Dead Tree Forest Read online

  Ray pointed down at all that remained of his best friend.

  Chris looked down at the clothes on the ground. “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, well, we have to keep going.”

  “Yes, her voice is definitely stronger,” Chris said. “We must be getting close to the lake. But I don’t think I can continue,” he said, looking pale and sleepy. “I’m tired, my back’s sore and, well…” He coughed, wiped his fingers against his lips and held up his hand. His fingers were smeared with blood. “I’m dying.”

  “We’re both dying,” Ray said. “Fuck that, you’re coming with me. I need someone to help retrieve the amulet and bury the girl.”

  Chris was having difficulty keeping his eyes open. “Just let me sleep for a little bit.”

  “No. We have to keep going.”

  “You go. You brought me here against my will; the least you can do is let me die with some dignity. You know what to do. Just follow Ginnumarra’s crying and soon you’ll get to the lake.”

  “But didn’t you say that once we give the girl a proper burial, then the curse will be lifted? So we’ll be able to walk back through the forest without worry. So come on.”

  Ray turned around and zipped open the gym bag. He dug through the junk contained within until he found the only item needed to retrieve the amulet (the other stuff was just props to make the story about buried treasure more believable to Brian and Nathan).

  He hung the snorkel around his neck and turned back around. Chris was now sitting on the ground, head bowed.

  “You’re not quitting on me now,” Ray said. “Get up.”

  “I can’t,” Chris said wearily. “You go. Find the amulet and lift the curse. Once that’s done, I’ll be okay.”

  “No, you can make it.”

  “I’m too tired.”

  Ray turned back to the bag and took out one of the coils of rope. He stepped over to Chris and started binding his wrists together.

  “You’re coming with me, no excuses,” Ray said. “I’ll help you walk, okay?”

  Chris lifted his head. When he saw what Ray was doing, he smiled thinly. “I see we’re back to this again.”

  Once the rope was tied, Ray gripped the loose end and pulled.

  With a heavy sigh, Chris got to his feet. “Okay, let’s go, master.”

  Ray started walking.

  It was hard going; not only did Ray’s weary body protest, but he had to contend with Chris lagging behind. Chris staggered, stumbled, and it wasn’t long before he fell over. Ray stopped and using all his strength, pulled the old man to his feet.

  “Come on, just a little longer,” Ray said.

  Chris, thick white beard covering his face, deep wrinkles etched into his hard, weathered skin, nodded. Ray turned back around and continued.

  Ginnumarra’s crying was loud; so loud it was like her cries were swooping in and out of Ray’s head.

  Though he felt like giving up, collapsing to the ground and sleeping; though his ears started ringing and his eyesight started deteriorating; though his joints felt like they were aflame, he ploughed on.

  Exhausted to the point of agony, sweat teeming down his face, Ray soon became oblivious to the world around him. All he concentrated on was Ginnumarra’s weeping; he became stuck in a trance-like state—his only thought was getting to the lake.

  On and on he lumbered. When Ginnumarra’s crying started fading, Ray thought he had once again gone off track. But then he saw the lake in the distance, and Ginnumarra’s weeping stopped altogether. Though Ray had lost all his hair and he had pains in every one of his muscles, none of these things mattered.

  He had made it. He felt a tide of emotion rush through his tired old body.

  If he had the energy, he would’ve cried tears of joy.

  “We made it,” Ray said, voice sounding ancient. “Fuckin’ hell, we made it!”

  Chris didn’t respond.

  Ray turned around and saw Chris about three metres away, lying face-down in the black dirt, arms splayed, one leg bent at an odd angle.

  Ray dropped the rope and walked the short distance back to Chris, feeling himself aging rapidly as he did.

  He turned Chris over; fell backwards at the sight of the raw face, stripped of flesh and grimy with blood and dirt.

  His stomach clenched and he puked.

  When he was empty, he wiped his mouth and got to his feet.

  He wondered: how long had he been dragging the lifeless body behind him like a kid with a rag doll?

