The Word of God (34 page)

He moved his face back until the black blur went away. Clear in the optical circle appeared the running man. Peter tried to steady the cross hairs on the rapidly moving target and his finger tightened on the trigger. Fear and desperation made him squeeze.

Nothing happened.

Bloody safety catch!
he swore, anger adding to his feeling of being flustered. He flicked off the safety catch and aimed again, but had trouble keeping the man in the sight as he was moving so fast.

This time Peter aimed more carefully. But even in that extremity conscience over-rode his fear.

I don't want to kill him. I'll shoot him in the legs,
he thought. But Good God! How fast those legs moved.

He squeezed the trigger. The rifle thumped back into his shoulder. Peter moved his head to look. The man had gone skidding to one side but was clearly not hit.

Bugger it, missed!

The Devil Worshipper vanished into the edge of the jungle on the same side of the road about twenty metres away. Peter cocked the rifle with its bolt action and fired a second shot into the trees where the man had gone. As he did a bullet struck the tree next to him with a thud. A glance showed that this had been fired by the second Devil Worshipper, who still stood beside the 4WD. This was just visible at the bend.

Anger flared, fuelled by fear. Peter aimed at the man, but the man wisely moved behind the nearest vehicle. Remembering the Black Monk and Sir Richard Peter looked for them. Neither was visible. Peter moved his point of aim to one of the vehicle's tyres.

If I miss that one the bullet should hit the other one,
he reasoned.

Bang!

A hit! No doubt. Peter switched his aim and put a bullet through the body of the vehicle where he thought the engine might be. He heard a savage whack of steel on steel and glimpsed a black flurry as the second Devil Worshipper scrambled for cover in the jungle on the far side of the road.

A lull followed, then Peter heard the Devil Worshippers calling to each other.
Peter found he was gasping for breath. His mouth felt dry and his breath hot. His heart hammered and his whole body shook as reaction set in. He wiped sweat from his face and shook his head to try to clear blurred vision, then glanced behind and saw that the others were all out of the vehicle. The snake bite victim lay in the ditch beside the car and the wounded man was on the road behind the car and was being tended by Gwen. Sir Miles crouched beside the front of the car, pistol in hand.

Stephen moved up through the edge of the jungle to join Peter. “What do you think was going on here?” he asked.

“I reckon the Black Monk and Sir Richard were driving back the same way as us, hurrying to get to wherever, and they met their scaly mates at the bend. I don't know if they actually collided although it looks like they might have.” Peter replied.

“Where did the white four wheel drive come from?” Stephen asked.

“Probably the vehicle we met at The Knob,” Peter replied. “I'd say they've driven up to meet their two mates who walked up.”

“But there was only one bloke in that vehicle,” Stephen pointed out.

Peter shrugged: “So now there are two, and two more behind us.”

He searched the jungle for any signs that the closer Devil Worshipper trying to creep towards them. Nothing moved and the man's voice sounded further away.

Joy peered around the back of the car. “What will we do?” she asked anxiously.

“Get out of here. At the moment we are trapped between two groups,” Peter replied. He was feeling intensely pressured and anxious.

Stephen looked behind them. “Those others are a long way back; five kilometres at least,” he said, “And they'll have to walk.”

“They have a radio so this mob will tell them what is going on. I reckon they will run,” Peter offered.

Stephen nodded grimly. “I'd bloody run if the Black Monk told me to!”

Peter managed a weak grin in reply. They both looked back. Behind them was a long straight stretch of road.

Joy met Peter's eyes. “Which way will we go?” she asked.

“Into the jungle,” Peter said, indicating the thick rainforest across the road.

“What about these injured people?” Gwen asked.

Stephen shook his head. “Have to leave them,” he said.

Gwen looked appalled. “Oh we can't! They need medical treatment urgently,” she replied.

“We can leave the bloody Sniper,” Peter said. “His mates can look after him.

Put a note on him Joy. Grab your gear people and let's get going.”

