'Christopher'	Chapter < four > of sample chapters
	by Myra Howerd, July 1996
	Copywrite held by Claudia Klaus, P.O. Box 5102, Mackay M.C., QLD 4741, Australia

When Christopher awoke everything was still and quiet. He found himself wedged tightly into the space in front of the seat with the car roof right down on top of him. He hurt in a million places at once but none of them seemed too important considering he was still alive!

The impact had sprung the doors so he could crawl out quite easily and found himself on his hands and knees in rough, rounded stones that his dazed mind tried to relate to the creek where he'd first met Nicole. By then his thoughts were clarifying, becoming more coherent as the immediate shock lessened and he was able to discard that association for the much more disturbing reality of an inverted car in a desert storm channel.

He stood up unsteadily, still puzzled by the silence. Above him stretched the slope of the roadbed, the car's path evident from the trail of battered desert growth that had nevertheless sprung back up to screen the deathbed of the little Mazda. Above, the dome of the sky was the same impervious clear blue that presaged another hot day. Normal.

There were creaking noises from the still settling car and the boy was abruptly reminded of Nicole. Clumsily he eased his way around to the other side of the machine, pushing the thorny vegetation aside to find to his relief that the door on that side was also open. The girl hung partly out of it, still supported by the seat belt and quite limp, lifeless.

Lifeless? For a wild second he had no idea what to do next and panic welled, then his basic common sense took over and he knelt to the girl. Her shoulder seemed a little distorted, out of place, and there was blood on her lips. Gently he released the belt and caught her body as it immediately crumpled onto the pushed in roof. With great care he supported her, tugging at her legs with his free hand to ease them out the door, suddenly acutely aware of the softness of what he held, its femininity.

'Maybe she's dead!' the thought struck him, but then he saw the regular rise and fall of her breasts and knew she was merely unconscious. It was difficult to get her out, especially as he had to avoid handling the peculiarly displaced shoulder, but after what seemed like an age he managed to get her up and away from the car onto the level gravel floor of the dry creek bed, quite a distance from the car.

The concentration and effort involved drove all other considerations from his mind but once Nicole was safe he took more notice of his surroundings. Now that he was right in the watercourse he could appreciate its depth and the drop the car had made. The roadbed was a good two meters above his head even when he stood upright.

The inverted car was on the opposite side of the channel, well down from and out of sight of the road, and he doubted that it would be visible to other motorists. The best he could hope for there was for some enterprising person to notice the torn foliage and the skid marks and so investigate. Given the speed with which people drove on these well surfaced trunk highways he doubted it would happen at all. Probably the first to discover it would be the road maintenance crew...

Of course the madmen in the Holden knew where the Mazda was. What would they do next? Was it merely a gruesome form of 'chicken' that they'd been playing or something more sinister? What other reason could there possibly be for their murderous actions?

For a moment he stood there in indecision, then he turned and clambered back up towards the car with the intention of getting the bags. He didn't know if cars always caught fire after accidents like in the movies, but it seemed a prudent move to rescue their personal effects, just in case.

He'd nearly reached the vehicle again when he heard movement through the growth further down the creek bed. He froze and cocked his head to one side, listening. There was no doubt about it, something or someone was coming, and it didn't take all that much imagination to guess who or why.

So it wasn't 'chicken' after all, they wanted something more. Anger flared briefly in him before fear swamped it with a more urgent plea.

What should he do? Run? What about Nicole? The boy dithered, unable to decide on the best move, and then it was too late for choosing as he saw the first man step down out of the scrub a mere ten meters away. Behind the first came two more. All of them had strangely smooth features and a small part of Christopher's mind recalled the same oddity when he'd been looking into their car before. Then he saw what it was. They were wearing stockings over their faces, gauze masks that smoothed out identities to leave blandly threatening pink visages that only hinted of the features behind.

Even so the boy could see that two of them were Aborigines, dressed in the usual shorts and short-sleeved shirts, their bare arms revealing their origins. The white man... or youth, Christopher wasn't able to tell... was in dirty jeans and T-shirt. He was most probably the leader, the boy guessed, for in his belt was a gun, a revolver.

Christopher's heart thudded in his chest as he watched their approach. The gun decided him and he turned to run but unfortunately his was the road side of the gully and the bush was on the other direction, towards Nicole.

He whirled and ran, leaping from boulder to boulder until he was clear of the stream bed and on the relatively even gravel on the other side. There was a shout and out of the corner of his eye he saw one of the aborigine youths start to run to try and intercept him. Then he was tearing at the brittle growth on the further bank and pulling himself up and out of the stream bed. Under his feet small stones rolled down in little cascades and his hands stung as the rough bushes ripped them.

