The following afternoon after affectionate and sad farewells to their hosts, whom it was unlikely they would see again, they drove into Maroochydore and separated. After buying a few supplies, Robert crossed to a park where he relaxed on a bench in the shade, nodding vaguely and swapping pleasantries with the man he happened to share it with. After a few minutes, the other fellow stood, stretched, and jogged across the street to disappear down an alley. Robert sat for a few minutes longer, picked up a rolled newspaper, then wandered back to his vehicle, which he drove around the town collecting the other four before arriving at the address in the industrial estate mentioned in one of three handwritten notes pinned inside the newspaper.
Two vast warehouses in impeccable order contained several dozen refurbished, all-terrain, easily serviced vehicles, as well as scores of neatly organised racks of every possible spare part. They chose two long-wheelbase vehicles, paid in cash, and persuaded the seller to accept Bart’s vehicle for scrap, rather than reselling.
Once their belongings had been transferred, paperwork completed and hands shaken, Robert showed the others Jon’s two hand-drawn maps.
‘It says in his letter that we must take separate routes because two similar vehicles in convoy will attract unwanted attention. And when we reach the forest, ignore the no entry signs and drive very slowly and carefully so as not to leave lasting impressions on the tracks. We have to keep the maps in the vehicles for later use.’
Like motorists who have just asked directions of each other they nodded their thanks, and with hearts pounding nervously at the implications of such cloak and dagger precautions, drove quietly off in different directions.
Half an hour later, Hylas and Arnold who were reading the map, instructed Fidel to cross the Bruce Highway and take a steep road into the coastal ranges. At the top they turned north onto a secondary road, and a few kilometres later, without having seen the others, turned west onto a barely discernible sandy track guarded by a sign saying: “Entry is Forbidden to Queensland State Forests without written permission.”
Driving slowly and carefully they wound into gullies, up onto ridges then along and down inclines, eventually arriving at a tiny lake among the trees. On the far side nestled two cottages overshadowed by rainforest giants. Peter and Jon’s vehicle was parked under an awning to one side, so they skirted the lake on a firm, gravelled track and pulled up beside it. Robert and Bart, who had taken a different, although similar route, arrived a few minutes later.
After congratulating them on their map-reading ability, Jon and Peter took a quick look at the vehicles and nodded appreciatively.
‘You’ve chosen well. Feel like a swim?’
‘Do we ever!’
‘Right,’ Jon said briskly, ‘race you to the far end.’ He tossed his shorts and shirt onto the grass and sprinted down to the water. The others took mere seconds to follow and there was much splashing and laughing before all seven were sprawled on the sandy edge at the other side.
‘Thank goodness you aren't prudes,’ Peter said with relief. ‘We never wear anything when up here, so the thought of having to put on shorts every day was beginning to worry me.’
‘The only thing that worries me,’ Hylas said mock seriously, ‘is how unfavourably my skinny rump compares with Jon’s magnificent bum.’
‘If you're a good boy I’ll let you stroke it,’ Jon laughed, diving back into the water.
The swim back took longer, was incredibly refreshing, and everyone agreed was the nicest thing they’d done for a very long time.
‘How come your lake’s full but Michael and John’s is almost dry?’
‘Drought—the worst since records began. They're on a ridge that’s as dry as chips, we’re in a deep hollow where springs are still releasing water held by the forest. But if it doesn't rain within the next year we’ll also be parched and have to leave.’
‘What happens if there’s a fire?’
‘We’ll be stuffed good and proper.’
‘Shouldn’t you have a more direct route to the cottage?’
‘There used to be a proper road servicing three other properties. When the owners decided they wanted to be nearer civilization, we bought their blocks and had the road ripped up and planted to avoid casual sightseers. By making a Will leaving our 90 hectares to the state as a national park, we were granted permission to use the forest tracks.
‘But why did you want to be so private?’
