hard to tell as they could not clearly see the far end for the thick vegetation.

  “I wonder where Troy is?” Mark whispered.

  “Might not even be here,” Andrew replied.

  “Could be in that second tent,” Mark suggested.

  “Maybe.”

  “What will we do now?” Mark asked.

  Andrew gestured behind him. “Clear out.”

  “What about their kayaks?”

  That made Andrew pause. He put his hand to his head, which was now throbbing with a vicious headache. Just as he was about to reply there was a shout from in the distance beyond the trees.

  “Hey Rocky! Come quick! I’ve caught one of the little shits spyin’ on us!” called Troy’s voice.

  Andrew pursed his lips. Martin! It had to be. He gripped Mark to hold him still. The three hoons jumped to their feet and dashed off into the scrub out of sight.

  “What will we do?” Mark hissed.

  “Wait, then try to rescue him,” Andrew replied.

  The sound of angry muttering and a sharp cry of pain reached their ears. For a couple of minutes there was silence, then the gang returned. Following Forman and Shaun was Martin. He was scratched and bleeding around the legs and from the nose. Behind him came Troy- carrying a shotgun. This was kept pointed at Martin. Jay came last.

  The sight of that shotgun sent a thrill of fear and despair through Andrew. How could they possibly fight the gang to rescue Martin while they had that? ‘We will just have to wait and hope that the police are quick,’ he decided.

  Martin was knocked flat and his hands tied behind his back. Forman then kicked him in the ribs. “Where are yer mates Shithole?” he snarled.

  “Not here,” Martin replied.

  “Bullshit!” Forman snapped. He kicked again, taking Martin in the face. Blood sprang from his lips and trickled down. Andrew felt rage surge in him and it took an effort of willpower to master it.

  Troy looked around. “They’ll be around here somewhere,” he said. “We’d better look.”

  “How the hell did they find us?” Jay bleated.

  Forman shrugged. “Who knows? They have and that’s all. Go and look you two, quick,” he snapped.

  Troy and Jay did as they were told. Forman and Shaun then proceeded to question Martin some more. After several questions, which Martin refused to answer, they resorted to hitting and slapping his face. Then Forman walked to the fire and picked up a smouldering stick. With an evil grin on his face he carried this back and knelt so that Martin could see it.

  “Now talk arsehole. Where are yer mates?”

  Martin shut his eyes and shook his head. Forman swore and jabbed the burning stick down on the soft flesh on the back of Martin’s arm. Martin twitched and let out a piercing scream. This was so loud and shocking that Andrew jumped and came out in a cold sweat and goose bumps.

  It obviously took Forman by surprise as well as he sprang back. He kicked Martin in the ribs. “You scream again you shit and I’ll cut yer tongue out,” he snarled angrily. “Now talk, or I’ll burn yer again.”

  Andrew turned his head and met Mark’s eyes. “We must try to rescue him. Now’s our chance while there are only two of them.”

  Mark nodded. He looked pale and sick and licked his lips. Andrew raised his head and tried to work out how to sneak closer to the gang. ‘I need a weapon,’ he thought. About five paces away was the next tree and at its base were several stout pieces of deadfall.

  The two thugs were still busy with Martin. Shaun had begun shoving a gag into Martin’s mouth while Forman knelt with the smouldering stick. Andrew took his chance and rose to his feet. Hoping that the sound of the rain would cover any noise he made he walked over to the tree.

  ‘Made it!’ His heart hammering and breath coming in hot gasps he stood behind the tree. At his feet were several strong sticks. He bent and picked one up, then peeked around the tree. Nearby was a bush. In two steps he was crouched behind it. Now he was only about five paces from the two bullies. He glanced to check on Mark’s movements and saw Mark’s face, alarm written all over it. He was still crouching below the bank but was gesturing and pointing behind Andrew.

  Andrew turned to look and was appalled to see Troy coming back through the swamp. He was only about twenty paces away but his head was down as he negotiated the plank bridge. For a moment Andrew contemplated rejoining Mark but realized that he had no chance of doing this unseen as Shaun was now standing facing in his direction. With no other option Andrew lowered himself to his stomach behind the bush.

  Troy was agitated. “What was that bloody scream?” he demanded.

  “Just persuadin’ the little turd face ter talk,” Forman replied defensively.

  “Shit! Everyone for miles must have heard it!” Troy exploded. “Have you gone off yer rocker? Aren’t we in enough trouble already?”

  Forman looked truculent. “We gotta find out where his mates are,” he retorted.

  Troy shook his head. “No we don’t! We gotta get outa here,” he replied. “As soon as I started lookin’ fer ‘em I thought: what about them sheilas? So I tell ya what. I reckon they’ve rumbled us and have gone ter get the cops. We gotta pack up and scram, fast!”

  At that moment Andrew realized he was in deadly peril. A sound made him turn his head and what he saw made him freeze in terror. Only a metre from his right foot was a large black snake!

