Tomorrow 2 - The Dead Of The Night

by John Marsden

  ‘Roast lamb!’ I said, and braked. It was just an impulse, but then I thought, Why not? I stopped the car completely, and looked around at the others. ‘Do we want roast lamb?’ I asked. They seemed too tired to think, let alone answer, but Homer reacted. He showed more enthusiasm than I’d seen from him in twenty-four hours. He got out one side and I got out the other. The lambs stood there sheepishly. Yes they did, sheep­ishly, and I’m not going to change it. Now Robyn and Lee started to get excited as they contemplated the thought of a good meal. None of us are vegetarians – being a vegetarian is a capital offence in our part of the world. We grabbed the lambs and up-ended them, found some cord and tied their legs, then somehow cleared space for them in the back of the car.

  ‘They won’t eat the potatoes, will they?’ Fi asked anxiously, trying to move the heavy sack of spuds from near the head of one of the lambs.

  ‘No Fi, and not the sugar either.’

  Callously I went and picked some mint when we got back to my house. That short walk to the mint was almost the end of me though. As I bent down to cut it I felt my great black shadow return, hovering above me like an eagle, a predator. I was scared to look up. The night was dark enough anyway, but I knew that however dark the sky may have been, my tagging shadow was darker.

  The mistake I’d made was to go to the mint patch on my own. It was the first time I’d been alone since shooting the soldier in Buttercup Lane. It was as though as soon as I strayed away from my friends the sky filled with this terrible thing.

  I crouched there for a couple of minutes. The hair on the back of my neck was prickling and I could no longer smell the mint, although my face was buried in it. After a while I heard Homer calling for me, and then I heard his heavy footsteps and his body brush­ing through the overgrown wallflowers. It took him some time to find me, as I didn’t seem able to answer his calls, but I could hear his voice getting more and more concerned. When he did find me, he was sur­prisingly gentle, rubbing the back of my neck and mumbling words that I didn’t exactly understand.

  I went back to the Landie with him. Without a word to the others, and without looking up, I turned the key in the ignition. We at last began the slow ascent to the place I now thought of as home: Hell. We hid the Landie in the usual spot, tethered the sheep and gave them a bucket of water, then picked up a few supplies and began the walk in. I should call it a stumble rather than a walk. We’d gone to our limits, physically, mentally and emotionally, and I was glad we didn’t have to dig any deeper to find more energy. I don’t think anyone had much left. I got into a groove, putting one foot ahead of the other, and did it so successfully that I think I could have gone on forever, except for the steep downhill bits, which strained my thigh muscles too much. When we got to the camp­site Homer had to prod me in the back to stop me, like he was searching for my off button. We stumbled into our tents and mumbled goodnights to each other, before crashing into our private hells of sleep.

  I did sleep, though I hadn’t expected to. All night I dreamt of someone very large, very angry, hovering very close to me, and speaking to me in a voice so loud that it reverberated through my body. I woke early and huddled in close to Fi. I don’t know what was going on in my head: I seemed haunted by the idea that I had to hide, that I daren’t be on my own. There was a sense that doom was overshadowing me, and like a rat threatened by an owl I wanted to burrow under something. Only, unlike the rat, I wanted to get under a human being, not a thing.

  Seems like since that night I’ve done less of every­thing: less sleeping, less eating, less talking. I feel I’m less of a person because I killed a dying soldier and that now I do less living.

  I got up eventually, and washed my face.

  The day went grinding by, hour by hour. No one did anything much. Certainly no one talked about anything important.

  We’d left most of the supplies at the Land Rover. It was tempting to leave them there forever. But late afternoon, after I’d had a nap – one of those daytime sleeps that leave you feeling worse than you did before – I forced myself to round up a posse. I was thinking of the sheep, mainly, and I wanted to prove to the others that I was still useful, that I wasn’t a bad person, even if I did kill people.

