Ross River Fever

By Christopher Cummings

It is the ‘Wet Season’ in North Queensland. Thirteen year-old navy cadet Andrew Collins and his sister Carmen are in Townsville for the school holidays, staying with their Aunt and Uncle. Walking across the bridge spanning the Ross River, the two siblings rush to the rescue of another boy, Martin, saving him from a beating from three older bullies.

From that moment on, Andrew is plunged into the first great adventure of his life, taking him from one end of Ross River to the other by canoe, bicycle and foot, which brings him to the extremes of both his courage and his physical ability.

He also meets Letitia, a girl quite outside his very limited experience, whose allure will tempt him both morally and emotionally.

• Language: English
• Publisher: DoctorZed Publishing
• Release date: Jan 3, 2013
• ISBN: 9780987249500

Christopher Cummings

Christopher Cummings is a Vietnam veteran, teacher, parent, traveller, Officer of Cadets, and author of 35 books. Bushwalking, history and travel have added depth to his experiences. He grew up in Cairns and Cape York Peninsula, experiencing many adventures in the North Queensland bush and at sea in his father’s ships, adventures he has woven into his books.

Book preview

Sea

CHAPTER  1

CHARLES  BARTON  BRIDGE

Thirteen year-old Andrew Collins wiped sweat from his forehead and pulled his cap lower to shield his blue eyes from the harsh glare of the North Queensland summer sun. His nose wrinkled in disgust as a passing truck spewed greasy diesel fumes over him. He turned to his companion, a boy of the same age with dark, curly hair atop a cheerful, freckled face.

How much further Mark?

Not far, just around this bit of a bend, Mark Swain replied.

I hope so. Strewth, isn’t it hot! I’m sweating like a pig, Andrew replied.

From behind the two boys came several ‘Oink, Oinks’ and the trill of girlish laughter. Well, it is Summer, little brother, called Carmen Collins. She was walking beside a dark-haired girl of Andrew’s age: Jill Cooper. Jill was a friend of Marks.

‘A very pretty friend too,’ Andrew privately thought. ‘Too pretty for Mark.’ He stole a glance at Jill, noting again the dark eyes which seemed to sparkle with mystery, the heart shaped face with skin so perfect, the black hair which gleamed in the sun. He sighed involuntarily. ‘Yes, very pretty. Beautiful even. Pity I am only in Townsville for a month.’

The four teenagers were walking south along the footpath beside Nathan Street in Townsville. On their left the constant roaring of traffic in both directions filled the street with fumes and noise. As they rounded a curve the impressive northern face of Mt Stuart came into view. It was several kilometres away, its highest point crowned by a variety of radio and television towers. A sullen mass of grey cloud loomed behind the mountain, indicating more heavy rain to come. Overhead the sky was still a brilliant blue and the tropical sun blazed down on them with an intensity which caused them all to perspire freely. It was early January in North Queensland.

After a couple of minutes walk the group reached the end of the Charles Barton Bridges, which spanned the Ross River at that point. There were two bridges, side by side. The bridges were concrete structures about 200 metres long which carried four lanes of traffic. On the outer side of each was a pedestrian walkway. The four stepped onto this and began to cross the bridge. The traffic rushed past, a constant stream which felt too close for comfort.

As he walked Andrew looked over the steel railings at the river. He came from Cairns, so the view was a novelty to him. The river appeared to be choked with waterweeds and the water had a black colour. Masses of lilies carpeted large areas of the river’s surface.

Plenty of water anyway, he observed.

Mark, a local, grunted and replied: Only because there is a weir across further down. It would be dry otherwise. This is Townsville remember.

At the point where the bridge crossed it the river changed direction. On Andrew’s right was a north-south reach which curved from view around a bend about two kilometres upstream. Both sides of the river had houses along them but most of the banks were still thickly clothed in long guinea grass and a tangle of trees and creepers.

Downstream on their left was another long reach which ran eastwards. This reach was much more open and pleasant, with green lawns running down to the waters edge. Several canoes and sail boards were visible on the sparkling water. At a pontoon moored under some overhanging trees half a kilometre downstream a group of kids could be seen splashing in the water.

