by John Marsden
"What do you think Iain wants to do in Wirrawee?" Fi whispered.
We hadn't been allowed to know any details of their actual mission. Colonel Finley explained it was for everyone's protection: if we were caught, the less we knew the better. The four words "if we were caught" had me shaking and shivering when he said them. In my sessions with Andrea the main things I'd talked about, over and over, were the time in Stratton Prison and what happened to Robyn. Talking about them helped, but gradually I'd come to accept that these terrible things were part of me forever; all I could do was find ways to cope with them. At least Colonel Finley had given us some guarantees that we should be OK. Iain had strict instructions. We were only to be used as guides we were not allowed battles or "war- like activities" (Colonel Finley had shown me the first part of Iain's written orders) and we should only have to make one trip to Wirrawee to show them the way around.
It was obvious though that they would be aiming for the airfield. Nothing else in Wirrawee was worth attacking, or nothing that we knew of anyway. Murray's Eats, the caravan that sold hot dogs in the supermarket carpark on Saturday nights, wasn't much of a target, and I think we'd made such a mess of Turner Street that it would be cactus for a long time yet.
We discussed all this. But we also knew that none of it would get us close to our families. The New Zealanders' plans wouldn't include a visit to the Showgrounds, where we believed most of the prisoners were still kept. Showbags and dolls on long cane sticks weren't on the Kiwi shopping lists. The last information Colonel Finley had given us, two weeks earlier, before we even knew about this trip, was that people were still being released on work parties as the countryside became more secure, and as the system of hostages improved.
I was just drifting off to sleep when Fi said something that had me feeling like spiders were crawling all over me. I sat up in my bag.
"What did you say?"
"I said we could sneak out of here and look for them if the Kiwis go off on their own."
"Fi! We can't! Oh my God, do you think we should?"
"Well, it's the only way we'll get to see them. There's no way Iain's going to let us look for them."
"But you were telling me back in New Zealand that Colonel Finley was going to arrange everything."
"Hmm, yes," Fi said. "But you know, I'm starting to think you might be right about Colonel Finley."
"Fi!" I was sort of laughing because it sounded funny for her to be cynical about anyone. She was normally so trusting. "I thought you liked him."
"Oh, I don't mind him," Fi agreed. "But it's true, he is only good to us when it suits him. He didn't care about us when we were hiding in that car wrecking yard. Once he found we didn't have any information, and we wouldn't go back into Cobbler's Bay, he lost interest in us pretty quickly."
"But he's got a war to win," I argued. "That takes priority."
I was really only sticking up for the Colonel because I was enjoying the argument, not because I believed much in what I was saying.
"Oh, of course. I don't expect him to bring us breakfast in bed, or lend us M16's. But if we want to do something and it doesn't get in anyone's way, I think we should do it, and not worry about what Colonel Finley thinks."
"Ask forgiveness, not permission," I said, remembering something someone said to me once.
It took Fi a second or two to work out what I meant, then she laughed.
"Yes," she said, "exactly. Gosh, Ellie, you're getting back to your old self."
"It's being here," I said, "in our own backyard again. It makes a difference. I'd forgotten."
"I missed it when we were in New Zealand," Fi said. "I even missed Hell, and all the hiking. I even missed demolishing half my own street."
"I missed everything," I said. "We have more blowies than New Zealand. I missed our blowies."
But my mind was still on what Fi had said. "Do you really think we should go looking for them? What if we got in the way of the Kiwis? We can't do anything that might wreck their plans."
"No, of course not. That's the biggest thing. But we could go out along the Wirrawee-Holloway Road for instance, and see if we can find a work group. That's in the opposite direction to Wirrawee. Even if we were caught they wouldn't know we were here with New Zealand soldiers."
"Yes, and Kevin said they send the work parties away from their own areas, so there's more chance our families'll be out there than in Wirrawee."
"Except for the people they kept back as hostages."
"When do you think Iain would want us to take him into Wirrawee?"
"Pretty soon. Maybe even tomorrow night."
"You're joking. As soon as that?"
"Sure. Why not?"
It did make sense, I thought. Why hang around here, using up food? On the other hand they'd brought heaps with them, so maybe they were planning a long stay.
"I wish they'd tell us more about their plans," I complained. "I mean I know they have to be secretive, but sometimes I feel like it's Major Harvey all over again, treating us like little kids."
"I know one thing," Fi said.
"What?"
"Who they want to take them into Wirrawee."
"Who?" But I felt my stomach go liquid again as I asked it. I didn't want it to be me, because I didn't want to get caught or hurt or killed. But I did want it to be me because it would have been such an insult to be left behind.
"You sure you can handle it?" Fi asked.
"Yes, of course! Just tell me!"
"You and Lee."
I felt such a confusion of feelings that I didn't know where to start.
"But ... but I don't know if I want to go. And what about Homer? He'll go sick. How do you know, anyway?"
"I heard Iain and Ursula talking, this afternoon."
"But I didn't think they'd want me to go. I mean I'm the one who didn't want to leave New Zealand in the first place."
"Yes, that's what they were talking about. About whether you'd be, you know..."
