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  BELOW BARTLE FRERE

  CHRISTOPHER CUMMINGS

  ALSO BY

  C. R. CUMMINGS

  THE GREEN IDOL OF KANAKA CREEK

  ROSS RIVER FEVER

  TRAIN TO KURANDA

  THE MUDSKIPPER CUP

  DAVY JONES’S LOCKER

  *BELOW BARTLE FRERE

  AIRSHIP OVER ATHERTON

  THE CADET CORPORAL

  STANNARY HILLS

  COASTS OF CAPE YORK

  KYLIE AND THE KELLY GANG

  BEHIND MT BALDY

  THE CADET SERGEANT MAJOR

  COOKTOWN CHRISTMAS

  THE SECRET IN THE CLOUDS

  THE WORD OF GOD

  THE CADET UNDER-OFFICER

  THE SMILEY PEOPLE

  BELOW BARTLE FRERE

  CHRISTOPHER CUMMINGS

  BELOW BARTLE FRERE

  © Copyright C. R. Cummings 2003

  This book is copyright. Apart from any fair dealings for the purpose of private study, research, criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright Act, no part may be reproduced by any process without written permission. The right of C. R. Cummings to be identified as the moral rights author has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000 (Commonwealth).

  National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry

  Author: Cummings C. R.

  Title Below Bartle Frere: a North Queensland story

  ISBN: 1 74008 254 0.

  Target Audience: For secondary school age

  Dewey Number: A823.3

  2012

  This eBook published 2012

  DoctorZed Publishing

  www.doctorzed.com

  eISBN: 978-0-9872061-9-0

  Map 1: Atherton Tablelands

  CHAPTER 1

  KYLIE

  Saturday, 12 DEC. A sunny summer day. Twelve year old Kylie looked through the front windscreen of the car. A dozen kilometres ahead bulked the huge mass of Mt Bartle Frere. Seen from the North West as they car passed Lamins Hill, the massive bulk of the mountain appeared to fill the whole windscreen.

  ‘Highest mountain in Queensland,’ Kylie reminded herself, knowing that she did so every time she saw it.

  Unusually for this time of year the entire mountain was visible, standing up like a giant dark blue cut-out against a clear blue sky. During December, which was the start of the ‘wet season’ in North Queensland, the mountain was more often than not wreathed in clouds and rain.

  The car, driven by Kylie’s mother, Mrs Cynthia Kirk, turned left on to a side road at the top of Lamins Hill and proceeded at a slower pace along a gravel road with open fields on the left and a thick belt of tropical rain forest on the right. In the back sat Kylie’s two friends: Margaret Lake and Allison Nichols.

  Margaret was the same age as Kylie. She also had the same colouring of hair and eyes: brown. There the similarity ended. Where Kylie was slim and had a dancer’s grace Margaret was chubby and rounder; although not round in the places she wanted to be. Their skin also marked them apart. Margaret had pale skin liberally sprinkled with freckles whereas Kylie’s complexion was a smooth ‘peaches and cream’. Allison was the oldest of the three and had just turned 13. She had sparkling hazel eyes, brown hair with tints of gold in it and was just beginning to blossom into the curves of young womanhood.

  The car turned right and went down a long, open ridge with dairy farms on both sides. Soon after passing a farm house it crossed a tiny bridge, passing through a wall of jungle in a tunnel formed by the overhanging trees, to emerge on a long upslope with more open fields on both sides. Dozens of dairy cattle dotted the lush green pastures.

  Margaret clapped her hands with delight. “Isn’t it pretty!” she exclaimed.

  Allison nodded. “It looks more like England than Australia,” she added.

  Kylie smiled. “I think it is the prettiest part of North Queensland. I just love all the greens.”

  She gazed out and sniffed the fresh country air. Everywhere she looked was another shade of green: light green of the pastures, bright green of individual trees, darker patches of rainforest.

  Margaret pointed. “Look at all those black and white cows. They look just like toys on a model farm,” she said.