A swim, that would be nice, he muttered, wiping more sweat from his face. A thought crossed his mind and he voiced it aloud, having to shout above the roar of a passing truck.

Are there crocs in this river Mark?

Nah. Well, yes. But only ‘freshies’ up here. I saw one once. A kid brought it to school. It was only about ten centimetres long, just a baby.

No ‘Salties’ then? Andrew queried. He had a deep fear of the saltwater crocodiles, crocodilius porosus, that inhabited most North Queensland waterways, even fresh water ones.

Mark pointed to the left. Only down below Aplins Weir. The river is tidal there. But I’ve never seen one myself but I know kids who have, he replied.

A cry and a splash attracted Andrew’s attention. Look at those silly kids, he cried.

Up till now he had paid little attention to the other bridge users, there being half a dozen pedestrians and cyclists visible. Twenty metres ahead were two boys, clad only in shorts; primary school kids by the look of them. The boys were standing on the outside of the railings. Andrew stopped and peered over the side. The distance to the water was a good ten or fifteen metres, a fair drop to his eyes. As he looked down a head appeared amidst a swirl of bubbles and disturbed water. A boy’s face, topped by brown curls, grinned up at him.

Come on ‘Maggot’, jump! the boy called. You won’t hurt yourself.

‘Maggot’, a thin, pale-skinned boy, shook his head and continued to cling to the railing. Andrew thought he looked thoroughly scared. His companion, a wiry, brown-skinned lad, taunted him.

Go on Maggot. Jump. If ya don’t jump ya got no guts!

Maggot shook his head again and bit his lip. His wiry companion sneered.

If ya don’t jump we don’t want ya in our gang. We ain’t gunna have gutless wonders in our gang.

Maggot looked thoroughly miserable but still shook his head. His grip on the rail tightened. The boy in the water, who was now breast stroking towards the shore through the waterweeds, called up, Push him in Rat!

‘Rat’ sneered again. Nah! He’s gotta do it himself or he ain’t good enough to be in the gang. You just stay there ‘Toad’, in case he needs help.

By then Andrew and Mark were level with the two boys. Andrew again stopped and looked over the edge. He could see why Maggot didn’t want to jump. It looked a long way down.

You kids are mad, he said. You could really hurt yourselves.

Ah crap! Rat retorted. We do this all the time. Go on Maggot, jump.

Mark pursed his lips. Don’t get tangled up in all that weed. It could drag you down and drown you, he cautioned.

Rat’s answer was to curl his lip with disdain and to go on urging his friend to let go. The girls had caught up by this and looked concerned. Andrew felt he should do something. He said to Rat: You kids are being stupid. Someone could get killed or seriously injured.

Mind yer own business and piss orf! Rat snarled back.

Andrew felt his temper flare. He objected to foul language in front of girls. For an instant he was tempted to hit Rat’s fingers. Instead he took a deep breath, shrugged his shoulders and resumed walking.

He hadn’t gone ten paces when another incident attracted his attention. A boy of about his own age was walking across the bridge about 50 paces ahead. He was going in the same direction and was wheeling a bike. From the other direction three youths wearing black T-shirts came pedalling towards them on bikes. They were travelling fast along the pedestrian walkway. The boy in front stopped and moved over against the railings to make way for the three. The first youth came on, still pedalling furiously and travelling much too fast for safety. As he reached the boy he yelled out and swung his hand.

Slap!

The boy reeled back against the railings, holding his face. The attacker pedalled on towards Andrew and Mark, a wide grin on his face. The second youth had now reached the boy and also leaned out to slap him. The boy ducked so the second youth spat on him instead.

At that moment the second youth’s bicycle caught in the boy’s bike. The second youth let out a sharp cry. His bicycle went crashing onto the walkway but he went tumbling over the concrete safety barrier and out onto the roadway. Car tyres screeched as brakes locked on. The third youth pulled up just in time to prevent himself from running into the boy’s bike.

Crash! Bang!