  But it was hard work persuading them to come. Chris just whined, It can wait till tomorrow, can’t it?’ Without looking me in the eye, he slunk back to his tent. Homer was so deeply asleep I didn’t like to wake him. Lee didn’t look too keen but he had too much pride to say no so he put down his book and came without a word. Robyn gave me about twenty rea­sons why we didn’t need to go till the next day, then at the last moment, just as we were leaving, she changed her mind and came. Fi was the best: she crawled out of her sleeping bag saying, ‘Exercise! That’s what I want, more exercise.’

  I forgave her the sarcasm because she was cheer­ful, just when I needed some cheerfulness.

  We set off at about four. The physical movement was good for me now; it seemed to restore some health and energy to my mind. We all knew the track so well that we could talk easily as we walked, not having to concentrate on where we put our feet. We trudged up the path as it wound around the cliffs and through the bush, across the beautifully crafted hand-made bridge left there by the only other human to have lived in this wild rocky basin. If that old hermit had popped out as we crossed his bridge, like the troll and the billy goats gruff, he would have swallowed his beard in surprise. How could anyone have predicted what had happened, and the use to which Hell had been put? If we couldn’t have pre­dicted that, maybe we would be equally amazed by the next event, and maybe that event would be the ending of the war. That was one nice rational thought with which I consoled myself as we slogged up to Wombegonoo.

  We didn’t talk about anything much. I realised after a while that the others were trying to be bright and cheerful, to make me feel better. Fi got us playing ‘I remember’ for quite a while, which had become one of our favourite games. It was a good way to pass the time, and simple enough: just say a sentence starting with ‘I remember’, and make sure it’s true. I think we liked it because it helped bring back our normal lives, before the invasion. I was hardly in the mood for it this time but I tried to force myself to join in.

  Fi started.

  ‘I remember when Sally Geddes’ parents took me to your restaurant, Lee, and I ordered lamb cutlets, because all those Chinese names looked too strange to me.’

  ‘Not Chinese. Thai and Vietnamese,’ Lee mut­tered, then, more loudly: ‘I remember when my fin­gers ached from hours of violin practice, and my teacher told me to do another hour.’

  ‘I remember when I thought Mr Oates said there’d be fire crackers after church and I was very excited and rushed outside, and then I found out he’d actu­ally said choir practice.’

  ‘I remember the first time I saw traffic lights.’

  ‘Oh Ellie! You’re such a rural!’

  ‘I remember making jelly, following the instruc­tions carefully, and step three was “Stand in fridge”, and I thought “Why should I have to go and stand in the fridge?”’

  ‘Fi! You made that up!’

  ‘It’s true, I swear.’

  ‘I remember thinking that all teachers liked me, and then one day in Year 2 I heard the teacher say I was the kind of kid she’d left the city to avoid.’

  That was Lee again.

  ‘I remember how in Year 7 Ellie always saved a seat for me and then one day you didn’t, Ellie, and I felt like it was the end of the world. I went home and cried.’

  I remembered that too, and felt guilty. I’d just been a bit sick of Robyn’s company and wanted to make some new friends.

  ‘I remember when I was little I was walking past a heifer that was in a crush, and she lifted her tail and pooed on my head.’

  ‘I remember in Year 1 I told the teacher our cat had been shovelled, and it took ages for her to work out what I meant.’

  ‘What did you mean?’

  ‘It had been spayed of course.’ Fi ga
ve her little light laugh, like wind chimes.

  ‘I remember going into the girls’ changing room at the pool by mistake.’

  ‘A mistake. Sure Lee, sure.’

  ‘I remember when I was in love with Jason and I used to ring him up all the time and talk to him for hours, and one day after I’d talked for a while I stopped and there was nothing, just a long silence, until finally I hung up, and next day at school I asked him what had happened and he admitted he’d gone to sleep while I’d been talking.’

  ‘I remember being so excited about my first day at school that I wore my uniform to bed, underneath my pyjamas.’ I sure had changed my mind about school since those days.

  ‘I remember my parents wanted to send me to boarding school and I went and hid under the house for four hours, until they changed their minds.’

  ‘I remember swapping my violin for a Mars Bar when I was in Year 2, and when my parents found out they chucked the biggest mental and got on the phone to the kid’s parents to cancel the deal. I can’t even remember who the kid was now.’

