by Mark Smith
‘Murph?’ Jackson calls.
There’s no reply.
‘You okay, Murph?’ he calls again.
Silence.
Jackson and Winston grab JT and me, holding their weapons at our heads and forcing us towards the open end of the truck. My heart is hammering at a million miles an hour and if there was any food in my stomach I’d throw it up.
There’s no sound or movement outside. We wait a minute, then Jackson edges us off the tray, using us as shields. The air is cooler out here and everything is damp from the rain. The moon throws a dull light from behind thinning cloud. We’re marched around the truck, our guards panicked and peering into the night, Sweeney staying close. They check the cabin but he’s not there. Sweeney is doing full circles now, his gun pointed into the dark.
‘Murph,’ Jackson yells. ‘Where are ya?’
A breeze has picked up and finally the clouds shift from the moon, bathing us in light.
‘Murph,’ he tries again.
‘Your friend won’t be coming back,’ calls a voice I know.
We all swing around and there, on top of the railway embankment, his face shining in the moonlight, stands Tahir.
Jackson and Winston raise their rifles towards him, while Sweeney grabs me around the neck and pushes the barrel of his revolver into my cheek.
Tahir’s voice is calm. ‘You are surrounded. Put down your guns.’
‘Where’s Murphy,’ Jackson demands.
Tahir takes his time to reply. ‘Gone,’ he says.
Jackson makes a move towards Tahir, his rifle raised to his shoulder, but he barely takes two steps before a shot cracks the air and he falls to the ground. At the same time JT throws himself at Sweeney, who screams and staggers towards the truck. Winston lowers his weapon and drops it. Sweeney is writhing on the road, his hands clutching at the screwdriver buried in his thigh. JT has grabbed Sweeney’s revolver and stands over him.
‘Dumber than you thought, huh?’ JT says.
No-landers appear from every side. Gabriel walks towards me smiling grimly. He’s wearing sunglasses. ‘We meet again,’ he says.
I’m surprised to see Afa, whose friend Kaylo was killed by Tahir. ‘Lucky you broke down here,’ Afa says.
‘Not luck,’ JT says.
‘What do you mean?’ I ask.
‘When I was fixing the hose I used a bit of hot metal to burn slits in it. This truck was never going to make it to Wentworth.’ He smiles, happy with his handiwork.
Winston is still on the ground, his hands on the back of his head, while Sweeney has propped himself up against one of the tyres. He takes a deep breath and yanks the screwdriver out of his leg. Blood spreads from the wound.
‘What now?’ I ask Tahir, who has come down off the bank.
‘We are only interested in the truck,’ Tahir says. He turns to JT. ‘Is it repairable?’
‘No, it’s stuffed. I reckon they cooked the motor.’
Tahir is disappointed. ‘Were they taking you to Wentworth?’ he asks.
‘Yeah. They captured us down on the coast,’ I say.
He looks at me with contempt. ‘It seems you make a habit of getting caught.’
Gabriel puts his hand on Tahir’s shoulder. ‘Easy, brother,’ he says. ‘We don’t need more enemies than we already have.’ It’s not the first time I’ve seen Gabriel play the peacemaker.
Tahir shifts his attention to the truck, climbing into the cabin and feeling around under the dashboard. He finds a box of bullets and climbs back down. ‘Not a total waste of time,’ he says, rattling the box. He has Murphy’s rifle and now he snatches Sweeney’s gun from JT.
Gabriel takes me aside and Afa joins us. ‘We heard about the battle in the valley, the defeat of Ramage,’ Gabriel says.
‘How did you hear about that?’ I ask.
They look at each other. ‘Tell you later,’ Afa says. ‘We need to sort out this truck.’ He finds another fuel container and he and Gabriel disappear under the chassis. We hear the gush of liquid and the smell of diesel fills the air. They pass the container to Tahir who walks around the vehicle splashing the fuel on the tarp and into the cabin.
The rest of us retreat. Sweeney struggles to his feet and he and Winston are led away at gunpoint. Tahir dips a rag in diesel before striking a match and setting it alight. He throws it into the cabin and the whole interior is quickly engulfed in flames. We back away as the heat reaches us, mesmerised by the leaping flames and the plume of black smoke billowing over the embankment. Jackson’s body lies where he fell.
