The Dark Horde (25 page)

“FIFTY?” Paul shouted back, but his voice was lost to the wind.

Paul counted to twenty, before deciding that would do and opened his eyes. He saw Tom, the slowest runner, heading for the shelter shed on the other side of the oval.

As a predator moving in for the kill, he began his pursuit.

Tom reached the asphalt near the shelter shed and slowed to a walk to regain his breath. He looked behind him to see if Paul had finished counting yet...

Straight at Paul a few metres away, charging at him like a hungry beast.

“Shit!” he cursed and he started running again for the shed only twenty metres away.

Paul pushed his body to its limits trying to reach Tom before he reached the shed, but Tom just beat him.

He skidded past the entrance to the corrugated iron shed as Tom called from inside, “You can’t get me in here! It’s barley!”

Paul conceded the point that Tom was safe and left to search for other victims...

Howard was heading for the shelter shed too, going the long route via the adventure playground. His bruises ached and all he wanted to do was sit down. The shed meant barley and a chance to recover. He could go to the sick bay but didn’t want to draw attention to himself. He wasn’t a wimp. He was tough, like his dad Brian, and smarter than stupid Paul and his dad.

As he approached the entrance to the shed, a familiar mantra began to repeat in his head:

No monsters Howard, no monsters.

Then Paul stepped around the corner, blocking his path to salvation.

Howard took a step back. “Are you it?”

Paul sneered, “Not for long!” as he launched himself at Howard.

Howard bolted for the adventure playground. Paul gave chase, determined to run him down.

His face and chest burning, Howard ran through the crowded playground, past the slide, zigzagging through swings and ducking under the monkey bars. Icy wind howled in his ears and the beast followed relentlessly, murder in its throat.

The mantra in his head grew ever louder, now mocking:

No monsters Howard, no monsters.

As the beast drew ever nearer.

The mantra in his head became a mangled hybrid of guttural roars, all chanting in unison:

No monsters Howard, no monsters.

He fought to exorcise the demonic voices, as his lungs fought for breath and his body screamed for respite. With the beast in relentless pursuit, he ran on towards the basketball courts.

No monsters Howard, no monsterrrs.

Suddenly Paul slapped him on the back. “You’re it!”

Howard slowed to a stop, defeated.

The monsters had won.

Paul laughed like a manic beast and dashed off across the busy playground. Howard’s head and shoulders slumped forward in exhausted defeat.

Then the voice of the School Secretary blared from the loudspeakers nearby, “Would Howard Derwent please collect his bag and go to the reception office
immediately.
Thank you.”

Waiting for Howard in the otherwise vacant reception office was a tall, gaunt man in police uniform... Paul’s dad, Sergeant Douglas McDougall. His brow was furrowed, his thick black moustache framing a grim expression.

“Don’t be alarmed Howard, but I need to take you with me now.”

Howard stopped before Douglas’ imposing edifice. “Why, what’s happened?”

Douglas took Howard by the hand, pulling him towards the carpark outside. “I’ll have to explain on the way, there’s no time now.”

“Am I in trouble?”

Douglas smirked as he led Howard out to the waiting 4WD police car. “Not yet.”

Held in the strong man’s grip, Howard was unable to pull away. He saw that they were alone in the carpark. “What do you mean, not yet?”

Douglas reached the vehicle and produced a pair of handcuffs, which he slammed on Howard before he could move. Ignoring Howard’s cries, he opened the backdoor of the 4WD and pushed him inside. The backdoor slammed and Douglas climbed into the driver’s seat.

Howard saw through tears Douglas smiling at him in the rear-vision mirror.

“Now you’re in trouble,” Douglas said.

WEDNESDAY 2:08
PM

Like a colony of ants. Insects blind to their presence, hidden in the shadows, just as they were blind to their design or destiny.

