by John Marsden
But I was still terrified of being tracked and caught, so I made myself get up. I hobbled into the clearing and looked up at the hills. I'd worked out my tactics as I'd lain there in the dark—I had to get to the highest point and see where I was. Once I knew where I was, I could get to where I was going, if that makes sense.
Of course I now had the extra worry of not knowing if the others would be there. They could have been captured or killed, or they could have given up and gone. Stupidly we hadn't made all the alternative arrangements we normally made for a rendezvous; I suppose we'd thought Homer and I would swim straight to the creek and wade up it to meet Robyn and the rest. We hadn't counted on all the distractions. Plus there'd been so many things to think about, and we'd done everything in such a rush.
The people who kept popping up in my mind were Burke and Wills, from the history books. They'd struggled back to Cooper's Creek, sick and starving after crossing the continent, and found their support party had given up and left seven hours before. That had been a death sentence for Burke and his mate. I was scared I might follow their example.
I kept hobbling round till my body was in some sort of working order. The sun still wasn't up, which meant that the ground was very cold, and that made it even harder to get myself going. Eventually I shoved my arms into my armpits and, hugging myself to try to get warm, I set off, head down, eves half closed against the cruel sharp breeze.
Once I got started it wasn't too bad for a while. The hunger pains left me again and the slope wasn't too steep. It was annoying having to keep a lookout as well as walk; I hoped that I'd hear any soldiers before they heard me, but I couldn't count' on that. Navigation wasn't such a problem: I knew that as long as I went uphill it had to be the right direction.
The big problem soon became obvious. The higher I got, the less cover was available. The trees thinned out and there was more and more rock, outcrops so hard to climb and so bare that I was afraid I could be seen from k's away. I had little enough energy for climbing, let alone for trying to stay concealed at the same time. But it was no good avoiding it; with a groan and a few curses, and a feeble push of my hair out of my eyes, I worked my way around to the right where there were more trees. It probably added twenty minutes to the climb.
I was sweating hard by the time I got to the top. It was a couple of hours after sunrise. There wasn't much heat in the day but I was creating my own heat by this slow hard stagger up the hill. I resented having to keep worrying about aircraft and ground troops, and although I kept looking for them, it was by a sort of reflex: I could hardly remember what I was looking for.
Someone had built a little cairn of rocks at the top. There was no obvious reason for it, but at least when I saw it I knew I must be at the summit. I skirted around it and went back further into the shade of some trees. Then at last I was able to turn and look at the view.
There was Cobbler's Bay spread out before me. And away in the distance, beyond the heads, was the blue and'beautiful ocean. I longed to be on it, sailing away. As much as I loved my country, it was not a happy place to be these days. I didn't know whose fault it was'that it was so stuffed—the invaders, our politicians, or we ordinary people who hadn't taken enough interest—but right now I was too weary from the strain of surviving to enjoy it any longer. I could still admire the beauty of the coastline but I wanted a holiday from it.
My eyes swivelled a bit to the right.'When I saw what was there I sat up fast and made a little "Oh" noise out loud. I was looking at the wharf, or what was left of it. It was the first time I'd seen the results of one of our attacks so soon after it happened. The only other one I'd seen was the Wirrawee bridge, but that'was ages later, and it was hard to think of it as something we'd done. By then it looked more like an archaeological ruin.
The Cobbler's wharf was a bloody mess. The ship Homer and I had been on had disappeared completely. The wharf itself had lost all its middle section and the rest of it was black and charred; there was no part wide enough to drive even a ear along. It seemed like it had caught fire and burned fiercely. Two cranes had collapsed and were lying on their'sides like stick insects. Another big ship was still moored at the wrecked wharf but it was burnt all along its deck and half sunk; it was virtually a floating hull. It didn't look like it would be going anywhere for a long time.
Beyond the wharf, a couple of hectares of bush had been demolished and burnt. It looked like someone had gone through it with a giant whipper-snipper.
