TRAPPED! 

Our bus is pulling into the parking area of the local National Park. The children are excited.

“Stay seated.” I call out. “Nobody move until the bus stops.”

Another school excursion. Jonesy and I had been bullied into taking the sixth grade on a picnic

and nature ramble. maybe we could lose the kids leaving Jonesy and me to commune with nature- alone, together.

“You're smiling, Sir. Why are you smiling, Sir?” One observant little nuisance asks.

“I'm so happy to be out here in this lovely parkland.” I tell it.

Actually I hate the wide open outdoors. I'm an indoors man. I try to cultivate an indoors existence with air-con, a bar along one wall, bar-stools and a pneumatic barmaid leaning over, swabbing the bar and asking me. “What do you fancy, Sport.”

But - I look out the window. Lookin' good! It was the usual forecast. 'Fine warm day, chance of a late afternoon shower and thunderstorm.' No worries, we'll be back at the school by mid-afternoon

Jonesy and I will have our feet up in the rec room, cuppa and bikkies at hand arguing about

something.

“Attention children! We will now alight from the bus in an orderly fashion. No pushing or

shoving. No yelling or squealing,” Miss Jones, the sports mistress tells them. And they all file out

like good little munchkins. They're not frightened of her but they do respect her.

Jonesy and I have a history. I find her most comely particularly when she frocks up of a Friday

evening. And un-frocks later, the same evening. Oh happy day! It's Friday! At the moment she's

wearing jeans like me. Well, not quite like me but still suitable for a picnic.

“Mr Smith, are all your boys out of the bus?” She asks me. “I think one's missing.”

“Ah, young Freddy!” I look into the bus. “Come along Freddy, there's nothing to be scared of. Get

out from under that seat.”

“But Sir, Gerald told me there's boy-eating bunyips out there.”

“Freddy, there's no such thing as bunyips, Gerald's only teasing you.”I tell him. “Come along,

Miss Jones and I will look after you.”

“Attention children, while the driver unloads our lunch, we'll have a little stroll around the base of

this mountain. I will tell you how it was formed while you look for wildflowers.” The take-charge

Miss Jones says. “Wait, first everybody run over to the toilet block and then we'll go for our walk.

“We'll have to watch out for savage, man-eating bunyips.” Gerald says.

“There's no such thing,”Miss Jones tells him firmly.

“Well, can we climb that mountain, Miss? You did mountain climbing when you were young,

didn't you, Miss.”

“Yes I did, Gerald. But you have to have lots of training and special equipment, otherwise it's very

dangerous.”

I might attempt to scale Miss Jones tonight. It's been a week and she's probably getting a little

frisky.

I sidle over to her and say. “Hey Jonesy, how about we send the kids one way and we'll go the

other. And I'll show you some wildlife.”

“Pig! You know the kids watch us like hawks and I swear the girls lip-read everything we say,”

She pauses. “Anyway, last Friday you told me you didn't love me, just the concept of me.”

“Jonesy sweety, that's a start, isn't it.”

“Go away!” she tells me quietly but forcefully through pursed lips.

“What about we discuss it over a bottle of chardy tonight seeing it's Friday?”

“No!”

“And a Chinese ?”

“Have I got to pay again?”

“Of course not. We'll share.”

“James, you do know that we have to have a serious talk, don't you?”

Here we go, intentions and commitments again. What's wrong with the bloody woman? We're

2

only young, in our early thirties. “Yeah OK. After dinner we'll go back to your place and talk.”

“No James, you took advantage of me there last time.”

“Consistency, Jonesy. When you're on a good thing, stick to it,” I tell her.

I'm aware there's a short person standing beside us.

“Sir, how did you take advantage of Miss Jones?” Little Miss Big Ears asks me.

“I took one of her chips when she wasn't looking.” The kid looks horrified. “Righto Children,

form up in pairs,” I call out before the staring, smirking Gerald asks us if we were planning leg-

overs. “Keep together and look for pretty flowers.” And off we go, Jonesy trotting up and down the

crocodile line and me, rear guard. We strolled along a path between the trees for fifteen minutes. Dense foliage darkens our track momentarily. Everything's going swimmingly. No fights but a lot of chatter and a bit of pushing and shoving. I'm watching the kids and day-dreaming about this evening's potential.

