Dead Tree Forest (6 page)

It had taken them a while to set up the tents. Because of the strange chalky soil, it was a bitch to keep the pegs imbedded in the ground—they just kept pulling out. It was like trying to stand a needle up in a pile of dust.

They eventually got the tents to remain upright by using branches and stones to anchor the pegs—although Ray half-expected the tents to come crashing down in the middle of the night, smothering them.

Brian had stayed sitting against the tree, head between his legs, while Ray and Chris erected the three tents. He only moved from his spot to gobble down his bowl of baked beans. He had refused a doughnut for dessert, instead taking a can of VB and shuffling back over to the tree, where he had sat, silent, drinking, while the gloomy evening turned to pitch-black night.

Along with the darkness came the bitter cold.

The forest had already been chilly, but the moment the light left the sky, it was like they had been locked inside a meat locker.

After eating and drinking, Ray had retired to his tent, taking with him all his shirts, jumper and woollen jacket he had brought with him, and together with his sleeping bag, tried as best he could to get warm.

Chris elected to stay outside. Why, Ray didn’t know. There was no bon-fire to sit around and toast marshmallows; just the black night and the bone-crunching cold.

Brian had still been sitting against the tree when Ray headed into his tent; but he had heard rustling in the next tent down a short time ago, so Ray figured Brian had decided to slink in and try and get warm.

Poor bastard
, Ray thought.
Seeing his brother die like that...

The two Gleeson brothers had been close, in a strange sort of way. Even though they had constantly bickered, even though both had all the emotional warmth of a lead pencil, Ray knew how much Brian cared for his younger brother.

They had grown up in a tough environment, not dissimilar to Ray’s upbringing: rotten, abusive father, and caring but weak-willed mother. When Brian left home in his late teens, unable to deal with his father any longer (the two had often fought, but when Brian knocked his old man unconscious one night after walking into the house to find his old man beating on seven-year-old Nathan, that had been the final straw: Brian had sent a stinging left hook at his father’s face, which not only broke his dad’s cheek, but also his mum’s collection of Franklin Mint plates), Brian had wanted Nathan to come with him. But their mother was adamant that he stay, that he was simply too young, too sweet, and too naive to be out there on his own.

So Brian had left, leaving his younger brother behind. Then one night, six years later, there was a knock at Brian’s door and there was Nathan, carrying a suitcase and two black eyes.

Ray had been there the night Nathan arrived at Brian’s house; they had been close to blind drunk. That was only a short time before he got pinched for rape and assault and was thrown in the clink for seven long years.

He had been out only a month, and now here he was again, trapped in a place he couldn’t escape from.

He tried to get his head around what was going on, but it didn’t bend that far.

It was too unreal to believe.

A curse. A fucking curse.

After everything he had read about Dead Tree in books and on the internet (which amounted to precious little, just speculation about where it was—the majority thought it didn’t even exist—and whether or not the curse was real), after everything Sammy had told him, he never once believed it to be true.

Sure, he believed a young Aboriginal girl was killed and thrown in a lake a long time ago. He believed (hoped) the stories about what she had with her were also true. But as far as there being a curse—he filed that under B for bullshit.

I guess I can now file it under F for fucking real
.

Ray drew an arm out from the cosiness of the sleeping bag and raised his hand in front of his face.

The wrinkles weren’t pronounced, the liver spots more like shadows, but there was no denying it—his body had aged rapidly in just one day.

Christ
, Ray thought and he had just sunk his arm back into the warmth of the sleeping bag when he heard singing coming from outside. It was soft, almost a whisper.

Ray unzipped the sleeping bag, kicked himself free and grabbing the Eveready Dolphin, unzipped the tent flap and crawled outside.

The cold seized him like a swift kick to the groin: sudden and painful.

He got to his feet and in the harsh glow of the torchlight, saw Chris sitting cross-legged on the ground a few metres away. He was drawing in the dirt with an index finger while singing gently in some foreign language. “What are you doing?” Ray said, his breath a puff of white fog. “It’s freezing out here.”

“Asking Ginnumarra for forgiveness,” Chris replied. “Pleading with her to lift the curse and save the rest of us from death.”

