The Dead of Night

by John Marsden

  "But before we go looking for them I want to look for someone else. I think we should go find Kevin and Corrie."

  To anyone watching (I hope there wasn't anyone) it must have resembled an outdoors ballet class. We all slowly began to unfurl and turn towards Homer. Lee dropped his piece of wood. Chris put down his pad and pen and stretched out. I stood and moved to a higher rock. Find Kevin and Corrie? Of course. The idea infused us with hope and excitement and boldness. None of us had thought anything about it because it had seemed impossible. But Homer's saying it had brought it within the realms of possibility, till suddenly it seemed like the only thing to do. In fact, his saying it made it seem so possible that it was almost as if it had happened already. That was the power of the spoken word. Homer had put us back on our feet and got us dancing again. Words began to pour from all of us. No one doubted that we should do it. For once there was no argument, no debate about the morality of it. All the talk was about how, not whether.

  Suddenly we'd forgotten about food and livestock and firewood. All we could think about was Corrie and Kevin. We realised that we might actually be able to do something about them. I felt stupid that it hadn't occurred to us before.

  Two

  Already, just a couple of months since the invasion, the landscape looked different. There were the obvious changes: crops not harvested, houses lifeless, more dead stock in the paddocks. Fruit rotting on trees and on the ground. Another farmhouse, the Blackmores', had been destroyed, maybe by accidental fire, maybe by soldiers' shells. A tree had fallen onto the roof of the Wilsons' shearing shed and still lay there in a cradle of galvanised iron and broken rafters. There were more rabbits around, and we saw three foxes, which is unusual in daylight.

  Some of the changes weren't so obvious. A gap in a fence here, a broken windmill there. A tendril of ivy curling in through a window of a house.

  There was something else too, an atmosphere, a change in the feel of the land. It felt wilder, stranger, more ancient. I was still comfortable travelling through it, but I felt less important. I felt that I wasn't much more significant than a rabbit or a fox myself. As the bush took back the farmlands, I would become just another little bush creature, scurrying through the undergrowth, barely disturbing the land. In some strange sort of way I didn't particularly mind that. It felt more natural.

  We took our time, keeping well away from the road, walking across paddocks in the shadow of the hills, using the trees for cover. We didn't talk, but there was a new mood in all of us, a new energy pumping through our blood. We walked all the way to the ruins of Corrie's house, then took a break there, raiding their little orchard for afternoon tea. A lot of the apples were nibbled by possums and parrots but there were enough whole ones for us to stuff ourselves, and we did. But we paid a price an hour later when we all started ducking behind trees; the apples had gone through our alimentary canals like a flood in Venice.

  Still, it was worth it.

  We hung around the Mackenzies' place until well after dark. We figured we were pretty safe there, because with the house just a pile of rubble there was nothing much left to attract the soldiers. I'd thought I'd feel depressed at the sight of the wreckage, but I was too nervous at the thought of what lay ahead. To be honest (there I go again) I'd already stopped dreaming noble dreams of rescuing Corrie and Kevin; instead I was thinking more about keeping myself alive. I even had the grim idea that my body might soon be looking like Corrie's house, splattered across the landscape.

  The worst thought of all though—the one I stamped on every time it reared its dark filthy head—was that Corrie might be dead. I didn't think I'd be able to cope with that. I was scared that finding Corrie dead would be the end of me. I didn't know how it would finish me; I just had this deep belief that I could not continue living if my mate Corrie had been killed by a bullet fired by an invading army in the middle of a war. Surely I couldn't survive that? Surely no one could survive that. It was too far beyond normal.

  From the moment Homer had suggested we go into town and find Kevin and Corrie we'd banished the thought that either or both of them might have been killed. The quest for them had given our lives meaning again; we weren't in a hurry to rip that up and throw it away.