A little boy approaches with an outstretched hand. “Sir, is this a spider or something else?”

“Better check with Miss Jones, she's the wildlife expert.”

Sure enough the gods decide to disrespect me. Clouds blew over the mountain top and rained on us. A light shower at first but it started to get heavier.

“Turn around children, stay in pairs and we'll hurry back to the bus,” from Miss Jones.

I count their scruffy little heads. “All present and correct,” I report and we hurry back to the bus.

Young Freddy drops out of the crocodile and waits for me to catch up with him.

“What's happening, Freddy?” I ask.

“We're going the wrong way,” says Freddy firmly.

“No, my boyo. Miss Jones is leading us and she is famed world-wide for her infallibility. I know, she tells me all the time.

“Sir, I'm a Boy Scout, I've got a badge for orienteering.” Freddy insists and proffers his compass.“Look, we are headed out in a south-west direction, we should be heading back in a north-east direction and we're not. I think we're lost and I'm getting rained on!”

“Freddy, dauntless Boy Scout that you are, I'm sure you're wrong. Let's catch up with Miss Jones

and you, not I, will query her sense of direction.” I tell him bravely.

“Wait a minute,” Jonesy calls, halts our march and is looking perplexed, “ we're one short.”

Jonesy and I do a quick head count. One short. That bloody Gerald!

“Gerald.” I called loudly, all the kids joining in.

“He's over there. Behind the bush.” A little girl said and heads over to the bushes.

“Emily! Stop! Now! Come back here right now!” Jonesy screams.

“He's gone into the mountain now.” One of the other girls had just spotted him.

“Come in,” says Gerald. “It's a cave and it's dry and there's no bunyips - just yet.”

We all pile in just as the heavens open. We retreat a little deeper into the cave.

“Jonesy Sweetie,” I whisper in her ear. “Boy Scout Freddy says you've led us the wrong way and got us lost. What do you say about that?”

“Nothing at the moment,” Jonesy said, “But when the rain lets up, we'll leave the cave, I will then

dissect Freddy and see which way his entrails point. Boy Scout entrails always point to true north,

you know.”

I walk away shaking my head as a little poppet asks, “Please Miss, is Freddy's entrails his rude

bits? My mother doesn't like people talking about rude bits in front of me.”

I didn't hear Jonesy reply' A few minutes later she calls for another head count. One short, naturally!

“Gerald, where are you?” I call

“Over here, Sir. Does this look like grizzly bear droppings?” That damn Gerald asks.

“No,” I reply, “the blood-sucking zombies ate all the bears long ago.” Take that Gerald!

All of a sudden there was a frightening rumble. Then a crashing, roaring, deafening noise. Total

darkness and the kids were screaming. I think the mouth of the cave had collapsed. Or the whole

bloody mountain. It's dead black. I can't see a thing. I can hardly breathe for the dust. I'm trying to think. Jonesy's trying to calm the kids. I should too, but I need someone to calm me. We're trapped! No entombed!

After a while Jonesy calmed the kids down to sobs and sniffles. “Are we all here?” She calls. All the kids start talking. “One at a time, please children. Girls first.” She works through them. “All present and correct. Now the boys.” They're all there except Gerald, of course.

“Gerald.” I yell forgetting that I'm in an enclosed space and nearly deafen myself.

“Over here, Sir, ” said Gerald petulantly. “I told you we should have climbed the mountain and

now we're trapped in it and gunna die!”

“No, Gerald,” I said, “Our bus driver will notice us missing shortly and go for help.”

If they know where to look for us. The mouth of the cave wasn't very obvious. It was hidden

behind bushes. We walked past it first and only Gerald noticed it on our way back. Mind you, we

were distracted, rushing to beat the rain. Rain, there's a thing. If they get tracker dogs to look for us

will the heavy rain have washed away our scent?

In the meantime it's bloody marvellous that nobody was hurt in the rock fall. We must have been

far enough into the cave to avoid getting hit by flying rocks. Suddenly the Stygian darkness is split

with a beam of light.