  ‘I remember,’ Fi said. ‘It was Steve.’

  ‘That’d be right,’ I said. Steve, my Steve, my ex, had always been a smooth talker.

  ‘Your turn Robyn,’ Fi said.

  ‘OK, I’m still thinking. OK, I remember Grandpops picking me up to give me a hug, and he forgot he had a cigarette in his mouth, and it burnt me on the cheek.’

  ‘I remember when we were little I watched Homer take a leak and I decided I wanted to do it standing too, so I pulled down my pants and tried. It didn’t work very well,’ I added, probably unnecessarily.

  ‘I remember the last time I saw my parents,’ Fi said. ‘Mum told me that just because I was going bush didn’t mean I shouldn’t brush my teeth after every meal.’

  ‘I remember my father saying we were the most disorganised bunch he’d ever seen in his life and if we were jackaroos he’d sack every one of us,’ I said, going out of turn. I was starting to feel dismal again. ‘Then he charged off on the motorbike without even saying goodbye.’

  ‘I remember Dad being so anxious as I was going,’ Lee said, ‘and telling me to be very careful, not to take any risks.’

  ‘And you’ve been so obedient,’ Robyn said. ‘Well seeing we’ve got onto this depressing subject, I’ll tell you how I last saw my parents. I opened their bedroom door to say goodbye and caught them both in the nick making passionate love on top of the doona. Luckily they hadn’t heard me, so I shut the door quietly, waited about a minute, then banged on the door and yelled goodbye as loud as I could and raced out to the car.’

  Robyn had achieved the impossible with her story: made me laugh.

  ‘I wondered why you were grinning so much as you got in the car,’ Fi said, after we’d stopped laugh­ing. ‘I thought it was just the sheer pleasure of seeing me.’

  ‘Well that too of course,’ Robyn said, as we arrived at the top of Wombegonoo.

  It was cold on the exposed summit, out of the protection of Hell. The sky was clear but the wind was blowing sharp and hard. A few wisps of cloud, as light as fairyfloss, and almost close enough to touch, were shilly-shallying around. We’d had a long run of dry weather but the cruel cold of the wind suggested it might be bringing something wild in. Beyond the furthest mountains we could see the tops of some thick white cloud. It seemed to be lying in wait. I stood and tried to see as far as Cobbler’s Bay, anxious to count the ships, if there were any, but it was too dark to see.

  We sat there for five minutes to get our breath back, and spent the time admiring the ferocious beauty of our home, in the last of the light. I could see why it had looked so frightening to me for so many years. Even now, when we knew it so well, it had the same look of potential violence that some animals in zoos manage to keep. Or maybe it was me, that everything now seemed threatening. Hell was a vivid mess of trees and rocks, dark green and reddish-brown, grey and black. It looked like a dumping ground for the gods, a great smashed mess of living things that grew without help or guidance, according to their own wild rules. It was the right place for us.

  We’d brought Corrie’s radio, which we could use only sparingly, as our few batteries were fading fast. But we’d learnt where and when to find the news bulletins, and we tuned in now to an American one. We had to keep it on for a few minutes, as we were no longer the top story, and hadn’t been for a fortnight. This night we were down to number four. The world was quickly forgetting us. And there was little new to report. Economic sanctions were in place and sup­posed to be having some effect. We’d lost control of all but the most desolate outback and a few of the bigger cities. An American Air Force jet had kindly taken our leading politicians to the States, where they were torn between making inspiring speeches about courage, and passionate denials that their policies had weakened us in the first place. It was hard to restrain Lee from crushing the radio at that point.

  Guerilla activity was continuing in some areas but large portions of the country were now so firmly held that the first colonists were already settling in with their families. Only New Zealand was giving direct military help, sending troops and supplies. There was unofficial and private support from elsewhere, espe­cially New Guinea, but the PNG government was torn between the fear of attracting an attack and the fear that they would be next anyway. The balance of power in Asia and the Pacific had changed so much that people still couldn’t come to terms with it. A woman from India, a politician, was trying to broker a peace deal on behalf of the UN, but all her proposals so far had been firmly rejected.