  At eleven o'clock we started out for Wirrawee, walking in pairs on the grass verge of the road, about fifty metres between each pair. We'd hardly left the Mackenzies' when Lee, to my surprise, took my hand and held it in his warm grasp. That was the first time in weeks he'd taken any initiative with me. I'd been making the running, and although he'd responded OK most of the time, it had made me feel insecure, as though maybe he didn't care all that much. So it felt good to be walking along hand in hand, under the thick black sky.

  I was keen to say something, any trivial little thing, just to let Lee know how happy I felt to be wanted again. I gave his hand a squeeze and said, "We could have used the bikes, to the Mackenzies' at least."

  "Mmm. But not knowing how much things might have changed ... Better to play it safe."

  "Are you nervous?"

  "Nervous! It wasn't just the apples that had me dropping my daks."

  I laughed. "Do you know, that's the first joke you've made in weeks."

  "Is it? Have you been counting?"

  "No. But you've seemed so sad."

  "Sad? I suppose I have been. Still am. I suppose we all are."

  "Yes ... But with you it goes so deep, and I can't reach you."

  "Sorry."

  "It's not something to be sorry about. It's just the way you are. You can't help that."

  "OK, I'm not sorry then."

  "Hey, that's two jokes. At this rate you'll be doing stand-ups at the Wirrawee nightclub."

  "Wirrawee nightclub? I think I missed that. Our restaurant's the nearest thing to a nightclub in Wirrawee."

  "Remember how everyone at school kept complaining that there was never anything to do in Wirrawee? Definitely no nightclubs. We had that Year 9 disco but we never got around to having another one. It was good fun, but."

  "Yes. You and I had a dance."

  "We did? I don't remember that."

  "I do."

  He said it with such feeling, and his hand tightened so hard on mine that I was startled. I tried to look at his face, but couldn't make out his expression in the darkness.

  "You remember it that well?"

  "You were sitting with Corrie, under the premiership flag. You were holding a drink with one hand and fanning yourself with the other. You were red in the face and laughing. It was pretty hot in there and you'd been dancing with Steve. I'd been wanting to ask you since I'd got there—that was the only reason I went in the first place—but I didn't have the guts. Then suddenly I found myself walking towards you without even knowing how I'd started. It was like I'd become a robot. I asked you and you just looked at me for a sec while I felt like a complete idiot, and wondered which tactful way you'd find to say no. Then without saying anything you gave Corrie the can of drink and you got up and we had our dance. I was hoping for a long slow song but it was 'Convicted of Love.' Not too romantic. Then at the end Corrie dragged you off to the dunnies and that was the end of it."

  My hand had become damp and sweaty, but so had Lee's I think. It was hard to tell whose hand was providing the damp. I just couldn't believe what I was hearing. Had Lee really felt that way about me for so long? Unbelievable, wonderful.

  "Lee! You're so ... Why didn't you tell me all this ages ago?"

  "I don't know," he mumbled, shutting all his words in again, as quickly as he'd let them out.

  "You've seemed so ... I never know whether you really care or not."

  "I care, Ellie. It's just that I care about other things too; mainly my family. I get so exhausted thinking about them that there's no room for anything else."

  "I know. Do I ever know. But we can't deep-freeze our lives until our families get out. We have to keep living, and that means thinking and feeling and ... and just advancing! Do you know what I mean?"
r />   "I know it. Only it's hard to do it sometimes."

  We were passing the Church of Christ at the edge of Wirrawee. Homer and Robyn, who were ahead, had stopped and we waited with them for Fi and Chris, who'd fallen a little behind. From now on there would be no more talk of emotions, and liking each other. I had to put away my amazement at the strength and depth of Lee's feelings. We had to be completely alert, concentrating. This was a war zone, and we were going into the heart of it. There must have been a hundred or more soldiers just in little Wirrawee, and every one of them would want to kill us if they could, especially after what we had done to their buddies.