“Who's got that torch?” I almost scream with excitement.

“Me Sir.” It's young Freddy. “I'm a Boy Scout, remember. I'm always prepared.”

“Well done, that man! When we get out of this I'll see that you're knighted. Sir Fred, bring your

torch over here and we'll see if we can find a way out past the blockage, ” I say. “Everybody keep

back.”

It doesn't look promising. One huge boulder right in the cave mouth and a couple of only slightly

less huge ones on top. Probably even more out front. Dynamite's the only thing that's going to move these bloody big rocks. And that wouldn't do us a lot of good. That explains why there was no flying rocks or debris, only dust. Just a bloody huge boulder thumping down.

We'll have to explore. If we're lucky, there's another portal.

“All present and correct, Miss Jones?” I ask.

“One short. Guess who.”

I yell. “Gerald, come back here. There may be big holes or all sorts of hazards.”

Fred's torch reveals a two metre wide dirt floor and sheer walls sloping together about three

metres up. It looks like a natural fissure. The walls look a bit odd, then I spot chisel marks. With the

smooth earthen floor and the shaped walls it's obviously a man-made tunnel. No, a fissure shaped

into a tunnel. Maybe by convicts one hundred years ago.

“Sir, if you turn off the torch you can see light ahead.” Gerald told us. We all walk towards Gerald, Fred leading the way with his torch, me following and Jonesy behind, herding the kids.

“Turn the torch off Fred.” I say. And there it is! Light ahead, a long way ahead.

We're saved! A tunnel's gotta go somewhere and come out somewhere. Wait a minute. Unless it's a

mining tunnel. Nah, the light ahead must be somewhere good. Like out!

“OK Fred, you're the man. Switch your torch on and lead us to safety.” I tell him. “All present and

correct, Miss Jones?”

“Fred shine your torch this way please, Jonesy asks, “One, two, three ---- One short!”

“Gerald!” We call out in unison.

“Turn the torch off please. Can't a kid have a moment's privacy?” From an outraged Gerald.

We wait for a few moments then push on under Boy Scout Fred's torch-lit leadership. “Look

Sir, funny tracks.”

The kid's right. Skinny parallel lines. “Fred, my boy, my guess is wheel tracks. Skinny wheels and

look, is that footprints between them?”

“Yes Sir, I know because I've got a badge for tracking.” He tells me proudly and adds, “Knot

-tying too.”

“You're a better man than I am, Gunga Fred.”

“Yessir, thank you Sir. And I think they're a man's footprints.”

I think the little smarty's right. It's a biggish footprint. I wonder if the owner wheeled an esky

through here?

“Shall we move on, Miss Jones?” I ask.

“We're waiting on you.”

“OK, harness Gerald up and we'll go.” I told her.

“Haven't you got him?”

“Gerald,” I call softly, not wanting to deafen myself in this sound chamber.

“I'm out in front of you. Waiting!”

And off we go. After about fifteen minutes we come to another portal. Everybody gathers around

and just stares. We're slightly elevated and looking over an idyllic - what? A valley? Sort of. A little

village surrounded by farms? Distant figures working in the fields. All of the above surrounded by

mountains. It reminds me of one of those nineteenth century pastoral-type paintings.

“A mini-metropole M'dear.” I say in my best W.C Fields voice.

“No no, Sir.” Little Freddy pipes up. “This is a volcano caldera.”

“Don't tell me you've got a badge for volcanology,?”Of course the little know-it-all has.

“No sir, Miss Jones told us all about volcanoes.”

“Come my courageous cohorts, salvation is at hand.” I say. “All present and correct, Miss Jones? Including ----”

“Yes! Twelve in total. Let's go. We're all eager to get out into the light and sunshine.” That rain-storm must have blown over.

“A couple of steps down, everybody be careful.” I say.

There's people approaching us. Six men. Even at a distance I can tell their gender. Their heavy,

mostly grey beards are a give-away. They're carrying staves.

“Now children, these people will help us. Everybody be very polite.” Jonesy tells them.

“They look like vampires.” Gerald whispers. “They'll drink our blood.”

“Don't be silly Gerald, everyone knows vampires only come out at night.”

