Behind Mt. Baldy (16 page)
“Six o’clock. So we can be on the
road by seven,” Graham replied.
“I still don’t reckon we need a sentry,”
Stephen persisted. “We will get too tired. My watch has an alarm.”
Roger spoke up. “Yes we do. What
if the crooks drive off tonight or early in the morning? And how will we meet
the cops when they arrive?”
Graham said, “Roger’s right.
Sentry duty it is. Two hours on. Let’s see. If we start at eight, that’s in
fifteen minutes, we should all get about six hours sleep. That’s enough.”
Stephen grumbled but accepted
this. “What’s the roster?”
“You and Peter work one out while
Roger and I walk to the Forestry Barracks. We should be back by ten,”
Graham replied.
“Then the police will arrive and
we will be up half the night,” Peter said.
“Too bad.
It’s got to be done.”
“Will we put up hutchies?” Roger
asked. He had turned off his torch after packing his stove and eating gear.
With no fires or torches it was very dark. He literally could not see his hand
in front of his face. He tried it. It gave him a very claustrophobic feeling. A
hutchie might not keep anything out but it gave the illusion of security.
“No,” Graham answered. “No
hutchies. It won’t rain and there won’t be any dew under these trees. We’d
better get going. Come on Roger.”
“Just a minute
Graham.
Who
else needs water bottles refilled?” Roger asked.
Peter and Stephen both did so
Roger took these and hung them on his webbing. He put this on and took out his
torch.
“Can we use a torch?” he asked.
He had no desire to walk without a light two kilometres along a jungle road
knowing that the snakes would be out hunting. He also knew Graham well enough
to guess that he had planned on doing just that, despite a keen fear of snakes.
Graham considered,
then
grudgingly conceded. “Aw. OK I suppose. The crooks
aren’t likely to see us. Let’s go.”
The two set off down the old road
in the direction of the Forestry Barracks. Both held their torches low so
their beams shone on the ground a couple of metres ahead. They had to take some
care as there were a few small washouts and the odd fallen branch. Two minutes
walking found them on the main road where it ran due west along the ridge top.
Even though there were gaps in
the tree canopy it was still very dark. Graham stopped for a moment and
turned off his torch.
“Sssh!
Let’s listen for a
moment.”
The two stood silent. Roger
reluctantly turned off his own torch and felt so oppressed and threatened by
the enveloping blackness that he had to fight down the urge to turn it on
again.
Apart from the gentle sighing of
the wind in the trees there was not another sound.
Roger had an intense feeling of
isolation.
Graham grunted with satisfaction.
“Good, let’s move.”
“What will we do if a car comes
along? Do we flag it down or hide?” Roger asked as they began walking
side by side, torches once more on.
“Flag it down,” Graham replied.
“What if it is the crooks?”
“We tell them one of us has got
sick and we are going to phone his parents.”
“What sort of sickness?” Roger
asked.
“Oh I don’t
know,
the flu I suppose.”
“What about a fever, say from
ticks or something like that,” Roger suggested. He was feeling a bit feverish
himself and had broken into a gentle sweat.
“Good idea.”
They walked in silence for a few
minutes.
A sudden scuffling in the leaves made Roger stop in
fright.
“What’s that?” he cried, shining his
torch around. The beam exposed a large rat which stared in surprise before
scampering out of sight.
“Only a bandicoot,” Graham
laughed.
“I thought it might have been a
wild pig,” Roger replied.
“Shut up Roger. Stop thinking
about things or you’ll put the wind up yourself,” Graham advised.
Roger bit his lip and made no
reply as they continued to walk. It was easy to say and hard to do.
‘And easy for Graham.
He’s brave,’ Roger thought.
After less than ten minutes they
reached the road junction where the road switched back on itself and went down
the north side of the mountain. Roger found it easier going and said nothing.
The two just tramped quietly along. There were several more minor frights from
unidentified nocturnal creatures and once the swish of dark wings overhead. At
length the road straightened out and they emerged from the tunnel of
rainforest.
“It isn’t much further is it?
It’s just along here somewhere isn’t it?” Roger asked, looking eagerly ahead
for the first glimmer of electric light.
“Stop for a minute and turn off
your torch,” Graham commanded.
Roger did so and they stood
silently. The straight road became visible as a grey blur bordered by pitch
black.
“What’s wrong?” Roger asked,
sensing Graham’s concern.
“I think we are going to find no-one
home again. The barracks is just on our left and there isn’t a light to be
seen,” Graham replied.
Roger felt a surge of dismay and
a quite irrational spasm of fear.
“What will we do?” he asked.
“Go and have a look.”
Graham turned on his torch and
resumed walking. Roger hurried to catch up. Both shone their torches off
through the trees to the left. Roger saw they were pine trees and could just
discern a building but neither torch was powerful enough to light up things
more than a few metres away.
After two minutes walking
Graham’s torch pointed out the turnoff and entrance to the barracks yard. The
row of buildings began beside it, all black and silent.
“Maybe they’ve gone to bed,”
Roger suggested. He felt very disappointed and worried.
“Fair go Roger! It’s only eight
p.m. More likely they’ve gone to town.”
“Will we wait?”
“For half an
hour maybe.
Let’s
have a look around,” Graham replied. He led the way in through the open gate
and walked up a short flight of steps onto a timber veranda. He shone his
torch on the door of the building and in a window.
Roger felt very uneasy about it.