  The reptile was over a metre long and looked to be as thick as his arm. ‘Yellow belly,’ he noted. His rational mind told him he would probably survive a bite from one if he got to hospital in time, but that was no help to his terrified flesh. The snake had seen him and had drawn its head back into the striking ‘S’.

  For a moment Andrew was unable to move. He watched the tiny forked tongue flicker in and out, noted the beady eyes which fixed their unwinking stare on him. ‘Stay still,’ he told himself. ‘Don’t move!’ Then he re-appraised the situation instantly. ‘It’s going to strike!’

  In a flash he acted. With a convulsive twitch he flicked his legs aside and lashed out with the stick. The snake did strike, missing by a whisker. The stick crashed down on it, snapping and splintering. The blow clearly did not kill the snake but distracted it for an instant. While it thrashed around Andrew rolled frantically aside. He sprang to his feet before the astonished gaze of the gang.

  Troy levelled the shotgun at
him. For an instant Andrew thought he was going to shoot so his hands shot into the air.

  “Snake!” he yelled, gesturing in that direction.

  Troy’s eyes flicked that way and his frightened look changed to amusement. He stepped over to look, just in time to see the snake slither off into the reeds. Then the gun came back to point at Andrew again.

  “Well, well! Another one. Put those hands up and keep ‘em up, or I’ll blast you ter kingdom come,” Troy ordered.

  CHAPTER 29

  POETIC JUSTICE

  Andrew stared down the barrel of the shotgun and thought he was going to lose control of his bowels. To his shame he felt his knees start to shake and he only managed to keep a straight face with a real effort. Pride helped.

  Forman stepped forward to glare at him. “Where the hell have you sprung from?” he shouted.

  Andrew made no answer but Troy answered for him: “Swum the swamp from the look of him.”

  Forman took in his muddy, stained clothes and nodded. “Where are the rest of your gang?” he snarled.

  Andrew again managed to keep his mouth shut. Troy again spoke for him. “He’ll have his black-haired mate somewhere around. Quick! Check the kayaks.”

  Shaun raced over to the tree where the kayaks were hidden and peered under the leaves. Andrew held his breath and tried not to show any concern.

  “Nobody here,” Shaun called.

  Forman grabbed Andrew’s shirt and glared at him. “How many of you are there? Where’s yer other mate?”

  Again Andrew defied him. Forman slapped him hard, then punched him in the face but still he said nothing.

  Troy again answered for him: “Who cares! We gotta get outa here, and fast. If they’ve found us the cops will be on the way. Quick, tie him up so we can pack.”

  Shaun came and tied Andrew’s wrists behind him. He was then pushed roughly to the ground beside Martin. As he lay face down on the wet dirt Andrew screwed his head around to look at Martin. Martin met his eye and nodded but could not speak for the rag thrust between his teeth.

  Shaun prodded Andrew with his boot. “What’ll we do with them?” he asked.

  “Forget ‘em,” Troy snapped. “Get that loot into the kayaks and let’s get outa here!” He walked quickly to the nearest tent, placed the shotgun down and grabbed a haversack and the sack that Jay had delivered earlier. With rapid strides he walked to the kayaks and thrust the bags into one.

  As he came back Troy snapped at the others: “Come on! Stop standing there like stuffed dummies! Get packed. Call Jay in and let’s go!” He ducked under the tent fly and started stuffing bedding and clothes into bags. Forman and Shaun did likewise. Andrew watched them, fervently wishing the police would hurry, and wondering where Mark had gone.

  Jay was called in and stared in astonishment at Andrew. “Where’d he come from?” he asked.

  “Outa the swamp,” Troy snapped as he started towards the kayaks with arms full of belongings. “Now get packed, quick!”

  Troy strode across to the tree. Andrew heard a sharp oath from him, followed by a string of obscenities which made him swing his head around. “Bloody kayaks are gone! Bastards!”

  “Gone!” echoed Shaun and Forman. They ran across to the tree and looked under.

  “One of this mob for sure,” Troy said. “That black-headed bugger. Quick! He can’t have gone far. After him!”

  Troy raced across to the tent and scooped up the shotgun. Andrew had felt a surge of glee at hearing the canoes were gone. ‘Good old Mark!’ he thought. But this turned to concern at Forman’s angry reaction, and the picking up of the gun.

  Shaun tried to grab at Forman’s sleeve. “Let him go. We can escape on foot,” he cried.

  “He’s got the loot! I put it in the first kayak,” Troy yelled angrily. Andrew grinned and this earned him a savage kick from Jay. Troy dashed off across the plank bridge, followed closely by Jay. Shaun dived back into the far tent and began packing his gear. Forman stood swearing and cursing, then walked over to where Andrew and Martin lay. He began to viciously kick Andrew in the face and chest. Andrew felt teeth loosen and his nose went numb. Blood and dirt mixed in his mouth as he tried to twist away from the savage blows.

  “Hey! Knock it off Rocky,” Shaun yelled.

  Forman stopped and stepped back, his chest heaving. He spat on them and screamed in anger: “Bastards! You’ve wrecked everything! I orta kill ya for that!”