“Oh yeah! I forgot.”

We move forward to meet them. They appear thin. Wiry? And not happy.

“Good morning gentleman. We hope you can help us” Jonesy pipes up personably.

One of the reception committee ignores Jonesy and addresses me. “Who are you? Why are you

here.” He's a dour, sour looking bloke and it's unlikely that we'll ever be best friends.

A bit abrupt, Sport, I thought. I explain that we were sheltering from the storm, the rock fall and

making our way through the tunnel.

“A rock fall?” The apparent leader turns to his group and gabbles something fairly unintelligible.

Two of them rush past us into the tunnel looking very concerned. All of a sudden I'm concerned.

Are they worried because that's the only pass?

“Sir," I ask, making friendly conversation, “would you tell me about your community? It appears

beautiful.”

“It is our Eden. We treasure it. We do not like outliers intruding upon us. They tend to have

wicked ideas and practices. We are religious people. We are the Chosen Ones.”

Great! We're at the mercy of religious ratbags. Think Waco, Texas and Jonestown. “Well Sir, we're

happy to be on our way as quickly as possible.” I tell him “Can you point us to an exit.”

The dour bastard shakes his head.

“What? No other exit?” I ask.

“No.”

“Well planned, Sir. How long have you been here?” I ask again.

“Many generations. Countless seasons."

“And you've never thought to have a back-up plan, an escape exit?” I keep at him.

“No. It's God's will. If God wanted a second pass he would have provided one.”

“As a religious man, do you know if your God gifted you with the brains to make one?”

“Shut up. James.” from Jonesy. “You're being rude to our potential saviours. Sir,” she turns to

the spokesman of our reception committee. “Could you take us to a toilet, please? I'm sure the

children are due for one. And possibly a drink of water for all.”

Their leader looks at me.

I nod. “Like the lady said.” I told him.

He turns on his heel and walks back to his little village. The ignorant sod didn't say 'come with

me,' or give us any other sort of of invitation. I reckon we're really unwelcome.

We pass lots of little cabins, some have women standing out the front. They're blank-faced

but they'd be curious. They're all wearing full length black or dark grey dresses. Uniform?

Yeah, like a uniform. Shapeless, drab and uninspiring.

I just noticed, no power poles, ergo no electricity. No water pipes. Naturally! It would all have to

come through the tunnel. There's a hand pump indicating a well in the middle of all the little cabins.

Primitive! Bloody primitive!

Our leader takes us into a hall. “Our Worshipping Hall.” He tells us. He and his off-siders pull two long wooden tables out from the wall and arrange some of the chairs around the table. “Sit, the

women-folk will be with you shortly.”

“Sir, are there lavatory facilities the children could use, please?” Jonesy asks him again.

The rude bastard ignores her, looks at me and repeats. “The women-folk will be with you

shortly.” He and his mates turn and leave the hall.

Jonesy said. “Did you notice those blokes look similar?”

“Probably brothers,” I told her.

The kids had been overwhelmed, they hadn't said much at all. Then of course, Gerald has to speak up. “ They're zombies, It's obvious. They're gunna crack our heads open and eat our brains.”

----

We've been here a week. We're bunked on mats on the floor of the Worshipping Hall and

adequately fed. There's usually two women with us at all times guiding us to some places and well

away from others. They have sheep, goats and I'm sure that I can smell a pig sty way, way over the

back. If we question our tour guides they answer sometimes or just shrug. We're told the men

carrying staves are the respected Elders. The staves are a badge of rank.

I ask if there's any progress clearing the tunnel. Slowly, I'm told. I see four men go into the

tunnel very early every morning and come out at dusk. A hell of a long day. I walk over to the

tunnel entrance hoping to inspect their progress. Nope! Not permitted.

Jonesy and I try to give our kids lessons but they're not interested. They just sit there depressed.

They're missing their families and friends.

“When can we go home, Sir?” They keep asking.

The Chosen Ones keep their kids well away from our kids. We suspect it might be hard to keep

their kids down on the farm after they've heard about the real world.

Our kids are sitting cross-legged on the floor with Jonesy asking them maths questions. I walk

into the hall to relieve her and she climbs to her feet.

