Tomorrow 7 - The Other Side Of Dawn

by John Marsden

  Well, we were in trouble now. I suppose maybe we should have gone towards the truck park, to help the others. To be honest it didn’t enter my mind. It would have been pretty stupid. The truck park wasn’t nearly far enough from the underground tanks to be safe. And it would have been impossible to work out what was happening, in the darkness. We’d have been more hindrance than help.

  As if to prove we should go in the other direction I heard and felt a whole new series of explosions from the truck park. I don’t know how many. At least a dozen. Some small ones, but mostly big.

  By then we were in among the first line of trees. With each shock wave from the explosions I felt I was being helped on my way. Like a sail on a yacht, catching the wind. I ran kind of madly, ignoring the dangers of the bush. If I’d tripped on one of the rocks or logs or stumps I would have been cactus. Behind me the explosions continued. Homer and Gavin and Fi must have done all right. With each one, another red light lit the sky.

  There were three or four loud bangs, too.

  Then I understood what loud really meant.

  The first sign that my bomb had worked was a fizzing noise like a giant heating furnace at full blast. That lasted maybe a full second. I heard a human scream from somewhere behind me. Then the earth lifted.

  It actually lifted! I felt it shift under my feet. It rocked backwards and forwards, quite gently. Like those tectonic plates were having a grind. Like they were partying, deep underground.

  At the same time the sound hit. It filled the whole universe. Nothing else existed. There was no sky, no earth, no people and no life. Just noise. I thought Heaven would drop on me.

  It probably only lasted ten seconds but time doesn’t have any meaning in a situation like that.

  Then came the shock wave. It wasn’t just a rush of air. Someone had turned on a giant vacuum cleaner and put it on blow instead of suck. Bits of wood, bits of rock, bits of concrete, bits of paper even. It was a blast of every solid object between me and the service station.

  I became one of those solid objects. I had no chance of staying on my feet, in control. I tried to keep standing and for a dozen steps I did it. I was kind of running but my legs weren’t doing what I wanted. All my concentration was on not falling over. Trying to find places to put my feet where I wouldn’t go sprawling. I couldn’t control my direction; no hope of that. And after a dozen steps I lost it. The force blowing me along was too strong to resist. I had to take too many quick steps, all in a row, but my feet couldn’t keep up with the rest of me.

  I tumbled down the slope, knocking myself against a rock and a couple of logs, and being hit by a few more of those solid objects at the same time. I don’t know what they were. They hurt though. But it was no time for emotions. I was in survival mode. When you’re in huge danger your mind gets focused. You don’t think about a bruise or a cut or a scratch. It’s just the search for life, the struggle to stay alive. At the bottom of the slope I rolled on a few more metres, deliberately, to get clear of the bushes, then staggered up to my feet. The noise of the explosion had passed. It was booming on in the distance as though it would travel across the countryside, on and on, mile after mile, until it crashed to a halt against a cliff or a hill.

  The ground seemed to have stopped rocking. A new noise washed across me. A roaring whooshing roar of flames, and almost at the same time a wave of heat. I could feel the leaves suddenly wither and dry on the trees. I turned to my right, in the direction of freedom, the direction of the road, looking to go uphill to the place where we’d left our packs.

  That was as far as I got. I didn’t even take a step before I heard the rush of feet from behind. I started to turn, terrified, crouching already, lifting my hand against the attack. There were four of them. They were still twenty metres away, coming down the slope. They’d sounded even closer.

  I came to my senses then, as suddenly as I’d lost them. I turned and ran.

  It was a blind, mad race. There was no time to zigzag or do anything tricky. All I could do was put my head down and sprint. The scrub was thick and getting thicker. Branches lashed my face a dozen times in the first hundred metres. Each one stung more than the others. I hardly noticed. I was in a crosscountry race for life. I wasn’t making any ground on these guys, but I didn’t think they were gaining either. I wished for help but there was none coming. I had no idea where Lee had gone. It was just me and them.