A second car, unable to stop in time, ran into the back of the first vehicle, which had pulled up only centimetres from the second youth as he lay on the road. The first youth looked back, then braked to a halt only a few metres from Andrew and Mark. He was a solid brute in his late teens. He had a surly face and smooth black hair. Across the back of his black T-shirt was emblazoned SWEATHOG.

The second youth shouted an obscenity and sprang up, then scrambled back over the safety barrier. By then the whole lane of traffic had come to a standstill, with a line of cars and trucks stretching back off the far end of the bridge. Out of the first car climbed a woman in her thirties. She looked alarmed and distressed. From the back of the car came a baby’s wail, loud enough to penetrate above the traffic noises from the other lanes. An angry, red-faced business man heaved himself out of the second car.

The first youth now pedalled back towards his friends, both of whom began to abuse and hit the boy. They shouted a stream of gutter language and struck at him. Andrew watched this with amazement, then with rising anger. He quickened his pace, although with no clear idea of what he might do when he reached them.

Turd! screamed the first youth as he joined in the attack. You get off the bridge when we come along shitface, ya hear!

How can I? wailed the boy as he gamely tried to defend himself from a rain of kicks and punches. I moved over.

Not far enough turd features! You git right over the side! the first youth screamed. He landed a savage kick in the boy’s groin. This made him curl up in agony and fall to the walkway.

Andrew saw red. Hey! Stop that! he yelled. He broke into a run.

The second youth grabbed the boy and hauled him to his knees, then slammed his knee into his stomach. Mongrel! You nearly killed me then! I oughta beat you ter pulp! he screamed angrily.

Chuck him off the bridge, yelled the third youth, a tall, thin, black-haired boy.

The first youth nodded. Good idea. Grab him! he agreed.

Andrew was astonished. He yelled: Stop! again but it had no effect. Before he could reach them the three youths had grabbed the boy, who was now curled up and whimpering in pain, and bundled him over the railings. As the boy fell out of sight the three let out a shriek of triumph and leaned over the railings to watch. With a splash that was more a splat the boy landed in the water.

By then Andrew had reached the scene, Mark and the girls pounding hot on his heels- to his considerable relief. He only knew Mark as a casual acquaintance from Navy Cadets and had been unsure of how he would react. On arriving at where the boy’s bike blocked the walkway Andrew stopped and looked over the side. The boy had gone under but now rose to the surface, struggling and splashing. The three youths jeered and laughed.

Good job ‘Rocky’! cried the thin youth to the one labelled SWEATHOG.

Yeah! Let’s chuck his bike over too. That’ll teach the shit a lesson. Grab it Troy, Rocky yelled to the second youth, a non-descript lout with wide-set blue eyes.

As Troy went to do so Andrew grabbed the bike at the same instant and shouted: That’s enough of that!  His heart was pounding with fear but he was determined to act.

Rocky turned to face him. What’s it ter you, turd-face? Mind your own business!

Leave it! Andrew snapped, stepping forward and raising his fists. As he did he felt his throat go dry. The sky seemed to darken and his vision narrowed down to just Rocky. He was dimly aware of Mark and Troy pulling at the bike beside him; and of the third youth-‘Jay’-shouting crude abuse at the lady driver, who stood appalled beside her damaged car.

Carmen and Jill had joined them and both were saying something. Rocky turned to them and sneered. You molls keep outa this.

Carmen’s eyes widened at the crude insult. Don’t you call me a moll, you creep! she cried. She stepped forward and tried to slap Rocky but he sprang back. Andrew called to Carmen to keep out of it and stepped in front of her. Jill took her chance and sprang forward. Her hand lashed out.

Slap!

Rocky looked at her in pained astonishment. Then his eyes narrowed in fury, before widening with interest as he took in Jill’s beauty. You bitch! he screamed. You’ll pay for that! He swung a punch at Jill but Andrew was able to block it. The two boys lashed out at each other, then fell apart as they stumbled against the safety barrier and bikes.

At that moment the angry business man grabbed Jay by the shoulder and spun him round. The two began to shout at each other angrily. Rocky glanced nervously at them, then back at Andrew. He had his fists up but Andrew sensed he did not want to fight. Before he could press the issue the other youth, Troy, screamed out.