No wonder the New Zealand jet was able to fly around as much as it wanted. There was nothing left there worth defending.
It was the most exciting view I'd ever seen. It gave me new energy, wonderful energy. I wanted to dance and scream and shout. If we did nothing else for the whole of this horrible war we could at least say now that we had made a major difference. We hadn't just damaged the enemy in our own little area of Wirrawee; we'd damaged him in a way that would make a real difference to his ability to take over our country.
I turned my gaze to the left, searching. Sure enough 1 soon saw what I was looking for: another blackened patch of burnt bush, the crowns of trees brown and scorched. In the middle of it was the twisted wrecked metal of the helicopter, a black skeleton. Looking at it I gave a savage grin, a wild grin. I could take some credit for the chopper too, I reminded myself again. By God, we had made a difference.
I sat there smirking. For a few moments I felt free to enjoy what we'd achieved. I forgot the hunger, the fear, the aches and pains. For a few moments I don't think I'd have cared if I'd been caught. I knew we'd been lucky a lot of times—we'd been lucky we weren't caught in the first place, when they invaded—but we'd made the most of our luck and we hadn't let our families and friends down. We'd done a lot with the freedom we had.
Back to the right I at last saw Baloney Creek, where we'd agreed to meet. I could see no sign of life, but of course I didn't expect to. All I knew was that it was still a long way off. I worked out my bearings. There was the logging track, a dirt road that cut through the bush and crossed the creek about a k from its mouth.
I was too tired to resist the temptation of the track. There was no evidence of any pursuers, anyone looking for us. I think the Kiwi bird'had scared them off. So I figured that if I made for the track and walked along beside it, in the bush, I should be safe, and that way I wouldn't get lost.
I made the big effort to get going, standing with a big sigh. At least the first part was downhill, and so would be the last part.
At that moment, as though it had been waiting for me to show myself, a helicopter came over the rise behind me. I squatted fast and covered my head. It swept across the hill, travelling fast and low. just as I hadn't expected the earlier one to see me, and it had, so I expected this one to see me, and it didn't. Murphy's Law. I felt a cold dark shiver as its shadow crossed me, but it continued down into the valley. It was searching all right, combing the valley in long passes just metres from the treetops. I bet its crew was nervous, being able to see the wreck of the other one.
I waited till it had its back to me, searching nearer the coast, and I put my head down and ran like a rabbit. Not till I was well into the beeline did I stop again and stand there hugging a tree—well, leaning against it, anyway. My calves and lower legs were shaking, trembling, and it took a long time to stop them. Now that I was deep in the bush, the chopper was just a faint humming sound, and that made me feel a bit safer.
My hunger was making my stomach cramp and I had to bend over for a while to make the pain go away. So it was ten or fifteen minutes before I felt well enough to start out for the dirt road. I'd thought the downhill would be easy, but before long I was wishing for some uphill. It hurt my calves too much going downhill; I had to use them to'brake myself on the steep slope. But when I did hit an uphill section I wasn't happy with that either. It was hard on my knees, the good one and the bad one, and soon the backs of my legs were hurting like crazy, too. It got to the point where any slight slope seemed like the Swiss A
lps. I'd start trudging up it and after a while I'd lift my head, expecting to see that I was almost at the top, and find to my anguish that I wasn't even halfway. That happened with every hill and was very frustrating.
When I came to the road I'd almost given up hope that I'd find it. I had convinced myself that I'd made some terrible mistake in navigation'. The only reason I kept going was because I couldn't think of anything else to do, didn't have the energy to stop and reconsider. I'd thought I heard a vehicle at one time, but it was either a very quiet vehicle or it was a long way off—or else I imagined it. Occasionally the buzzing of the helicopter would send me stumbling under the trees, but I never actually saw it again.
But suddenly there was the brown dirt strip under my feet and I was on the edge of the track.