  Suddenly, with no warning, I came out on the road. The trees were so close to the bitumen that I only had to take another couple of steps and I was on the warm lifeless tar. It was no good going right or left. And if I went straight ahead I didn’t know if I could get across the road before they burst out of the scrub behind me and shot me down like a fleeing rabbit.

  So I ran a few metres to my left and cut back into the bush again, on the same side of the road. I crouched in among the bracken, trying not to breathe. To my right the crashing through the trees stopped abruptly. It was replaced by the flat pounding of boots on the road surface. I didn’t know what to do. If I moved they’d hear me. If I stayed where I was they might catch me. Further to my left I heard more trampling through bush. Seemed like there were soldiers everywhere. To my right came a shout. Boots galloped past.

  My brain couldn’t have been working too well because I still hadn’t figured out what was happening. It took a shot to wake me up. The shot was horribly close, but somehow I knew it wasn’t aimed at me. Only then did I realise. The noises down the road on the left were from Homer or Fi or Lee or Gavin. They had become the targets, instead of me.

  I burst out of my hiding place, onto the road again. I tried to be like those champion tennis players who cover a court in four steps. No matter how far away the ball is, they get to it easily. They make the court look like it’s two metres square.

  Well, that’s the way I tried to cross the road. So fast, with such big steps, that I could reach the other side in three-quarters of a second. I had a quick glimpse to the left and saw half-a-dozen grey uniforms. All with their backs to me, which was good news for me but bad news for the others.

  A couple of metres away from the bush I gave a huge yell. Sort of a cross between a cooee and a haka. I knew I could get into cover before they had time to turn around, aim and fire. With one last leap I made it into the scrub. I just hoped it had helped Homer or the others.

  I zigzagged madly through the trees. The short rest, crouched on the other side of the road, had let me get some breath back. I knew where I wanted to go but I didn’t want to be followed by enemy soldiers. And I was keen to get there without any bullet wounds.

  I headed off to the right for a while, hoping to confuse them. A freshly fallen tree was ahead and I took a minute to get over it, because of the branches and leaves in the way. By then I had proof that the soldiers were following. Not only could I hear the puffing and panting, one of them yelled an order. He had a high-pitched agitated voice, but he sounded efficient and aggressive. I didn’t like my chances if they were going to be organised about this.

  I came to a track, quite wide, and paused. Which way? Would they expect me to go uphill or downhill? I realised the answer and crashed straight across, into the bush again. But I’d left it too long. A bullet stung the air. It sounded horribly close. The only good thing it did was give me a fresh hit of speed. Suddenly I seemed to be running twice as fast.

  I started curving, in a big arc. I wanted to get back uphill, to our meeting place, to my pack. I didn’t like the idea of being cut off from the others for too long, in the bush, in darkness. If we got separated here, how would I find them? Only then did I realise that stupidly, we hadn’t made any plans for that. We didn’t have a fall-back position. That’s what Fi and Homer should have been working out this afternoon, instead of having such a good time.

  I couldn’t believe I was getting angry at them even then, as I was running along trying desperately to save my life. What a waste of energy.

  It was only for a second though.

 
; I felt I’d gained a few metres again, and I looked for somewhere to hide. Whatever I found had to be a certainty – I’d only get one chance. And it couldn’t be too obvious. It was a tough call. Any hollow trees or big bushes that applied for the job would need good references. And no good trying to squeeze into a tree that wouldn’t fit me. That was a sure way to get a bullet up my bum.

  I skipped a couple of candidates because I thought the soldiers would expect me to duck into the first ones I passed. But I knew I had to find somewhere. I couldn’t outrun them forever. I couldn’t outrun them for very long at all. I’m just not that fast a runner. If I didn’t use my brains here I was going to be dead. Dead as a smoked fish.

  Then to my surprise I came to our meeting spot. I hadn’t realised I was so close. I hesitated, not sure which way to go. I knew our packs were hidden in the bushes to my right. I called out softly, ‘Homer! Lee! Kevin! Fi!’ There was no answer. I still had to wait for them though, I had to take the risk of hanging out there for as long as possible. I didn’t want to lose contact with my buddies. I crawled into the bushes, between the packs, and crouched, trying not to pant too loudly, hoping my friends would turn up before my enemies. I clutched my pack like it was a big teddy, feeling it was the only friend I had right then. My breathing was nearly out of control; I concentrated as hard as I could on making it regular: in, out, in, out, in, out.