The Oberon Grammar students at Timberhome assembled on the flagstone courtyard outside the dining hall, preparing to disembark for their weekly hike. Lucas regarded his flock from his lofty principal’s office, quietly sipping his tea. He was proud of the confident, able creatures they had become, now capable of packing, hiking, camping and cooking independently.

Almost two hundred and twenty five young adults, save for a handful of sick, diligently emptied their hiking packs for the outdoors staff who checked they had the essentials: map, compasses, hiking instructions, torches, water bottles, tents, pegs and poles, sleeping bags and mats, cooking equipment, raincoats, spare clothing and toiletries. The students were then issued food, toilet paper, soap and plastic garbage bags for waterproofing, which they happily divided among their hike-groups of six, packing everything back into their packs. Lucas marvelled at their diligent cooperation like efficient components in a prodigious machine.

Unaware what awaited them...

Matron Susan Inglis, a well-dressed mature woman with auburn hair tied in a bun, emerged from the sanatorium nearby and approached him.

“Good afternoon, Lucas.” She smiled.

“Good afternoon, Susan. How fare the students in your expert care?”

She swallowed. “Well... Tracy of N Unit and Matthew and Stuart of D Unit have gastro, and Tim Hamilton will be in the San for another week before both his arm casts can come off.”

Lucas nodded. “And what about the other boy... What’s his name?”

“You mean Danny?”

Lucas laughed awkwardly. “Yes, Danny Malone. He’s still okay to be hiking today, is he?”

Susan sighed. “Well, he is in perfect physical health according to Howqua Hills Hospital and the checks I did this morning but...”

Lucas furrowed his brow. “His mental health?”

“Yes. I mean I guess he’s okay to be hiking, but I think that there’s something not quite right with him.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t quite put my finger on it, but it’s almost as if he’s recovered too quickly. He’s a new person suddenly, happier than he’s ever been. It just seems I dunno, too weird.”

Lucas shrugged and smiled. “Well, all of God’s creatures were created unique. Danny’s just different from the other kids and if he’s healthy and happier than he’s ever been, so much the better!”

“Yes, but I think even the psychiatrist was weirded out by him.”

“Weirded out by him? I didn’t get that impression when I spoke to him yesterday afternoon. He told me that Danny had recovered.”

“Yes, but to me, and I know this sounds strange, but Dr Russell seemed strangely I dunno, dismissive yesterday all of a sudden. He left suddenly too.”

Lucas shrugged again. “Oh well, maybe he’s just a busy man. I think everything will be okay, Susan, and there’s no real reason to expect anything else.”

“Yes well, I hope you’re right.” Susan grimaced. “Anyway, the Hike Masters know about it and they’ll have antipsychotics to give him if needed.”

“Sounds good, Susan. You’re doing a fantastic job as usual.”

They both turned their attention to Jodie Moffatt, the physical education teacher, as she began to brief the students from the dining-hall steps: “Okay school, we’re going to make a start whilst we have a good break in the weather. But first I’ll go through the route again, especially for those of you who haven’t familiarised yourselves with the map that’s been up here on the notice board since last week.”

The congregation quietened and the speaker continued:

“As you know, we’re doing the Eagles’ Peaks hike. It’s a fairly easy hike, especially since the second day is a day hike where you’ll return to the same place you camped on the first night.”

John of I Unit stood next to his mate Nathan and pumped the air. “That’s mad! I love day hikes!”

Nathan smiled. “Who doesn’t?”

As Nathan looked back at John, he saw Danny of H Unit a short distance away. Danny was sitting on his pack, away from the others in his hiking group, chin in his palms and staring at the ground...

Danny’s knee had almost completely healed. Only a purplish bruise remained in evidence of the gory wound he had yesterday.

Mrs Moffatt went on, “We take the track going up past Oldham Weir to where it meets the Howqua track at the foot of Bald Hill, which we then follow uphill to Warrambat saddle. From there we take the south fork, which will be marked with the usual orange tape, past Red Hill and then downhill following Black Dog Creek towards the Howqua River following the orange markers. Once reaching Howqua River, you’ll see the campsite next to Fry’s hut.”

