I headed back down the hill and straight to Mark. I told him to keep firing same as the last shot, then I headed through the building ruins to the Rundle St trebuchet.
*
On my way, Joyce jumped on comms.
“We’ve got eyes on and they’re making ground on us quickly. And they’ve got a truck! Jonesy says it’s the big rig you guys saw at Norwood. They firing everything they’ve got at us and we don’t know how long we can hold out. Over.”
How the hell did they have another truck?, I thought.
They either had a far bigger fleet than we first discovered, or were so well set-up they could churn new vehicles out as they pleased. Neither scenario was great really, but I sure as shit didn’t like knowing I seemed to be further and further behind the Norwood game plan with each thing I discovered.
Lana jumped onto comms from base. “Same situation out east, Joyce. Hold then fold, understand. Hold as long as you can, but as soon as Jonesy feels it’s time, fold. Over.”
“Affirmative, base. Anything else we should know? Over.”
“East have the upper hand. They’re crippled the ash sweeper. Stopped the fleet. Put everything you’ve got into the sweeper. Over.”
“Affirmative,” said Joyce.
“Remember: hold and fold. Over.”
“Affirmative. Over and out.”
*
I had reached the Rundle St trebuchet when the gunfire went into overdrive.
Shane jumped onto the radio. “They’re going in!”
We all knew what he meant. They were sending in a team to remove and replace the dead driver from the ash sweeper. The gunfire was a mix of the covering fire from beyond our wall and our attempts to hit them while they were exposed.
It was chaos for the next couple of minutes and there was nothing I could do about it. There was no way I was sticking my head over the wall to help line up the Rundle St trebuchet’s next shot.
I did go and touch base with the firing team to hear where they were at. I spoke to Laura (trebuchet leader) in between shots, then helped them reload. But I couldn’t help but think my time could be best used somewhere else.
I remember having this feeling I was useless at that moment. This urge overtook me. I wanted to think ahead, not in the moment. I want to think of the next moment... or the one after that. I wanted to find that thing... that thing I could do that would change the game, not just the next shot.
I looked around. I could see the team going through their firing ritual, using the comms. They were in the moment. But they were already prepared for the next step in their fight. There was a car at the ready, just down the street, waiting to tow the trebuchet to safety should things go pear-shaped. It was the same set up as North Tce.
Then I remembered Wakefield St. We had abandoned the post. Yet we had left the trebuchet. That could not get into enemy hands. I started getting very paranoid. Maybe it was the game-changers that Norwood had trumped us with already, or the significant extra numbers we already knew they had. Whatever it was, I knew I had to do something about that trebuchet.
I saw Jan, who was at Wakefield, on the trebuchet team at Rundle, and asked her how they’d got here from the lookout.
“We walked,” she said.
“What about the car?” I asked.
“There was no car.”
Of course, we didn’t have the cars required to reclaim all the trebuchets. We barely had the people to operate them! But I knew if it were all to hit the fan, no one’s mind would be on the fate of that weapon and we’d just be handing it to the enemy.
At that moment I knew I had to destroy that trebuchet.
My first move was back to the North Tce lookout. I wanted to tell Shane what I was doing in person, partly in case our comms were compromised, but mostly to get a moment of his focused time.
I dashed back and up the stairs as the chaos of battle raged around me. It may sound weird, but I remember feeling this freedom as I ran over the ash and rubble. The best I can put it down to is this new mission I’d given myself was everything that made me me in the post-rock world. Around me, everyone was looking at the next critical thing to stay alive, but I was doing something totally different to stay ahead.
It was a madhouse in the lookout. Asha was screaming updates from outside. Trent, Alyce and Trav were doing the same. Shane was taking it all in and barking instructions down to the trebuchet teams below. I knew I’d done the right thing in coming up.
I ran straight over to him and told him my plan. He processed for a second and nodded. I turned to leave but then remembered down south.