Desperately he fumbled for purchase, then there was a hand at his ankle and without hesitation he kicked back and upward, to be rewarded by a softness and a grunt of pain. The ankle came free again and at last he managed to pull his body over the lip and to stagger to his feet, darting away amongst the scrubby bushes until he had several between him and his cursing pursuer.

His lungs felt on fire now, but his mind was calm, icy calm, coldly calculating the next move, leaving the dodging and turning to some other part of his brain that was more concerned with survival.

Survival. That's what it was about. He didn't know why he and Nicole had been attacked but if their tormenters had gone this far it seemed unlikely they'd stop short of murder. Why else would they be wearing masks? Why do any of this? To the boy it seemed a senseless attack, the work of madmen.

As he ran he tried to work out what to do next. What about Nicole? Shouldn't he try to do something about her? Perhaps the youths would think her dead... no, they would see her breathing, just as he had. There had to be some way.

The decision was abruptly taken away from him as he rounded one particularly thick bush and found himself face to face with the fourth man whose brown arms were held wide to grab. The boy aimed one desperate kick at his new assailant but in missing lost his balance and fell directly in front of the man.

He lay there, chest heaving, as the figure loomed over him, then he was grabbed roughly by an arm and dragged to his feet. Before he could do anything to escape one arm was twisted behind his back until he cried out in pain and he was pushed back towards the gully again.

At least he didn't have to face the bank this time, for his captor prodded him to the left and down a gentler slope that quickly took them through a few last scrawny bushes into the watercourse and a new situation.

The other three men were gathered in a silent semicircle around the still unconscious girl. Christopher wondered about the lack of speech. Anywhere else men gathered there were always words and jests or ribald comments, but these men remained eerily silent. More protection, like the stockings? He didn't think so, not if murder was the plan.

Nicole looked so small as she lay there on her side in front of them, a child, somebody's rag doll discarded after the morning's games. Vulnerable. He remembered her own words to him less than an hour before... 'Women are much more vulnerable'... now he believed her.

As he was pushed forward into the circle he wondered what was to come next. Were they to be killed... or what? His eyes flitted from one bland mask to another, looking for any hint. His captors were still silent, apart from the grunts of effort and the swearing earlier none of the assailants had yet spoken a word. Now he was close to them he could see that only one was a full Aborigine, the other two were mixed and the fourth was white.

As Christopher stood there, his arm still pinned behind his back, the white youth reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a knife. When he held the blade and flicked his wrist to open it the boy heard the evil 'snik' sound and watched in fascination as the man casually spun it through the air to stick, quivering and flashing, in the sandy soil in front of one of his confederates.

Equally casually this man reached down and retrieved it, then slowly walked over to the girl, holding it loosely in his hand. Christopher held his breath, wondering what was coming next and feeling as if he were part of someone else's nightmare.

He didn't have to wonder for long. The man knelt beside Nicole and the knife glinted in the sun as it was extended towards her. Christopher squirmed and tried to move but immediately his captive arm was twisted even harder and he stifled another gasp of pain, determined not to let his captor gain any satisfaction, his eyes still fixed on the scene in front of him.

Surely they wouldn't just... kill, not like that!

'Nicole!' he screamed at the still form in his mind. Then he knew it wasn't that. The youth simply slid the knife under Nicole's clothing and sliced upwards, cutting first one leg of the still immaculate white shorts, then the other, then with the other hand tearing the garment off and throwing it away. The shorts were followed by the blouse, leaving the girl in her underwear.

Without a pause the knife was slipped in under the delicate cotton panties and then under the bra to leave her stark naked and still unconscious on the bare ground. Christopher briefly closed his eyes, both wanting and not wanting to look, feeling his face heat with embarrassment. He had never before seen any woman naked and now he found himself looking down on the small brown body with conflicting emotions, noting the soft roundness of the breasts and the demure dark triangle of curly pubic hair.

He wasn't the only interested party. The knife wielder stood and simply stared, then the third man stepped forward and reached down to touch the girl's face and then her breasts, his attention at first on her still closed eyes, his hand slowly continuing down to her nipples, then further down the curve of her body.

There were no words spoken, even now. Christopher could hear the normal bush sounds of birds and breeze, and the harsh thudding of his heart, but the others were seemingly oblivious, even when a solitary car howled past invisibly on the roadbed above.

Christopher looked at Nicole's face again, hoping for the merest flicker of returning awareness but seeing instead the still distorted shoulder and the visibly growing bruise on her side. He still wasn't sure what was intended here but he was becoming very sure that neither he nor Nicole would survive.

Why was this happening? Why had they been attacked? He remembered how the big car had at first cruised past and now realised that they had chosen their victims carefully. But why a boy and a young woman... or was it just Nicole they were after?