With a sigh, Ray stepped over to Chris. “What the hell’s going on? What exactly is this curse?”

Chris turned his eyes upwards. They were heavy with fear. “The same force that sucked the life out of this forest is sucking the life out of us.”

Ray swallowed. “What do you mean?”

“I didn’t know the exact nature of the curse. People speculated, but no one knew for sure. I’ve been listening to the spirits, trying to understand. Now, I do. Or at least, I think I do. The curse—or I should say Ginnumarra—is sucking the life from our bodies. The deeper we go into the forest, the more our life is drained from us and the older we get, until we eventually become the forest.”

“You mean until we eventually become
like
the forest.”

Chris shook his head. “
Become
the forest.” He motioned with his head towards Nathan’s body.

Ray aimed the torchlight at Nathan’s corpse.

Or at least, where Nathan’s corpse had been.

There was no longer a body, just a pile of clothes on the ground.

Ray took a few moments to digest what he was seeing. “Jesus,” he whispered, and a hundred icy spiders scurried up and down his back.

He spun the light back to Chris. “Why is this happening?”

Chris shrugged. “I don’t know for sure, but maybe it’s Ginnumarra’s way of trying to resurrect herself. Maybe she figures that by feeding on life she can be reborn. Perhaps that was the real reason for the curse. I thought it was for revenge, but maybe I was wrong.”

“You think you can stop the curse?”

“Her power is strong. I don’t hold much hope.”

Ray’s shoulders slumped. He thought of Gemma. “Shit,” he muttered. He gazed at Chris, at the man he had helped kidnap. A man now looking older than his years. He was shivering and his breath fogged in quick bursts.

“You’re freezing,” Ray said.

Chris shrugged.

“You know you can use the other tent. I put all of Nathan’s gear inside; you’re welcome to use it.”

Chris nodded.

Silence fell between them. “Look, I’m sure you hate us for what we’ve done,” Ray finally said. “And...well, shit, you gotta understand why I did what I did.” Ray took a deep breath, and it felt like ice cubes were rolling down his throat and into his lungs. “My youngest girl, Gemma, she has leukaemia. I only found out about a month ago. My wife found out a month before that, but she didn’t tell me, because...well, she didn’t think it’d do me any good. I couldn’t have done anything anyway, that’s what she said.”

“Because you were in jail?”

Ray, hugging himself against the cold, nodded. Then he frowned. “How’d you know?”

Chris shrugged. “Just a hunch. What were you in for?”

“Rape and assault with a deadly weapon. I was paroled from Barwon after seven years, for good behaviour. Anyway, my wife told me the night I was released from prison. My little girl’s got cancer. Fuck. They were doing all they could, the drugs and all that, but it wasn’t helping. I first heard about Dead Tree Forest from Sammy, an Aborigine doing time for manslaughter. I thought it was all mumbo-jumbo at the time, but when I got out of the joint and learnt of Gemma’s illness, the part about what supposedly lay at the bottom of the lake started playing on my mind, and it soon grew into an obsession. I read all I could about the legend, and every book and internet site mentioned the healing amulet that the girl supposedly had with her when she was thrown into the lake. I was desperate. I was sure it was all bogus, I thought I would never even find the forest, let alone the lake. But, I had to try. So that’s why I came down here. I knew I could never find this forest by myself, so I figured I would need a local, an Aborigine, to help me. But, knowing what I did about the legend, I knew no Aborigine would willingly travel to Dead Tree, which is why we...well, you know...”

Ray stopped talking. He wiped his runny nose, followed by his eyes.

The forest around them was still. It was like some ash-covered post-apocalyptic land where nothing had survived.

“I see,” Chris said. “I knew there was something about you; I could tell you weren’t doing this simply for greed. Your friends, you never told them the real reason for the trip, did you?”

Ray sighed. “No.” He glanced back at Brian’s tent. “Brian still doesn’t know,” he said, turning back around. “He still thinks there’s real treasure at the bottom of the lake.”

“Will you tell him?”

“I guess. Tomorrow maybe. I dunno. We’ll see.”

“So you’re still trying for the lake?”

“I have to.”

“I understand.”

“So you think there’s any way to stop this curse? Any way to reverse it?”