  “Frisians,” Allison added knowledgeably.

  Kylie became excited. Not far now. “We are almost at the farm,” she said. “It is just up the hill here.”

  She wriggled in her seat. Visiting her Grandmother was always a pleasure, doubly so because she loved the farm with all its animals and its little adventures. This visit promised to be even more enjoyable as it was to be for three weeks. Usually they just drove up for a day, or a weekend.

  It was the first day of the school holidays, which was an added source of pleasure. All three girls went to the same school in Cairns and were in the same Guide Troop. Margaret and Allison were staying for the first ten days and the thought of that made Kylie squirm with anticipation.

  “You will really like it on the farm,” she said. “It is ever so interesting. There is always something to do.”

  Allison nodded. “I hope so. Is it much further? I’m sick of sitting in this car.”

  They had been driving for two hours, having left Cairns at 9am. They had driven up to Mareeba first, to drop in on Kylie’s other Grandmother, her father’s mum. From there they had driven south via Atherton and Malanda to the south eastern edge of the ‘Tablelands’, that upland area of lush green farms set amidst encircling jungle covered ranges.

  “We are nearly there now, just over the hill,” Kylie replied.

  The car slowed near the crest of the hill. There was more rain forest on the right. At the end of the patch of jungle was a road junction. Mrs Kirk turned the car right along the side road. Kylie leaned forward, eager for her first glimpse of the farm house. The low hilltop on the left was part of the property. The road wound over the low crest and down to the left, the jungle still walling them in on the right. Ahead the country opened out on the left, giving glimpses of rolling fields and clumps of trees.

  Buildings became visible on the left of the road.

  “That’s the milking shed down there,” Kylie explained, pointing eagerly ahead.

  The car slowed even more as the road was rough gravel. At the bend above the milking shed another large shed stood beside a dirt track which went off to the left along the side of the hill. Mrs Kirk turned onto the track, which was of hard packed, red basalt soil, and drove past the shed. This was typical of all such structures on farms; constructed of galvanized steel, open at the front and full of tractors, farm machinery, assorted tools and accumulated odds and ends which ‘might come in handy one day’.

  Just past the shed the track ended on a flat area of lawn at the front of a house. The house was built on the hill slope and looked out over the valley and hills beyond to the jungle covered slopes of Bartle Frere.

  “Here we are!” squeaked Kylie, quite unnecessarily.

  Mrs Kirk stopped the car on the lawn just past the concrete driveway which led in to the garage on the left side of the house.

  As soon as the car had stopped moving Kylie opened the door, scrambled out and ran across the lawn. The front door was open and she took the three steps up to the concrete patio in a single bound before entering the house. She experienced mild disappointment that ‘Gran’ had not come out to meet them. ‘Probably busy and didn’t hear the car,’ she told herself as she went in through the vestibule.

  All the time her eyes were busy noting the tiny details which were so much a part of a visit to the farm: the lovely old varnished wood side table with the telephone and notebook on it, the old kerosene lamps from the days before electricity, the
paintings of country scenes on the wall, and fine crochet work on the side table.

  As she reached the kitchen Kylie called out: “Gran! We are here.”

  In her mind had been a desire not to alarm the old lady by suddenly rushing in but as she entered the dining room Kylie stopped in stunned surprise. On a chair in the lounge room sat Gran- and she was bound hand and foot by rope- and gagged!

  Even as Kylie’s astonished gaze took this in she experienced a rush of pure fear which gripped her spine and the back of her head like fingers of ice. Her mouth dropped open in amazement and disbelief. Standing beside Gran was a man. That he was not a welcome visitor was instantly obvious as he wore a stocking mask and looked very agitated.

  Kylie opened her mouth to scream but the man spoke first. “Not a sound girlie or the old biddie gets hurt.”

  Kylie snapped her mouth shut with an audible snap, her mind racing. What was going on? Who was this man? How to rescue Gran? How to warn the others not to come in? Even now she could hear their voices at the front of the house.

