Land of Fences

by Mark Smith

  ‘What did he mean by the fences?’ Willow asks, cutting off another potential argument over Rowdy.

  ‘No idea,’ I say.

  ‘So…?’ Willow asks.

  ‘We keep moving,’ JT says. ‘Look for somewhere off the road before daybreak. There’ll be old farmhouses out here.’ I know the thought of Daymu being held captive is driving him in the same way Kas is driving me. All of our decisions are mixed up with the desperate need to get to Wentworth. And we haven’t even begun to think about how we’ll find them once we get there.

  The only gauge of time is the arcing of the moon. It’s behind us now and our shadows lengthen as we strike out onto the highway again. We’re slower—the lack of sleep and food catching up with us. Willow never complains. Every time I look at her, she nods, puts her head down, and keeps going.

  As the night wears on, our rest breaks become longer and it’s harder to get going again. There have been no patrols, and eventually the sky in the east begins to lighten. Off to our left, maybe two hundred metres away, I spy a hayshed with a windmill and water tank. We can’t get to it fast enough, stumbling across the paddocks towards the shed. It’s collapsed on one side but there’s some protection from the road. The tank is rusted out and empty but we still have two water bottles from the farmhouse. There’s no hay in the shed but there are some hessian sacks in one corner. They stink of rat shit, but we lie on them anyway.

  Once the sun comes up, the temperature inside the shed rises quickly—it’s going to be another scorcher. Before we try to sleep, we open another can—vegetable stew this time—and share it around. Rowdy isn’t interested—he ate all the rabbit Willow shot. We drink the second-last bottle of water.

  Three times during the long, hot day, trucks thunder past on the highway—two heading towards Longley and one to Wentworth. We doze on and off, waking every time the wind lifts loose sheets of iron on the roof. The whole shed bangs and clatters and creaks. It feels like it could collapse on us at any moment.

  We’re awake by late afternoon, impatient for the sun to set. The wind has howled all day and the corrugated iron walls have concentrated the heat. We’re sweaty and hungry and we’ve nearly finished the last of the water. When we step out of the shed in the evening, there are thick black clouds rising off the horizon to the west. It’s both a relief and a worry when we see them. We’ll struggle to walk through a storm but at least there’ll be water to drink.

  Once it’s fully dark, we cross the paddock to the highway and continue on our way. The next road sign tells us we’re within twenty k’s of Wentworth. It spurs us on and we make good time, the storm looming at our backs with lightning streaking the sky and thunder rumbling every few minutes. Rowdy whines and stays close to my leg. He hates storms.

  The rain arrives quickly, progressing from steady drops to a total downpour in half a minute. There are deep puddles in potholes on the road. We stop to fill our bottles and drink, lying on our stomachs and sucking at the cleaner water on top. We trudge on, cringing when the thunder is close enough to shake the ground. Up ahead, JT waves us to the side of the road. There’s a bridge over a creek. We slide down the bank and climb in underneath. It’s not comfortable but it’s dry and we’re out of sight. The rain cascades off the side of the bridge, and the creek runs with muddy water, carrying weeds and debris with it.

  Within twenty minutes the rain eases and the wind drops. The bank below the road is a slick of mud, and we have to help each other up. But, before long, we’re moving again, the storm ahead of us now, the lightning cracking horizontally across the blackened sky.

  We’ve seen no trucks during the night. Towards morning, five or six hours on from the bridge, the clouds clear completely and the stars fan out across the sky. There are more buildings in clusters now, sheds and farmhouses with windmills turning in the breeze. It feels like we’re getting closer to civilisation. Just before dawn, the road rises to a small crest. We approach it warily, not knowing what lies beyond. There’s a stonewall at right angles to the road, crumbled and ruined in parts but still standing in others. We turn off and follow it, staying low and finally unloading our gear. We peer over the top.

  We cannot believe what we see.

  Beyond the rise a long, ragged wall stretches across the plain, cutting off the highway. It’s made of car bodies, rusted machinery, logs, a bus, railway sleepers, roofing iron, telephone poles lying at skewed angles, scrap metal, lumps of concrete and hundreds of car tyres.