  Each of our three pairs separated, one person to each side of the street. I was on the right, Lee on the left. We waited until the dark figures of Homer and Robyn had been gone sixty seconds, then we followed. We went along Warrigle Road, with the Mathers' house on the ridge above us. I wondered how Robyn would feel as she passed it. We turned into Honey Street, as we'd agreed, and crept along the footpath. There were still no lights in this part of Wirrawee and I caught only occasional glimpses of Lee. I saw nothing of the other four, and could only hope that we were all going at the same speed. Honey Street at least seemed normal enough, except for a wrecked car crushed up against a telegraph pole. It was a dark blue car, which made it hard to see, and I nearly walked into it myself. As usual my mind started wandering: I began wondering how I'd explain it to the cops if I had a collision with a parked car..."Well Sergeant, I was going east along Honey Street, doing about four k's, when I suddenly saw the car right in front of me. I hit the brakes and veered to the right, but I struck the vehicle a glancing blow on its right-hand side..."

  I had so many different daydreams for when I was walking anywhere. My favourite was counting things, like the number of electrical appliances we had at home (sixty-four, I'm ashamed to say), the number of songs I could remember with a weekday in the title (like "Let's Make It Saturday"), the number of mozzies who'd never be born because of the one Id just killed (sixty billion in six months, if every female laid a thousand eggs).

  My problem was to stop thinking about stuff like that when I was walking through a town crawling with soldiers wanting to kill me. It amazed me that even in those situations I still found it hard to concentrate. I was OK for ten minutes or so, but then something would distract me and my mind would drift out in the rip again. Incredible but true. It was the same in this battlefield as it was in Geography classes at school. I was scared I'd dream myself to death one day.

  From Honey Street we cut across a little park with no name, into Barrabool Avenue. We met, as agreed, in the front garden of Robyn's music teacher's house, and had a quick conference under the peppercorn tree.

  "It's quiet," Homer said.

  "Too quiet," Lee said, with a little smile. He'd watched a few war movies in his time, Lee.

  "Maybe they've all left," Robyn said.

  "We're a block and a half away," Homer said. "Let's keep going, just the way we' planned. Everybody happy?"

  "Laughing hysterically," Chris said.

  Robyn and Homer tiptoed away through the trees. A few moments later we heard the little thuds of their feet on the gravel as they jumped from the garden back on to the footpath.

  "Can we go next?" Fi whispered.

  "OK. Why?"

  "I can't stand the waiting." She looked too thin in the darkness, like a ghost. I touched her cold cheek and she gave a little sob. I hadn't realised how scared she was. All the time we'd spent holed up in Hell had preyed on her mind. But we had to be tough when we were out here in the streets. We needed Fi if we were going to check the Hospital thoroughly.

  So all I said was, "Think brave, Fi."

  "Yes, that's right."

  She turned and followed Chris, as Lee took my hand again.

  "I wish Fi and I were as good friends as we were before," I said to him. He didn't answer, just squeezed my hand.

  We made our way back out to Barrabool Avenue, separating again to left and right. Now at last I had no trouble concentrating. Logically, the area around the Hospital shouldn't have been more dangerous than any other part of town—one of the points we'd been sure of was that the Hospital wouldn't be heavily guarded—but because it was our target, our goal, I was now alert and watchful and nervous.

  Wirrawee Hospital is on the left side of Barrabool, near the crest of the hill. It's a single-storey building that's been added to over the years, with lots of different wings, so that now it's like a letter H next to a letter T. Between us we'd had enough experience of the place to work out quite a good map. We had information from everyone. Lee had visited it when each of his little brothers had been born. Robyn had been admitted for a few days when she broke her ankle cross-country running; Fi's grandmother had been there for months before she died; I'd had my shoulder X-raved, picked up tablets for Dad at the dispensary, visited friends when they were in there. Yes, we all knew the Hospital.

  The trouble was that we didn't know how much things had changed since the invasion. The adult prisoners we'd talked to once had told us that our people were still being treated at the Hospital, but we had to expect that they wouldn't be in the best private rooms. In the car park, more likely. Before the invasion the entrance foyer was in the crossbar of the H, with Casualty and Outpatients and X-Ray and all that stuff on the right, and the wards on the left. In the crossbar of the T were the offices, and in the long row behind them were the wards for the old people.