Afa, Gabriel and Tahir are the only No-landers I recognise, though a couple look vaguely familiar from the raid on the feedstore last year. I don’t see any of the kids who were at the No-landers’ property when Kas and I escaped.
‘Let’s go,’ Tahir eventually says, turning his back on the burning truck and beginning the climb towards the ridge.
‘What about these two,’ Afa asks, pointing his rifle at Sweeney and Winston.
Tahir stops and walks back to the two prisoners. ‘This one is useless,’ he says, pointing at Sweeney. ‘He’ll only slow us down.’
Afa blindfolds Winston and drags him away.
In one swift, deliberate motion, Tahir steps towards Sweeney, stands over him and shoots him in the chest.
It’s like all the oxygen is sucked from the air and I can’t breathe. I reel with the shock of it and grab JT’s arm. Tahir shrugs and walks away. The glow of the fire lights the faces of the other No-landers and I see fear in them all.
We catch up to Winston, who must have heard the shot. His head moves frantically from side to side and his arms are stretched out in front of him, groping in the dark. Afa pushes him forward.
As far as we can tell, the No-landers think JT and I will go with them, though no one’s paying any attention to us. We hesitate halfway up the hill, trying to make one of those quick decisions that can change everything later. ‘What do you reckon?’ JT asks.
‘We’ve gotta get clear of this truck. It’ll draw soldiers or Wilders, or both,’ I say.
JT nods. ‘But once we have, I’m getting as far away from Tahir as I can.’
‘Me too.’
The No-landers are most of the way up the hill before JT and I start after them. The paddock is steep and the grass slippery from the rain. Bracken fern has crept out of the bush to reclaim the pasture and it’s waist high by the time we enter the trees. Moonlight filters through the canopy, allowing us to jog without tripping over fallen branches or stumbling into blackberries.
Eventually, a rocky outcrop appears ahead of us. Gabriel has waited and he directs us into a gap between the largest boulders. We squeeze through and follow him to an area enclosed by rock walls. It’s about the size of my backyard at home. One side is covered by a large blue tarp, held in place by rough poles and ropes. There’s bedding, water containers and cooking gear strewn under it, while in the middle there’s a stone circle around the remains of a fire.
The No-landers sit with their backs to the walls. Winston squats on the ground. He must have fallen on the way up—a cut on his cheek trickles blood onto his uniform.
Tahir paces up and down. ‘We rest here,’ he says. ‘Then pack the camp and move at dawn.’
Food is passed around, meat that might be kangaroo or wallaby. It’s cold and hardly cooked, but right now we’d eat pretty much anything.
Everything has happened so quickly tonight—the truck breaking down, the ambush, Murphy disappearing, Jackson and Sweeney shot—and now this. We’re free, but the thought of being involved with the No-landers puts me on edge. We have to get to Wentworth.
Afa sits with us. He takes my left hand and turns it over. ‘So, you’re one of us now,’ he says.
This draws Tahir’s attention. ‘Do you know if the trackers are active?’ he asks.
‘They still need power and from what we can make out they only have it for a few hours a day,’ I say.
‘As we thought,’ Tahir says. ‘It’s w
hy we must keep moving. By the time they get a patrol to where they think we are, we’re gone.’
‘Why is the army working with the Wilders?’ Afa asks.
‘You know about the zones?’ I say.
‘Yes.’
‘The army can’t control the zones on their own, so they let people like Ramage do what they like as long as they maintain order and keep the farms producing.’
‘But surely,’ Tahir says, ‘they can see how corrupt he is. He rules by force.’
‘Like you,’ JT interrupts.
I wish JT would shut up. He always seems to want to provoke and his mouth is going to cost us at some stage.
‘We don’t rule,’ Tahir spits. ‘We survive.’ He turns his back and walks away.
‘What do you know about the valley farm?’ I ask Afa.
‘We haven’t been there ourselves,’ he says. ‘Too dangerous.’