  Her eyes took in the fact that all the cupboards had been opened and their contents strewn on the floor. ‘A burglar!’ she thought, then revised this when she heard noises down stairs in the basement. ‘Two of them.’

  Blazing anger surged to replace surprise and fear. ‘These animals have tied Gran up!’ A series of rapid impressions crystallized to action. The man did not appear to be armed and also gave the appearance of being surprised and unsure. He was a thin, dark haired youth. His age was hard to asses but she guessed at late teens or early twenties. His most notable characteristic was a mouth curled into a sneer.

  “Let Gran go!” Kylie cried angrily, then turned to shout, “Mum! Don’t come in. Go and find Uncle Bill. There are..”

  She got no further. With a snarl of rage the man hurled himself across the room at her. She tried to dodge but ran into the wall. Simultaneous with this the man struck her; a hard, stinging blow to the face. Kylie reeled away and twisted to dodge another blow. Dimly she was aware of her mother calling out and of Margaret running forward to hit at the man.

  Another blow landed, sending Kylie’s senses reeling. Screams rang out, her own included. Kylie broke free and ran into the corridor, colliding with another wall as she did. At that moment a second man appeared at the top of the internal stairs which led up from the basement. Like his companion, the second man’s face was masked by a woman’s stocking pulled over his head. It gave him a frightening, deformed appearance. He was a solid brute, wearing soiled and worn denim jacket and jeans. Gloves covered both hands.

  Kylie tried to turn but was not quick enough. The man punched her hard in the head, knocking her down. Even before she had fallen to the floor the man had pushed past her into the lounge room. There were more screams and a strangled sob.

  For a moment Kylie was too stunned to move. She lay with her vision blurred and her face numb. Through her mind raced nightmare images of rape and murder. She tried to get up but the second man’s voice stilled her. She could not see him as she lay in the corridor but he was obviously near Gran.

  The man’s voice sounded shockingly loud. “Stop the noise and sit down or I will cut the old ladies throat!” he snarled.

  There were muffled gasps and sobs but the others went silent. The man snapped at them: “Sit over there in the corner, all of you. Move! ‘Donk’ see if there are any more outside.”

  Kylie lay still and squinted through her hair as the man called ‘Donk’ walked past her feet to the front door. After a quick look he walked back.

  “No-one there,” he said.

  “Good. Find some more rope so we can tie them up,” the solid man ordered.

  Kylie felt her heart beat rapidly as the man walked back to near her feet. To her relief he turned the other way and went through the side door into the garage. The solid man began to question her mother and the others: who were they? Why were they here? Was anyone else expected?

  Hope surged in Kylie’s heart. ‘He’s forgotten me. I can get away while they are busy,’ she thought But away to where? To get Uncle Bill, Gran’s son who worked the farm now Grandad was dead. But where was Uncle Bill?

  Then another idea came to her. She was lying next to the door to Grandad’s room. ‘Grandad always kept a loaded shotgun behind his door for snakes. I wonder if it is still there?’ Grandad had been dead for three years now but on their last visit in October his room had appeared quite undisturbed. Gran had obviously just left it as it was when he was alive.

  ‘Poor old dear!’ Kylie thought. ‘She misses him terribly still.’ With these inconsequential thoughts she silently eased herself to her feet and tiptoed to the doorway. The door was open and a glance showed that the intruders had been in there already as the floor was strewn with a mess of Grandad’s clothes and papers. As quietly as she could Kylie slipped into the room and looked behind the door.

  Yes! The gun was still there. An old single-barrelled shot shotgun with a long barrel and a stock of wood that was black with age. With trembling fingers she picked it up. For a moment her vision blurred and she had to lean on the wall to steady herself. Her breathing came rapidly and she could taste blood on her cut lip.