“Ah, there you are Sir, a word if you would. Back in a moment children. Stay right there.”

She takes my arm and walks me past the woman who's supposed to mind us. She barely glances

at us as we leave. I suspect she's bored with her allotted duty. We continue around outside our

prison, the Worshipping Hall,

“Listen to this James. Our guard had fallen asleep late last night and I was able to sneak out.

When I got close to the lavatory I heard a whisper calling me. Somebody was peering around the

corner of the lavatory. When I walked over a woman grabbed me, dragged me into the darkness

behind the lavatory and told me her story and what a sorry story it was.

“Twelve years ago, on a Sunday night she was walking home from a friend's place in town. She

was grabbed, bound and gagged, shoved in that two-wheel barrow these ratbags use to take their

produce and craft to the Sunday market in town and brought her back here.”

“But why?” I ask, “there seems to be enough women to go around”

“Do you remember me saying that they look alike? And you told me that they were probably

brothers. You're so wrong, James. They're inbred! They worked it out. It took them a while, they're

a bit slow. So they wanted fresh breeding stock. They wanted that woman to marry one of their

men. She refused, she's got a boyfriend back home. They beat her with their staves right in front of

their Worshipping Hall. Praise the Lord! She was told to obey or else they'd beat her to death and

feed her to their pigs.”

“Damn,” I say, “What happened.”

“She married Caleb and had eight children and two miscarriages in ten years and was then blessed

with an early change of life. Caleb was ten years older than her and died at the age of fifty. She told

me that most of them die around fifty. They think that's a normal life span but it's the inbreeding.

Another thing, they have more than their fair share of village idiots and physical deformities. Babies

obviously deformed are immediately sent to heaven. Those who grow up to be simple are neutered

so there is no chance of them weakening their gene pool further. And then used as work mules.

They're kept in a shed way down yonder and work in the fields. She said the four workers clearing

the tunnel are from that work pool. Think about that, James.”

I'd rather not.

“But here's the best part. They're planning to marry me off to one of their favoured hill-billies and

breed from me. Have a guess what's planned for our school girls? Child brides in possibly two

years! The boys will become field hands, James. Slaves!

“When they get the tunnel open, and they will, because they'll keep those poor mules digging and

chipping away at the rocks until eventually it's open. But they will not let us go! We'd bring the

authorities back here. They'd all end up in prison or the loony bin.”

“Jonesy, I don't know what we can do. They outnumber us, they have those staves, they're

obviously violent and they're loonies. That's a winning combination. Have you got any ideas?”

“Yes James. Escape!!”

“Tell me how. We'll leave the kids and bolt!”

“No we won't. You'll remain here and look after them.”

“Jonesy, planes fly over here occasionally. Somebody's gotta see us. Just a matter of time.”

“No. I don't think we're under a regular flight route and if we are, they're too high to see us. And

probably no other small plane pilot is interested in another little one-horse town. James, the cavalry

is not riding to our rescue. It's up to us.”

----

A few days later I'm shaken awake by young Freddy. “Go away mate, It's not even dawn yet.”

“Sir, it's Miss Jones.” He whispers.

I'm instantly wide awake. “What? What about her?”

“She's gone!”

“Where? What are you talking about?”

“I was awake. I don't sleep well now, Sir.”
“Yeah Freddy, me either. What about Jonesy? Sorry Miss Jones”

“She went out and she didn't go towards the lavatory. So I followed her. The lady that guards the

door was asleep. She's always asleep. She wouldn't make a good scout, Sir. We're ever vigilant.”

“Normally I'd reprimand you for spying on your teachers but I'm thinking it might be OK this time.

So what did Miss Jones do?”

“She walked right around the corn field and over to the mountain.” He pauses for breath.

“And?”

“She climbed it!”

“What?” very quietly, I'm trying not to scream.

“Climbed it Sir.”

“Take me there, Freddy.” I remember Jonesy used to be a keen mountain climber but climbing by

herself is crazy. Or desperate.

We sneak past the sleeping guard and hurry off in the near dawn. Freddy's pointing but I can only

see a black mass rising vertically to the lightening sky.

“There she is! Do you see her, Sir.”