  Ray shivered and could only think to say, as redundant and empty as it sounded, “I’m sorry, Chris.”

  He turned away, not wanting to see the ruined body melt into the earth.

  Without looking back, Ray walked the rest of the way to the lake.

  * * *

  Ginnumarra awoke to a nightmare.

  She was sitting against a boulder near the lake, hands tied behind her back, feet bound by rope. Her head hurt, and sticky blood was caked in her hair.

  She looked around; saw Truganini sitting atop one of the horses, also tied, face blank, eyes staring at nothing. Next she saw Dad. He was tied to the trunk of one of the trees. He was naked, and Ginnumarra saw, with a rush of nausea, that his penis had been hacked off. Only a purplish-red stump remained. Dark blood sheathed his thighs and legs. He was still breathing, but his breaths were shallow.

  Choking back tears, Ginnumarra looked down at her amulet. The brown rock was smudged with dirt, the healing light inside muted. But she could still feel its power—it had helped her fight off the demons when she was ill, and now she was sure it would be able to help Dad, if only she could give it to him. But her hands were tied, so that made it impossible. She looked around for the ghosts. One of them was on top of Mum, pants down at his ankles, hips quaking; the other two were standing around watching, grins on their bloody faces. “That’s it, Bill, give it a good one.” “Make sure that Abo knows her place.”

  Not wanting to watch, Ginnumarra turned away, and wondered where Moodoo was. Her little brother had been in the lake when the three white men arrived. She looked over her shoulder at the clear, pristine lake, but couldn’t see any sign of her five-year-old brother.

  She wanted to call out for him, but her throat was too tight with fear. She scanned the forest around the lake, but she couldn’t see him.

  She heard a loud groan and then the white man hopped off Mum and standing, pulled up his pants and wiped an arm across his mouth. “Not bloody bad, chaps,” he said, and they all laughed.

  The three men left Mum. They stepped towards Dad. “Hey Roland, we got time for some target practice?” one of the men said.

  The white man who appeared to be in charge nodded. After loading their rifles, all three ghosts took aim and fired at Dad.

  His body jerked as bullets smacked into his chest and stomach. One of the bullets hit him in the head and one side of his face caved in.

  When the firing stopped and the echoes faded, smoke filled the afternoon air.

  Dad leaned forward, as far as the ropes allowed, now very much dead.

  Ginnumarra cried out; Truganini started weeping.

  “Look chaps, the young girl’s awake.”

  “Moodoo,” Ginnumarra shouted. “Moodoo, where are you?”

  She struggled against the ropes, desperate to find her brother.

  “I think she wants her little brother,” one of the ghosts said.

  The three men stopped in front of Ginnumarra. One of them squatted in front of her. She stopped struggling and, breathing deeply, looked at the ghost. She took in his thin face: stubble like black moss covering his bottom half; blood and sweat mingling with the dirt; thin, bloodless lips; and thin, narrow eyes. She spat in that face. The ghost’s face widened with rage and he lashed out and slapped her across the cheek. “Wench,” he growled. “You want to see your brother? Okay, I’ll take you to him.”

  The ghost straightened and grabbed Ginnumarra by the arm. She was pulled to her feet and dragged alon
g the ground. She was dragged near to where Mum and Grandma lay and she couldn’t help but notice Grandma’s head and how it was like a blooming flower of blood. Mum was lying naked on the ground, alive, conscious, but badly beaten.

  Ginnumarra was taken to a log. Her hair was grabbed and with force, her head was turned to the thing on the log.

  It took Ginnumarra a few moments to comprehend what she was seeing. To her, it looked like a tiger or a rabbit that had been gutted.

  But then she saw an ear, some jet-black hair, and finally, once her vision completed the scene, the tiny naked body sitting against the log.

  Tears blurred Ginnumarra’s eyes; she shook her head. A scream swirled in her belly, rose up through her chest and then exploded out of her mouth.

  “NNOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!” she screamed, and the scream stripped her throat raw.

