Dead Tree Forest (2 page)

The wind was knocked out of Chris. “No,” he breathed.

“The fuck you aren’t,” Brian growled. “We’re gonna get us some treasure. We’re gonna be rich. Right, Nathan?”

“Yeah, rich,” the younger man, Nathan, repeated.

“It’s cursed,” Chris said. “It’s a bad place.”

“It’s cursed,” Nathan mocked. “It’s a bad place.” He laughed. “Fuck that. It’s gonna make us rich.”

“Yeah,” Brian said, firing up another smoke. “You got a problem with that?”

Chris placed his head down on the floor and stared up at the van’s ceiling.

We’re going to Dead Tree Forest? May the Lord help us…

“There’s a servo coming up. We should stop off, get some food and drink,” Ray said.

As the van slowed and pulled off the road, Chris thought he could hear the cries of a young girl.

A young girl in pain.

Ginnumarra…

* * *

Standing in line at the service station, Ray Lambert glanced out the window, to the rental van, and hoped Brian and Nathan weren’t hurting Chris too badly. He had given them explicit instructions not to—at least, not until the Abo had led them to Dead Tree Forest.

He wasn’t worried about Nathan. Brian’s younger brother was as lazy as he was ugly. He lived with Brian and Claire—Brian’s current girlfriend—in Coburg. He had no job, content to sponge off of his older brother. He was a quiet kid, but he wasn’t a violent person. Sure he liked to steal and had a bizarre fetish for fire; but violent? No. Strange, yes; but when compared to his brother, he was a pussycat.

Brian Gleeson was Ray’s closest friend. He was a year younger than Ray, a few inches shorter, thin as a whip, and had done time for armed robbery. He had lost his left eye during a brawl outside a Melbourne pub eight years ago (some bastard had concealed a shard of broken glass between his knuckles and had used it to aerate Brian’s face), and subsequently had a glass eye put in, which he loved, thought it made him look crazy. With his heavily scarred face and heavily tattooed arms, neck and back, he was the kind of guy most people crossed the street to avoid. Still, some women, like Claire, loved his badass look; even thought his glass eye was “sexy.” Sexy was the last word Ray would use to describe Brian. Crazy was a word that immediately came to mind. Sadistic was another. Not that Ray was a saint—far from it—but still, sometimes Brian scared even him. But he was a loyal friend, someone who wouldn’t be content to merely stand behind you in a fight; he’d be out front, swinging the hardest.

When Ray had decided to go to Tasmania, he knew he would need help retrieving the sunken treasure, which was why he had called up Brian, who jumped at the chance to go “fuckin’ around in the woods.” When Nathan had learned of the expedition, he also wanted to come along. Ray figured they might need another hand when it came time to kidnap an Aborigine, so he didn’t get too bent out of shape about Nathan tagging along.

But Christ, I hope they’re not fucking the guy up. Maybe I should’ve stayed in the van while Brian got the
…

“Hey, buddy, get a move on.”

Ray snapped out of his reverie.

He turned and gazed at the bespectacled man standing behind him. The man took one look at Ray, swallowed, and took a step backwards.

“Next,” the bored-sounding woman behind the counter intoned.

Ray glared at the man before turning around and stepping up to the counter.

He paid for the pre-made sandwiches and rolls, the doughnuts, bars of chocolate and bottles of drink, then strode out of the service station.

At the van, he dumped the bag of goodies on the passenger seat, then he walked around to the driver’s side, heaved himself inside and started the engine.

“You get me a can of Mother?” Brian asked.

“Yeah, I got your can of Mother,” Ray said, flicking his eyes up to the rear-view mirror.

Brian and Nathan were leaning against the sides of the van. Nathan was staring intently at the cigarette lighter he was holding; he was flicking the flame on, off, on, off. Brian’s feet were resting on Chris’s chest.

“Get your damn feet off him,” Ray said.

With a wicked smirk, Brian swung his legs onto the floor. “Always spoiling my fun.”

Ray gunned the accelerator and sped the van out of the service station, back onto the road.

“You okay back there, Chris?” Ray asked.

The Aborigine didn’t answer. Ray frowned. “Oi, Chris. You okay?”

“He’s fine,” Brian said. “What, you think we killed him or something?”

“Shut up. Chris?”

Silence. Then: “Yeah.”

Ray breathed with relief. “Christ man, you had me worried. You answer me when I talk to you, understand?”

“Whatever you say,” answered the tired voice.