Cops! Let’s split!

Before anyone could react the three youths grabbed their bikes and leapt on them. Rocky and Jay sped back the way they had come. Andrew could not get past the boy’s bicycle on the walkway in time to grab at them. Mark made a lunge at Troy as he sprang over the barrier with his bike but missed. Troy leapt on his bike, swerved across behind the businessman’s car and pedalled through onto the second lane. A truck’s brakes screeched and hissed and Graham glimpsed the driver’s alarmed face as he narrowly missed slamming into Troy. Then Troy was gone, riding down the far side of the bridge against the oncoming traffic.

Andrew turned. Jill was plucking at his sleeve. He ignored the angry business man, who had started yelling at them, and looked at Jill. What? he asked.

She pointed. That boy. He’s in trouble. He’s gone under again.

Andrew peered over the railing. In the murky water he could just make out a wriggling form. He did not hesitate. In an instant he had snatched off his gym boots and socks and clambered up onto the railing, dimly aware that Carmen was calling something. As he gripped the outside of the railing and looked down to pinpoint where the boy was he was conscious of Carmen’s anxious face, and of the rapidly approaching howl of a police siren.

For a moment Andrew poised. Yes! There was a flicker of movement below the surface. The boy was drowning alright. Aiming at the spot Andrew nerved himself, then launched himself into space.

It was a long way down.

Only as he fell did he experience fear. ‘I’ll be killed!’ he thought, ‘Or knocked unconscious and drown.’ Then into his mind flashed a warning from a Navy instructor on what to do when abandoning ship: ‘Feet together, knees bent, point the toes, protect the face!’

Splat!

Andrew struck the water with a stinging smack and went deep. The impact was so sudden he felt it as a massive blow, especially under his arms. His next sensation was of his feet driving into deep, cold ooze and then of slimy weeds. He opened his eyes to a vision of murk and bubbles.

Half stunned by the fall Andrew struggled to the surface and looked around. There was no sign of the boy. An awful dread seized his heart. ‘He must be drowning! Where is he?’ He heard shouting and looked up. A row of a dozen tiny heads were silhouetted along the railings far above him. They all seemed to be yelling and pointing.

Carmen’s voice penetrated.

Just over there Andrew. On your right!

Andrew turned, took a breath and slid under the water. It took an effort of will-power to do this as he disliked swimming underwater and had an irrational fear of what might lurk in the shadows. In spite of the swirling algae and mud he forced himself to keep his eyes open.

There! A movement.

In two quick strokes he was down and had the boy. The boy was still struggling, but only feebly. Andrew’s fingers closed on clammy feeling flesh, seizing the boy’s right upper arm. At once Andrew struck out for the surface, which showed above him as blurred silver through a swirling cloud of murk.

He broke surface and turned to tread water. ‘God, he’s heavy!’ he thought with dismay as he struggled to get the boy’s head above water. For a moment he doubted whether he had the strength. ‘I don’t need to keep my own head out all the time,’ he told himself. So he changed his grip and hoisted the boy higher. With a heave he got the boy’s head well clear of the water but his own mouth and nose went down. The tiny ripples on the water were just large enough to slop into his face.

Don’t.. gug.. guggle.. sluh! Don’t.. puff.. puff... struggle, Andrew cried. He was finding it so difficult he began to experience a feeling of mounting desperation. Worse still the boy had begun to squirm strongly. Into Andrew’s mind raced stories of how drowning people clung to their would-be rescuers and pushed them under, to drown them too. ‘Now, what did the Life Saving Instructor say to do?

Andrew suddenly realized he had a bigger problem than he had anticipated. He had a Life Saving Certificate but had never actually attempted a rescue before. To his consternation things weren't going as well as he had hoped. The boy started to struggle violently and snatched at his hands. Before Andrew realized the peril his right wrist was gripped by the boy and he found himself being pulled around and under.

‘I must break free!’ he thought as the beginnings of real fear stirred in his heart. His head went under and he had trouble swimming. He tried to prize loose the drowning boy’s grip but his fingers slipped. Before he could stop him the boy had turned and grabbed him. Panic had the boy in its grip and he scrambled frantically up onto Andrew, pushing him under just as he tried to get his mouth and nose clear to breathe.