  For a moment Kylie held the gun, her mind in a turmoil of indecision. She sensed that a ghastly tragedy was possibly only seconds away. Part of her hesitation was over the gun itself. Was it loaded? Dimly she remembered an argument between Gran and Grandad about having loaded guns in the house and she thought Gran had said not only was it dangerous it was against the law. Kylie had fired it once, recollections of the colossal bang flooding vividly through her mind. She bit her lip, unsure how to open the gun to check.

  “If only Graham or Alex were here. They would know what to do,” she muttered. Alex and Graham were her older brothers; but Alex was at sea with their father and Graham was at an army cadet promotion course down near Townsville.

  With sudden resolve she gripped the gun and went out into the corridor. As she arrived in the lounge room the thin man named Donk came through the doorway from the garage. He stopped in surprise and dropped the rope he was carrying. Out of the corner of her eye Kylie saw the second man, the blonde brute who had knocked her down. He was standing in front of the others, who huddled along the wall beside Gran.

  Kylie pointed the gun at him. “Put your hands up or I will shoot,” she commanded.

  Donk did as he was told, his mouth sagging open, making his face in the stocking mask even more hideous. The solid brute did not. He turned and growled.

  “Don’t be stupid little girl. Put the gun down before you kill someone,” he snarled.

  “No. Put your hands up,” Kylie countered. The two men were standing at right angles to her so she could only point the gun at one at a time. She wavered uncertainly between the two, finally settling on the solid one as the more dangerous.

  He took a step forward so that he was only about three paces from her. “You wouldn’t be game to shoot,” he sneered. “So give me the gun before you do something you will regret.”

  “Stop!” Kylie cried, her voice rising in near panic as the man took another step forward. Her stomach churned so that she felt nauseous. ‘Could I shoot?’ she wondered. She aimed the barrel at the man’s stomach.

  He licked his lips but still did not raise his hands. Kylie was dimly aware of the look of horror on her mother’s face. The solid brute sneered again. “It probably isn’t even loaded. And even if it is it isn’t cocked.”

  Cocked! Kylie glanced down to check and even as she did knew that she had been tricked and cursed herself. Before she could react the man moved, with speed and strength that was truly stunning. He pounced forward, sweeping the barrel up with one arm and smashing her in the face with his other fist.

  Kylie reeled back from the blow, desperately clinging to the gun. Another blow made her see stars and she felt herself falling. Even before she hit the floor she experienced the bitter feeling of failure and defeat. The gun was wrenched from
her hands. The solid man hammered the gun down, driving the butt into her chest.

  Kylie felt a wave of fierce pain and heard shouts and screams. Donk yelled loudly: “Christ Almighty Burg! Don’t kill her!”

  The beating abruptly stopped but the screaming and shouting went on. Through eyes that were rapidly closing Kylie glimpsed Margaret grappling with the man, kicking and scratching at him. He swore foully and lashed at her with his free hand, knocking her down as well. Allison took her place but her attack was only half-hearted and she was easily held off. Mrs Kirk waded in, throwing a china vase which burst on the wall behind the man.

  The solid man swung the gun to strike at Kylie’s mother. She warded the blow off with her arm and stepped back. Allison was grabbed by Donk. She screamed and tried to bite him as she struggled. Margaret sprang to her feet and reached for another vase from the cabinet beside her. The solid brute swung the gun in a vicious swipe. Margaret managed to duck just in time. Before she could move away the brute had her in his grip.

  By then Kylie’s head had cleared. Sheer terror now drove her to act. ‘These men might kill us all. I must get help.’

  A glance showed that both of the men were struggling with Allison and Margaret. Seeing her chance Kylie fled along the corridor and down the internal stairs. Behind her she heard a shout, warning her that she had been observed. At the bottom of the stairs was a short corridor leading to a side door. She fled through this, out onto the back lawn.

  Ahead of her was a downhill run of a hundred metres of rough pasture to the milking shed, obstructed by two fences. From inside the house behind her came loud yells and screams. She heard the brute shout: “Get after her Donk, you bloody drongo!”

  Fear lent Kylie strength. She fled.