  On the road, there’s a checkpoint with a boom gate painted red and white. There’s a sentry box and armed guards in uniform.

  ‘This must be what Tusker meant by the fences,’ JT says, trying to take in what he’s seeing.

  Fifty metres to our right, there’s a building made of the same stone as the wall. Before it gets too light, we make our way to it. It looks like it’s a hundred years old. The four walls are standing, but there are no doors or windows, or roof. At one end there is a fireplace and the remains of a chimney.

  ‘This’ll have to do,’ JT says. ‘I don’t think we can be seen from the road. We can sleep here, and tonight we’ll check out the fence.’

  ‘Tusker said fences. Plural. How many can there be?’ I say.

  ‘Who knows?’ JT says. ‘But we’ve come this far. We’ve gotta find a way through.’

  The day isn’t as hot as the last two. High clouds have followed the storm and they block some of the sun’s intensity, though the air’s thick with humidity. We sit the bottles on the floor and allow the sediment to settle. The water is still murky, but we don’t have any choice. We need fluids.

  I’m getting used to sleeping rough again. I find a spot in the lee of the northern wall to lie down. Rowdy sniffs his way around, pissing in half a dozen places to mark his territory, then settles inside the doorway. Willow is further along from me and JT is propped up near the fireplace. We’ve made it this far without being captured but the fence has spooked us. Who are they defending the city from? Or who are they trying to stop from escaping?

  We sleep on and off through the day. There are more trucks on the road than yesterday, mostly heading towards Longley. Early in the afternoon, two army vehicles speed past, moving west.

  Later, I pick up a strange buzzing noise coming from the direction of the fence. It gets louder for a while then fades. JT and Willow have heard it too. We keep to the back of the house then make the short run to the stone wall. The fence looks even more bizarre in the full light of day. It’s like someone has emptied a rubbish tip and piled it up in a row. For the first time, we see the heavy coils of razor wire laced through it, and we pick up the stench of it too—something is rotting in among the tyres, concrete and steel.

  Slowly, the buzzing noise draws closer. A drone skims through the air above the fence. It stops, hovers and turns towards us. We drop behind the stone wall and lie along its base. I try to hold Rowdy by the collar but the buzzing is almost over us now and he starts barking. He wrenches free and tears into the open, running in circles as the drone hovers above him. It stays for a few seconds, turning one way then the other, before moving towards the house. Rowdy chases it, leaping in the air and yapping wildly.

  It comes back our way but veers off to the highway and follows the road to the gate. It hovers there for a short while then resumes its surveillance of the fence, heading north.

  With the drone gone, Rowdy settles and joins us.

  JT is fuming. ‘I told you,’ he says, between gritted teeth. ‘That dog’s gonna get us killed. Now we have to move in the daylight. We’ll be sitting ducks.’

  ‘He couldn’t help it,’ I say, knowing it sounds pathetic.

  ‘He couldn’t, but we could,’ JT fires back. ‘We should’ve got rid of him at the farmhouse.’

  Rowdy hides behind my legs.

  Willow steps between JT and me. ‘Do you think they saw us?’ she asks.

  ‘They definitely saw Rowdy,’ JT says.

  ‘How much more daylight do you reckon we’ve
got?’ Willow asks.

  ‘Two, maybe three hours,’ I guess.

  JT is still seething as we gather our gear and make our way back to the wall. Heading away from the road, it follows a rocky ridge before it peters out near a small clump of trees that might give us some cover.

  We keep as low as we can, sprinting harder where there are gaps in the wall. The last stretch to the trees is completely open. We hesitate for a few seconds before JT says, ‘Go!’

  There are only half a dozen trees in the clump, surrounded by stumps where others have been cut and hauled away. The remaining ones are twisted and gnarled, with thin strips of bark hanging off them. When I look up into the branches, something catches my eye. Where two trees lean into each other there’s a platform screened by foliage. I give Rowdy the signal to stay and he drops. There are notches cut in the trunk for footholds and, a little higher up, a knotted rope. We start to climb—me first, then Willow and JT. The platform is made of wide, flat boards nailed to the branches. It’s bare except for an empty binoculars case.

  When I part the branches we have a perfect line of sight down to the sentry post on the highway.