‘We’d had rather too much excitement soon after we met, and became paranoid. Our nearest neighbour had lived in a totalitarian regime and saw clearly the direction successive governments were going, with draconian new laws that increased police powers while removing most of the freedoms and protections our grandparents had fought for and our parents took for granted. He proved right and we’re very pleased to have this hideaway. We spend a few days a week at the gallery in the upstairs flat, and the rest of the time here, telling anyone who asks that we go camping. But very few people are interested.’
‘You must be worth a fair bit to have bought all this and the gallery.’ Suddenly embarrassed at asking such a personal question, Fidel countered it by blurting, ‘Sorry for being so curious, its just that we got our money when Arnold won a lottery and shared it with us and...’
‘Don’t apologise. It’s no secret. My boyfriend, Max, was an architect with big dreams and no money, so he married a bitch who promised to show him how to make enough money to build the gallery of his dreams. I went a bit crazy at losing him to a female, and bought this place and became a hermit, not realising he still loved me and kept wanting to make it good. He made a Will leaving everything to her, but if she died, everything would go to me. She was impatient to be rich so had him murdered by her new boyfriend, whom she married a month later. Then he murdered her, imagining he would inherit everything. He would have except Jon and I exposed him and now he’s rotting in prison having forfeited his inheritance to me.’
‘That's a real gothic horror tale.’
‘It was much worse than it sounds,’ Jon murmured. ‘It got very, very hairy for a time, and that's another reason we don’t want many visitors.’
‘Which begs the question, why are you being so pleasant and helpful?’
‘We like and trust John and Michael, and they love Robert and Bart. And it’s obvious Robert and Bart like you, and you are fighting our enemy, so it seemed the sensible thing to do. Opportunity only knocks once. He who hesitates is lost and all that jazz.’
‘But why is JECHIS your enemy?’
‘My parents are fundies who live miserable existences on a drought-stricken farm way out west in the bush, Jon explained. ‘My father used the Old Testament as his guide for bringing up kids, so I know the sort of vile world these people want to revive, and I want to stop them—or at least put obstacles in their way.’
Dusk was falling by the time they straggled up to the cottages. They transferred their gear to the smaller cottage, which was Peter’s studio, then everyone helped prepare an evening meal at the outdoor barbecue with some of the mountain of food Jon had told them to buy before coming. While washing the dishes and clearing away in the cottage kitchen, an odd, uncomfortable silence descended. Suddenly, no one seemed sure what to say. Several men started talking, then stopped and mumbled something vague.
‘We obviously need a serious talk,’ Peter announced. ‘Come outside.’
Despite, or perhaps because of their initial, unquestioning easy friendship, both hosts and visitors were belatedly worrying they’d been foolishly rash—leaping too easily into intimacy with strangers. Peter and Jon couldn’t help wondering if they were harbouring ‘terrorists’, while the others suddenly realised how isolated they were, with two strangers who held their lives in their hands. They knew nothing about each other—having relied solely on the recommendation of Michael and John.
They lay in silence under a mosquito-net tent on the soft grass in front of the main cottage, gazing thoughtfully up at stars peeking between scudding dark clouds that seemed to presage a disquieting future.
Peter was the first to break the silence. ‘I don’t want to be rude, but we know nothing about you five guys. We’ve broken all our rules by inviting you here to our sanctuary and are feeling a little nervous. John told us about you blowing up a gymnasium, but that’s all really. So, please tell us about yourselves, what you believe in, what you intend to do.’
‘And why you're not going to murder us in our beds,’ Jon added, failing to lighten the mood, adding, ‘and then we’ll do the same.’
‘Won’t it be too late after we’ve murdered you?’
‘They laughed and the tension lessened.
‘You don’t sound rude, you sound sensible,’ Bart said softly,’ so we’ll each tell you who and what we are, then you can ask questions. I’ll start.’
An hour later, five lives had been laid bare and the hosts sat in silence for a full minute.
‘Teacher and pupil, eh?’ Peter said with a soft laugh. ‘Classic fantasy come to life. Your work with disturbed men does you credit, Bart, and your financial acumen is very useful, Robert. Michael and John think of you as the sons they’d like to have had.’
