Tomorrow 2 - The Dead Of The Night

by John Marsden

  Mares and foals

  Stumble

  In the morning mist

  Running from the dark

  Where their shadows remain.

  I live in the light,

  But carry my dark with me.

  This seemed to be the most recent one. I hadn’t seen it before.

  They will carry me to the field

  Through the wreaths of mist

  Moist on my face,

  And the lamb will pause

  For a thoughtful stare.

  The soldiers, they will come.

  They will lay me in the dark cold earth

  And push the clods in upon my face.

  ‘Life’s harder, the deeper you feel things,’ was all I could think as I put the books away. ‘Feelings, who needs them? Sometimes they’re like a gift, when you feel love or happiness. Sometimes they’re a curse.’

  Seemed like for Chris they were more a Curse than a blessing.

  I wondered again how Corrie was getting on, and Kevin. Poor Kevin. I could imagine him sitting inside the Showground, looking through the wire and picturing us in Hell, still with our freedom. He proba­bly envied us, wished he was here. But we weren’t so well off. I’d always been taught that freedom was everything, but it wasn’t. Better to be in chains with the people you love than lonely and free.

  I was thinking, we should have an honour roll, a list of the people we’d lost – Corrie and Kev and now maybe Chris. Maybe there’d be more names on it soon. I suppose it was thinking about this that made me so wild with anger when I found Homer making a different type of list. He was standing by a big old gum tree, carefully carving vertical marks on it.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I asked.

  ‘Keeping score,’ he said.

  ‘Keeping score? What of?’

  ‘The casualties we’ve notched up.’

  I could hardly believe my ears. ‘Do you mean the people we’ve killed?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, but the fury in my voice had alerted him, and he looked at me nervously as he said it.

  ‘You must be bloody joking! You are bloody jok­ing! You absolute stupid bloody idiot, do you think this is some kind of football match?’

  ‘Calm down Ellie, it’s no big deal.’

  ‘Homer, you don’t even like sport, you never have, and here you are turning the worst thing of our lives into some bloody game!’

  ‘All right, all right, calm down. I won’t do it if it gets you that worked up.’ He was looking guilty as he started to realise that it hadn’t been such a smart thing to do. I was so upset I couldn’t trust myself to speak. I went storming off on my banged-up knee towards the track. Honestly, Homer could be so clever and such a leader, and then he’d go and do something like that. It was the story of his life, and even though he’d been great since the invasion, he was still capable of losing it completely, as he’d just proved. I was so upset about all the death and des­truction we’d seen and taken part in that I couldn’t imagine anyone else seeing it differently.

  I don’t know.

  When someone intercepted me at the start of the track I was too upset to notice who it was. He grabbed my arm and said, ‘Whoa, Ellie, calm it, calm it.’ It was Lee. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, just bloody Homer, being more annoying and juvenile than normal.’

  He was still holding my arm and I turned a little more so I was pressed into his chest. I had a bit of a snuffle in there, then asked the question Fi had asked me. ‘What’s going to become of us, Lee?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Don’t say that. That’s what everyone says. I want you to be different to everyone else.’

  ‘Well I am. I’m a murderer.’

  I felt a tremble pass through his body as he said it. ‘No you’re not, Lee.’

  ‘I wish I could believe you. But words don’t change anything.’

  ‘Do you think it was wrong?’

  He waited so long I thought my voice must have been too muffled in his chest for him to have heard. I started to repeat the question, but he cut me off.

  ‘No. But I’m scared at what there is in me that can make me like that.’

  ‘So many things happened that night. They mightn’t ever happen again. Anyone would have gone a bit crazy, after what you saw.’

  ‘But maybe when you’ve done it once, you do it more easily the next time.’

  ‘I’ve done it too,’ I said.

  ‘Yes. I don’t know why, but it seemed different when you did it. Chris told me how blown apart the guy was. And somehow, using a knife is different to a gun.’ I didn’t answer and he continued after a while. ‘Do you think about it much?’