  “Take a good look at your little brother,” one of the ghosts said over her cry. “It’s the last time you’ll ever see him.”

  Ginnumarra closed her eyes, but she could still see Moodoo’s head, covered in blood, with bits of brains and jagged shards of skull exposed; his hands, tiny, clenched, resting on the ground; and his stubby legs jutting out.

  She tried not to think about what had happened, but her mind played the scene over and over. In her mind, Ginnumarra saw them take Moodoo out of the lake, him screaming, crying for Mum and Dad. They probably told him everything was going to be okay as they carried him over and sat him against the log. They didn’t bother tying him with ropes: he was so small, so weak, he wouldn’t have posed any problem for these men. They probably said lay your head back and look up at the blue sky. Ginnumarra saw her little brother, tears streaming down his pudgy black face, lay his head back, and then she saw one of the ghosts raise his rifle and…

  Ginnumarra was mercifully shocked out of her thoughts when she was pulled away from her brother. She was dragged back over to the lake. Her clothes were ripped away, and then the first ghost mounted her and ripped her open.

  After the first had finished, the next hopped on top and grinning, smelling like a dead beast that had spent too long out in the sun, he pumped.

  The last was the roughest of all, and Ginnumarra, eyes tightly closed, felt like her whole body was being torn open.

  Throughout it all, she tried to block out the laughing, the grunting, the pain; but instead she saw her little brother’s ruined head; Dad hanging forward against the ropes; Mum, body bloody and bruised; and Grandma, lying dead on the ground.

  Finally the pain went away, the weight lifted off her body.

  Lying dazed, the sun pressing down on her, she heard strange sounds; lots of huffing and puffing, shouts of joy, ecstasy...or maybe it was pain—they all sounded the same to her.

  Then a single ear-piercing scream jolted her eyes open and she sat up.

  It had been Mum screaming, and sweeping her eyes towards the crowd, Ginnumarra saw the reason for Mum’s earth-shattering scream. Two of the ghosts had a hold of her; the third was standing back, arms folded, a proud expression on his red and white face.

  Sitting in Mum’s lap was a head.

  Ginnumarra blinked, thought for a moment it was Moodoo’s head; but then she remembered his head had been bashed in. This head, while painted in blood, was intact.

  Still half dazed, Ginnumarra turned towards Dad.

  She vomited at the sight of her headless father. A red axe lay by his feet.

  “Pretty as a picture,” one of the ghosts said.

  Mum thrashed about; the head rolled off her lap and onto the ground.

  “Okay men, about time we got going. We’ve had our fun. Let’s take the older girl and head on back.”

  Though she was dazed, Ginnumarra thought: leave, yes, leave. Go away and never come back.

  At least she still had Mum. Yes, Mum was still alive. It would be hard: would they ever get over this? They would just have to try.

  Ginnumarra was thinking these thoughts when a single gunshot shattered her world.

  Flicking her head, she saw Mum on the ground, lying still.

  And then, as two of the ghosts strolled towards their horses, the third strolled towards Ginnumarra.

  He raised his rifle.

  Ginnumarra sucked in breath, squeezed her eyes shut, and waited.

  Hoped the amulet that old Mandu the medicine man had given her years ago would protect her.

  The gun went off with a crack and it felt like fire shooting into her chest.

  All air was sucked out of her body as she tumbled backwards.

  Water enveloped her.

  As she fell through the lake, feeling water enter her lungs, she thought:

  I can’t die like this.

  Mum, Dad, Grandma, Moodoo—they will be found and given a proper burial; but what about me? I’ll be stuck in this lake. My soul will be trapped…

  Those men, they need to be punished…all ghosts need to be punished...

  And as she felt her life draining away, she saw a light, then darkness, then red…

  * * *

  The closer Ray got to the lake, the more the blurry mess of colour grew clearer, until finally the lake and its surrounds snapped into focus.

  The lake was brimming with life. Scores of green bushy trees and striking plants blooming orange, red and yellow sprouted out of the muddy water.

  Seeing such life in the midst of death was beautiful, invigorating.