“So,” Brian said. “What’s the plan?”

“We drive to the mountain, park the van, then hike up to Dead Tree. Simple.”

At least, it was simple in theory.

“And you’re sure you know how to get to the mountain?”

“Sure I’m sure,” Ray said. “That’s the easy part. It’s getting to Dead Tree Forest that’s gonna be tough. But that’s why we brought along our very own tour guide. Isn’t that right, Chris?”

“You don’t want to go to Dead Tree. Trust me, it’s a bad place.”

“Oh boy,” Brian sniggered. “Here he goes with his fuckin’ Abo mumbo-jumbo.”

“What’s bad about it?” Nathan asked, still idly playing with the lighter.

“Nothin’,” Brian said, snatching the Bic from his brother.

“It’s cursed,” Chris said. “Anyone who goes in, never comes out.”

Brian cackled. “Christ, sounds like some tag-line from a bad ‘80s horror movie.”

“It’s the truth.”

“Just a load of native superstition,” Ray said. “Don’t worry about it. Brian, there’s a map back there somewhere. Find it and tell me how to get to Forbes Mountain.”

“I thought you knew how to get there?”

“I know that Dead Tree is in the Forbes Mountain Range, and I know in which general direction the mountains are, but I still need directions on how to get there.”

Ray heard Brian mutter, followed by a lot of banging and cursing. Finally, Brian said, “Found the fucker. Here, you look Nathan.” Brian tossed the map over to his brother. Then he rested back against the van and lit up a cigarette.

After a spell, Nathan said, “Okay, keep on this road for a while. There’s a turn off to Bucket Road about fifty ks from here.”

“And that’s the road to the mountain?”

“Nah, there’s still a ways to go before you get to the road leading up into the mountain.”

“Fuck me,” Brian huffed. “You mean we still have to hike to the forest once we get to the mountain?”

“Yep,” Ray said. “And then we have to find the lake in the forest. God knows how long that will take.”

“We could be out there for days,” Brian shrieked.

“Possibly. What did you think all that camping equipment beside you is for?”

“I dunno. For show? Just so we can laugh at Nathan carrying it all?”

“Very funny,” Nathan said.

“Well, this treasure better be worth it,” Brian said, sucking hard on his cigarette.

Yeah, it’ll be worth it all right
.

Ray looked up into the rear-view mirror. He searched for any recognition on Chris’s face. But Chris was lying flat on his back.

Ray wondered whether Chris knew about the treasure that was supposed to be lying at the bottom of the lake. He certainly seemed to know about the legend, the massacre at the lake of the girl and her family by the British colonists. Surely he must know about the treasure, too.

Thinking about the treasure, Ray’s mind drifted to his wife and three daughters, waiting for him back on the mainland, in their crappy weatherboard in Brunswick. In particular his twelve-year-old, Gemma, who had been diagnosed with leukaemia a few months ago.

In his head he heard crying: his wife’s, which was a nightly occurrence, and Gemma’s, upon starting the drugs and the sickness that followed.

And his own, in private; always in private.

“…tunes.”

Ray shook his head. “Huh?”

“I said turn on the radio and find some fuckin’ tunes,” Brian said.

Ray flicked on the radio, found the oldies station, and sat back and listened to John Lennon sing about instant karma.

* * *

Standing in a small clearing at the base of Forbes Mountain, Ray stretched his hands to the cloudless blue sky and breathed in the clean forest smells. Then he walked around to the side of the van, just as Brian slid back the door and jumped out. “Outta my way. I need to piss something shockin’.”

While Brian scurried off to take care of business, Ray peered into the van. Nathan was sitting against the side, asleep. Chris was sitting opposite Nathan, eyes glazed with fear. “Nathan, wake up.”

Nathan snorted awake. “We there?”

“Uh-huh. Now grab your rucksack and the Esky. I wanna get moving.”

Nathan grabbed a hold of his bag and tossed it out the door. Then he picked up the Esky and stepped out of the van. “This thing’s heavy, Ray. You don’t expect me to carry it plus my rucksack?”

“Fuck yeah,” Brian said, strolling back, zipping up. “And you won’t whinge about it, neither.”

“We all have to carry shit. So Nathan, you’re stuck with the Esky.”

“What’s Brian gonna carry?”

“My dick,” he said, grabbing his crotch. “That’s plenty big enough for one man to carry.”

