The guys couldn’t wait around any longer for Cassa. As LP drove away from the police station, he looked in the rear-vision mirror and saw Cassa running. He was being chased by six bikies. LP yelled, “I’ve spotted Cassa; we can’t leave town without him.”
When the bikies were all snoring, Cassa had done a Houdini and wriggled out of the ropes. The bikies were no boy scouts – if they were, they would tie better knots. Cassa had quietly slipped out of the hall and done a runner down the road.
LP slammed on the brakes. Driving in reverse, he saw Cassa fall to the roadway. The bikies surrounded him and started kicking him on the ground. Cassa looked up, saw the Kombi coming, and managed to roll to the side of the road as LP used the van to knock over some of the bikies.
LP stopped the Kombi, and Bear opened the side door. Brownie and Bear reached down, grabbed Cassa’s hands, and pulled him into the Kombi.
Bear yelled, “Step on it; let’s get out of here.”
As they sped away, LP looked in the rear-vision mirror, and saw the bikies in hot pursuit.
“Once we start to climb the mountain range, the bikies will catch up to us. The Kombi hasn’t got enough grunt with this load. We’ve got about five minutes. Any suggestions?”
“Right, I’ve got an idea,” said Bear. “Someone has to climb onto the roof rack and ditch the Golden Fleece. Light it up before you throw it, and make sure it lands on the roadway. That will stop them in their tracks.”
“It’s your idea; you do it,” said Cassa.
“No, we’ll be democratic. Draw straws.”
Cassa said, “I’m out; I’ve got broken ribs from the bikies sinking the boot in.”
“I’m out; I‘ve got a sprained ankle,” George complained.
“I don’t care,” Bear answered. “Everyone in the draw.”
Time was slipping away, and the bikies had made up some distance.
“Right, draw straws. Who’s got the shortest?”
“George, it’s you.”
Bear reached over and opened the side door. He dropped the cigarette lighter into George’s top pocket, and Brownie handed him his knife.
“Stick this between your teeth.”
“Aww, I’ve got a sprained ankle.”
“Tough luck,” Bear said.
Brownie and Bear held George by the front of his shirt, and walked him backwards to the door opening.
“Grab the roof racks; now pull yourself along. We’re all relying on you.”
George, with the hunting knife between his teeth and the lighter in his pocket, moved one hand at a time, and made it to the steps leading up to the roof racks. He hopped up three steps, and was ready to light the sock that would act as a fuse.
“Do it now,” Bear yelled.
George lighted the sock, grabbed the knife from his teeth, and slashed the ocky straps that held the Golden Fleece onto the roof racks. The surfboards acted as a catapult when the straps were released. As the guys looked back, the Golden Fleece, full of petrol, landed on the road in a huge fireball.
They saw some of the bikies running off the road into a ditch. A couple of the lead riders, who they assumed were Nutter and Porky, came through the flames and pulled over.
“Well, that stopped ’em in their tracks,” Bear said. “Come on, George, get back into the Kombi.”
Finally, it looked like they were going to make it in time for the contest.
Cassa said, “One problem: I was the best chance to win, but I’ve got broken ribs.”
“Cassa, you’re full of yourself,” Bear told him. “We’re all good surfers, and any one of us could win the contest.”
“But who’s got the best chance? Mason, you’re still too weak from the snake bite. George, you’ve got a rolled ankle. Cassa, you reckon you’ve broken your ribs.”
Bear and Brownie ruled themselves out. They were too bulky, so that left LP and Red.
“You forget, I’ve got stitches in my toes,” said Red.
“That leaves you, LP. Can you do it?”
“I think I know what to look for in the perfect wave.”
“What do you think, Red?”
“If LP’s confident, go for it.”
“Decision made. You’ll register for the contest. You better pull this off; we’ve come a long way for the two thousand dollars prize money.”
“I’ll give it my best shot,” LP replied.
“Well, shit happens. The bikies are still coming. Not as many, but enough to stop us,” Red said.
