Читать книгу Through the Devil’s Eye - C.R. Cummings - Страница 12

Chapter 6

ANGER

Willy stopped against the trunk of a large ironbark while he listened and studied the ground ahead. Sweat trickled into his eyes and his mouth and tongue felt dry. Every inch of his skin seemed to be burning and itching and darts of pain kept shooting through his left knee and right shoulder. Gingerly he tested both arms to check if anything was fractured. There was a throbbing pain when he moved his left shoulder and the right shoulder kept hurting but he was able to move both and decided they were only wrenched.

To his dismay and disgust he found that his skin seemed to be smeared with a mixture of sweat and blood. There was a trickle of blood still dribbling down from above his right eye but there did not feel to be any large cut, just the lump of a large bruise. Of more interest was where a bullet had winged his right upper arm. This had caused a long scorch mark crusted with dried blood. It still wept fluid and the occasional drop but had mostly stopped bleeding. Willy could only thank his lucky stars and wince.

Having recovered his breath, he resumed walking, scanning for any sign of enemies and alert for the first hint of the helicopter. Every fifty paces or so he halted under the cover of a large bush or tree and looked carefully in all directions. He was also very conscious of the baking heat reflecting from the bare limestone on his left.

Five minutes later, when he was sure he was more than half a kilometre from the crash site and out of sight of anyone on the ridge near it he stopped again for another check.

Time to put the next part of the plan into action, he told himself.

While he had been walking, Willy had been thinking hard. As the terror had receded to just a niggling fear, so his anger had grown. A determination to exact revenge had been melded by the white heat of his emotions into a determination to bring the men to justice and to hurt them in return.

“I will see if I can rescue that girl,” he muttered. “They won’t be expecting that.”

With that in mind he turned right and struck out across the floor of the valley towards the next ridge. As he did he kept glancing back over his right shoulder to check that he was not being observed from the area where he had crossed the first ridge. He also studied the ridge ahead of him. It was similar to the one he had crossed but like it was of uneven height. There were sharp knobs and jagged little peaks but also quite distinct dips. He aimed for the lowest of these to his left front.

Five minutes later he was at the base of that ridge. Close up it looked identical—sharp points and thousands small raised ridges of limestone with knife-like edges. Clumps of the tangled green bushes grew along the base and in clefts in the rock. The heat of the afternoon sun radiated from the bare rocks with physical force and Willy ran his tongue over lips that were starting to dry out and crack. Worse still he could feel the skin on his bare back and arms starting to burn. But he was not putting that white shirt back on.

I’ve stopped sweating. I need to find water soon or I will be in trouble, he thought.

He tried to estimate how far it was to the cattle station but could only guess at about five kilometres. I should be able to do that, he decided. A glance at his watch told him it was 1755hrs. Another hour and a half of daylight, he thought, knowing that last light at that time of year was about 1930hrs.

After another careful look in all directions Willy set off up the side of the limestone ridge, keeping as low as he could in a small gully. Even so he knew he would be very exposed to anyone directly behind him on the ridge he had first crossed. But he made it to the crest and knelt to peek over. The first thing he noted was another long limestone ridge athwart his path. It was about half a kilometre away and on the other side of another grassy valley. But he had been expecting that so it occasioned no surprise. Of more interest was the sharp grey-black peak that was just visible in the distance through the dust haze.

That is Mt Whetstone, Willy thought. I need to aim a bit more to the right.

He then studied the ground ahead to select a route. While he was doing this the heat of the rock caused him to break into a sweat again and he found he was gasping and whimpering from the pain as it burnt his knees and uncovered hand.

But the pause was worth it. As he knelt there the dreaded vibration of the helicopter reached his ears, sending darts of terror through him.

Must hide, he thought.

Off to his left he heard the sound of motor vehicles. Ten paces to his left, on the forward slope, was a big clump of bushes. Accepting green ant bites as the lesser of the evils he hurried to it and crawled into its cover and shade.

Through a gap in the trees Willy glimpsed a large yellow front-end loader type machine. It was about a kilometre away and was heading through the bush towards the ridge. Circling ahead of it was the helicopter. The earth mover was followed by a truck and a 4WD. They were all heading south.

Must be a gap in the ridge, Willy surmised, noting several obvious gaps in the next ridge ahead of him.

The helicopter vanished off to the south beyond the first ridge and Willy assumed it had gone to search for him. This idea was reinforced when he glimpsed the helicopter circling back over the area where the plane had crashed.