I turned right automatically and, with a faint feeling of relief—forgetting that I'd planned to stay in the bush—started to tramp along it. Now that I was there I could see what a rough old track it was. Long grass grew in its centre, so it was obvious from that alone that it hadn't seen a lot of recent traffic. As I walked I did notice one thing though: that the grass was freshly bent over and bruised in quite a few places. Sometimes you could even see it slowly standing again as you walked past. Seemed like that vehicle I thought I'd heard mightn't have been an illusion. I started getting nervous all over again.
The roar of the helicopter came loud in my ears and I ducked into the trees and waited. This time it sounded like it was heading straight towards Cobbler's Bay. It had abandoned its searching pattern. Perhaps they were going home for lunch. I came out and kept walking.
Round a long bend, a bend that curved and curved long after I thought it should have straightened out again, I found the vehicle. It was a fawn-coloured Holden Jackaroo, quite a new one, but with the look of a car that wasn't going to live to a ripe old age. It was very dirty and had lots of scratches and marks, including a smashed tail light and a broken side window. Not that I stood there studying it for a long time. I got such a shock that I felt like I'd been woken from a long sleep by someone putting ice blocks down my back.
I did a double take, then dived into the bush again, my heart thudding hard. But there wasn't any movement from the car. I stood there watching for several minutes. Gradually I realised that something was very wrong. The Jackaroo was in fact at our rendezvous spot. I could just sec the track drop down to the gravelly river crossing in among the trees. It was the Baloney Creek. There was a vague possibility that Lee and the others had stolen a vehicle, but if they had they'd never park it in the open like this. No, there was only one reason there'd be a car parked here.
I started creeping along to get closer to the vehicle. There was no sign of life in it at all. I kept going, waiting for some warning sign that would make me stop but, as there wasn't one, I kept going till I was level with it. I crouched furtively behind a gorse bush, wondering what I should do, looking for a cue. Then I got one. A shot rang out behind me; a single shot, though not sounding like the shots I was used to. It was followed immediately by a girl's scream: a girl who sounded awfully like Fi.
I'd been so scared already that the sound of the shot frightened me out of my boots. I burst out of the bush, running away from the shot, thinking for a crazy moment that someone was firing at me. Of course this meant that I practically crashed into the Jackaroo. That little fact, the fact that I went onto the road instead of in another direction, changed all our lives. Because as I stood, shaking, next to the car, having no idea where to go or what to do, but realising that no one seemed to be chasing me, two things happened. One was that I heard Homer's voice, unmistakeably, call out something like "No way!" I got instant goosebumps on the back of my neck to hear that voice. He could so easily have been shot or drowned or blown up, but he had survived. He had survived! It was wonderful to hear those two words, even in these conditions.
There was some shouting then, that I couldn't pick up. But at the same moment, the other vital thing happened: I saw a revolver sitting on the driver's seat of the Holden. I reached through the window and grabbed it without hesitation. It was an ugly black thing, all hard edges, no curves or smooth surfaces. I checked it quickly. It seemed to work on the same principles as every other gun I'd fired. A switch under the trigger guard released the magazine. I slipped it out. The little holes showed two bullets but, when I pulled back the slide, I found another one in the chamber.
All that took just three or four seconds. I flicked the safety catch up to "on," and walked through the trees towards the voices.
Eighteen
I'll never forget the next minute. The image I most remember is the first view I had of the soldiers and my friends. They were all gathered around the creek in a little cleared area. They looked like they were having a meeting. There were three soldiers, all' men and all on my side of the creek. Two were standing to my left, the other on my right. Then looked tense but excited, very happy with'themselves.'The two on my left held rifles, but the one on the right, who was an officer, seemed unarmed. I guessed it was his revolver that I carried.
I could still smell a trace of gunpowder in the air but none of my friends seemed hurt. They were standing in a line on a big flat rock, across the other side of the shallow gurgling creek. Their hands were on their heads. Fi was white and trembling uncontrollably; Robyn had her chin out, defiantly; Lee's face was totally expressionless. Homer looked desperate, thin and tired, with his dark eyes sunk deep in his face. But I was so relieved to see him at all: I'd had the worst fears about what might have happened to him.