Chris stared long and hard at the dark ground in front of him. “I’ll try.”

Ray nodded. “Well, I’m going back to my tent before my nuts turn to ice.”

He turned away.

“Ray?”

Ray swivelled back around. “Hmmm?”

“You hear her cries, don’t you?”

Ray frowned. “Huh?”

“Ginnumarra. You can hear her in the forest. It’s probably faint for you, but you can hear her, am I right?”

“I can’t hear anything,” Ray said, and that was the truth—the forest was silent.

“Yes, Ginnumarra has stopped for the night. But you heard her today, I know you did. Don’t be afraid, her screams might help to guide you.”

With a nod, Ray stepped back over to his tent.

* * *

With Ray back in his tent, the world was once again blacker than the devil’s soul. But that was okay. Chris didn’t need light. All he needed was his ears and the light that was in his head.

Ginnumarra was silent, and that was understandable. She knew they weren’t moving tonight, there was no need to call to them. But other voices were in fine tune tonight, ones only he could hear.

Chris had never believed in the old beliefs of his people. He knew about his people’s history, knew how to do Corroboree, knew about Dreamtime. But he was ultimately a pragmatist, a non-believer. He worked hard to provide for his family; he liked drinking beer, watching the footy, and spending time with his wife and daughter. That was about the extent of his life. It wasn’t anything special—but he was content with that.

But he couldn’t ignore the voices he was hearing now. He accepted that Ginnumarra was trying to communicate with them, but he hadn’t readily accepted that his ancestors, all of whom were long dead, were also speaking to him.

Chris knew he was a descendant of the Big River Tribe, but other than a brief history lesson from older family members, he had never given the matter much thought.

But he couldn’t deny it—his ancestors were talking to him. And sitting here in the pitch-black forest, unable to see his hand in front of his face, he saw and heard more clearly than he ever had in his life.

He sang with them.

He asked them questions.

He prayed to the restless spirit of Ginnumarra for forgiveness.

He saw past events as clearly as if he was watching them on the TV, visions that both shocked and saddened him.

He was certain he would find the answers to the questions he sought; he knew that the man who had orchestrated this whole ordeal, the man who had kidnapped him and abused him, was the one to bring salvation.

Chris was surprised to learn this, but he knew not to question the spirits.

He was just sorry his wife and daughter would never know his newfound connection with the spirits.

Or maybe somehow, someday, they will.

Despite the bitter cold, Chris continued to sing with the spirits.

* * *

When Ray stepped out of the tent and into the gloomy morning light, he saw that Brian was already up.

He was standing beside a mound of soil that had a long thin branch standing askew in the middle. He was gazing over at what was left of his brother.

Feeling sleepy and achy, Ray strolled over to him.

“Take a look at that,” Brian said, voice hoarse. “Take a look at what’s left of my baby brother.”

“I know,” Ray said. “I’m sorry.”

“What the hell’s going on here?”

“Chris reckons the forest, the curse, whatever, sucked him into the earth.”

“Why?”

“Who knows?”

“Well fuck this forest and fuck the curse.” Brian spat a clump of black phlegm to the ground.

“So what did you bury?” Ray asked.

Brian offered a sad smile. He still looked as old as yesterday—maybe even older. “My Bic. Stupid, I know, but that’s all I could think to put in there. I couldn’t go back and get his clothes, so the lighter seemed the next best thing. Stupid kid liked my Bic.” Brian shook his head. “Stupid kid.” His eyes glistened.

“Chris still in bed?” Ray said, scanning the forest.

“I guess so. Shit man, why’d you let an Abo sleep in Nathan’s tent, with Nathan’s sleeping bag? It’s an insult to my brother’s name.”

“Relax,” Ray said. “No harm, no foul. It was like an Antarctic winter last night. I told him he could use the tent and bag.”

Brian sneered. “He could fuckin’ freeze for all I care.” He wandered over to the tents. “Oi, Abo, wakey wakey.”

Ray winced. “Keep it down, man. I got about two minutes sleep last night. I got a bitch of a headache and I need coffee something shocking.”

Brian glanced over his shoulder. “Fuck your headache, man. Think I don’t have one?” He turned back, slapped at the folds of the tent. “Hey, get the fuck outta there.”