“It isn’t. It is bloody
impossible!” Stephen replied, almost shouting as his temper flared. He grabbed
his webbing and put it on. The others did likewise and followed him back up the
path, Peter shaking his head to caution the others to say no more.
They climbed back up the track
with its hundred or so steps. With the pack this got Roger’s heart really
pounding but he refused to fall behind. The march was resumed in silence. It
was nine thirty.
The road wound on through the
jungle. If anything the forest looked greener and lusher than before and there
were patches of road that were quite damp and even soft enough for their boots
to sink in a few centimetres. After fifteen minutes walk a patch of sunlight
appeared ahead as they rounded a bend. A bridge with a white signpost stood
beyond it. The sunny area was an old gravel pit, half overgrown with long grass
and lantana.
The sign said: MOBO CREEK.
Graham consulted his map and his
watch. “We’ve come about four kilometres since we started,” he said.
“Is that all? It seems further,”
Roger said. He instantly regretted the utterance and felt sure he had seen
Stephen’s lip curl in disdain.
The road now levelled out and
went back into a tunnel of jungle, the gloomiest they had yet been in. Roger
realised he was getting sick of rainforest, sick of the feeling of being closed
in; of not being able to see far.
As they rounded a bend just
beyond the bridge Peter asked. “The road’s quite soft and muddy. Has it rained
do you think?”
“No,” Graham replied. “It’s just
the dew dripping from the trees in the morning I reckon.”
Ahead of them stretched a vista
of several hundred metres of dark shadows. This was lighted by a couple of
patches of sunlight. Roger plodded along at the back, peering into the gloomy
tangle on either side.
“It looks a bit damp in there,”
he said.
“We’re on flat ground here,”
Graham pointed out.
“Oh do tell!” Peter laughed.
“Does that mean no more hills?”
Roger asked.
Graham shook his head.
“’Fraid not.
Look at your map,” he replied.
At that moment they were just
coming into a small clearing. The sunlight was able to shine through onto the road.
This had caused a growth of lantana on both sides. On the right a snig track
went off into the jungle.
Peter indicated the turnoff,
pointing at the ground. “Pretty soft here, judging by these wheel tracks.”
They all glanced down at where
deep wheel ruts went off through churned up mud and grass.
Stephen, who was leading,
suddenly stopped, causing the others to cannon into each other.
“What the?”
Graham began.
Stephen pointed.
Not ten metres up the side track
and clearly bogged was the black car.
“The black car!
It’s them!” Roger said in a
hoarse whisper. He had forgotten about the men but now interest and excitement
gripped him again.
For a few flustered seconds the
cadets stood and stared. Roger had to make an effort to focus his eyes and
channel his thoughts. Peter spoke first. “The men aren’t here. I wonder where
they
are?
”
Roger pointed along the track.
“Searching the jungle again, I’ll bet,” he said.
“Where’s the other vehicle, the
Four Wheel drive?” Graham asked.
Roger pointed.
“Up
the track.
I think I can see wheel tracks,” he said. To get a better
look he stepped forward but Graham grabbed his sleeve.
“No Roger. We aren’t going to
look,” he said firmly.
“What will we do?” Roger asked.
Peter answered. “Tell the
police.”
“Will we all go?”
Graham bit his lip. “Do you think
we should do what we did yesterday and leave someone to watch?” he queried.
Stephen now spoke up. “No. Let’s
get going, all of us. We will never finish this hike otherwise.”
“I thought you’d given up?”
Graham asked.
“I have! This is stupid. Come on.
Let’s get going,” Stephen replied. He was so hot his glasses started to fog up.
Angrily he pulled them off and began to wipe them, his eyes blinking myopically
as he did so.
Roger faced him. “You go. I’m
staying to watch. I’ll stay on my own if I have to.”
Stephen put his glasses back on
and shook his head, then waved his arms in exasperation. Graham interrupted. “Let’s
not have an argument standing here where anyone can see us down that track.”
Roger looked. He could see at
least a hundred metres along the track to where a patch of sunlight indicated a
clearing of some sort. ‘What drongos we are,’ he thought. ‘We mustn’t let those
men see us.’ He started walking, at the same time beckoning the others to
follow.
They did so, all striding along
as fast as they could go. Roger went along the road for another fifty metres
and stopped in the shade on the other side of the small clearing. He then
pointed into the jungle on the left. “I’m going to hide my gear in here and
find a spot where I can watch the track junction. You others go and get the
police.”
“Let’s just keep going,” Stephen
persisted.
Roger shook his head. “No. I’m
staying. As you said, the hike is finished so now we should help the police,”
he replied firmly. He kept glancing nervously back towards the track junction
and into the surrounding rainforest, fearful that the men might suddenly appear
and see them.
Graham took command. “We won’t
debate this. Roger’s right. Our duty is to help the police. We can always do
the hike next holidays. Roger, you and Peter stay here. Steve and I will go for
the police.”
“Leave your gear here,” Peter
suggested.
“Good idea. Let’s get off the
road in case those blokes come out,” Graham said. He led the way into the
rainforest on the side opposite the track. The ground here was reasonably open
and quite flat. The sound of running water became louder as they made their way
in. Once they were about fifty paces in and hidden from the road Graham stopped
and dropped his pack.
“This will do. Dump your gear.”
They did so. Graham pulled out
his map and jotted down the estimated Grid Reference in his notebook. Then he
pointed to a farm marked in the open country about two and a half kilometres
further on to the South East. “We will go to this farm. If they don’t have a
phone we will go on along the main road to the next one.”