In a few seconds he understood exactly why the girl had been stripped naked. The kneeling youth now stood and proceeded to remove his shorts and underwear until he was naked from the waist down. There was no doubt left about their intentions now...

Sickly the boy watched him kneel again and spread the girl's legs apart, his hand reaching up to the curly brown hair and caressing it before once more moving up to touch her face. Clearly he liked his victims awake and aware of what was happening to them, for as he positioned himself above the girl he lightly slapped her face, not hard but with sufficient force to turn her head.

Nothing happened, so he slapped her again, harder and in the other direction.

Christopher never truly comprehended what happened then, and he was certain the would-be rapist had even less idea.

At the third slap the boy saw Nicole's eyes flicker open, and then... the half naked youth was reeling back stumbling staggering screaming thin blue flame enveloping him his voice a high pitched animal sound like the deathsounds of a pig nerve searing continuous...

The remaining men were frozen in silence, still-shrouded mouths agape in astonishment, disbelief written on every cell of their bodies.

Not so Nicole.

Christopher saw her lift her head and raise her good arm, then he was taking advantage of the suddenly slackened grip of his captor to turn and kick, tearing his arm free and diving to one side. As he did so he saw a blue... something ...flash past him and envelop his now completely disorganised attacker. Before he hit the ground he had a glimpse of the white youth's hand darting at last to the gun at his belt but the blue fire was faster and instead he raised his arm again to shield his face from the same ghost fire.

Too late. He too fell screaming to the ground.

When Christopher finally got to his feet and looked around they were all writhing on the ground, silent now, the wierd flames busily eating away at them.

The boy felt his gorge rise and turned away to vomit up his breakfast onto the gravel of the stream bed. It wasn't the dying that affected him so much, it was the manner of their going. In his mind he still heard obscene echoes of pigs squealing.

Only when he could control himself again did he risk looking over at the naked girl as she still lay amongst the shreds of her clothing. It was absolutely impossible that this small... creature could be the source of such terrible... anger.

He could see that she was conscious now, but white faced with pain. He forced himself to go over and kneel at her side, finding her eyes following him as he did so. He moved very slowly, very carefully, taking good care not to startle her, he didn't want to become just another charred bundle of bones...

They looked at each other. Strangely, her eyes were no longer the brilliant blue he'd become used to but rather softer and flecked with violet.

For the first time her nudity didn't bother him, for his attention was solely on her face, the rest of her could have been a plastic shop mannequin as far as he was concerned. As he watched she licked the dried blood from her lips.

"Hi!" she said and tried to smile but instead it turned into a grimace of pain. At last Christopher found his own voice.

"What did you do... how... they're dead, you know."

She stared at him and nodded.

"I know," she said. "What's wrong with my shoulder, can you tell?"

The change of subject caught him by surprise and he tore his gaze away to investigate.

"I think it's... it must be dislocated," he finally said, unsteadily.

"Then we'd better reset it. Do you know how?"

Reluctantly he nodded, trying to ignore the still crackling flames at the edge of his vision.

"I've seen it done once for a bloke who'd fallen off a horse. It has to be pulled up and back into place as soon as possible."

She looked up at him steadily.

"Can you do it for me? Don't worry about hurting, it feels like hell already."

The boy looked at her in horror, a new panic flaring in him. She was asking him to do something about it! She must have seen his terror for she began to speak again, her voice thick with pain.

"Christopher, if you don't it will be hours before you can get to anyone else and even if you do get help they'll come and then they'll see... all this."

Her eyes flicked to the still smouldering remains.

"We've got to be a long way from here before anyone finds them or I'll never be free to do what I want and you'll never get to Perth. Do it!"

Christopher felt himself sweating and his heart was still rattling at twice it's normal rate. He swallowed and put his hand to his brow.

"What do I have to do?" he finally asked, looking into her eyes again.

"I'm not sure. You said you've seen it done before, what happened then?"

"Eric pulled on the arm and bent it down and pulled, and there was a sort of 'clunk' and it went back in. That's all I know."

"Then do it. If I black out don't worry, I'll be back." Her violet flecked eyes watched him closely, trying to gauge his commitment. He nodded and reached over to take her left hand and lifted it, then grasped the wrist for a better grip. Carefully he stretched it out, then suddenly pulled it up and back into position with a jerk.

There was a sharp 'clik' and the girl's face suddenly dissolved into flaccidity as she became unconscious once more. Carefully Christopher laid the arm alongside her body and noted with satisfaction that the shoulder now looked to be in the right place, although it was beginning to show some deep and rapidly darkening discolouration.