‘I thought my home life with a fundie Christian family had been bad,’ Jon said sadly, ‘but yours, Fidel, was much, much worse. How come you're not sour and angry?’
‘I’ve been lucky. I had Hylas to love at home, then was rescued by Robert’s parents, then fell hopelessly in love with him and Bart, then with Arnold, and they're all the nicest people I could hope to meet. It’s thanks to them, not me that I'm not paranoid.’
‘And you, Arnold. I understand you wanting to leave the police force, but to share your lottery millions with your friends is astonishing.’
‘Not really. Without them I’d have been miserable. Everything that’s good in my life is thanks to them.’
‘How old are you, Hylas?’
‘Eighteen.’
‘What’s your relationship with Fidel and Arnold?’
‘We’re a threesome. We love each other, sleep together, have sex together—do everything together.’
‘Do you argue at all?’
All three laughed. ‘Constantly, don’t you?’
‘Of course; it proves we love each other.’
‘That’s what I reckon,’ Hylas said in a voice overflowing with emotion. ‘Without Fidel and Arnold I’d die, at least spiritually. Where they go, I go. It’s simple.’
‘It isn't simple; it’s remarkable and rare. Just one thing; the five of you will be sharing that tiny cabin for a week or so. I realise you know each other well, but will there be any privacy problems?’
They burst out laughing. ‘We’ve been sharing Arnold’s flat for the last two and a half years,’ Robert explained. ‘At the gym we were starkers all day and evenings, and at home we never wore a stitch. And as an experiment in true communal living we removed all the doors in the apartment and stored them in the basement. We've become natural animals who see nothing shameful or odd about any life-affirming human behaviour. Eating, sleeping, shitting, washing, having sex, showing emotion and affection… all seem equally deserving of respect. If I get a sudden urge to cuddle one of the others, I do. It’s innocent. It’s bonding—not different from having a game of chess or tennis together, and has no effect on the deep relationship Bart and I have, any more than you are going to divorce Jon when he spends a lot of time with us over the next week or so, helping us convert the vehicles. You will see that as normal, just as we see all consenting human interaction as normal.’
Peter shook his head in admiration. ‘It sounds so reasonable, but I can’t think of anyone we've ever met we’d want to be like that with. You’re incredibly lucky to have met each other.’
‘Yes, but to give credit where it’s due,’ Robert said with a smile, ‘none of this would have happened without Fidel. He’s the catalyst. He keeps our heads firmly out of the clouds, and our lives functioning sensibly.’
‘And do you all have full on sex with each other?’
‘No,’ Fidel said firmly. ‘When it comes to the deep meaningful stuff; Bart and Robert are exclusive and so are we three.’
The two hosts nodded their approval.
‘There are two things that confuse me about your gym.’ Peter said slowly. ‘You're all obviously fit, but none of you have the sort of bodies I’d expect in gym trainers. Hylas is boyishly slim, Bart’s craggy, Robert makes me think of a stripper, Fidel looks as if he’d have trouble bending, yet he's flexible and quick, and Arnold’s the classic male escort. None of you are handsome in a conventional sense, but you're all fit and look as if you're content to be yourselves; and I can’t help liking and trusting you.’
‘Flatterer,’ Arnold grinned. ‘You two are just as perfect as us, and smarter. That was so brilliant nailing Max’s murderer. Must have been nerve-wracking for Jon in that orgy and getting abducted. Peter trapped in the drain and the sheer luck of you both meeting and… it’s a crazy tale, makes me realised I've lived a very sheltered existence.’ Arnold shook his head in amazement. ‘Seriously, you two are so fucking brave!’
Hylas twisted his body to stare up at the tiled roof of the cottage, glistening the moonlight. ‘And that’s the roof you were going to be hurled from, Jon, with your neck broken. Chilling!’
‘Now you're flattering us. Everyone simply does what they have to, to survive. We didn’t choose any of that. What we did choose was to live decently and privately and at least do no harm.’