“Next time Joyce is on, tell them to burn the trebuchets before they fallout... you know, if they have to.”
Shane gave me a look like we both knew they’d have to. Then he nodded his agreement and gave another nod to send me on my way.
I headed to Alyce and we embraced. She said, “I love you” and I returned the words through tears. I broke the moment to leave. She said, “Stay alive for me.” I said “You too,” as I departed.
I grabbed one of the jerry cans of petrol we had waiting for our closer range defence and headed to Phoenix.
*
Down south the fight had not only caught up to where it was out east, it had surpassed it. The ash sweeper down there had little resistance from the ground as it rolled over the loosely refilled ash in the trench already created. It meant the trebuchets were on the lower range of the effective capability. While they anticipated it... and maybe the speed at which it would all happen, it still took them by surprise. Not the move as such, the momentum it gave the enemy and the confidence it drained from our crew.
Jonesy and his team were always thinking, though, and had a plan to get the best out of their weapons at closer range. Instead of taking more and more out of the counterweight box, they started to increase the weight of the payload. Instead of a bowling ball, they’d add two... or random bits of rubble that were lying in the ash around them – lots of rubble.
It kept the velocity of the shots high enough that when they scored a direct hit, the damage would still be of a truck-panel-wrecking nature.
Of course, the more inconsistent payload weights and shapes meant some wild variety in firing results. The aim was generally straight enough, not so the distance. This worked out well for the trebuchet at Pulteney St as it was in the direct path of the enemy fleet. The vehicles all lined up perfectly for them and any shots they fired that were too long to hit the ash sweeper would more than likely tag the big rig or the fleet of smaller cars behind it.
The Hutt St trebuchet had a tougher task attacking from a 45-degree angle. But, a hit into the side of those vehicles had the potential to cause every bit the damage, maybe more, than those at the front.
Not only had it made our side shots more effective, it must’ve been a horrific sight for the enemy. A bowling ball, even one on fire, was one thing to deal with, but a scattergun shower of debris chunks and sharp edges was something else altogether – more random and violent.
But those on our side of the wall were facing their own horrors as the enemy inched closer. While the new firing methods evened the ledger a little, Norwood was still advancing. Every metre they gained must’ve poured the pressure on our defences more and more.
Joyce returned to see the new shape of the battle. She exchanged communications with Jonesy and got an update on the new firing technique. She then passed on the idea to burn the trebuchets if they had to fallback – to which he agreed. Then she told him about returning to King William St to tow the last trebuchet away. The message that Joyce would pass on in a few minutes was that he said, “That would be unrealistic in the circumstances.”
I think she probably paraphrased that.
*
I hovered west to Frome St before heading south. Even though the sounds of battle filled the air, I didn’t want any chance of Phoenix’s fans drawing attention. I couldn’t assume anywhere was free from enemies.
I hit Wakefi
eld and headed east again, pulling Phoenix to a stop before Hutt St. This gave me a couple of blocks to travel on foot before I reached the trebuchet.
It was a weird sensation. To the north, I could hear the chaos from where I’d been moments earlier. To the south, I could hear similar from our other front. Yet I was in this, seemingly, peaceful little pocket in the middle. The breeze hit my face... so did the murky daylight.
It made me realise how localised the conditions were around the two battlefronts. Those blankets of ash that gave the enemy cover, while they fanned out a little, didn’t spread far. It was a bizarre experience, I was in a different day altogether, like leaving the cinema in daylight... but all real life.
The fuel was heavy. It made the trip across the ash quite tiring. I could’ve used the cleared path down Wakefield St to walk down, but I felt I would be way too exposed if there was anyone about.
Between my oasis of daylight and the stereo dark clouds of battle either side of me... well, surreal seems a pretty good way to describe my lonely walk.
I reached the trebuchet but decided to head up to the lookout before I set the weapon on fire. I could remove any of our intel in case the enemy found the place. I could also see what I could see out the window. I figured this was all better done before the trebuchet blaze started throwing out smoke signals to the world.