I had better keep moving. I need to get as far from here as I can, he thought.

But before he moved he made a final check of the valley he had just crossed. Satisfied that there was no-one following yet he carefully made his way down the north face of the ridge.

Five painful minutes later he was at the bottom. He set off across the floor of the valley, angling to the right to get away from the route followed by the vehicles. The walking was easy but by now he was feeling battered and tired and very thirsty. Concern about possible heat exhaustion niggled at him and he was very aware that his tongue felt very dry and larger than normal. As well he could feel the sun’s heat on his bare back and shoulders. Briefly he considered putting on his shirt but he shook his head.

Make me too visible, he decided.

Sunburn was a much lesser price to pay. So he clutched his bundled up shirt in his right hand and walked on.

As before he kept stopping at trees or bushes to check he was alone. From time to time the buzz of the distant helicopter grew louder and he crouched in cover until it had again vanished from view. Then he hurried on to the next piece of cover.

Once again he climbed up the next ridge at a low point, continually looking back to check no-one was watching. At the crest, he hid himself in a niche among bushes. Carefully raising his head, he looked over the top. To his very mixed satisfaction he saw the airstrip and the buildings of the station spread out on the plain about a kilometre away. In the late afternoon light, it all looked quite attractive and peaceful. Beyond the buildings were the trees lining the river and beyond them the sharp pointed peak of Mt Whetstone.

Then Willy heard the faint sound of an aero engine and his hopes shot up.

A search plane? he wondered, scanning the sky off to the east. Then he saw it—a Cessna similar to the one he had been in. It was just a speck in the distance but seemed to be heading in a straight line and losing height. That must be Mr Dawlish’s plane, Willy thought. His hopes went sharply up.

But how to attract its attention?

He stood up but took care to keep back off the skyline. For a second he was tempted to wave his white shirt but a prickling sense of unease and the awareness that Zoltan was somewhere back there with his rifle caused him to keep the material in a tight bundle.

Only if it comes really close, he decided.

Then he watched in puzzlement as the Cessna began to descend at an even steeper angle. It is going to land at the station, Willy thought. But even as the light plane went down to make a perfect landing on the station airstrip he understood. We told them on the radio that we were heading for there. They must be checking, he decided.

Anxious for the safety of the people in the aircraft and feeling helpless and frustrated Willy could only watch. The aircraft taxied to the apron in front of the hangar and even at that distance Willy could make out a couple of men standing there to meet it. After the aircraft stopped and the engine was switched off there was a short delay and then he saw two figures climb out and walk over to the waiting men. There was short conversation and Willy distinctly saw both men raise their arms and point off to the southeast.

“You lying bastards!” Willy muttered. It was obvious they were diverting any search from the area of the real crash. The deceit fuelled his anger and added to his determination to rescue the girl.

It also occurred to him that it was probably a good time to make his way down the north slope of the ridge. Those men will be busy talking and not looking, he thought.

So he crawled across the crestline and scrambled quickly down the other side, not slowing until the canopies of the trees on the plain hid him from the buildings.

Soon after he reached the bottom Willy heard the Cessna’s engine restart and five minutes later it took off and swung away to the north, coming around to a south-easterly. Willy only glimpsed it once and the sound soon died away, leaving him feeling very isolated and anxious.

By then it was 1820hrs and he estimated that he had less than an hour of daylight left. He set off walking towards the station. But he did not walk directly towards where the main group of buildings lay. To reach them from that direction meant crossing the open ground of the airfield and he had more sense than that. Also he needed water and he reasoned that it should be easier to find it in the river upstream of the weir.

But his intentions were slowed by his body. After only ten minutes of limping along Willy felt exhausted and found he was gasping and shivering. Darts of pain kept shooting up through his right arm and shoulder and he could not go on. Nearby was a large log with several bushes growing around it so he made his way into the cover and slumped down in what shade he could find.

No sooner had he done so than the clatter of the helicopter rotors sounded loud and close. For a few seconds, shards of terror tore through Willy as the machine came straight for him. Hunching in a ball he resisted the urge to look up.

Then the helicopter flew over very low and fast and directly over his hiding place. As it went by Willy risked a peek through his fingers. He tensed, ready to run. But it kept on flying and vanished from view as fast as it had come. From the straight line it was flying Willy thought it might be heading for the airstrip. When the distant engine note changed a few seconds later he knew he was right.

It is landing, he deduced. Then the engine noise ceased. Even better! he told himself.