“Come on Graham, let’s go back to the others,” he said. To his shame his voice
had a distinct quaver in it. By an effort of will power he mastered it. “I
don’t like this. It’s spooky and we could get into trouble for trespassing.”
“Rot Roger! Let’s fill our water
bottles anyway. There’s a tap just there,” Graham retorted. He clumped down the
steps and walked to a tap at the corner of the building.
Roger followed and they stood and
filled all the water bottles and had a drink. As they did the wind moaned in
the pine trees and Roger found the silent buildings very threatening. A feeling
of intense isolation crept over him as it occurred to him that the nearest
house where there would be people with electric light and a telephone was
probably 25 km one way or 10 km the other, and all through the jungle.
Graham sat down on the steps,
took out his map and studied it using his torch.
Roger looked over his shoulder.
“What will we do Graham?” he asked, trying not to let the nervousness (or was
it just plain funk!) show.
“I suppose we could walk to one
of these farmhouses out to the South-East. It would only take a couple of
hours if we stepped it out,” Graham replied.
The thought of ‘stepping it out’
was bad enough for Roger but the prospect of those seemingly endless kilometres
through the dark jungle was more than he wanted to face.
“It’s not that urgent is it? I
mean, it can wait till tomorrow can’t it?” he said.
“I thought you wanted these
crooks caught Roger.”
“I do, but it’s not an emergency
and the police will soon pick them up when we give them the descriptions and
vehicle numbers,” Roger replied. In his heart he knew that the march Graham was
contemplating would be a real ordeal. He also knew Graham was quite capable of
it. On other occasions he had done just that. That got Roger thinking about the
previous year at Stannary Hills when Graham had walked much further than that,
at night, and with a broken arm, to save Peter and Stephen from some thieves.
In an attempt to dismiss this
idea Roger said, “Besides, our torches wouldn’t last that long.” He blushed,
knowing it sounded lame, so he cast about in his mind seeking for further good
reasons.
Graham grinned and folded his map
up. “OK mate. We won’t go. We will just go back to the others and make an early
start instead. Come on.”
Roger felt simultaneous relief
and shame. He knew Graham guessed he was scared but also sensed that it didn’t
affect their friendship.
They made their way back out onto
the main road and began the walk home. The darkness was just as frightening and
the steep uphill stretch reduced Roger to a sweating, panting wreck but he
didn’t stop. He forced himself on. All he wanted was to get back to the safety
of their camp. In part of his mind he knew the safety was illusory but the
place still represented sanctuary.
By pushing himself he managed to
keep up and even recover his breath a little on the stretch along the ridge
top.
‘God
it’s
dark!’ he thought, dismayed by the whole situation.
He heaved an audible sigh of
relief when the beam of Graham’s torch lit up the overgrown turnoff of the old
road. They went up it in silence. The stiff climb for two hundred metres again
made Roger’s heart hammer at an alarming rate and his breath was coming in hot
gasps by the time they reached the camp.
Stephen sat on guard. Peter was
asleep.
“Anything happen while we were
away?” Graham asked.
“Not a thing. Did you contact the
police?”
“No. Nobody home,” Graham
replied. He gave a brief description of their walk. Peter stirred and rolled
over.
Roger eased off his webbing. All
around his waist was sore from chafing and where the equipment had dug into his
too ample flesh. He rubbed it ruefully then found his pack. While the others
talked quietly he cleared sticks and leaves away to make a bed-space. Then he
dug a hip-hole and unrolled his bedding. Thankfully he sat down on it.
“Can we have a brew?” he asked.
“Yes. I’m going to,” replied
Graham who was engaged in the same chores.
“What about boots?” Roger
queried.
“You can have one if you like.
I’m going to have coffee,” Graham replied.
“What do you mean? Oh. I get it.
I meant
,
can we take our boots off?”
“No. We are in the presence of
the enemy I reckon,” Graham replied.
Roger had expected this and he
didn’t grumble. In their cadet unit when they were ‘tactical’ they slept fully dressed
with their boots on.
The boys prepared supper in
silence so as not to wake Peter. The glow of flames was wonderfully heartening
to Roger and the warm, sweet drink restored some of his spirits. He pulled a
chocolate from his pack, broke off four squares and passed them to the others.
Stephen thanked him but declined. Graham loved chocolate and accepted.
Roger then packed his stove and
cup and stretched out on his sleeping bag with his pack for a pillow. As the
perspiration dried he felt a bit chilled, but was aware that it wasn’t really a
cold night. Over the next twenty minutes he lay silently, popping squares of
chocolate into his mouth and savouring them as they slowly melted.
Some time later he was shaken
awake by Graham. He opened his eyes,
then
tried again
before realising it was so dark it made almost no difference.
“What? What is it?” he asked
muzzily.
“Roll on your side. You were
snoring. You’d better get into your sleeping bag too. It’s getting a bit
chilly,” came Graham’s voice, quiet but reassuring.
“Sorry. What time is it?” Roger
replied.
“A bit after midnight,” Graham
answered.
Roger was amazed. They had
returned to camp at 9:30 pm. “Strewth! Isn’t it
dark.
”
Graham chuckled.
“Too bloody right!”
“I’m on sentry next aren’t I?”
“Yeah.
In about
three-quarters of an hour.
Go back to sleep.”
Roger squirmed into his sleeping
bag and was amazed how stiff and sore his muscles were. He had trouble getting
back to sleep but he lay quiet and pretended to be. Once again he drifted into
a deep, dreamless sleep, to be roused at 01:00 by Graham.