“Right, that’s it. Those bikies are really pissing me off now!” yelled Bear. “Hand me the .243.”
“There only two bullets left,” said Red. “There will be close to one hundred of them still following.”
“Well then, that makes us about even.” Bear was usually overconfident, but, this time, he was just mad. He yelled to LP, “Stop the Kombi. I’m getting out. Anyone else want to help? Don’t hold back.”
Brownie spoke up. “I’m with you, but first I need to put on some moisturiser and sunscreen. I’ll be with you in a minute.”
“LP, stop the Kombi now. I’m getting out. You piss off. These dickheads will not get past me today or ever!”
Mason grabbed a tape, and slotted it in the cassette player.
“Surfers Rule, Surfers Rule.”
The guys joined in singing “It’s a golden rule, Surfers Rule”.
Bear climbed out through the side door, grasping his high-powered rifle with telescopic sights.
He walked from the Kombi, and straddled the two white lines in the middle of the road as the sound of the Kombi motor faded in the distance.
On the next turn, Brownie said, “I’m ready; let me out.”
Brownie grabbed his ancestral knife and boomerang, and started running back to Bear. By this time, Bear had taken aim. Looking down the telescopic sites, he lined up Nutter, who was first around the bend. He planned to take out Porky second. Porky and Nutter saw him in the middle of the road, and both yelled, “Shit!”
Bear fired, taking out Nutter’s front tyre, then Porky’s tyre. Both bikies were laid to the ground, with other bikes piling up on Nutter and Porky, or running off the road into the culvert. Bear threw the .243 over his shoulder, and ran towards them. Anyone who stood up to stop him was laid out by his mixture of street fighting and black belt karate.
By the time Brownie caught up to Bear, he was halfway through the bikies, but Brownie arrived better late than never. One bikie pulled himself up out of the culvert with a hunk of wood in his hand. He raised it behind Bear to hit him. Brownie didn’t hesitate. He threw his boomerang. As it swished through the air, Bear turned around to the sound. The boomerang hit Tiny on the head. He dropped the hunk of wood, and fell to the ground with a thud.
“Good one, Brownie,” yelled Bear. “I owe you one. Let’s make sure they don’t follow us this time. Brownie, cut all their fuel lines. Just leave two bikes rideable.”
Brownie and Bear took the two bikes and rode up to Nutter.
Bear said, “There’s good news and bad news. Today, I am going to let you live. The bad news is that, if I ever see you again, I’ll kill ya.”
Bear lighted a smoke, took one puff, and flicked it back as he rode off. All you could see was bikes exploding and, if that wasn’t enough, a semitrailer came around the bend and ran over more bikes, which were now engulfed in flames.
Nutter yelled as Bear and Brownie rode off, “I’m going to kill you bastards, if it takes a lifetime.”
Slowly, the so-called Bad Meadows bikies got to their feet. They looked like a sad, defeated bunch of blokes walking to Bells Beach.
It wasn’t long before LP had put some distance between the bikies and themselves.
“Turn on the radio,” said Red. “Let’s listen for a surf and weather report.”
LP switched channels, searching for the news and weather.
“Stop the war now! Stop the war now! Stop the war now! Ten thousand uni students and protestors have brought Eden to a standstill. All roads are blocked, and nobody can get in or out of town,” a reporter was saying.
“We got out of there just in time.”
“I thought the change of government from Liberal Country Party to Labour stopped the Vietnam War,” said LP.
“Not quite; it’s taking time to get our soldiers out of that mess,” Mason replied
“Well, at least we don’t have to worry about conscription anymore. Gough canned that.”
“You know Donny’s, Red’s and my number came up. Only our apprenticeships stopped us being called up and deployed to Vietnam or Malaya.”
“Okay, LP,” Mason said. “Let’s listen for the surf report.”
“The weather will be fine today, with a light breeze. Surf conditions are excellent, with a rising swell. Perfect conditions for today’s Bells Beach Surf Contest.”
“That’s what we want to hear. Step on it.”