  It almost didn’t seem real; it was like an oasis in the middle of a desert.

  Ray knelt by the edge of the lake. The water had a foul odour, like rotten meat.

  He touched the rust-coloured water; definitely real. It was also surprisingly warm.

  How is this possible? Ray wondered.

  The girl?

  It had to be.

  Ginnumarra was somewhere at the bottom of the lake, so it made sense that all the life she had drained from the forest had been dumped into her watery home.

  All he had to do now was find the body; hopefully the amulet would be with it. If not, then it was going to be especially difficult finding a necklace that had been under water for over a hundred and fifty years.

  Ray slipped on the goggles, but left the mouthpiece hanging; where he was going he wouldn’t need it.

  He stepped forward and waded into the murky lake. When the water was lapping at his chest, he dived forward.

  He paddled around trees and plants and when he was roughly in the middle of the lake, he sucked in fetid air and then dove under.

  He feebly kicked his legs and with his frail arms scooped at the water. With a great deal of effort, he plunged deeper, his hands knocking into submerged tree trunks on his way down. When he touched something slimy, he panicked, drew in a mouthful of water and scrambled through the murkiness back towards the top.

  When he broke the surface, he gasped in air and moments later, vomited up the water he had swallowed.

  Once he had gotten his breath back, he dived back under, the thick reddish-brown water enveloping him. He slapped his hands against the tree trunks again and this time when he touched the slimy object, he told himself it was just an underwater plant.

  The water was less cloudy the deeper he went and soon he was able to see the bottom of the lake.

  It was worse than he had imagined.

  The bottom was a maze of tree trunks and thick roots snaking along the sand; locating the amulet—or even the body—was going to be difficult.

  Topping off the strange underwater scene was an unusual similarity with the trunks—they all had a large split at their base, most large enough to fit a person inside.

  Ray swam over to the closest trunk. Gripped the edges of the large opening and tentatively ducked his head inside the tree.

  The rancid stench of the lake was multiplied ten-fold. Looking up, he could see a round disc of afternoon light.

  Completely hollow.

  Were all the trees in the lake like this one?

  With the light spilling down the shaft, R
ay noticed that the interior walls of the tree trunk were coated with a thick, slimy red and yellow paste. The glistening goo was smeared everywhere.

  The goo was like nothing he had ever seen: it certainly wasn’t sap, nor was it a rich golden colour. Instead it was like a dirty mixture of tomato sauce and mustard.

  Ray noticed something poking out of the wall of slime, something thin and white.

  Curious, he pulled it out.

  Icy-cold shivers swam through his body as he realised what it was.

  It was a sliver of bone.

  He let go of the bit of skeleton.

  Something foul and acidic burned in his throat.

  He now knew what the goo around him was, why the trees in the lake were so full of life; they had a special kind of nutrient keeping them blooming. Blood and bone of the human variety.

  His lungs starting to burn, Ray swam back up and made it to the surface before his chest exploded.

  He took another few moments to catch his breath before going back down.

  He repeated the cycle again and again. Soon each dive blurred into one another. As he feared, having to swim up and down continuously, dodging the rotted tree trunks took its toll on his body. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could continue.

  It was late in the day, he had searched half the lake, when, kicking through the water, his foot was caught, jerking him to a stop. Ray thought he had caught his foot in the crack of a tree or got it tangled up in one of the plants.

  He ducked his head under the water and looked down. Through the murk he saw a plump, greyish hand clasping his ankle. He screamed a wet, bubbly scream, and then lifted his head out of the water, gasping for air.

  Ray had only managed to suck in a few gulps of air when he was pulled under the water with frightening ease. He clawed at the water, trying desperately to break free from the thing that had a hold of him. But it was no use; either he was too weak or the hand’s grasp was too strong. Peering down, he saw the owner of the hand.

  The body was bloated, its skin grey and slimy; it looked like a chicken that had been left boiling in a pot for about thirty years. Yet even with all the years of decay Ray could tell it was a girl.