"Whether I'd curl up in a little ball and cry when we got close to enemy soldiers."
"Well, not quite in those words, but I guess that was the general idea."
"So why do they want me to go?" I was fishing for compliments, of course.
"I suppose, your reputation. We turned you into a bit of a legend, didn't we? Plus you seemed to do OK last night, and tonight. I think that was a little test, when Iain got you to lead the way into Hell."
I was furious.
"Test? Test? Where do these turkeys get off, giving me tests? We've passed more tests than they've wiped their bums. Leading the way into Hell, whoopie-doo, big test, wow, how'd I go? Did I pass? Gee, I hope I passed. Iain and his bloody tests, what a cheek."
"Well, Ellie," said Fi, who never let me get away with much, "you must admit you were pretty difficult to get on with when they asked us to come back."
"They didn't ask us, they told us," I complained. "It's a bit different."
"I don't think they'll tell you to take them into Wirrawee," Fi said. She sure was choosing her words carefully. Did she see me as that unstable? "But I think they're hoping you will."
"What about Homer? Why don't they want to ask him?"
Again Fi paused, searching for the right words.
"I think they got the idea back in New Zealand that he was a bit irresponsible. Too much partying."
Adults often made that mistake about Homer. He had been pretty crazy when we were at school, but that was more a reaction to the way he was treated than anything else. It sounds terrible comparing people with animals, but the way teachers hassled Homer reminded me of something that Dad said about stockwork, that the quieter the drover the calmer the sheep. He had this theory that you shouldn't swear at sheep, because then they could tell that you didn't like them. He sacked a worker once because he swore too much at the sheep. I mean, he didn't tell the guy that was the reason, but it was.
"God, Homer'll totally blow his stack."
That was the end of sleep for m
e. Just when I needed some, too. I wriggled around for hours. I'd get comfortable for a minute or two, then decide it was too hard on my hip, or there was too much pressure on my shoulder blade, or my arm was getting pins and needles. Of course the long sleep I'd had that morning made it hard for me to sleep now. But the real problem was that I was already making the trip into Wirrawee. In my mind I was walking those dark streets, trembling at every shadow, leaping around in panic at the slightest sound.
It made me wonder if I still had the nerve for this kind of stuff.
I got up as soon as it was half-light. I'd probably slept a few hours, on and off, but I didn't feel like I had. Fi was asleep, so I dressed quietly and slipped out of the little tent to reacquaint myself with Hell.
There's nothing like the very early morning. It's the sweetness of the air, the sweet coolness; it's the bubbling of the creek which, for some strange reason, always sounds more energetic than it does later on; it's the gargling of the magpies. The first thing I did was go and look at the chook pen, even though I knew I wouldn't find any live chooks there. I was right about that. I won't go into the gruesome details, but those pathetic little feather dusters had become victims of the war themselves. I guess they starved to death. We'd rebuilt their pen so that the creek flowed through it, so they had plenty of water, but they'd eaten everything in there except the dirt and the wire.
Then I went and looked at another victim of the war.
Chris' grave was pretty much the way we'd left it. Getting a bit overgrown with weeds, though. I pulled out one, was about to pull out another, then stopped. Chris had been quite into weeds, in his own unique way. And he'd certainly been into doing things differently. I grinned and left the other weeds alone.
Walking away I started remembering again that awful trip down into Hell, carrying Chris' body, but I shook my head quickly, not wanting to think about it. At least he'd had friends to bury him. There were times when I wondered if I'd be even that lucky.
I wandered along the creek. I thought of heading to the Hermit's hut, but didn't like the idea of going through the darkness of the undergrowth. Instead I stayed out in the brightening warming sunlight and found a rock that I liked. I curled up on that, my knees to my chest, and hugged myself for a while. I couldn't believe I was back here. Watching trashy TV in New Zealand, going to disgusting parties with a disgusting person, eating too many hamburgers and chips: it all seemed a long way away suddenly. I seriously began to wonder if I should go back to New Zealand when the others went. The Kiwis had a radio—two radios in fact _so they could call up the chopper when it was time to go. Maybe when they made their call I should take a raincheck. I smiled to myself as I thought how they would react.
"But you didn't want to come in the first place!" they'd cry.
"Oh, well," I'd say, "it's good to keep changing your mind. It shows you're thinking. I'll only stop changing my mind when I'm dead. And maybe not even then."
I heard the crunch of a footstep on the rock behind me and looked around to see Ursula. I liked Ursula. She had quite long reddish hair and reddish cheeks, and a nice big mouth that smiled a lot. She'd been an aerobics instructor before she joined the army, and Iain told me she'd represented New Zealand in hurdles at a Commonwealth Games. She'd only been in the army six years, and I think it was a bit of a meteoric rise to be a Captain that quickly.
"Hi," she said, "how did you sleep?"
"Terrible. I got up before dawn. How about you?"
"Fine. Like a baby."
"I don't know why people say that. Most babies are shocking sleepers, aren't they?"
She laughed. "So they say. I keep as far away from babies as I can."
"I can't say I've had a lot of experience myself."