“What if a car comes along?”
Stephen asked.
“We will flag it down.”
“What if it’s going back in this
direction?”
“Doesn’t
matter.”
Graham checked his watch. “Just on ten o’clock. We should be there by half past
but don’t expect us back before about eleven thirty.”
“What will you do when you get
back?” Roger asked.
“I’ll leave that to the police.”
Peter then suggested that one of
them be beside the road around the next bend along to stop the police before
they drove in. “They might want to surprise them. Otherwise you could drive
past that side track before you realised it,” he said.
“Good idea. One of you be there
waiting for us from eleven fifteen on,” Graham agreed. “Come on Steve, big
drink and then let’s hoof it.”
They all had a big drink. Then
Graham and Stephen set off. Roger stood and watched as they went. They paused
to look cautiously up and down the road before stepping onto it. Within seconds
they had vanished from sight.
“Now let’s find a good possie,”
Roger said, tingling with excitement.
“Let’s refill all the water
bottles from this creek first,” Peter replied.
Reluctantly Roger agreed. They
took out Graham and Stephen’s half full bottles as well and made their way to
the small stream. It was a typical jungle creek, crystal clear, cold and fast
flowing. Once that was done Roger took a packet of jelly beans from his basic
pouch, popped a couple in his mouth, packeted the rest and began making his way
carefully through the jungle in the direction of the track junction.
As he crept forward Roger became
aware of pains in the chest. He realised he was holding his breath. The
excitement made the blood pound in his ears and his mouth went quite dry. He
developed a maddening desire to do a pee.
After a few minutes he came to
the belt of lantana and was able to find a place which gave him a view across
the main road and straight along the side track. He was confident he was
well hidden so he crouched down to watch.
Peter crept slowly up to join
him. “Can you see anything?” he whispered.
“No sign of the men,” replied
Roger.
The two boys sat and waited. They
were just back from the edge of the sunlight. It was hot and there was no
breeze. Roger looked up.
Still no clouds.
He watched
the ants streaming up a nearby log. There were orange tinted fungi growing on
it.
Boredom and frustration rapidly
replaced the initial excitement. Peter checked his watch. “Half past ten. They
should have reached a phone by now.”
Roger nodded. “I’d love to know
what those blokes are doing,” he murmured. He had to blink and wipe his eyes.
The bright sunlight and shadows were affecting his eyesight and he felt
drowsiness creeping up on him.
Peter gestured to the left. “We’d
better start moving back. It will take us ten minutes to get to the RV,” he
said.
Roger shook his head.
“In a few minutes.
We might see something and be able to
report - ah! What was that?”
Quite clearly to their ears came
the distant clank of metal on metal.
“Sounded like a shovel hitting
something,” Peter suggested.
“That’s what I thought. Oh! I’ll
bet they’ve found the treasure and are digging it up,” Roger said. He
squirmed
his toes in his boots with excitement.
“Come on!” Peter hissed,
indicating his watch.
Roger shook his head. “You go.
I’m going to have a look and see what the men are doing,” he replied.
“Don’t be bloody stupid Roger!
Come on,” Peter persisted.
“No! It’s not far. I’m going to
have a look. Wait here if you don’t want to come. I’ve got to know,” Roger
replied. He rose to his feet, ignoring pains in his knees and leg muscles.
Peter reached forward to restrain
him but Roger side-stepped and started slowly walking through the scrub to his
right. Peter swore softly and hissed at him to come back then stood and began
to follow, his face red with anger.
Roger skirted a large clump of
ferns and wait-a-while then made his way to the edge of the road. He was twenty
metres from the track junction and could no longer see the black car. He paused
for a moment to listen and to study the jungle opposite. Then he walked quickly
into the open and across the road.
“Don’t run! Don’t run!” he
murmured to himself as his legs seemed to want to take control. He had to
consciously control himself as he had been taught to do on fieldcraft
exercises. ‘If I run, my boots will drum on the ground and my webbing will thud
and flap,’ he reminded himself.
Thankfully he stepped into the
shadows between two large trees. His heart beat wildly and he stopped to search
ahead and to wipe sweat from his eyes. He looked back and saw Peter
gesticulating furiously and angrily at him. In return he beckoned then began to
cautiously walk forward.
The rainforest here was quite
flat and very damp underfoot. The leaf-litter was all sodden and squashy. Once
he was away from the zone of sunlight along the road there was very little
undergrowth. Roger could see at least fifty paces and was worried to discover
that the black car was easily visible to him on his left - which meant he was
visible from it.
About a hundred paces ahead was a
much thicker belt of scrub which seemed to mask his view. There was very little
wait-a-while and only the occasional fern or dead log. Because of the sodden
ground he was able to walk quickly with very little noise.
Roger walked on a route which
edged to his right, away from the side track. He could discern the change in light
and vegetation pattern which marked its course. Ahead of him loomed the wall of
thicker scrub with a brightness behind it which indicated a clearing. As he
flitted forward from tree to tree he realised that the wall of scrub was just
that. It was a windrow of felled timber overgrown with a tangle of vines and
weeds on the edge of a clearing.
The sound of voices made him
stop. Tingling with excitement, he crouched down behind a tree and looked. The
voices came from beyond the wall of scrub.
Even more carefully
now Roger crept forward, edging further to the right.
The ground
underfoot changed to actual mud,
a black
ooze into
which his boots sank. Mosquitoes began to attack him. The voices grew louder.