The Timor Man by Kerry B. Collison

they thought to themselves. Why is it taking so long to arrive? Were they being watched and would they be safe? They were tormented by fear with every step away from the safety of their own village.
    Suddenly Bambang stopped, and Wanti almost slipped down the wet slope to avoid stepping on his heels. She stifled a small cry. Her brother was frozen in his tracks. He opened his mouth to scream but nothing came out.
    Lying across the well worn path, half hidden in the grass was an outstretched arm facing upwards, fist clenched. “ Wanti, stop there, ” he hissed.
    â€œ What is it Bambang? ” she called but her brother merely waved his hand urgently, ordering her to remain still. Slowly he bent down and with both hands cautiously pushed the long grass aside which covered the body. He gasped as his gaze fell on the headless corpse and he released the grass, quickly jumping to his feet, bumping heavily into Wanti.
    â€œ What is it? ” she shrieked, her view of the body remained blocked by her brother and the tall grass.
    â€œ Someone’s had an accident ,” he lied, turning and grabbing her hand, moving quickly away.
    Wanti closed her eyes as she was dragged past the grotesque scene, only opening them again as she almost fell on the slippery path. Alarmed, they hurried towards their destination. Three kilo-metres from their first gruesome discovery they came upon worse horrors. Stacked on the side of their path were more bodies. Some had been young men.
    All had been hacked to death with parangs .
    The quiet terror of death caused Wanti to cry out. They broke into a run, fearful of being caught up in the nightmare of butchery. They slipped as they ran, now urged on by the possibility that they too would be slaughtered, running faster and faster until they fell in total exhaustion together down the slippery slopes into a small deep stream besides a field of near mature corn.
    â€œ Bambang. Save me, Oh Tuhan save me! ” Wanti screamed as she struggled to claw her way out of the wet muddy bog. She continued to scream while Bambang unsuccessfully attempted to calm her racking sobs of fear.
    â€œ Djangan panik, Wanti! Don’t panic! It will be all right. Our grandpar
    ents’ village is close by. Be calm, please Wanti, be calm. ” Bambang whispered urgently. He was terrified that they may be heard by violent marauders roaming nearby.
    They sat wet, dirty, cold and afraid on the edge of the ladang . Bambang held his sister close, whispering soothing words of comfort while his own insides churned with fear. Hours passed and, after what felt like a lifetime, evening fell. But the darkness brought little comfort as Bambang could see the sky ablaze with night fires. He understood the terrible danger they were in. To proceed to the next village would invite certain disaster. To return home would be as dangerous as it was now apparent that the gangs had reached out as far as even the most isolated kampungs .
    Bambang explained to Wanti that he had decided they should stay where they were until morning. Wanti cried, urging Bambang to take her home, but he refused.
    â€œ We’ll sleep here until morning and then the killers should be gone ,” he told her.
    â€œ I don’t want to go on Mas, please don’t make me go! ” she cried.
    Bambang thought for awhile. “ Tomorrow we will return home, ” he promised.
    â€œ Then we don’t have to go to Nenek’s village? ”
    â€œ No ,” he answered, “ we’ll go straight home .”
    She whimpered, trying to choke back the tears, petrified that her sobs would give their position away to the killers out there in the darkness. Exhausted, finally, she fell asleep in her brother’s arms until awakened by the sticky damp surrounds and discomfort of the Indonesian outdoors.
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    The two children stood exhausted, staring with disbelief at the carnage. Bodies lay twisted grotesquely wherever their murderers