  I really cried then, sobbed like my lungs were coming out of my mouth. I couldn’t stop for ages. The amazing thing was, Lee just kept holding onto me, like he could wait forever. Finally I gulped out my day­time nightmare. ‘I felt like there was this big shadow up in the sky, hovering over me. It made everything dark, and it followed me everywhere.’

  When I’d calmed down a bit we went further down the track. I held on tightly to Lee, even though it made it difficult to walk along the narrow path. We sat on a rock for a while. A tiny spider was on my arm and I found the thin line of cobweb that connected him to me, so I could lower him to the ground.

  ‘Spider bungy-jumping,’ said Lee, watching. I smiled.

  ‘Do you think what I did was wrong?’ Lee asked, still watching the spider.

  ‘I don’t know. Ask Robyn. Ask Homer. Ask anyone, just don’t ask me.’

  ‘But you always seem to know what’s right and wrong,’ Lee said.

  ‘What? What?’ I held him at arm’s length and looked at him in disbelief. ‘You said what?’

  ‘Well, don’t you?’

  ‘Lee, I have as much idea of what’s right and wrong as that spider does.’

  ‘Oh. Are you sure? You always seem so confident.’

  ‘Good God, do I? And Fi said a while back that I never look scared. I thought you guys knew me pretty well. Seems like we might have to start again. The only thing I’m confident about is that I’m not confi­dent about anything. I agonise about everything we do. Do you remember that time I slept with you and you never knew?’

  He laughed. One night I’d got back to the camp late and there’d been no one there but us two. Lee was asleep and I’d crept into his tent and slept there beside him.

  ‘Well, that night, on the way back into Hell, I stopped for a while on Tailor’s Stitch and sat there looking at the sky and trying to figure a few things out.’

  ‘Yes, I remember. You told me.’

  ‘I only ever did figure one thing out, but it was pretty important to me. I realised that the only thing I had going for me was my lack of confidence, that it was a sort of gift.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘I mean that the more confident people are about their beliefs, the more likely they are to be wrong. It’s the ones who are so certain, so black and white, the ones who never consider that they could be wrong or that anyone else could be right, they’re the ones who scare me. When you’re not confident at least you keep checking what you do and asking yourself if you’re on the right track. So you gave me a huge insult just now.’

  He laughed. ‘Oh. Sorry. But you were certain back at the camp that Homer was doing the wrong thing.’

  ‘Oh dear. Yes, but he was. Oh, sometimes I wish life was all black and white.’

  ‘Racism’d get even worse.’

  ‘Very funny.’

  ‘What was he doing, anyway?’

  ‘Don’t worry about it. He just regressed to child­hood for a few minutes.’

  ‘Come on, let’s go down to the flat rocks.’

  The flat rocks were at a point where the creek emerged from the bush, its first glimpse of open air since its birth in a spring, up near Tailor’s Stitch. To get to the rocks you had to leave the track and bush-bash a bit from the first of Satan’s Steps to a little clearing in some
scrub. Here the creek spread out and washed over a series of long flat stones, that were often nice and warm from absorbing the sun’s heat. It took a bit of effort to get in there but it was worth it. I limped in on my sore knee, till we found ourselves a nice rock and stretched out side by side, listening to the soft shushing of the water, and the gurgling of a magpie. The two sounds echo each other, I thought.

  ‘How’re your hands?’ Lee asked, holding me by the wrist.

  ‘OK. They don’t hurt as much. It’s just a nuisance that they still need bandages.’

  Lee moved a little closer and put his head next to mine, so that we were cheek to cheek. His skin felt as warm and comfortable as the rock underneath me. I realised he was in a romantic mood; I wasn’t sure if I was or not, but decided to go with the flow, just like the creek. So when he kissed me I kissed him back, till his firm lips and his tongue did start to give me nice tingly feelings. I wanted to hold him more closely, but couldn’t because of my bandaged fingers. It was a kind of crazy position to be in and I grinned as I pictured how it would look to anyone watching. But I kept the grin to myself, not wanting to upset Lee.

