Czar Creek

By Nathan Best

In Far Northern Queensland during late 1922 broken men walk the roads. Charlie's love of adventure and fishing will set him on a collision course with the stuff of nightmares. What Charlie sees on the bridge that night will set in motion a fight for survival.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nathan Best Publishing
• Release date: May 21, 2020
• ISBN: 9798647629265

Nathan Best

Nathan Best is a 30 year veteran of the Royal Australian Air Force as a communicator. Deployed to the Middle East operations in Iraq and Kuwait as part of the Australian commitment to the War on Terror Nathan has gathered unique and credible experiences to add realism and authenticity to his writing. Nathan currently serves as a reservist with the Royal Australian Air Force’s Combat Survival Training School. Nathan holds a Master’s degree in Business and when not writing, works in the marine industry and calls Far Northern Queensland home with his partner and three dogs.

Book preview

Chapter One

September 1922

Czar Creek

Cardwell

As the body of the storm rushed like a living being over the ocean and hammered against the low mountains of the Great Dividing Range, the animals, which could, were hiding or attempting to escape the onslaught. Picking up intensity, the wind slammed itself against the mountains and the farms that nestled at the foothills. Leaves and branches were stripped from the trees and hurled around like confetti. Forced to cower against the storm, the older trees began to lose their fight and toppled over, lying beaten on the ground. It seemed as if nature herself was trying to destroy this normally quiet little piece of the world.

The storm was the worst that had hit this slice of the rugged Australian coastline in five years and nature was making up for its absence. The morning had dawned bright and clear and the calendar had announced that the new day was the fifth of September 1922, but it was not to last. By midday, the fringe of the approaching storm had blotted the sky and the gentle breeze had steadily increased as the hours passed by. Nestled against the foothills, the Stitts’ farm was taking the brunt of the swirling mass.

Rain crashed down over the sugar cane fields as a slash of lightning split the clouds and spread its harsh light over the battered ground. Like a giant hand the wind crushed down on the struggling sugar cane which futilely tried to bow its head before the might of nature. Rivers of water coursed between the furrows, stripping away tracts of red earth and exposing the soft off white roots of the cane. Desperately, the cane stalks held on to their rapidly disappearing purchase on the world. Those that failed were tossed to the water sodden ground or flicked high into the air.

The air above the farm was a swirl of debris tossed up by the ferocity of the storm. With a whine of terror, the two horses that were corralled in the yard, next to the large shed, tried to escape the destruction by pushing with all their might against the wooden fence which held them captive. The poles, built tall and strong, refused to give into the efforts and the horses were trapped to ride out the storm in the open, their tortured cries lost in the howling wind, as it tore around their heads.

Peering from the kitchen window, Charlie watched the wind and rain as it hammered against the glass and wished he could be outside in it. Across from him sat his mother. She had watched him like a hawk ever since the storm had started. She knew only too well that Charlie loved to be outside when a storm was present, but as all mothers do, she was not going to let him have his head and do something stupid. It was far too dangerous and besides, it was time for Charlie to start his lessons. His education came first, when there was no work to be done outside.

His mother was a strict teacher and she wanted the very best for her only child. There was no way Charlie would go through life as a man that could only labour and struggle to feed first himself and then a family. No, that was not what she wanted for him. Charlie had no way of getting to the only schoolhouse in Cardwell, many miles down the road. His mother had developed a strictly enforced version of home schooling for him. She, herself had been well educated by her mother as a child. Over the years she had continued to gain more knowledge through constant reading which she passed on to Charlie in the hope it would steer him towards a better life. Learning under his mother’s strict tutelage was the only path to for him to take.

Each day, as soon as the farm work was finished, Charlie would find himself immersed in English, mathematics, science and geography. All the things his mother thought would make him a more rounded adult, but he knew better. There was a world out there and he wanted to be in it. He felt trapped like the words in the books. Every time he had to open them, Charlie fought to keep his attention on the art of learning and away from the endless possibilities of adventure outside the walls of the farmhouse.

Turning his wandering attention back to his studies, Charlie sighed and conceded that the better part of this afternoon was going to be given to his education and that was all there was to it. With the storm, the work outside had finished early, but all that had achieved was more time for lessons. His mother pointed to a mathematics textbook and his sigh deepened. With a stern look she silenced any further objections and the lesson was begun.

As his mother’s voice droned away, trying to convince him that mathematics was in fact more interesting than it truly was, Charlie let his mind wander and jump around until he found something interesting to think about. At fifteen years of age, the furthermost thing from his mind was mathematics and being educated. The jumble of numbers, plus and minus signs and all the parts that made up a mathematics problem was just that, a jumble and would mostly remain so. Rarely did they resolve themselves into solutions, like they seemed to do for his mother. Charlie just could not see the sense and the fuss of it all. Where was he going to use such a high level of mathematics? The farm demanded only that he could count and keep enough fingers on his hands to do the calculations. The swirl of numbers that his mother insisted were an important part of life had no tangible purpose to him.

Charlie knew he had a whole world to explore and experience that had a reality to it that he could not find in textbooks. Firstly, there was the farm. It had wonders that he could only just keep up with. Nature surrounded him and he had a playground that was dedicated to his pleasure and enthusiasm. All the animals and plants, the trees and the sky fascinated him, and he was outside amongst it as much as he was allowed. There was never a moment in his short life where he had decided that it would be better to stay indoors. There was such a world out there to see and he intended on getting involved in as much of it as he could.

Their farm hugged the Great Dividing Range where it came close to the ocean to the north of the little township of Cardwell in Northern Queensland. Straddling a creek that Charlie called Czar. His now long passed grandfather had liked to call Charlie, the little Czar, so he thought it was the perfect name for his favourite creek. Charlie had been told to make his own history, and then his grandfather was gone before he could understand what that meant. None of the lessons either his grandfather or his father had taught him had come from books. Charlie missed them both, but his father he missed desperately. Not a day passed without the hole in his life getting bigger.

The sugar cane farm covered 50 acres of flat productive soil running from the track, which linked Cardwell with Cairns and back to the foothills of the mountains. At such a small size the farm had been easy for Charlie’s father to work with the help of cane cutters during the harvesting season. The main house was unique in having two bedrooms and a hallway as well as a large main room, with the kitchen off to one side. A verandah skirted the boundary of the house’s front wall and provided some relief from the hot steamy days of summer. Charlie’s father had built the house for his Mary and was very proud of what he had achieved. Not far from the house was the horse yard and shed where the carts were kept, to haul the cut cane from the fields. The wooden walls were covered in the black mould, which seemed to coat everything.  A line of flag stones were set into the ground leading from the house steps to the shed. They had been laid there by Charlie’s father so Mary would not have to walk through, depending on the season, the mud or dust which made up most of the