Relief flooded through him and he slumped against the log and trembled. So great had been his fear that he was ashamed of himself. Despite that he found he was sobbing and shaking his head. It had been a close call and he needed a few minutes to recover.

In fact, it took him longer than that and while he sat there trembling and licking his dry lips the sun went off the tree tops. The long twilight began but the temperature hardly dropped at all. Willy was so shocked and hurt that he stayed there for over an hour until the sky had darkened over and stars had begun to appear.

“I’d better get on and find some water,” he muttered.

He went to get up and cried out in pain. All his muscles seemed to have tightened up and pains felt like they were shooting out of very joint and from muscles he did not even know he owned. It took him several minutes of effort before he was standing on shaky legs leaning against a tree.

That crash must have taken more out of me than I realized, he thought, not wanting to acknowledge the role that fear might have played.

On legs that still felt like they were made of rubber he pushed off and began walking. Or rather he began tottering. Shocked by his weakness and lack of balance he stopped at the next tree to steady himself. He was dismayed to find his vision blurring and spinning.

Only when it had stopped and his balance felt steadier did he resume his attempt. I can’t stay here. They might come tracking me with dogs or something, he thought. So he staggered off through the bush, keeping direction by the constellation of Orion.

Then, as he walked stiffly along, Willy saw a sudden point of distant light. He stopped behind a tree to look but it was what he had been expecting.

The cattle station homestead, he decided, noting that it was about where he had hoped it would be. So I am not lost. Cheered by that thought and the obvious progress he was making.

As he walked Willy saw other lights show through the intervening trees and they helped him keep direction. Ten minutes of stumbling over logs and anthills brought him to a change of vegetation. The trees ended and open ground began, the homestead lights showing much more clearly.

I am on the perimeter of the airfield, he thought, calculating that the closest lights were only about three hundred metres away.

Satisfied no-one there could see or hear him he continued on, looking frequently to his left to check his progress. It was because of that and because he was trying to see if there were any people visible that he didn’t see the fence.

But he felt it!

Zap!

“Yah! Ouch! Bloody hell!” Willy cried, jumping back and waving his stung left hand in pain.

He swore under his breath and cursed himself for being a forgetful idiot. He had noticed the electrified fence earlier but had forgotten. Now it was obvious. And it had hurt. The bite had quite shocked him and his hand and arm were still tingling minutes afterwards.

That is much more powerful than the average electric fence, he thought, remembering other times he’d accidentally been nipped.

Then another horrifying thought came to him: had he triggered an alarm of some sort? Driven by that frightening thought he immediately turned his back on the homestead lights and walked quickly away. Only after he was a hundred metres or so inside the trees did he slow and look back.

To his relief there was no sound of any pursuit; no raised voices or alarm bells; no vehicles driving in his direction.

Maybe there isn’t an alarm, he thought hopefully.

He decided that if there was it would be continually set off by cattle and kangaroos. But he had no desire to suffer another electric shock so when he turned left and continued walking parallel to the airstrip he stayed well back among the trees and kept his eyes peeled for any fences.

It was as well he did because when he was level with the far end of the airstrip he came to one. But this one just looked like an ordinary three strand barbed wire fence. On the other side was a vehicle track running beside it. Not wanting to take any risks Willy got down on his back and crawled carefully under the bottom strand. He used his rolled-up shirt to hold the barbs away from him, ignoring the grit and sticks that dug into his bare back as he did. Then he knelt and brushed out his tracks, moving backwards across the two wheel tracks on his knees so as not to leave any boot prints. As he did he grinned wryly as the memory of a cadet exercise two years earlier where a patrol of army cadets had been tracked by just such carelessness.

He then started walking as near as he could calculate to northeast. To do this he used Orion’s stars again. The lesson on Navigation by the Stars kept flitting through his mind.

Work out which way is Orion’s head by locating the three stars of his belt and the three stars of his sword. Then face your head to match his and line your shoulders up with his. You are then standing so that your right hand is roughly east and your left west, he reminded himself.

It wasn’t nearly as reliable as using the stars of the Southern Cross but Willy knew that at this time of the year the Southern Cross did not come up at night.

It’s good enough, he told himself.

He continued walking until the lights of the homestead were only visible as an occasional distant twinkle. Then he turned half left and began making his way north.

I should strike the river a few hundred metres east of the last building, he thought.

Then he stopped, his ears pricked and every nerve taut. There was something moving in the bush ahead of him!