  I realised Lee was pushing my T-shirt up, then trembled as his hand rippled across my stomach. These were fingers that were made for the violin, not for attacking and killing. He touched me so lightly, yet his fingers were firm, not soft or weak. By luck or experience he’d found one of my most ticklish and sensitive spots; I love being stroked across my tummy. He had my T-shirt up to my bra, which didn’t worry me, but I wondered what he had in mind, how much further he hoped to get. He put his head down and blew raspberries on my skin, above my belly button, then used the tip of his tongue to make little circles in the same spot. I hadn’t been feeling turned on at all, but he obviously was, and he was working pretty hard to get me going. It didn’t take long. I started feeling better, then best. Little ripples of nice feelings were spreading under my skin, quite deeply, and they met other ripples that were spreading from further down. It was all nice and warm and slow and lazy, lying there on the warm rocks, with Lee so hot beside me.

  He was on his side, leaning on one elbow now, using the other arm to touch me. With the flat of his hand he again made circles on my tummy, big, wide, slow ones.

  ‘Oh that feels good,’ I said, closing my eyes. The only uncomfortable feeling I had was that I needed to go to the bathroom, but I couldn’t bear to get up, so I thought I’d wait a bit longer. Lee used the tips of his fingers, then rolled his hand over and used his knuckles. I felt so tired and lazy that I hoped he would just keep doing that forever, and although I knew it was selfish, I hoped I wouldn’t have to do anything in return. But when he undid the top button of my jeans I figured I’d better not lie there for too long. I rolled lover and embraced Lee with my elbows and fore­arms, clumsily working his T-shirt up at the back, holding him as closely as I could. His knee was between my legs and I kissed him hard and long. I did have in mind that holding him like that might stop him from getting too far with my buttons, but he got his hands inside my waistband anyway – at the back – and his warm hands rubbed slowly across my warm skin.

  ‘Mmmm,’ I sighed, long and slow, like a bee on tranquillisers. Lee wasn’t saying anything. But the more pressure he put on the small of my back the more I needed to go to the loo. Gradually I started pushing him off.

  ‘Don’t,’ he said. ‘Don’t stop.’

  ‘Oh, I have to.’

  I kept kissing him for several minutes, then peeled myself away. I was on my knees beside him, still holding my stupid bandaged fingers up in the air. I leant over and gave him a series of quick kisses right on his lips. But he turned his head to one side and said ‘Where are you going?’ He sounded quite cross.

  I laughed.

  ‘To the loo, if you really want to know.’

  ‘Are you coming back?’

  ‘I don’t know if I can trust myself. And I know I can’t trust you.’

  He gave a reluctant smile. I stood up and lingered for a moment, looking down at him.

  ‘I do like you,’ I said. ‘But I’m not sure ... Living down here, things could get a bit out of control. Out of my control, anyway.’

  I wasn’t certain if he knew what I meant. But he would have to be satisfied with that, for the moment. I limped off into the bush to find somewhere to squat. At least by the time I got my jeans unbuttoned and down, with no one to help me, he’d have had plenty of time to cool off.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Crackling static from our radio almost drowned out the voices. Reflecting the static was the rain, steadily beating away at the roof, dripping through the galvanised iron in a few places, running down the wall in others. It poured down the chimney in a steady shower, splashing from the fireplace out onto the bare wooden floor.

  Dressed in all our woollies we huddled around the little black transistor. The batteries were tired and although for the first minute we’d heard the voices quite clearly, they were already getting distorted. Still, what we’d heard had been encouraging; the first encouraging news we’d had since forever. The Amer­ican voice had promoted us to the third most impor­tant item.

  ‘Much of the southern coastline has been recap­tured. In fierce fighting around Newington, air and land forces from New Zealand are believed to have inflicted heavy casualties on a battalion of enemy troops. A successful landing by troops from New Guinea has been made in the north of the country, in the Cape Martindale area. And in Washington, Senator Rosie Sims has called for an urgent review of US foreign policy, in the light of new power align­ments in the Asia-Pacific area. Senator Sims is spon­soring a hundred-million-dollar military aid package to support the beleaguered country, and although the Senate is not expected to pass the Sims Bill, public sentiment in support of indirect intervention appears to be growing.’