Kevin was standing a little apart from the others and he looked absolutely terrified.
I didn't even think about what to do. It was a relief, not having to think: for once the choice was made for me. I stood very still, feet well apart, lifted the revolver, held it with both hands, aimed carefully at the chest of the first soldier, and squeezed the trigger. Gently, gently, squeeze, squeeze. I thought it would never fire, it took so long. Then the bang, the explosion, the smoke, the smell. The gun kicked up hard, like it had been given a jolt of electricity, and the empty shell shot out, to my right. I saw the soldier go staggering backwards, dropping his rifle, his hands to his chest as though trying—unsuccessfully—to hold himself together. But I had no time to think about him. I aimed again, fired again: shot the second one before he had his rifle halfway to his shoulder.
Then I turned to the officer. He was facing me now. He didn't seem to know where to go. I fired for the third time. My hands were shaking badly and the bullet went a little low. The slide locked back'; the gun was empty; useless scrap metal. I threw it away, quickly, as if it was contaminated. It fell in the creek.
It had all been very quick, kind of clinical, not at all like our other killings'had been. Just popping down targets, with no emotion.
Or maybe that was just a measure of how much I'd changed.
The others handled it pretty much in the same style, though. Lee went straight to the bodies and checked each one quickly. Robyn and Kevin grabbed the rucksacks: seemed like they were the current packhorses. Homer ran over and gave me a quick kiss. "Thank God you're all right," he said, and I was amazed to sec tears in his eyes.
Fi followed him and gave me a longer hug. "Thank you, Ellie," was all she said.
Without any discussion We ran straight out to the dirt track. We didn't need any discussion to know that speed was going to save us or kill us. "Take the car," I yelled to Lee, who was well in front of me. It was a calculated risk, but I thought it was the best thing. If we could get a few k's away and dump it, we'd at least get a decent start.
No one argued. When I got there Robyn and Lee had already piled into the back, Kevin was following them, and Fi was waiting her turn. Homer had gone around to the passenger side. Seemed like I was driving, though God knows how I was meant to find the energy. But I didn't stop to discuss it. I jumped in. The key was in the ignition. The Jackaroo started straight away, but it was facing in the opposite direction to the one
we wanted. In the narrow track it was hard to see a place to turn; I just shrugged and shoved the car in reverse and drove it hard back along the road.
"Goddam!" Kevin gasped, as we careered along, probably doing sixty in reverse. The others didn't say anything but they looked more scared than when I'd been shooting the soldiers. We were going around the long curve and were nearly through it when I thought I saw a spot coming up that would do to turn; a clearing on my left. I hauled on the wheel but misjudged it badly,'missing the clearing and thumping into a small tree'I remembered the damage this car had already suffered to its rear end and realised grimly that I had just made it ten times worse. Kevin was rubbing his head where he'd hit it on the roof at impact, but he didn't say anything. I was grateful for that. Fi was biting her lip anxiously. Thankfully the car didn't stall, and still seemed to steer OK. I swung the wheel and we took off again, this time facing the right way.
I was pretty confident that we' wouldn't meet any traffic, and at the speed we were going I had to hope we wouldn't. Apart from Kevin's "Goddam" no one had said a word since we started. I was terrified of helicopters but we'd have little chance of seeing or hearing them if they came. I just kept my foot down and moved the car along at speeds that gave me hernias.
After twenty minutes we hit the main road. There was no warning—suddenly we burst out of the bush onto bitumen and I was spinning the wheel again, putting the car into a squealing skidding turn that nearly tipped us over. I straightened it, but it took a hundred metres to get it back on an even keel, steering a straight line. I got it over to the left-hand side of the road and wiped my face, not daring to look at the others.
We raced on, up into the hills. "How far do we want to take this thing?" I asked.