Sir Miles looked puzzled. “Why cross the road? Why not go into the jungle right here?” he queried.

Peter shook his head. “Because we know what that bit of rainforest is like. We harboured in it and patrolled through it during a cadet exercise. I don't know what it is like on this side of the road,” he replied. In the back of his mind was a plan to confuse the enemy by going an unexpected way.

“Wouldn't it be all the same?” Sir Miles asked.

Peter again shook his head. “No. Some bits have almost no undergrowth and others are a tangle of vines and wait-a-while vines. It can change in ten paces.”

Sir Miles looked at the jungle and shook his head. “We won't be able to walk through that.”

“Yes we will. We've done it heaps of times,” Peter said.

“But we could get lost,” Sir Miles persisted.

Peter shook his head. “I've got a map and a compass. We will be right.”

“Do you know where we are?” Sir Miles asked.

“Near enough,” Peter replied. “If we go west we have to come out in open country and we should reach the Danbulla Road after a few kilometres. Come on, let's go.”

After a quick peek along the road to check on the enemy he stepped back, picked up his webbing, swung it on, then remembered the safety catch on the rifle and clicked it on. He paused to have a gulp of water and while Joy scribbled a note to place on the snake bite victim, then gestured the others to move. They swung on their webbing. Stephen and Sir Miles bent and hoisted the wounded man to his feet and began carrying him between them. Joy and Gwen followed.

Peter led them back along the road for fifty metres until he was sure they were not visible from the area where the Devil Worshipper's vehicles were.

I just hope none of them have moved up along the other side so they can see round the bend,
he thought.

That was what he would have done but now he knew they must just take the risk. “All cross at once, on the count of three and no running. Do it quietly,” he said softly. The others all nodded and he knew they understood. But it took an effort of willpower to walk out into the open and cross what was now a fire lane. For a few seconds he hesitated, his whole body trembling with fear. Then he took a deep breath and nerved himself to act.

We can't wait,
he thought.

“One, two three!” Peter counted. On three he walked quickly across. At every step he expected to be hit and his whole being felt like it was cringing in anticipation of the shot. But nothing happened and he thankfully reached the other side and pushed his way in between two trees and out of sight. He waited till all were in the cover of the forest then moved to look back up the road from behind some bushes. There was no sign of any movement and he hoped their move was undetected.

It might gain us a few minutes,
he thought.

But knowing that every minute they stayed there increased the risk he signalled and led the group further into the jungle.

Once inside the rainforest Peter felt safer. Now he was in an environment he knew well, and that he had been at least partially trained to fight in.

Progress was painfully slow. Vines and bushes kept snagging the group. It was proper rainforest with the usual tangle of liana vines, ‘wait-a-while' and lawyer vines and millions of trees and bushes of all sizes. A glance showed Peter that, on their own, they would have been able to just slip quietly through it at a reasonable rate but, burdened by the wounded man, they were moving at a crawl.

After fifty metres Stephen signalled to stop and they lowered the wounded man to the leaf mould, Peter was appalled to see that the whole of the man's shirt was now covered with a glistening black mass of coagulated blood. Bright red, fresh blood was seeping through to add to it. The bandage on his head was also soaked with blood.

Sir Miles bit his lip. “This is no good. We need a stretcher of some sort,” he said. “We will kill this man otherwise.”

Peter looked around for saplings of the right thickness but knew that they only had Stephen's pocket knife with which to cut.

And if we start cutting, those bloody Devil Worshippers will hear us from a kilometre off. They will just home in.

He knew too well just how far the sound of chopping carried in jungle, having done several cadet exercises where that was what had helped them find their opposing team.

“Lay him face down on our webbing. It is the only way,” he said, after a moment's thought.

“Why face down?” Joy asked as she took off her webbing.

“Because he bends in the middle otherwise,” Peter replied.

Gwen nodded. “It is also better if he is bleeding into his lungs,” she added. “If he is on his back he could drown in his own blood.”