  ‘Someone’s been using this to keep an eye on the fence,’ JT says.

  ‘But who?’ Willow asks.

  ‘Maybe people wanting to get in,’ I say. ‘Like us.’

  ‘Or someone watching traffic on the road,’ JT says. ‘Like No-landers.’

  ‘Either way, we’ll have to stay here until it gets dark,’ I say.

  The afternoon drags. There’s not enough room for us to stretch out on the planks. I climb down a couple of times to reassure Rowdy. Finally, the sun dips in the west and the day begins to melt into the evening.

  We’re just starting to relax when Willow whispers. ‘We got trouble!’

  I shuffle up next to her and look where she’s pointing. There’s a group of soldiers making their way—no, running—towards the sentry post from the Wentworth side. The boom gate opens and they pass straight through, veer off the road and make a beeline for the stone house.

  ‘Shit!’ JT says. ‘What do we do?’

  The soldiers are almost at the stone wall, their figures hazy in the dusk.

  ‘We can’t stay here,’ I say. ‘They’ll see the trees from the house and come to investigate.’

  We climb down, keeping the trunk between the soldiers and us. We hit the ground running, past the last few trees then over a small ridge and downhill to the fence. From there, we take off away from the sentry post. The fence curves away to the south, giving us some protection.

  Up close the fence is much higher than it seemed from a distance—a crazy jumble of sharp metal and broken concrete that towers over us. We look desperately for footholds but there’s razor wire coiled through the stack. We couldn’t get over without being cut to shreds. We keep running, becoming more frantic the longer we go. It’s getting darker by the minute, so at least that works in our favour.

  A whistle pierces the air and men shout to each other. Above the panic and confusion I hear a loud popping sound and everything is suddenly flooded with light. It’s then we see the cable, looping from pole to pole along the top of the fence and, at regular intervals, long fluorescent tubes hanging by their wires.

  We run blindly along the fence. There’s the crack of gunfire and the sound of bullets hitting metal. Willow’s breath is loud, Rowdy has started to bark and JT is trying to run and load the rifle at the same time. Up ahead the hulking shape of a bus sticks out from the fence, blocking our path. We run to the other side and look for somewhere to hide. As we stand in its shadow, dark figures jump out through the windows and doors, landing on us, punching and kicking. I feel an arm wrap itself around my mouth and I’m dragged inside the bus, vaguely aware—through the blur of boots and fists—of JT and Willow being pulled in behind me. Rowdy leaps into the fray but a kick knocks him sideways and he cringes under one of the seats. The door is pulled shut and everything is quiet apart from the heavy breathing of our attackers and us.

  ‘Any noise and I’ll slit your throat,’ a voice whispers in my ear. I feel a cold blade against my throat.

  Boots approach, pause for a few seconds then continue past the bus. A minute passes and two hands grab me by the shirt and haul me off the floor. The light filters into the bus and I see Willow and JT being lifted in the same way. There are four dark figures all with rags tied across their faces so only their eyes are showing.

  The one holding me speaks first. ‘Who are you?’ he demands. It’s a boy’s voice.

  ‘Nobody,’ I say, still struggling to find my breath.

  ‘What? I can’t understand you,’ he says.

  I do my best to slow down and speak clearly. ‘We’re on the run,’ I say.

  ‘From who?’

  ‘Wilders. The army.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘We escaped from a transport. Back towards Longley.’ I’m hyperventilating. It hardly sounds like me talking.

  ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘We’re trying to get to Wentworth.’

  Now the others laugh. ‘Bullshit!’ one of them says.

  Another figure peers out the back window. ‘Clear,’ he says.

  Willow and JT are shoved in next to me and we’re lined up on a bench seat. Our attackers stand over us.

  ‘They’re Sileys,’ the boy says, pointing to the lump on the back of my hand.

  ‘Not this one.’ I’m surprised to hear a girl’s voice. She’s holding Willow’s arm.

  ‘They don’t look like Sileys,’ one of the others says. He sounds even younger.

  ‘We were reclassified,’ JT says. ‘In Longley.’

  ‘So it’s true. We heard rumours about that,’ the girl says.