“Fry’s hut? Oh mad!” John said.

Nathan wasn’t paying attention. He was staring at that knee...

It’s not possible for it to have healed so quickly, is it? I’m sure I saw Danny cut it open yesterday – the flesh was hanging off!

“We won’t be using Fry’s hut, of course; it’s across the other side of the river anyway. But there
is
a woodshed nearby, with plenty of wood for us to use. Tomorrow we head off bright and early, for Eagles’ peaks. I’ll brief you tomorrow morning on the route before we leave.”

Danny looked up with bloodshot ashen eyes to see Nathan staring at him and spoke in a harsh voice, “What are
you
looking at.”

Nathan shivered and looked away reflexively.

Did Danny’s lips even move?

Mrs Moffatt clapped her hands. “We’ll start with Units I and J this week, since it’s their turn to go first.”

Nathan’s hiking group and the other hiking groups from his Unit hauled their packs on and began to make their way towards Mrs Moffatt and the track beyond.

“Time to roll like Jewish foreskins!” John said, giving Nathan a playful jab.

Nathan needed no further encouragement, suddenly determined to put as much distance between himself and Danny as possible...

And so the exodus began.

WEDNESDAY 2:53
PM

Fragile, helpless creatures, blindly stumbling towards their demise.

Yet sooo arousing.

Nathan hiked with the other five members of his hiking group: John, Kev, Richo, Mouldy and Spaz. They slowly hiked up the bracken-lined track leading from the school past the Weir, which was overgrown with blackberries and stinging nettles, to Warrambat saddle. A little ahead and far behind them stretched a long chain of the other hike groups and staff...

Like a trail of ants.

At Warrambat saddle, the track met others at a clearing walled by grey weepy Peppermints. Above, the sun shone defiantly over the heads of grey cloud. A signpost stood at the edge of a muddy puddle announcing various destinations:

Mount Warrambat summit to the east 1.1 kilometres, Fry’s Hut 4.9 kilometres to the south and a 4WD road led west 8.3 kilometres to Lower Howqua. On a mossy rock at the foot of the signpost was a blue Tupperware container. John opened it and signed the logbook inside for his hike group.

“Man, I need to re-adjust my pack,” Richo said as he slung his hiking pack, half the size he was, from his slight frame onto the ground.

“Bit heavy, Richo?” John laughed.

Richo unclipped the hood of his pack and began to pull out the plastic-bag wrapped contents. “It’s all weighted on one side. It’s fucking killing me.”

Spaz looked on vacantly, Mouldy studied trees and Kev sat down on a rotted stump that sported a couple of fungus discs on its side. A couple of metres from Kev, a magpie foraged through leafy debris, unperturbed by his presence. Staff and other hike groups passed them by, notably some of the hot chicks from Unit O.

Nathan looked worried. “C’mon guys! Everyone’s passing us! Let’s go.”

“Yeah alright!” Richo snapped. “Just give us a fucking second, will ya.”

Nathan sighed with impatience.

“What’s the hurry, Nathan?” said John.

“I just wanna get there, that’s all.”

Kev suddenly jumped from the stump he was sitting on, frantically brushing large black bull ants from his legs and buttocks. “Ah fuck, that hurts!”

John, Mouldy and Spaz laughed.

Kev stepped clear of the swarming ants, rubbing his hip. “One of those little bastards bit me!”

John checked the wound and smiled at Kev. “You’ll be alright.”

Nathan and Mouldy gave Richo a hand organising his pack and Spaz just stood there in a daze occasionally moving to shoo flies.

Getting close now.

“Is everyone right to go?” Nathan asked, looking down the path behind them at the next group of advancing hikers.

Kev and Mouldy nodded and started down the trail marked with orange tape to Fry’s Hut. Richo rose wincing as he hauled his pack on. John walked next to Nathan, and Spaz dawdled along behind, trying to read the map as they walked.