He was on his own again now. The girl was completely out to it once more, those remarkable eyes closed and the face quite relaxed. Nervously he allowed himself to look at her again, completely.

Suddenly she was human again, and female, no longer a mannequin. She was laying on her back, her hair spread on the sand beneath her, her legs partly folded back and to one side. The fingers of her right hand rested lightly at her left side, just under the rounded and flattened breasts that wobbled a little, jelly-like, as she breathed. She was all curves, and he found his eyes drawn again to her legs and the mysterious triangle of hair.

He gulped. It didn't seem right that she should just lie there in the sun like that, somehow. What could he do? Her clothes were destroyed, he knew that already, and he doubted if his own would fit her slight form. Too big. The bags! Of course, there'd be new clothes in her bag!

With something positive to do his courage returned and he picked his way over to the up-ended Mazda. The metal was hot to his touch now, but he ignored that and reached in to find the two soft bags that had been on the back seat. He found them on the roof-cum-floor and thankfully dragged them out and back to where Nicole lay, studiously avoiding the blackened patches on the ground. There were a few last wisps of smoke still rising from them.

Carefully he opened her bag and fumbled around for clothing. There were shorts and another white shirt... or blouse, he wasn't at all familiar with female apparel... and right at the bottom some delicate cotton garments he recognised as underwear.

Pants first, OK. He took them in his hands and looked down at her once more, wondering where to start, petrified that she might wake up and attack him as well, mistaking his intentions. He hesitated, then carried on anyway, carefully inserting her legs into the flimsy panties and began to draw them up and on.

He was struggling to lift her torso when she woke again and assisted him by partly rolling over, first one way, then the other. When he'd finished he looked into her once again blue eyes and to his complete embarrassment burst into tears. It was several minutes until he had control of himself again and dared to look at her, his eyes red and his face still wet with tears.

"Christopher, it's alright, you're doing the right thing." She seemed infinitely more normal now as she lay there in the tiny scrap of cotton. Somehow it put everything back into perspective. It was crazy, he knew, but a a bare-breasted girl worried him far less than a totally naked one.

"There should be a towel in that bag, and a knife." Nicole ignored his silence and reached out for her possessions, grimacing with pain once more. Christopher beat her to it and began to search it for himself. "Here it is," he said in a small voice, extracting an ordinary towel.

"Good. And the knife?" He felt around and located several hard objects. There was a hairbrush, the one he remembered from the motel room... how long ago that seemed now... and a small radio, and then... the knife. It was one of the small multi-purpose ones that Eric had always sneered at.

"Here it is." He managed to find his voice again.

"Fine, Christopher. I think I've got some ribs broken, so we'll have to bind them in place. And the shoulder." With her good hand she fingered the bruises now quite visible there. "Cut the towelling lengthwise into narrow strips."

Silently he did as she said, using the little knife to hack through the seams and start each strip. When he'd finished he had a surprising number of long pieces of cloth which she then told him to tie together with simple, flat knots.

"Now help me up, Christopher." Together they worked to get her up on her knees where she swayed, sweat plainly visible on her brow and fresh blood at the corner of her mouth. The boy worried about that. Surely she must be bleeding inside?

Carefully he began to wind the cloth as she instructed, under her breasts and as far up her back as possible, with an occasional loop over the weak shoulder. Now that he had something to concentrate on he could ignore the projecting curves when she lifted them clear for each pass of the makeshift towelling bandage. His mind was already grappling with what was to come next.

Following her instructions he carefully selected more clothing from her bag and shortly she was completely dressed except for her bra which had to be omitted because of the bandages. He helped her to her feet where she leaned heavily on him for quite a while, small tremors shaking her body.

"OK, Christopher. We've got to get out of here as quickly as possible now, and as far away as we can before anyone finds this... mess."

"But shouldn't we contact the police, Nicole?"

"No. What are we going to tell them? How are you going to explain what killed them? We'd be held forever and you'd be put straight in that home you're so anxious to avoid. Do you want that? Will it make these... people come back to life? Of course it won't. I can't afford the publicity and I can't go anywhere without your help. We need each other now, Christopher."

"But... but do we just leave them here?"

"Why not? They don't care any more."

He thought about it for a moment, reliving the horror of the blue fire and the screams.

"What did you do to them?" he finally asked.

"I'll tell you one day, if you really insist on knowing. I owe you that, at least, but right now we really must start moving off as soon as we can. We've got to get away from here," she insisted.

Suddenly he made up his mind. She needed his help, and nobody had ever needed him before. It gave him a brand new, warm feeling that felt better than anything else in his whole life, and it overcame the small mewlings of fear to leave him strong and resolute.

"OK, Nicole, what do we do now?"

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