“Brian’s carrying the sports bag, which is heavier than the Esky.” Ray hopped up into the back of the van, picked up his rucksack and tossed it out, then he did the same with Brian’s rucksack and the sports bag containing, among other things, equipment such as ropes. Unsheathing the hunting knife from around his waist, Ray cut the rope binding Chris’s legs. “Okay, out you get.”

Chris stared at Ray. “Please, don’t do this. I don’t want to go.”

“You don’t have a say in this. We’re going to Dead Tree, and that’s that.”

“But why? There’s nothing there except death.”

Ray eyed the Aborigine. “There’s more than death in there; there’s life.”

“Are you talking about the treasure?”

Ray drew in breath. He glanced back at Brian and Nathan. They were busy arguing about who was going to be carrying what. He turned back to Chris. “Not a word about the treasure to the others, you got me?” he growled. “They don’t know the truth. Now, get out. Don’t make me hurt you.”

Chris didn’t move.

“Fine, have it your way.” Ray reached over and grabbed the rope that bound Chris’s wrists. He pulled hard. Chris was dragged sideways across the hard, bumpy floor of the van. He cried out. Ray let go of the rope. “See, it’d be easier if you simply obeyed.”

“The nigger causing problems?” Brian said, stepping up to the van.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Ray said.

“Get out, Abo,” Brian sneered, pulling out his knife. It was a flick-knife, smaller than Ray’s, but still lethal. “Stop fuckin’ around and do as we say, got it?”

Chris swivelled his body to a sitting position. He stuck out his legs, scooted forward and then set his feet on the ground. He stood up.

“Good. Now, don’t go doing anything stupid like trying to run away,” Ray said. “You wouldn’t get far, anyway.” He slammed the side door shut, walked up to the passenger door, yanked it open and took out the bag of goodies. After he locked the van, he walked back over to Brian, Nathan and Chris. “Okay, Nathan, you carry the Esky, Brian, you take the sports bag.”

“What about you?” Nathan said.

“I’ve got Chris,” Ray said. He opened the lid of the Esky and placed in the food and drink he’d bought at the petrol station, placing it on top of the beer he bought last night at the bottle shop adjacent to the Royal Arms, before he scouted the pub for prospective “tour guides.”

“We’re not gonna eat and drink first?” Brian asked.

“No,” Ray said. “We may not be surrounded by people, but the road isn’t that far away. Someone might see us, and then we’d be screwed.”

“But I’m fuckin’ starving,” Brian said. “And I could really do with a beer.”

“Once we reach Dead Tree Forest, then we’ll stop and have lunch. Okay guys, get your gear on.”

While Brian and Nathan struggled with their rucksacks, Ray stepped up to Chris. “Now, don’t play games with us. Don’t lead us in the wrong direction. We won’t hesitate in killing you and leaving your body in the mountain if you dick us around. Understand?”

Chris, looking at the gravel, nodded.

“Good. I knew you were a smart man.” Ray turned around. “Okay, you guys ready?”

Nathan, dwarfed by the rucksack and sleeping bag on his back, mumbled, “Yeah, I’m ready.” He picked up the Esky with a groan.

“Let’s get this show on the mother-trucking road,” Brian said, bulging pack looking like it could snap his skinny body like a matchstick. He held the long, heavy sports bag with both hands.

Ray picked up his rucksack and sleeping bag and slipped them onto his back with relative ease. Then he took a hold of the rope. “Okay, lead the way to Dead Tree,” he said to Chris.

“It won’t be easy,” Chris said. “There are no walking tracks up to Dead Tree Forest. It’s a long trek through thick wilderness.”

“Don’t you worry about us,” Ray said.

With a deep sigh that seemed to call to the spirits, Chris started walking, and the three men followed.

* * *

Without walking tracks or markers, the trek through the mountains was tough going. The day was far from hot, but it didn’t take long before all four of them were sweating rivers and panting like dogs in heat. Still, they managed to traverse thick tree roots, slippery moss, walk up and down steep gullies, and wind their way around monstrous King Billy pines without anyone getting injured.

By the time they reached a wide, flat clearing, Ray’s legs were aching, his lungs felt ready to burst and his clothes were drenched.

“Can we stop and have lunch now?” Brian breathed, looking tired and sweaty.

“How far is it to Dead Tree?” Ray asked Chris.

“Not far.”

Ray nodded. “Okay.”

Nathan and Brian dropped their respective hand-luggage to the ground, followed by their rucksacks. “Remind me to start going to the gym when we get back,” Brian said.