I get the feeling there’s something he’s not telling us. He walks over to Gabriel and they have a short conversation. Gabriel strokes his chin, thinking, deciding. Finally, he nods and Afa disappears through a gap in the rocks.
A couple of minutes later, he re-emerges with another, smaller, No-lander. He’s wearing a hoodie that shadows his face. Before I can work out what’s happening he lunges at me, dropping to his knees. The hood pushes back to show a smooth round face and a shock of dirty blonde curls.
Willow.
‘Finn!’ Her voice is familiar but somehow different. Older. Her face is smudged with charcoal in lines across her cheeks, and her hands are rough and calloused where she grips my arm.
The questions spill out of her. ‘How did you get here? Where have you come from? Where’s Kas? What about Rowdy?’
‘Whoa, whoa,’ I say. ‘One at a time.’
JT has never met Willow but he’s heard enough about her to know who she is.
‘What are you doing here?’ Willow asks again.
‘It’s a long story, Wils. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do. But, what about you? How come you’re here with this lot?’
She shakes her head. ‘Ah, Finn,’ she says. ‘It’s so good to see you.’
This time she pulls away and gets herself together. She tells the story like she’s rehearsed it. ‘Ramage sent Wilders to the valley to steal Hope, but Mum had hidden with her in the underground shelter we’d built over the summer.’
‘What happened to you?’ I ask.
‘I was…’ She pauses. ‘I was picking blackberries. I didn’t get the warning. When they couldn’t find Hope they took me instead.’
‘Where was Harry?’ I ask.
‘Hunting,’ she says, swallowing hard.
‘But how did you get here? Did you escape?’
‘We were travelling on foot. Camping in the bush, staying off the roads. The Wilders were scared of the No-landers.’ She glances at Afa, who smiles. ‘There was a huge storm one night,’ she continues. ‘I took my chance and ran.’
She looks at the ground and brushes one hand through her hair. ‘It was crazy—lightning and thunder and shouting and screaming. I tried to find my way home but I got lost.’
‘We found her,’ Afa says. ‘She was half-dead. Cuts and scratches all over her. She didn’t say a word for the first week.’
‘Afa,’ Willow says, nodding at him. ‘He looks after me. Keeps me safe.’
‘Bullshit!’ Afa says, turning to me with a broad smile. ‘She looks after herself. Have you seen what she can do with a bow and arrow?’
Willow turns to me and raises her eyebrows. I remember the hours she practised in the backyard at Angowrie, shooting at a target on an old mattress.
‘Was that you who shot through the canopy on the truck?’ JT asks.
She nods. ‘But, Finn,’ she says. ‘Where’s Kas?’
I settle back against the rock and tell her everything that’s happened since we left the valley last spring—or at least as much as she needs to know. She fumes when she hears about Tusker cutting my chin and swears under her breath when I get to the trial. Afa listens intently, too. I don’t mention anything about Angela or the dud trackers she implanted.
Telling our story to Willow makes our need to rescue Kas and Daymu feel even more urgent. I have no idea how to go about finding them in Wentworth—everything to this point has been out of our control—but at least now we won’t be going there as prisoners. And maybe there are others trying to do the same as us—find the ones they love.
The night is wearing on. The No-landers bed down under the tarp, but Willow stays with me and JT. She’s still full of questions, but tiredness has caught up with me and I can’t find the energy to answer them. Eventually we lie down, huddling together. Willow is behind me, one arm around my waist. I know it’s comforting for her, and it’s reassuring for me too.
The camp stirs with the first sign of dawn. The No-landers are packing their gear and folding the tarp. It’s been an uncomfortable night and, in the haze of being only half-awake, it takes me a while to piece together what’s happened and why we’re here.
The preparations are interrupted by a voice from above us, high on the largest boulder. ‘Tahir,’ it calls. ‘Quick!’
Willow, JT and I follow as Tahir slides between the rock faces before climbing a series of ledges that lead to the top.
A tall No-lander lies flat on the rock, a pair of binoculars pressed to his eyes. He passes them to Tahir.