  At last it was reasonably even again. But it had taken a few minutes. I hadn’t realised how on the edge I was. Sure I was puffed from the running, but I was a lot more puffed from the terror of being chased around in the dark by people wanting to kill me.

  I crouched even lower, still holding my pack, and peered into the clearing. At best I hoped to see someone like me, a teenager with head rolling from side to side with exhaustion, eyes staring as if trying to see the bullet before it saw her or him, mouth open in a silent scream.

  No-one arrived. Instead the crashing through the bush got closer and closer; men who didn’t seem to care if they were heard or not. All around I could hear their cries. Sticks breaking and branches flailing. For once these guys were prepared to chase us through the bush. For once they were taking the risk of hunting dangerous guerillas in darkness, putting their own lives on the line. Either they were desperate to get us, or they’d seen we weren’t armed. I’d left my rifle at the servo, but the others should have theirs. Maybe they’d lost them too. If the enemy knew that, we really were in trouble.

  Or maybe the others had already been caught and I was the only one left.

  I slipped the shirt off, and pulled the tie over my head. I didn’t want to be caught in these clothes, especially if the guy in the carpark was dead, which seemed very likely. Wrapping them in a little ball I hid them under a pile of leaves and bark.

  Now I couldn’t wait any longer. And to help me make up my mind, a shout came from only metres away. I couldn’t believe how close it was. He hadn’t seen me yet, I knew that, just from the sound of his voice, but we were about to get closely acquainted.

  There was no point in being subtle. He was bush-bashing at speed, one line of trees away. More men were on my right, and they were close too. I grabbed my pack, wriggled it onto my back, and went straight uphill, not caring too much about the noise I made.

  The chase was on again. I realised within a few metres that I was in trouble. The slope was steeper than I remembered, the pack heavier, and I was stuffed after the terrors of the night. I didn’t seem to be making any progress. Sometimes at the school sports you’d see kids running as fast as they could, and getting absolutely nowhere. Like they were running on the spot. I used to wonder why they were like that, whether they were born that way or whether they just hadn’t learned how to run.

  Now I had a good opportunity to understand how they felt, because I wasn’t going anywhere either. I panted and floundered. It was like trying to run when you’re up to your waist in quicksand. I was sorry now that I hadn’t been quieter when I left the clearing. The startled cry behind me was all the evidence I needed to know that they were after me again.

  The broken ground made it too difficult. I wanted so much to get to the top, because then I could charge down the other side, with a chance of gaining a break on them. But at this stage the only break I’d get would be to my ankle.

  I saw a ridge coming but as usual it was a false summit. Seemed like every summit in this war was a false one. I just hoped the one Ryan had promised, the big one, wasn’t another illusion.

  Of course I could have ditched my pack. I had it in my mind that I’d do that in a big hurry if the soldiers got too close. But what a tough call. If I dumped it, I was dumping my life. Not only because it held my few precious personal possessions, but also because it had the last of my weapons, including one grenade and a kilo of plastic explosive. I had to give myself every chance I could, not just of surviving the next few minutes, but of surviving for days after that.

  I ran over a fairly open patch with just a gentle slope. It was the kind of ground you often get when you’re approaching the top of a climb. I had to hope this wasn’t another trick. I pounded through a single line of peppermint gums and arrived at the top.

  Behind me I could hear them puffing and panting up the hill. Away to my left came the whistle of a train. Just in front and downhill slightly was a scuffle in a tree, as though something big, like a Powerful Owl, had grabbed something small, like a ringtail possum. I still didn’t know which way to go but I knew one thing: I couldn’t stay here. There was no cover at all.

  I plunged down the bank, bearing to the right. A chatter of voices followed: they were so loud and clear that the soldiers must have been on the ridge already. It sounded like they were arguing about what to do. That was good. It gave me a couple more seconds. I slithered down a slippery grass slope, almost losing my footing, then ran full speed across the face of the hill.