The three Js hadn’t left anything incriminating behind before they departed. My attention soon turned to the view.
There was also another reason for visiting the lookout. I had a jerrycan half full of petrol, way too heavy to lug across no-man’s land. I knew there were a couple of buckets in the lookout. We use them for, erm, the shorter toilet breaks. Anyway, I found what I was looking for – thankfully empty.
It was turning into a good day outside the ashfog bubble and I could see all the way across no-man’s land. The last plumes of ash kicking up from enemy territory weren’t too far away. It was a strong plume that dissipated the further out it travelled. Some of the ash kicked in the air in front of me but I could still see through it to the cleaner space beyond.
To the north I could see the blurry edge of the ashfog – it rolled in like a storm front over our defences.
Then it hit me. I realised what a unique spot I was in right then. I was where the enemy wasn’t expecting me. Everything was there for me to flank them. I would be hard to spot until the last minute and coming from where no one would be looking.
And I had enough fuel to send a big rig up in smoke.
*
Joyce reached comms again.
She passed on the improved firing success they were having on the southern front and Shane ordered the teams below him to start doing the same thing. Then came the “unrealistic in the circumstances” moment. Shane swore and I think I heard Joyce tut – her PG filtering failing dismally.
*
So, we had a rogue trebuchet that needed dealing with and no one in a position to take care of it. Shane and Lana threw some ideas back and forth across comms before Lana sighed and radioed Kent. With Joyce running comms back and forth, Kent was the only person at base besides Lana. Worse still, he was the only one on watch, with Lana coordinating the attack from the war room.
There were no cars left at base, so Kent had to take the last hovercraft south. Then he’d meet up with either Joyce or the team at the front, swap rides and head to the King William St lookout. After that he’d hook up the trebuchet, tow it to our secret storage location in the new hospital foyer, then return to base.
For Kent, who spends most of his time growing and talking to plants, it was a big ask. For the rest of us, well, it was a cross your fingers moment. Not that he’d get the job done and return to base in one piece, but that we weren’t hit at the oval in the meantime. I mean, one person at the oval, that hasn’t happened since Shane and I were the only two residents. Not ideal.
*
I was preparing to make my move; just waiting for the right moment. My intention was to turn my comms off altogether once I headed off to stay as under the radar as possible. Lucky for me I had hung around listening as long as I did. I knew what the change of attack was going to be.
When I say lucky for me, it wasn’t entirely lucky. In fact, it was almost entirely unlucky that the shots into no-man’s land were about to get a whole lot more violent and unpredictable... but, you know, at least I knew in advance.
With that, I clipped the radio to my belt and turned the volume dial until it clicked off. Then I slipped the crossbow from my shoulder and held it at the ready. I double-checked I still had a bunch of arrows within reach, then headed for the stairs. Halfway down, I remembered the last flare I still had from my last stupid move into no-man’s land and stashed it at close reach in my pocket.
After filling the bucket with petrol, I took the much lighter jerrycan with me as I climbed the wall adjoining the lookout building. I paused at the top briefly to see if I could see anything moving. Once I was happy the coast was clear I mounted the top and slid down the other side.
I had a fairly generous scattering of dead tree remains to use as cover as I headed towards the ashfog. I figured I was in no danger of getting seen from within the darkness, but part of me felt like there was a distant sniper trained on me the entire time. I tried to stay as low as I could, to move as best I could using the shape of the landscape to blend in and to never stay still unless behind cover.
It wasn’t long before I started passing into the heavier weather. After enjoying the rare break I’d had in the past few minutes, I slipped my mouth cover back into place.
Within a minute I went from as good as a post-rock morning gets to a smothering ash haze. My eyes were struggling to acclimatise. They’d only just returned to their best and I had a newfound respect for them, so I decided to proceed slowly, ensuring they’d have plenty of time to adjust. I planned each tree-to-tree move with care. That planning gave me the time to immerse myself into the conditions more and more.