‘And we salute you for that. What was the second thing about the gym that confused you?’
‘Were the other five trainers as diverse a lot as you guys?’
‘Yes. Fit but ordinary. We called ourselves Natural Fitness because we wanted people to be fit naturally, in the bodies they were born with, so they could remain fit for the rest of their lives, not aspire to a nonsensical superhero type that leads to mental and physical problems down the track. With us as models no one ever felt they had the wrong sort of body, or needed to change it.’
‘Except that you're not really natural, are you? No dags, no shaggy beards, body hair trimmed to about a centimetre…’
‘Surely humans are no different from other animals who spend all their spare time preening, keeping themselves clean, lice free, fit and ready for work? Surely it’s could never be natural to become a filthy, smelly shaggy monster with shitty dags, dirty nails and rotten teeth and breath? Our work required us to be fresh, clean and attractive, so we did the best we could.’
‘Of course, you are right. I was foolish. But I still can’t get my head around the fact that all eleven trainers worked naked.’
‘We weren't embarrassed, so they weren’t either. Took about five minutes before they forgot about our dangling bits and from then on it was no different from any other gym.’
‘That’s what I always imagined it would be like, but had no way of verifying. You guys have made my day and convinced me we’re safe in our beds.’ Peter turned to Jon, who nodded enthusiastically.
‘Thanks,’ Bart said seriously.
‘I reckon we should make Peter and Jon honorary members of our noble band of five fighting against JECHIS,’ Hylas said shyly.
‘Is there an initiation ceremony?’ Jon asked, clearly amused.
‘It’s the first I've heard of it’ Fidel laughed. ‘I hadn't realised we were a band of warriors, brother mine. But seven’s a good number, how about the seven saviours?’
‘Too religious…seven suckers more likely.’
‘I think you might be right.’
‘Come on, let’s not be defeatists. We should all dance in a circle chanting death to JECHIS until we collapse, then fall in a heap and dedicate ourselves to something or other?’
‘Like staying alive?’
‘Sounds good to me.’
‘Can we dedicate without dancing to exhaustion, Fidel?’
‘Consider it done. Ok then you two, in the idiotic words of George Bush, are you with us or against us?’
Peter and Jon looked at each other and shook their heads in mock despair. ‘If you're desperate enough to want a couple of worriers in your band of warriors, then thanks. We've only been keeping our noses clean while JECHIS wreaks havoc on the land, so it’d be good to feel as if we’re helping a bit.’
Robert yawned. ‘You guys are the greatest. And incredibly foolish to take us in. We promise not to outstay our welcome, or get you into trouble. But suddenly I’m utterly stuffed.’
‘Won’t the concrete be too hard to sleep on?’
‘Would you mind if we threw a tarpaulin over this mosquito-net tent to keep off the dew, then we could sleep out here on the grass?’
‘No problem, if you're sure the moonlight won’t keep you awake.’
‘Nothing could keep me awake.’
They brought out their sleeping gear—a groundsheet, duvets and sheets, bade their hosts goodnight, and after satisfying natural urges, slept deeper than they had for many weeks.
The following morning, Jon demonstrated the sliding beds, sliding racks of food and cooking gear, concealed water tanks and other space-saving gadgets and customisation with which he’d made their vehicle a home away from home without looking different from thousands of others.
Over the next two days they stripped the interiors of their vehicles, measured, worked out exactly what they needed, then Jon drove to the city to buy everything. He went alone. Although not social butterflies, his and Peter’s faces were known in the area and it was usual to be greeted wherever they went. The last thing they needed was for anyone to become curious about their visitors. He returned with a trailer full of gear and a sombre face.
‘Lucky you guys didn’t come with me; there are photos of you all over town. It’s like the old Wild West. Wanted Dead or Alive. Those words are missing, but the rest’s pretty serious.’
‘What do the notices say?’
‘These five men are terrorists. Anyone aiding or abetting them will be shot. Anyone failing to inform the police of a sighting will be shot. Do not approach them, they are armed and dangerous.’