“No.”

“I can,” Freddy tells me, “we boy scouts are trained to be observant. Just wait a minute Sir, the

rising sun will shine on her in three minutes.”

I'm staring but all I can see is a dark, jagged silhouette of the mountain range against a darkish

sky. The dawn suddenly highlights the sky, then the peaks and travels tantalisingly slowly down

the mountain face. And there she is, not much bigger than a dot. She's maybe three-quarters, gotta

be four hundred metres, up the mountain-side. She's moving so slowly but surely, I hope. I

remember her telling me about free-climbing with a previous boyfriend and the pair of them

planning on going to the USA where there's a world famous free-climb in a national park.

I'm frozen, staring, hoping. And then she's gone! No! No!

“She's fallen, Sir.”Young Fred's clutching at me. I put an arm around him and we stand there

staring. Disbelieving. I can feel him shuddering, crying. That sets me off.

After an eternity, I pull myself together. “Fred, I'm going to see to Miss Jones. Best you don't

come with me. Go back to the hall, don't tell the kids, I'll tell them when I get back, OK? Hang

tough, big fella. I know boy scouts can be counted on.”

I walk on slowly, following the edge of the cornfield. I'm in no hurry. I find her between some boulders in a bloody, crumbled heap. I sit down beside her, nurse her and cry. I was going to ask her to marry me as soon as I was brave enough. All gone now. I compose myself, pick up her broken bodyp in my arms and head back around the corn field. I'm hardly aware of my surroundings. I'm

thinking at least these animals are not forcing you into becoming a breeding machine, Jonesy.

“What are you doing? What did you do to her?” My despair is interrupted. It's one of the elders

waving his staff in my face.

“She fell.” I said.

“Will she be alright?” He seems concerned for her. Oh yeah! Only so he can breed with her. I fight to control my rage. “Dunno, help me for a moment, please.” I thrust Jonesy at him.

He put out his arms. I don't know if it was a reflex or to help or the idiot didn't know what he was

doing.

“Just for a moment, please.” I repeat. I place Jonesy in his extended arms then grabbed and twisted his staff out of his hand, beat him to the ground and continue to beat him until he's little more than a bloody pulp. I'm leaning over him supported by his bloodied staff, gasping for breath, The clumsy bastard had dropped Jonesy so I belt him again. I force myself to calm down. What am I doing? I haven't had a fight since primary school, I'm a passive bloke. I've run out of options.

I've just crossed the line.

They'll kill me if I don't kill them first. I've got to obliterate the bastards. Grind their bones. I've

killed one elder and that felt good. So good! There were ten of them, gotta kill the other nine

quickly before they realise I'm coming for them. Carnage, James! Wreak carnage on 'em. I'll kill

them and elect me as the grand high elder of the remaining drones. Or die. There's no other option.

I carry Jonesy into the corn field and hide her. I want to sit with her for a while but I've got no

time. They may come looking for us or their missing elder. I kick dirt over the bloody ground and

hide him in the cornfield as well. I was going to take his staff but if anyone saw me with it, they'd

know something was off in their hellish kingdom. Not that they won't find out shortly. Or if I'm

very lucky they'll never find out.

I walk back to the little village. It's just starting to stir. I pick up a little rock on my way and

head for the Worshipping Hall. Nobody's about this early so I veer into the senior Elder's house. Elder Ezekial, The Most Chosen One! The one I hold most responsible for Jonesy's death. If I can take him by surprise, I am sure that I can kill the sanctimonious hypocrite.

The door's ajar, I ease it open a little more. There's only one room. A dark room with an opening

for a window and a shutter propped up letting in some early light. He's not there. Mistress

Ezekial's kneeling by her bedside, back to me, mumbling. Praying, I suspect. No sign of Zeke. I

sneak up behind her and with the help of my little rock I smash her head in. “Go to glory, Darls.”

I look around, there's porridge steaming on the table. I guess Zeke's only moments away, probably

conducting his early morning ablution. I quickly drag the late Mistress Zeke to the far side of the bed and tuck her out of sight. There's two staves by the door. I select the sturdiest looking one, feel

the heft and stand behind the door.

Waiting!

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