Stephen had taken off his glasses to pull a leaf off them. “If he's got any left!” he added bitterly.

They laid the four sets of webbing on the ground and Peter tucked the straps through each other. They then lifted the man onto it. As they did he moaned, which made Peter's blood run cold, but also cheered him up.

He's still alive anyway!

Untying his compass Peter handed it to Joy. “Joy, go in front and scout out the best route. Go north for a hundred paces,” he said. He then positioned the others around the injured man. “Hands on! Prepare to lift! Lift!” he ordered. They hoisted the man up and adjusted their grip, then began to walk.

It was awkward but worked. After finding the best balance and grip and sorting out a few straps which kept snagging in the undergrowth they were able to proceed at a steady shuffle. But they could not keep it up for long. After fifty paces they had to lower the man to rest. Joy took over from Gwen and they went on another fifty paces. It was very hard work. They gasped and sweated. Peter found the rifle kept snagging so he laid it on the wounded man.

At the next stop Peter took his compass back from Gwen and handed it to Stephen, who took over as lead. “Go west Steve.”

They turned left and plodded on. At every second step someone stumbled or something snagged in the vines. They had to detour around a large dead log and then around a huge clump of ‘wait-a-while'. Peter then took over as lead. He found he was shaking badly and that he felt utterly exhausted.

If I feel like this then Joy must be absolutely had it,
he mused. The thought increased his admiration still further.

They struggled on. As they did Peter kept scanning ahead and to his left for any sign of the Devil Worshippers and he strained his ears to listen. But his own group seemed to be making a lot of noise as they pushed through the undergrowth and walked on the dry leaf litter.

I hope those mongrels can't hear us,
he fretted.

At the next rest stop Peter checked his watch and found it was 4pm. That made him even more anxious.

Be dark in a couple of hours. We had better be out of this jungle by then!
he thought.

He took out his map and studied it. Open country was marked to the west but he could only estimate it might be two kilometres off. That was a depressing thought. He tried to estimate their speed. It was not reassuring.

We might just make it.

A sound caught Peter's attention. He had been focusing on the jungle behind
them, listening for any sign of pursuit, but this was further away. “Stop. Listen!” he hissed.

They paused, glad of the break.

“Vehicle,” Stephen said.

“Probably trying to get that white four wheel drive back on the road,” Sir Miles suggested.

“Why?” Joy asked.

“So they can get to the next contact point before we do,” Sir Miles replied.

“But we don't know where to go,” Gwen pointed out.

“They don't know that. Come on, keep moving.”

Joy again took over as lead and Peter took her place carrying. They lifted the wounded man again and struggled on. Twenty paces on the wounded man began to cough. Peter looked down and saw he was dribbling blood and mucous. The sight made him nauseous. The others halted and the man was placed down while Gwen knelt to check him. She wiped the man's face, to Peter's admiration.

The wounded man had been placed down in the Recovery Position. As Gwen tended him his eyes suddenly flickered open. They were quite clear.

“Who are you?” the man asked.

It was such a surprise that, for a moment, nobody could answer.

The man tried to lift his head. “What happened? Who are you?” he asked again.

Sir Miles knelt beside him. “I am Sir Miles Falworth, a Knight of the Holy Grail. You were shot by Devil Worshippers.”

“No I wasn't! I was shot by one of your lot, by Sir Richard somebody or other, you murdering … cough.. splutter… gag!”

The man was wracked by a spasm of coughing. More blood trickled out. Gwen wiped it away and patted him. The man opened his eyes again and looked at her. “Who are you?”

Gwen told him, and explained who she was, then introduced the others. “You met Sir Richard then?” she asked.

“Yes I did,” the man said.

“Did he have anyone with him?” Gwen asked.

The man shook his head feebly. “I didn't see anyone else. I was praying for forgiveness at the lookout. Where are we?”

“In the jungle, escaping from Devil Worshippers,” Gwen explained.

“You should pray for forgiveness,” the man said.