I knew if I kept my path due north I’d hit Rundle St behind where I’d last seen the enemy. Map simple – practical hard. I was paranoid I’d get so caught up in the wrong details that I’d get so disoriented and pop up in front of a horde of them waiting to attack in Kent Town.
Thankfully I was able to get myself close enough to the right direction that I started to make out their sounds. The ash sweeper doing its thing, the big rig idling behind it, the SUVs further back, the commands, the gunfire – it all gave me a great picture in the dark.
I worked my way, tree by tree, until I got my first glimpse. The big rig was the first thing I saw – barely. I was behind it and about 30m away. Slowly the SUVs came into my view. It was on the limits of my sight range, so I figured a small target like me would be hard to spot – unless I got closer, which I had to.
Then I noticed my heart rate. I was calm. Well, not calm, I was shitting myself, but my heart rate was under control – far more than I would have imagined. I was either ready for this or I had gone totally mad. Either way, it was time to make my move.
I had the can at the ready in one hand, crossbow in the other. I moved along the fleet, keeping my distance. When I was in line with the back of the big rig’s cabin, I stopped.
I’d already decided when I was going to make my move. I knew I needed a distraction and I had three big ones happening at regular intervals – two trebuchets and a ballista. I focused on the pattern that had been in my mind since I arrived. The ballista was firing every 20 seconds or so, the trebuchets nearly double that and usually in quick time of each other.
I was going to target the second trebuchet shot, given the frightening damage they were doing. That would give me the distraction I needed with the biggest safety window afterwards.
It wasn’t long before a wave of rubble and debris covered the convoy. I was shocked at how fast it hit. And it just blanketed everything. I shielded my eyes – wiser from previous experiences. I unscrewed the can in preparation, made sure everything else was where
I needed it, then waited.
Seconds later, the other trebuchet payload dropped. As soon as the initial wave of dust blew by me, I was off. A couple of strides in and I opened my eyes. The already thick ashy air was even heavier with the blast debris. It made breathing difficult but I knew it would provide more cover as I neared the rig.
I was about 15m away when I could finally get a solid look at the rig. It was huge and intimidating. I targeted a spot just behind the cabin and approached at an angle I felt would give me the best chance of going undetected. But that’s when I saw the gunman on the roof of the cabin. He was prone and on some makeshift rigging with protection from enemy fire at the front.
The degree of difficulty to go undetected just got a whole lot harder. I thought about stopping and shooting him with the crossbow before I proceeded, but there was just no time to do it all.
I built up speed and when I was within about 3-4m of the rig I threw a plume of petrol over the back of the rig. It was quickly followed by two more, before the gunman started realising things weren’t right. First he moved above me looking around – then he started yelling. He got to his feet and lifted his weapon.
I aimed the crossbow, prayed and pressed the trigger.
I hit him in the chest. He stumbled back from the impact, then lost his balance and fell.
By now those in the truck were fully alerted, but the thud of the body on the far side sent them in the wrong direction.
That’s when I heard him again – the Fat Man. He was in the cabin! Then I realised it was him in the driver’s seat, almost right in front of me.
Just as I made the realisation, he must’ve sensed my glare and turned to spot me. We locked eyes for a brief moment before he yelled, “Oi!”
That snapped me into action.
I moved in and poured petrol around the cabin door as well as underneath the van. Meanwhile, the Fat Man was shuffling in his seat in the cabin. I couldn’t tell if he was reaching for a weapon or frantically trying to release his seat belt, knowing what was coming – and it didn’t matter – I had to do my thing and go before I ended up dead. In his panic or rage, Fat Man also managed to alert the other bogies that they were on the wrong side of the rig for the real action. “He’s here!” and “Get him!” were two things I distinctly remember.
Diary of a Survivor (Book 3): Apocalypse Page 24