Andrew took in some water and started to cough and throw up as he strove to break free. He had his eyes open but all he could see was slimy weed and the boy’s body. His feet thrashed wildly in an attempt to propel himself back to the surface. As he kicked he felt the long, trailing water weeds caress, then abruptly tighten on his left ankle. He kicked hard but the weeds only seemed to tighten. Fear began to turn to panic.

‘My feet are wrapped in the weeds! I must get free. Keep calm! Don’t panic!’ Andrew told himself. Now desperation gave him strength. His mind raced as the pain of holding his breath increased. How to break free? First to get rid of the frantic boy gripping him; then worry about the weed.

The boy’s shorts were up against Andrew’s face as he tried to clamber onto his shoulders and head. Knowing that he was now fighting for his own life removed Andrew’s scruples. He remembered something his dad had told him and grabbed the boy’s little finger and yanked hard. That freed his right wrist. ‘Now to get rid of him.’ His hand shot up into the boy’s groin and gripped hard at his genitals. The boy twitched abruptly and kicked hard. A blow struck Andrew in the ear but the boy let go.

As soon as he felt himself free Andrew bent down to his ankle and felt at the weed. His mind told him what had happened but it also told him he was fast running out of time. Flashes of light seemed to flicker before his eyes and black dots appeared to dance along with the floating muck in the dark green water. Drums began to pound in Andrew’s head and he knew he was about to black out. He struggled with the slimy weed but it was tougher than he had expected and very hard to grip.

‘I’m going to drown!’ Andrew thought in panic. He had never really thought about drowning but into his mind flashed all the things he had been told about it; particularly the popular supposition that it was an easy and peaceful death. ‘No it’s not! I don’t want to die! I haven’t lived yet!’ he thought.

In a desperate effort to get free Andrew wrenched at the weeds. Free! He looked up, water running up his nose and bubbles bursting out as he found it impossible to hold his breath any longer. He struck out and felt the weeds curling around his ankles again. With a tremendous effort of willpower he stopped kicking and used only his arms in a breast-stroke. The surface of the water looked like dappled silver, something like frosted glass, but with bubbles rising towards it. There was a mottled pattern of dark blobs he knew were water lilies.

For a few frantic seconds Andrew clawed his way up, his lungs at bursting point. Then his head broke surface. He just had time to gasp in one breath before he was pushed under again as the floundering boy found him. ‘Not again!’ Andrew thought. He had never been so scared in all his life. He knew he was only an average swimmer. With an effort he pushed himself free and swam sideways to get out from under the boy. A flailing foot whacked Andrew in the ear but he got clear. When he was sure there was no-one above him he rose again.

His head broke surface and he took another breath, a deep, gasping gulp that included weeds and water and which set him coughing and spluttering. The stench of rotting vegetation filled his nostrils and he felt bile rise in his throat. But he had his head out and was able to take another breath.

The water boiled in front of his eyes and the drowning boy’s head and an arm came out. The boy had his back to Andrew and as he sank Andrew grabbed at him. His fingers closed on the boy’s hair and he gripped it tightly.

‘I must keep him facing that way,’ he thought. He looked around, wiping water from his eyes to orient himself. There was the concrete pylon of the bridge close beside him but it looked a terribly long way to the shore. He struck out, dragging the struggling figure with him. But after a couple of strokes he began to doubt if he had the strength to reach the safety.  He heard the boy gurgle, retch and gasp behind him as his head came out.

Don’t struggle! Lie ...puff.. lie still. I’ve.. puff.. got you, Andrew gasped. There was a groan which might have meant anything, then the boy went quite slack. For a moment Andrew wondered if he might have died but he found swimming easier and started to make progress. He turned half on his side and struck out for the nearest bank.

Almost at once things went wrong again. A small wave slapped into his face just as he took a breath and it left him gasping and retching. Worse, his strength seemed to be ebbing away. His arms now felt like lead and he had trouble moving his limbs. He then swam into a mass of floating lilies and felt the weeds and stems around his body and limbs. With an effort that left him gasping and barely able to tread water he broke free.