  Then we heard the voice of our Great Leader, the Prime Minister, who’d jetted out of the country in a wild hurry when he realised the war was being lost.

  ‘We continue to fight to the full extent of our powers,’ he said, ‘but we cannot do ...’ There was a rush for the radio as three of us, encumbered by blankets, dived for the button. We got it off and then lay together on the four old mattresses that we’d pushed into a line along the wall, we watched the water dripping around the shed. We were at Kevin’s, sleeping in the old shearers’ quarters, which angled off at ninety degrees from the shearing shed. It was nice to sleep in a wooden building again, even one as leaky and draughty as this. Two weeks of relentless rain had got on our nerves so badly that we’d finally packed up and moved out of Hell. Everything we owned had become damp, then bedraggled, then soaked. Water had run out of our drains and into tents. It didn’t seem worth getting up in the mornings, knowing that we couldn’t go anywhere or do any­thing. So, we’d made feeders for the chooks, which meant we could leave them for longer periods of time, and at last, weighed down by the wet clothing in our swags, our improvised packs, we’d squelched out of Hell. We were thoroughly sick of each other’s company and desperate for a touch of normality. It had taken three nights of surreptitious fires to dry our things out, but at last I was starting to feel human again. There’s something reassuring about having all your clothes and blankets clean and dry and orga­nised, even if the five of us were sleeping on four old thin mattresses that were shedding more of their insides with every passing hour.

  Actually, being dry and normal had put us in a silly mood. Homer and Robyn had been playing I-spy for half an hour before the news started, but the game had degenerated once Robyn began thinking of impossible words. Something beginning with I had turned out to be ‘indefinable futures’, and something beginning with E was ‘erotic daydreams’, which Robyn claimed we were all having. After the news we played hangman, then charades. I kept them guessing for ten minutes with my dramatic re-enactment of The Effect of Gamma Rays on Man-in-the-Moon Marigolds, which no one else had ever heard of. I’d seen it on video in Year 8 when I’d had a real Zindel craze, but the others n
early killed me when they at last gave in and I told them the answer.

  The rain stopped and Lee went for a walk. He wanted me to come but I couldn’t be bothered. I was halfway through a romance called Send Me White Flowers.

  I was three-quarters of the way through it, with Fi watching from her mattress to see if I was going to cry or not, when Lee slipped quietly back in through the door. Shutting it softly behind him, he said, ‘There are soldiers coming.’

  I jumped up, dropping the book, and ran to the window. I stood behind it and tried to peer out, but it was too dangerous. So I did what the others were doing and found a crack in the wall, and stood with my eye pressed against it. We watched anxiously. There were two trucks grinding their way up the drive, one an Army one with a tarp over the back, the other a small traytop from Wirrawee Hardware. They pulled up to the west of the house, near the machinery shed, parking neatly side by side. Soldiers started to get out, two from the cab of each truck.

  ‘Oh God,’ Fi moaned. ‘They must know we’re here.’

  I hadn’t noticed Homer leave his position, but suddenly he was beside me, handing me a rifle, the one I’d taken from the dead soldier at the foot of the cliffs. He gave Fi the .410 shotgun, Robyn a sawn-off .22, and Lee the sawn-off 12 gauge. He kept the other automatic rifle for himself. Robyn accepted the .22 but I saw her look at it for a moment and then lay it carefully on the floor beside her. I didn’t know what to think of that. Could we rely on her if it came to a shoot-out? If she did refuse to shoot, was she right or wrong? If she was right, that made me wrong. Sweat was prickling my skin, as though I’d rubbed against a stinging nettle. I wiped the moisture from my face and looked again through the long vertical crack.

  People were getting out of the covered truck. The soldiers were lounging around, watching. Although they had rifles they hadn’t bothered to unsling them. They were quite casual, quite confident. The people were obviously prisoners, ten of them, five men and five women. I couldn’t recognise anyone, though I thought one looked a bit like Corrie’s Mum.