  The next item on the news was a broken leg suffered by a famous basketball player in Chicago.

  The news depressed us. We walked to the Landie in silence. Robyn and I each shouldered a lamb and the others loaded up with all they could carry. There was still plenty left for at least one more trip. We’d been lucky to think of the Kings’ little hobby farm. It had guaranteed our survival through winter and beyond. The time might come when we’d have to steal food from farmhouses colonised by our enemies, but like the future of our fuel supplies and the fates of our families and friends, we’d have to worry about that later.

  Chapter Six

  Lee and I were sitting outside the door of the Hermit’s hut. In this tiny shelter a man who’d fled from a dark and horrifying world had found some kind of peace. Maybe. We didn’t know that. We had fled an ugly world too, but we were not able to cut off from it the way he had. We’d brought some of it in here with us, and we had to keep going out into the rest of it.

  Nevertheless, I felt some peace when I was at the old cabin. There was no place more remote for us to escape the human race. Sometimes I’d crawled here along the creek bed, like a sick dog crawls into the dark bushes to wait until it dies or gets better. Some­times I’d come here to reassure myself that other human beings had ever existed. Sometimes it was because of an obscure idea that I might find answers I wouldn’t find elsewhere. After all, the Hermit had spent a long time here alone. Free from the distract­ing noises of the world he must have had a lot of time to think, and his thinking would have had some special quality, surely? Or was I just being naive?

  I’d started cleaning the hut, slowly, and occasion­ally with Lee’s help. It’d never gleam like a suburban home in a television ad, but the left-hand side was looking quite neat, and it stood out more distinctly from the bush that had almost engulfed it. I’d never been a fan of housework during the peace but I was quite proud of what we’d done here.

  This day though, so soon after the attack on the convoy, I hadn’t felt like continuing the cleaning. I just sat, leaning back into Lee’s warm chest, letting his long arms come around me and his fine musi­cian’s fingers do what they wanted. I hoped if he held me hard enough and touched me hotly enough he would prove to me that we were still alive, and maybe even chase my shadow away. The day was cold and grey; I felt cold and grey inside and out.

  We’d never really discussed the attack on the con­voy; none of us I mean
, not just Lee and me. That was unusual; we normally talked passionately about every­thing that happened. But maybe this had been too big. Not so much blowing up the trucks; that was big all right, but it was like the bridge – dramatic, scary, exciting. The hard things were the close-up personal things. Homer not telling us about his gun, Homer shooting the soldiers, me killing the wounded soldier. They were so intimate that I couldn’t talk about them. It would have been like talking about my own blood.

  Still, at least that day Lee and I did talk about real things; things that mattered.

  ‘Are you OK since the big shooting match?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t know how I feel any more.’

  ‘But you still have feelings?’ His hand was under my T-shirt, stroking my stomach.

  I smiled. ‘Oh yes. Just one or two. But they mostly seem bad ones nowadays.’

  There was a pause of a minute or so before he asked, ‘Such as?’

  ‘Fear. Anger. Depression. How’s that for a start?’

  ‘No good ones at all?’

  ‘Not a lot.’

  ‘None?’

  ‘Oh I know what you want me to say. Love for you and all that stuff, I suppose.’

  ‘No, I didn’t want you to say that.’ He sounded hurt. ‘I wasn’t even thinking of that. I was just worried about you.’

  ‘Sorry. Sorry. I don’t seem able to think like a normal person any more. Everything’s distorted. Can you believe those other countries won’t do anything for us?’

  ‘Well, seems to me there were a few countries overseas who were invaded and we didn’t do any­thing about them.’

  ‘I thought we were different. I thought everyone loved us.’

  ‘I guess they only liked us. There’s a major differ­ence between like and love.’

  ‘Mmm, tell me about it. What is it with you then, like or love? Do you like me or love me?’ I asked it lightly but I was nervous, waiting for his answer.