‘I’m not going to make this,’ Andrew thought. The terrible option of letting go of the boy flashed into his mind as he realized it may well be the choice that meant saving himself. Agony of conscience was added to physical pain. He puffed and tried to summon up the strength to go on. But the bank looked as far away as ever.

‘I will have to let go,’ he decided as the sick realization was confirmed that he might not even be able to make it on his own. The cruel irony that they might both still drown added to the pain. Andrew began to pray as he realized he was barely keeping his own head above water and not making any apparent progress.

Then a fierce cramp seized his left arm.

CHAPTER  2

MARTIN

Andrew knew in his heart he was not being sensible. ‘I should save myself,’ he told himself, but he did not let go of the boy. As he struggled to stay afloat he swallowed more water and choked. His head went under and he knew he was close to the end.

Splash! Splash!

The water foamed beside him and the wash engulfed him just as he was trying to take another breath. Again he swallowed and choked. He went under and felt a terrible sense of despair as pain seared through his chest.  As he broke surface he vomited. To his added dismay he found he could hardly focus his vision.

A face appeared in front of him. The mouth in it was opening and closing but it took a moment for Andrew to recognize the person and for the words to penetrate. It was the urchin nicknamed ‘Rat’.

Rat gestured. Let him go mate. I got ‘im.

Andrew shook his head but Rat ignored that and swam past to grab the boy’s hair. Another face appeared:- ‘Maggot’s’. ‘He must have jumped,’ Andrew thought.

There was another splash nearby. Mark’s face appeared and he shouted in Andrew’s ear. Relax. I’ve got you.

Andrew nodded and felt relief surge through him. He let go of the boy when he was sure the urchins had him. Mark gripped his upper arm and helped him to tread water. Andrew coughed and spluttered and felt awful but knew he was going to live. Another head swam past; the third urchin: ‘Toad’.

As soon as he had his breath Andrew began a slow breast stroke towards the shore. It was a good fifty metres and seemed a terribly long way. Mark swam with him, helping with encouragement and a hand under his arm. The urchins followed, taking turns to drag the boy, who now lay limp. Andrew worried that the boy might be drowned but now used his energy to save himself.

A car appeared on a roadway which swept down under the end of the bridge in a loop. Police sprang out of it. Running figures appeared coming down the other side of the loop: Carmen and Jill. Then several kids appeared from along the bank.

MICK LOVES SANDY was painted on the concrete headwall of the bridge. Andrew noted it in a kind of detached trance. His mind swam along with his body. He felt dreadfully tired.

At last the bank grew closer with every stroke and then Mark was helping him to stumble through the shallows. With a groan of relief and exhaustion Andrew was helped up onto the grassy slope, where he sank down and vomited again. Carmen and Jill ran to hold him, brushing off the two police officers.

I.. I’m alright, Andrew gasped. His brain reeled and the bridge seemed to revolve. He lay back and closed his eyes, drawing in great gulps of air. Then he began to shiver and tremble. There was splashing and voices and he opened his eyes and noted that the urchins had reached the shallows with the boy. The two policemen waded in to help. A siren sounded in the distance, the strident urgency of it causing Andrew’s heart rate to climb again.

‘Sounds like an ambulance,’ he thought dully. It was. The vehicle came roaring down under the bridge to pull up near him. Only then did it register that it had been called to help them. With an effort he sat up as the paramedics sprang out.

Andrew shook his head. I’m.. OK. Help him, he croaked, pointing to where the urchins and policemen were carrying the boy up the bank. ‘God, I hope he’s not dead!’ he thought.

He wasn’t. Even as Andrew watched the boy coughed and retched. He was laid on the grass and the paramedics took over, watched by the fascinated urchins. Andrew breathed out and relaxed. Only then did he become fully conscious of the fact that Jill was holding his bare shoulders and stroking his arm gently. Her hazel eyes looked anxiously into his and he managed a smile. She smiled back.

Mark spoke up. Hey! I didn’t save you so you could smile at my girl!