  This was interrupted by yelling from down the peninsula towards the river. ‘They’ve spotted Mark,’ Andrew surmised. He tried to organize his reeling thoughts to work out if Mark had time to reach the entrance to the backwater in time. If he hadn’t he would not dare try to pass Troy with the shotgun. All he would be able to do would be to land on the far side and run for it.

  There were more distant shouts, angry and frustrated. These died away. Heavy rain began falling. Shaun ran out to the bridge to find out what had happened.

  “Did ya get ‘im?” he yelled.

  “Nah! Bastard got away,” came Troy’s reply.

  At that Forman went berserk. He again started kicking at Andrew and Martin, savage blows to the ribs and kidneys which took away his breath. Suddenly Andrew felt himself being lifted and dragged by one arm. That really hurt and he cried out. Before he realized what was happening he found himself being shoved in under the tree. He rolled down the bank into the water.

  Before he could even cry out his head went under. Only then did grim realization burst on him. Forman had thrown him in! ‘He’s trying to drown me!’ his mind screamed. He managed to close his mouth and forced himself to open his eyes. All he could see was swirling black murk. He could feel that his back and legs were out of the water but with his hands tied he could only wriggle frantically

  ‘I must roll over!’ he thought desperately. He squirmed with all his might and managed to get almost over. Water ran up his nose, making him gag and splutter but he got his head out. Even as he did he was struck heavily and went down again, sliding into deeper water. Another person thumped against him and began struggling violently.

  ‘Martin! He’s thrown Martin in too! We are both going to drown!’ Andrew could not believe it. It couldn’t be true. No-one would do a thing like that! But he had. Andrew struggled frantically to get his footing but kept slipping in the sludge. Martin pressed him down as he squirmed on top of him. Terrible fears flashed through Andrew’s mind. He could feel his lungs straining. Then his chest hurt and he could feel a burning pain which seared through him. He knew that the dreadful moment when he must give way and breathe was only seconds away.

  ‘Please God, no!’ he prayed. Still he could not get his footing to get his head above water. All he could see was moving shadows and swirls of slime and muck. His chest felt as though it must burst. He was on his back now but right under water. Water poured up his nose and down his throat making him cough and splutter. He knew it was the end. He opened his mouth.

  Hands grabbed him and he was hauled up. Just as he went to breathe in his head broke surface. Even so he sucked in a lot of water and began spluttering and retching. Hardly aware of what was happening he found himself being dragged up onto the bank face first.

  He heard Shaun’s angry voice: “Get away Forman! Have you gone mad! I ain’t goin’ ter jail fer murder. Clear off yer mad bastard!”

  Andrew vomited and then sucked in air. He felt awful and coughed and retched but his eyes were open and took in the scene. Martin lay beside him and Shaun knelt between them. He was furiously angry and was waving a vicious looking bowie knife at Forman. Forman backed off and Shaun reached down to slash the rope binding Martin’s wrists. Then he did the same for Andrew.

  At that moment Troy yelled from out beyond the reeds: “Cops! Run for it!”

  Forman bolted at once, heading for the plank bridge. Shaun remained for a moment, sawing at the bonds holding Andrew’s wrists. Only when they were all cut did he spring up and run. Andrew raised his head to watch and saw him follow Forman o
ut along the plank bridge. Then he vomited again.

  Beside him Martin coughed and retched, then groaned and muttered: “You OK Andrew?”

  Andrew grunted an affirmative, then spewed again, the reek of swamp gas and bile strong in his nostrils. With an effort he pushed himself up. “Come on. They are getting away!” he croaked. Then he doubled up and vomited again, retching till nothing but vile mucous trickled out.

  Martin dragged himself to a sitting position. In the distance they heard a dog bark and yells, all muffled by the torrential rain. Andrew rolled onto his back to gasp in air but the rain on his face made that too difficult so he struggled into a sitting position and hung his head.

  For several minutes neither could do anything but gasp and cough. Andrew felt very weak and his head seemed to spin. Dimly he heard more shouts. Then he became aware of movement and looked up. A surge of fear swept through him. It was the gang coming back!

  Troy was leading. Shaun and Forman followed. ‘They have been cut off!’ Andrew realized. ‘The police must have sealed off the end of the narrow peninsula.’

  But Troy still had the gun. That gave Andrew a new spasm of fear. This grew as he watched Troy race towards him. As Troy got closer and showed no sign of slowing Andrew rolled quickly aside. Troy pushed in under the tree, tossing the shotgun into the swamp as he did. For a moment Andrew was nonplussed. Then, as Troy splashed out into the backwater and Forman and Shaun followed he understood. ‘They are swimming for it!’

  All three hoons struck out across the backwater. Andrew staggered to his feet. Where was Jay? He could hear shouts back on the land and the dog barked again. A voice called: “Where did they go?”

  “In here somewhere,” replied another man’s voice.

  “Here! Here! There’s a rope in the trees,” Andrew cried. He ended in a spluttering cough but they heard him. More shouts indicated the police were only about fifty metres away on the other side of the swamp.