  ‘You know Ramage?’ JT asks. ‘He’s commissioner of the zone west of here.’

  ‘Yes, we know him. How long have you been running?’ the girl asks.

  ‘Our transport was attacked a couple of days ago,’ I say.

  ‘By who?’

  ‘No-landers.’

  ‘You’ve met the rebels?’ the boy says, excited now.

  ‘And who are you?’ JT asks.

  The girl nods to each of them and they slowly unwind the rags around their faces. There are two boys and two girls. The girls and one of the boys are dark-skinned. The second boy is blond-haired, tall and thin.

  ‘Survivors,’ the tall boy says. ‘I’m Tamas and this is Ash,’ he says pointing to the other boy. ‘And Sarisi and Vidu.’ The girls each raise a hand.

  I tell them our names.

  ‘Are you Sileys?’ Willow asks.

  ‘Not any more,’ Sarisi says. She holds up her hand. It has a scar across the back, a couple of centimetres long.

  ‘And you?’ Willow says, nodding at Tamas.

  ‘Freeborn,’ Tamas says. ‘But that doesn’t mean much these days.’

  I look more closely at Sarisi’s scar. ‘That’s dangerous,’ I say. ‘I know someone who died doing that.’

  ‘We have our connections,’ she says. ‘It was done properly.’ She pauses for a second. ‘But you two, you’re on the grid.’

  JT smiles and shakes his head. ‘What?’ Sarisi says.

  ‘Long story,’ JT says. ‘But we’re not on the grid. Our trackers aren’t active. I guarantee it.’

  ‘You can deactivate them?’

  ‘Yeah,’ JT says with a sideways glance at me.

  Now that they’ve sorted out who we are, they’re not sure what to do with us.

  ‘Why did you help us?’ I ask.

  ‘We’ve been watching you—at the stone house and in the lookout tree,’ Ash says. His hair is roughly cut, almost to his scalp. There’s something familiar about him but I can’t put my finger on it.

  ‘Do you live inside the fences?’ JT asks.

  A look passes around the group. Sarisi seems to be the leader. ‘Why is that important?’ she says.

  ‘We need to get in.’

  Again, they laugh.

&nb
sp; ‘You have no idea, do you?’ Tamas says. ‘It’s dangerous in there. There are patrols—and drones, as you’ve already discovered.’

  Vidu has coaxed Rowdy out from under the seat. She pats him with soft strokes along his back.

  ‘Can you get us through the fences?’ I ask.

  Sarisi puffs her cheeks and exhales. ‘No,’ she says firmly. ‘Go home. If you are captured inside the city you’ll be slaves for life.’

  ‘There are people we need to find,’ JT says.

  Sarisi nods. ‘We all have friends and family in there,’ she says. ‘But the virus is still active, so everything is monitored.’

  ‘We just need to get in,’ JT says. ‘We’ll take our chances.’

  ‘You think you’re brave,’ Ash says. ‘But you’re stupid. You can survive outside the fences. Find a quarantined town. Lie low.’

  I snort and they all look at me. ‘What do you think I’ve been doing for three winters?’ I say. ‘It’s not safe out there either.’

  ‘Who is it you’re looking for?’ Tamas asks.

  JT hesitates, looking to me, then Willow. ‘Two girls, Sileys,’ he says.

  ‘You’ve got no chance,’ Ash replies. ‘The women are kept in a separate part of the city. A whole block fenced off and guarded.’

  ‘So?’ JT says, scratching his head. ‘Are the fences designed to keep people in or out?’

  ‘Both,’ Sarisi says.

  ‘But you can get us in,’ he says again. This conversation is going in circles.

  ‘If there was a purpose to it, yes, we could get you in,’ Sarisi says, growing more agitated. ‘But we don’t know these Sileys. They are nobody to us.’

  ‘What if we try to get in ourselves?’ JT says. ‘It must be possible.’

  Sarisi shakes her head. ‘You’d be captured before you got to the second fence. You can stay here until the lights go out, then you must leave. The way you came.’

  ‘When do the lights go out?’ I ask.

  Sarisi is wearing a watch. She looks at it now. ‘In a couple of hours,’ she says.