At that Andrew managed a weak grin. She’s worth smiling at, he replied, at which Jill went pink around the cheeks.

Carmen sniffed and then laughed. You weren’t under water long enough little brother, she commented.

One of the policemen knelt down and asked: Are you alright?

Yes thanks. I’m just a bit worn out. I swallowed too much swamp water, Andrew replied. He actually felt terrible but his pleasure at learning that the boy was alive helped overcome it.

You smell like it, Mark replied. Andrew noted a distinct edge to his voice and a glint in his eye that had been absent earlier. ‘I’ve upset him over Jill,’ he decided.

The policeman interrupted their banter. So what happened?

Mark answered. Some kids.. well, not kids really, teenage hooligans more like, knocked that boy down and then chucked him over the railings. We were just passing, he explained.

So you had nothing to do with him being in the water. It was a statement, rather than a question and Andrew resented it.

Bristling with annoyance he sat up. That’s right. I just jumped in to save him because it looked like he couldn’t swim and was going under, he said.

Carmen shook her head. And almost got drowned yourself! she cried. I was nearly sick when that boy climbed up onto you and you went under.

Andrew made a face. You were nearly sick! Anyway, thanks Mark, I owe you for that. You saved my life. Thanks.

Mark blushed and shrugged. And you saved his life. I wonder who he is and why those thugs chucked him in?

At that moment the other policeman let out a loud yell: Oi! You bloody kids come back here!

Andrew looked and saw the three urchins sprinting off upstream along a walking track beside the river. Maggot glanced back and slowed down but Rat and Toad took off. Maggot followed. The policeman yelled again but that only spurred the three on. They vanished out of sight up behind the council depot.

The policeman swore under his breath, then said: Little buggers! We’ve had several complaints about them jumping off the bridge. I warned them the other day. How do they come into this?

Andrew glanced at the rapidly vanishing urchins. They were jumping off the bridge for some sort of a dare as we came along, he said. And they saved that boy’s life I reckon.

The constable nodded. Yes, I suppose so, he conceded reluctantly. Little buggers! If I catch them doing it again I’ll...

The other policeman laughed. Won’t do much, he added. Not in this day and age. Bloody kids can get away with murder nowadays.

Carmen made an emphatic nod of her head. Speaking of murder, I reckon that's what the three who threw that boy in should be charged with, she said.

The policeman made a face. Be hard to prove, he replied.

But we saw them! Carmen insisted. They beat the boy up and kicked him in the .. in the .... in the, you know.. She went red and so did both of the policemen.

Er, yes. Well, that may account for it. Do you know who they were? the first constable asked.

Andrew answered. Only their nicknames, he replied. The one with ‘Sweathog’ on his T-shirt is called ‘Rocky’. The skinny one with black hair is Jay and the other one, with the surly face, is Troy.

Well done! Do you know them at all?

Andrew shook his head. No sir. I.. we.. my sister and I, come from Cairns, he replied, indicating Carmen.

What about you two then? the policeman asked Mark and Jill.

Mark shook his head. We are locals, but I have never seen them in my life, he replied. Jill nodded.

The policeman looked thoughtful. Hmm. Well, I think I know who they are. I wonder if the boy knows them? he said.

I think he might, just from the way they spoke to him, Andrew replied.

They turned to look at where the paramedics had the boy lying on his side on a stretcher. The first policeman went over. How is he? he asked.

One of the paramedics looked up. Bit sick. He’ll be alright, he replied.

Do you need to take them in?" asked the constable.

The paramedic nodded. Be a good idea. He looks a bit green around the gills.

Take them both then, the policeman said.

On hearing that Andrew sat up. Oh sir! I’m alright, he insisted.

You don’t look it. What about you other kids, do you live far away? the constable asked, smiling at Carmen as he did.

Mark pointed in the direction the urchins had vanished in. Just over in Cranbrook, he replied.

Jill nodded. The same," she added.

Carmen stood up. I’ll come with my brother if I might? she asked.

The constable smiled at her and nodded. Sure. We will just get some details first, he said. He took out his notebook and smiled at her again. She smiled back, then blushed. The constable said, I’m Constable Fort... David Fort.