She sat on the next rock, a couple of metres to my left, and threw a dead leaf into the creek.
"It's nice here," she said, after a few moments.
"I know I'm glad I'm back now."
"And it's so well hidden. Looking down from the top I just couldn't believe we'd get in. You were so clever to find it."
"It was a total accident."
"Yes, Fiona told me."
"When do you have to, you know, start doing stuff?"
"Well, that's what I wanted to talk to you about. We'd like to go into Wirrawee tonight. And if you feel up to it, we'd like you to be one of our guides."
I tried to act like I hadn't already heard.
"Who else would you take?"
"Well, please don't say anything till we've talked to the others, but we were thinking Lee might be a good choice."
"Yeah, he would be good..." I was torn between two loyalties. "But I think you should take Homer too."
"We thought it was important to have him in charge back here."
"Ooh," I thought, "that's neat. That's very clever, but I don't think it'll be enough to satisfy Homer. I think he'll see through that."
And that's what happened. As I came back from the creek with Ursula, about ten minutes later, the first thing I saw was Homer storming off towards the track, looking like he was going to walk straight to Wirrawee and blow the whole place up by himself. He stayed away for the rest of the day. When we left that afternoon he was still sulking; in fact he seemed to be taking it out on the poor old bush. I could hear him smashing down timber which, according to Kevin, he was going to use for a store shed.
Somehow I didn't think that store shed was ever going to get built.
Six
It was a long walk. One night we'd been at a party in Wirrawee, at Josh and Susie's place, and Homer had been hitting the grog in a big way, and everyone was giving him a hard time, and he kept saying he was cold sober, and finally, at 3 a.m., he announced that to prove he was sober he'd walk home. A minute later he was heading off down the drive, with us all waving him goodbye as we fell about laughing. I was staying overnight so I had no way of knowing if he'd got home or not, but at eight in the morning the phone rang and, when Josh finally staggered out to the kitchen to answer it, it was Homer. He was so pleased with himself that I could hear his voice from Susie's room where I was in the bed.
But that's the only time I'd heard of anyone walking from our properties into Wirrawee, or vice versa.
No, wait, that's not true. My grandfather had a worker named Casey I think his name was, and he was famous for his walking. "Spring-heel Bob" they called him because he had an unusual way of bouncing on his heels. Apparently he used to walk everywhere, even to Wirrawee if he had to. I remember my grandmother saying he'd walked to Stratton once to see his girlfriend. In those days the mail was only delivered as far as the Mackenzies' place, and he walked there twice a week to get the letters.
My grandfather was too stingy to let him have a horse.
I was full of ideas for shortcuts for us to get into Wirrawee that night, but Iain wouldn't listen to any of them. He put safety above everything, which was fair enough, of course, but I thought he took it a bit far. Not only did we have to walk, we had to make all these detours to avoid houses and roads. It made Homer's famous walk look like a little after-dinner stroll. It tested my fitness, too. I'd thought I was still pretty fit when they asked me to slow down on our way up to Tailor's Stitch, but I soon realised my stamina wasn't anywhere near the soldiers'. They could have gone for a week at the same pace. No wonder their horses kept coming over and winning the Melbourne Cup. These guys could have won the Melbourne Cup on their own. They didn't need horses.
It took us all night. We weren't allowed to speak which meant my muscles could talk to me uninterrupted. They sure had plenty to say: nothing but complaints. Whinge, whinge, whinge. I don't blame them, though. They were hurting. I wished I'd done more running, back in New Zealand.
When we got close to Wirrawee we stopped for a consultation with Iain and Ursula. There would have been time to go into town for a quick look around before dawn, but they felt it wasn't worth the risk. So we scrambled into some scrubby country, not far from the ruins of the Mackenzie house, and holed
up for the day.
This time there was no hope of my wandering away for another walk. Iain was adamant. I could see his point and I didn't make any fuss. I was starting to like my own company more and more, but on this trip I wasn't likely to get much of it. It was a hot day and I was pleased to be able to get my breath back and give my legs a rest. It seemed that since we'd returned we'd been going nonstop: apart from the morning in Hell, my feet had hardly touched ground.
I had another good long sleep that lasted about as long as the one two days before. Seemed like suddenly I could only sleep in daytime. I wasn't too comfortable when I woke up though! A rock had dug its way into my back and the sun was burning my face.
I struggled up and made my way over to Lee and the others. They'd started a game of miniature cricket using a pebble as a ball and a twig as a bat. I watched sourly. I was all hot and sticky and sore and uncomfortable, my legs were aching, and I wasn't in the mood for games. But gradually I got sucked in: when the pebble came my way a few times I fielded it. Eventually I took a catch and got to bat. It was quite fun. It made me sad in a way, though. This was the life we should have had. Playing silly games, mucking around, enjoying being kids for as long as we could. That was how we'd spent half our time at school. When Eric Choo broke his leg we'd turned his crutch into a bat and invented another variety of cricket: when you hit the ball you had to run around the rubbish bin and back to the wicket, using the crutch to travel. From then on when anyone came to school with a broken anything that needed a crutch we'd all cheer and start the game up again.