  See, our Hospital was as much an old people's home as it was a hospital: we didn't get a lot of open-heart surgery and kidney transplants in Wirrawee.

  It was 1.35 am when we got there. The electricity was on in this part of town, as it had been every time we'd visited Wirrawee. There were no streetlights, but there was a big security light shining on the car park. The Hospital was lit, but mainly just the corridors and the foyer. There weren't many rooms with lights on.

  At 1.45, as we'd agreed, Homer and Robyn made the first move. From a belt of trees across the road from the car park Lee and I saw the two dark figures moving towards the far end of the Outpatients section. Robyn was in the lead, Homer was peering around more as he followed. I was surprised at how small they looked. There was a door near that end of the building which we'd figured was the least conspicuous entry, and we were hoping it would be unlocked. But Robyn was only at it a moment before she turned away and began checking the windows along the side nearest us, while Homer disappeared around the other side. A few minutes later Homer reappeared, Robyn rejoined him, and they moved quickly back to the trees. So that was one failed option.

  Five minutes later, Fi and Chris came out of their hiding place, behind some sheds a little further up the hill. Their target was the T-shaped building—the offices and old people's wing. It took them ten minutes, or close enough, but the result was the same: the place was tight as a Vacola. Chris looked in our direction and held out his arms, palms up. He couldn't see us, or so I hoped, but he knew approximately where we'd be. Then he and Fi retreated to safety, leaving the field to us. Lee looked at me and rolled his eyes; I grinned back, hoping I didn't look as frightened as I felt.

  We waited the agreed five minutes. It was 2.09 am. I tapped Lee's arm, he nodded, and off we went. Across the crunchy gravel, up a small bank planted with straggly red wallflowers, and towards a side door in the main wing. We walked slowly, about three metres apart. I was breathing hard, as though I'd run a crossie, and I was sweating all over. The sweat felt so cold on my skin, like it was turning to ice. My throat had a lump so big I felt I'd swallowed a chicken bone. Basically, I felt sick. I was very scared. I'd almost forgotten the emotion that had brought us there: my love for Corrie and Key. I just wanted to do the job, find them or not find them, and then get out of there. That was all.

  I reached the door, which was in shadows but had an illuminated green exit sign above it. I turned the handle slowly and pushed, then pulled. The result was the same: the door was tightly locked.

&nbs
p; As the others had done, we separated and began checking the windows. The ones on the corridor side were all closed, but on the other side quite a few were open. But they were up high, beyond our reach without a ladder. I was getting too close to the lights of the entrance foyer, so I went back, meeting up with Lee again near the locked exit door. It was too dangerous to talk there, so we went over to a shed about forty metres away—a small locked wooden hut—and hid behind it.

  "What do you think?" Lee asked.

  "I don't know. Those open windows would be for wards. I don't see how we could just drop into a ward."

  "Plus they're so high up."

  "Yes."

  There was a pause. I had no idea where to go from there.

  "I wish the others were here. They might know what to do."

  "It's only ten minutes before our pull-out time."

  "Mmm."

  Another minute passed. I sighed and started to stand. I couldn't see any point hanging around there, in such a dangerous place. But as I began to move, Lee grabbed my arm.

  "Shh. Wait. There's something..."

  I heard it too, at that moment. It was the sound of a door opening. I peeped around one corner of the shed; Lee looked around the other. It was the door that we'd been hoping to find unlocked. A man in military uniform was coming out. We could see him easily, backlit by the dull light from the corridor. He didn't even look around, just walked along the bank, pulling things out of his pocket. Only when his hand went to his mouth did I realise what he was doing. It was a cigarette. He'd come outside for a smoke. Just like us, these people weren't allowed to smoke in hospitals. I got quite a shock. I'd been thinking of them as animals, monsters, but they had rules, codes of conduct, too. I guess it sounds naive, but it was the first time I felt any common ground with them. It was odd.