Andrew watched this by-play and shook his head. ‘The bugger!’ he thought. ‘He thinks sis is alright.’

Carmen returned the smile. I’m Carmen Collins, and this is my little brother Andrew, she told the constable. Her eyes met Constable Fort’s and then flickered down. A faint blush mottled her cheeks.

And how old are you? he asked.

I’m fourteen, Carmen replied, And Andrew is thirteen.

I see, Constable Fort replied. Andrew fancied that there was a faint trace of disappointment in his voice. And what about you two? he asked Mark and Jill.

I’m Mark Swain and I’m thirteen, Mark replied.

Jill Cooper. Thirteen too.

Constable Fort looked at Mark. What school do you go to Mark? he asked as he scribbled hastily in his notebook.

Heatley Secondary College, Mark replied.

Jill nodded. Me too, she added.

Constable Fort grinned. Good! So did I, he replied. What grade are you? Year Eight?

Going into nine this year, Jill answered.

Constable Fort turned to Carmen. So what are you and your brother doing in Townsville Carmen? he asked.

We came down for a Navy Cadet camp. We are staying with relatives now, Carmen replied.

Are you a navy cadet then?

Yes. I’m an Able Seaman. We are all navy cadets. That is how we know each other, Carmen explained.

Good-o! I was an army cadet myself, in the Heatley unit. OK. Let’s get moving. You can hop in the ambulance or come in the police car, Constable Fort said, gesturing to where the paramedics were lifting the boy into the back of the vehicle.

Jill half put her hand up. Can we come? she asked anxiously.

Constable Fort nodded. If you want to, but I can’t promise you a lift home afterwards.

That’s alright. We can walk home afterwards. It isn’t that far, Jill replied.

Andrew was helped to his feet. Only then did he realize just how weak and groggy he felt. He made only a token protest as he was helped into the ambulance. By this time a crowd of gaping onlookers had gathered and he was glad when the doors were closed. Carmen, he noted, had opted to travel in the police car.

As the ambulance started moving, Andrew met the eyes of the boy he had saved. The boy looked to be about his own age. He had mousy, fair hair and blue eyes and looked very pale and sickly but he managed a weak smile. Are you the boy who saved me? he asked in a croaky voice.

Andrew blushed. Yes, he mumbled in modest confusion. Only it wasn’t only me. Other kids helped.

Was it you I grabbed hold of? the boy asked.

Andrew nodded. The boy made a face. Sorry about that. I was in a bit of a panic. I can normally swim really well but that mongrel Forman kicked me in the nuts and I blacked out. I only came to when I was already under water and I couldn’t swim.

Andrew nodded. I saw him, he replied. Do you know him then?

Yeah, the mongrel! He goes to my school and he’s the biggest bully in the place, the boy replied. Anyway, never mind him. Thanks for hauling me out. I reckon I was a goner if you hadn’t. I was just starting to swallow water when you grabbed me. He held out his hand.

Andrew took it. He felt fearfully embarrassed and mumbled a suitable reply. The boy said: My name is Martin Schipholl. That’s Dutch, spelled S. C. H. I. P. H. O. L. L. All the kids at school call me ‘Bumhole’ though.

Andrew could not suppress a smile. Martin grinned back. Yes, it could be worse. What’s your name?

Andrew Collins, Andrew replied. He then proceeded to relate to Martin events on the bridge and in the water after he had been thrown in.

By the time he was finished they were at the Townsville Hospital. There followed an hour of waiting rooms and being looked over by a doctor. He pronounced them both well enough to be released. By then Martin’s parents and sister had arrived as well as Andrew’s Uncle Mel and Aunty Bev. When Andrew reached the waiting room he found Constable Fort was interviewing Martin.

Andrew and the others were introduced and he and Mark were again thanked. Andrew found himself blushing as he looked into the brilliant blue eyes of Martin’s big sister Letitia. She was a big-boned girl a year older than him. She had the same features of her brother and mother, and she had a pair of very large and prominent breasts which made Andrew’s mouth go dry even when he just glanced at them. He found his eyes straying back to them every few seconds and