  Now I couldn’t tell if they were following or not. I was starting to feel more confident, like I had a chance, but that was a bit premature. They had another tactic that hadn’t crossed my mind. A stream of gunfire suddenly opened up. Although it was way over to my left, it was coming my way. They were traversing the whole slope with an automatic weapon.

  I ran another half-a-dozen steps, then dived to the ground. I lay clutching myself round the waist as though I’d been hit already. It was terrifying. The shots were rapidly coming towards me. Funny, before the war, if I’d thought about it at all, I would have said that bullets through the bush wouldn’t do much harm. Might break a few twigs, not much more than that. But these bullets were like chainsaws. You could hear them smashing the bush apart. The noise was awful. It wasn’t just the unbearable banging of the gun, it was the branches falling from trees all over the place, splintering and breaking and thumping to the ground. It was the confused screaming of cockatoos, woken from their sleep. It was the screeching of ricochets. The quiet bush had suddenly turned into a wild, out-of-control fireworks display. There wasn’t much to look at, apart from the showers of sparks when a bullet hit a rock, but there was enough noise for an Olympics opening ceremony.

  And all the time in the background the steady chugging of the train got louder and louder, closer and closer. I’d never heard such an orchestra of ugly mechanical sounds in my life.

  But I think the train might have actually saved me, at that moment anyway. The firing stopped as suddenly as it started, when the bullets were cutting swathes through the bush just ten metres away. I guess they figured that in another few seconds they would be shooting holes in their own train. I heard them yelling, up on the ridge, and I think they were spreading out and coming down the hill. I didn’t wait to find out. Keeping low I sprinted off to the right again, losing height all the time.

  In less than a hundred metres I hit the bitumen road that Homer and Gavin and I had been on earlier. I was pretty sure that I was a bit ahead of the chase, so I turned left and ran along the bitumen. Being out in the clear was such a relief, not having to worry about
branches or rabbit holes. For the first time that night the air felt fresh and bubbly on my face. Again I had a surge of hope, like a quick hit with an electric prod.

  I should have known better. It was so hard to work out what was happening, but I think a second lot of soldiers were coming along the road, looking for me or the others. The first I knew of them was when I heard a clattering of feet, as though a mob of horses with new shoes was belting along behind me. For a second I didn’t get it, but when one of them yelled, in his high-pitched voice, I had no more problems understanding.

  ‘Oh God,’ I gasped. I didn’t know if they’d seen me: I suspected they hadn’t. But they would in the next few seconds. I really felt that this might be it. There was no cover at all. I put on a burst of speed but I knew it wouldn’t last long. My reserves were gone. I was coming to the bridge over the railway line. The ground was shuddering in sympathy with the train. Most of the carriages had already passed. I could see them stretched away to my right. It seemed like a long train, pulling a heavy load, and it was struggling to get up the hill. As I ran over the bridge the last dozen carriages, all identical open trucks and all empty, started going under it, on my left. I could feel them beneath my feet. A couple of moments later the first of them started coming out the other side. It seemed to come out faster than it went in. But I didn’t hesitate.

  Chapter Nine

  Thank God there were no soldiers on these carriages, riding shotgun. I guess because it wasn’t a troop train. There were passenger carriages way up ahead, but at least a couple of dozen goods trucks between me and them, and I couldn’t see any soldiers on the passenger ones anyway.

  I landed pretty heavily. The train was grunting away at a slow pace, but it was quite a drop from the bridge, and there wasn’t much to break my fall. Just a layer of coal about thirty centimetres deep. I dropped vertically but at the last second twisted sideways, and put a hand out, mainly trying to save my bad knee. In point of actual fact, as Dad says sometimes when he’s trying to be funny, I don’t think there was any brilliant way I could have landed. I didn’t do much damage. Just a heap more bruises and aches and pains to add to the ones I’d already collected in this war. In some ways the worst thing was the sharp jabs from the lumps of coal, each leaving its own individual bruise.