We’re above the treetops here, with a clear view out to the highway and the plains beyond. It’s growing lighter by the minute allowing us to pick out more detail in the stretch between us and the road. The truck is now a black shell, the telltale smoke allowing us to pinpoint it easily. The grass is scorched around it but the wet ground must have stopped the fire from spreading any further. I reckon we’re three hundred metres from it. But that’s not what’s drawing our attention. Another truck has pulled up and men are climbing out of the back.
Tahir hands me the binoculars. It takes a few seconds to focus, but when I do, my heart stops. They’re not soldiers—they’re Wilders. There is a dozen of them and at the front, pointing up towards the ridge we’re on, stands Tusker. As their truck begins a laboured U-turn, half the men fan out, moving into the paddock while the rest, led by Tusker, head straight for us.
There’s no need for talk, we slide down and get back to the others. The No-landers have hidden their camping gear. They have nothing but rifles over their shoulders and they’re ready to run.
Tahir is barking orders. ‘Split up,’ he says. ‘Head south, higher into the hills. Meet at the usual place in two days.’
‘What about him?’ one of the No-landers asks, pointing at Winston, who’s cowering behind us, hoping not to be noticed.
‘He is useless to us,’ Tahir says. He draws Sweeney’s pistol from his belt and waves it at JT and me, wanting a clear shot.
I can’t explain why, but I hold my ground. JT does the same. So does Willow.
Tahir looks over his shoulder, checking to see if the others will back him, but they’re all pushing through the passage, hurrying to escape. He speaks though gritted teeth. ‘You have learnt nothing. These people are your enemies. They will hunt you down and kill you.’
He tries to step past us but we move quickly, keeping ourselves between him and Winston. Gabriel is the last No-lander to leave. It’s the first time I’ve seen him this morning. He grabs Tahir by the arm and pulls him towards the passage. ‘Come, brother,’ he says. ‘They are close.’
‘Have it your way,’ Tahir says, pointing the gun at me. ‘But don’t expect us to save you again.’
Tahir disappears through the gap as Winston steps out from behind us. Gabriel lingers. He lifts his sunglasses to rub his eyes with the back of his hand. His eyes are yellow. ‘Stay safe,’ he says, and then he’s gone.
It takes us a few seconds to realise what we’ve seen. But right now, escape is more important.
‘Which way, Wils?’ I ask.
She doesn’t hesitate, l
eading us in the opposite direction to the No-landers. There’s a crack in the rock face a few inches wide. ‘Watch where I put my feet,’ she says. She wedges her hand into the gap, jams her foot in next to it and hauls herself upwards. She climbs like a monkey, repeating the same sequence before disappearing over the top. JT goes next. He struggles with the first section, which is the steepest, but makes it to Willow, who reaches down and pulls him up the last few metres.
I start to climb but my boots are too big to fit in the crack. Before I know what’s happening, I feel hands under my foot, lifting me higher to where the crack widens and I can get some grip. I look down at Winston. ‘Thanks,’ I say.
He nods and gives me a thumbs-up sign. ‘Good luck,’ he says.
‘You too.’
Willow directs us to the other side of the boulder we’ve climbed. It slopes into the undergrowth on the uphill side and we jump the last metre. JT and I are ready to head further into the trees when Willow says, ‘No. This way.’ She pushes through thick bracken fern at the base of the rock and into a hidden overhang. There are blankets and clothes on the ground in a space that just fits the three of us.
Willow puts a finger to her lips and we wait.
Within five minutes the bush is filled with sound, heavy footfalls and men calling to each other. Someone jumps down off the rock and stands still for ages. I’m sure my heart is beating loud enough for him to hear.
‘There!’ A deep voice echoes off the rocks and men crash through the bush heading away from us. A gunshot cracks the air, then another. There are men yelling now. ‘To your right, to your right. Three of them.’
‘Shoot to kill,’ Tusker calls. I’d recognise his voice anywhere.
It’s not hard to track their progress, their voices gradually fading as they chase the No-landers higher into the forest. Eventually, the gunshots are just muffled echoes beyond the ridge.
Once it’s quiet, we venture out from the overhang, staying low, and make our way along the rock face. My heart jumps into my mouth when a wallaby breaks cover and zigzags through the trees.
