Tomorrow 7 - The Other Side Of Dawn

by John Marsden

  I kept backing up till I bumped into the cold hard steel of the wall. I stood there trying to make my mind work, trying not to get hypnotised by his slow approach. I had to look away for a moment, to break his grip. I was helped by the train accelerating again into a sharp left-hand bend. We were both thrown off-balance, but him more than me, because he was standing on the drums. He had to crouch down and grip on the drums with his hands.

  As he did that I reached into my pocket and brought out the most useful weapon I had. That cigarette lighter was paying its way. If I got out of this I’d buy it a 44 of fuel and give it free drinks for the rest of its life.

  But to have any hope of getting clear I had to pull off a giant bluff.

  The drums just had the standard screwtop lid. I grabbed the nearest one and turned the cap. Thank God it didn’t have a childproof lock. I don’t think I could have coped with that. It resisted for a moment, until I broke the seal, and then it came off easily.

  I heaved it over and started tipping the stuff out. It sure smelt strong. One of those intense smells like petrol or creosote or Texta. It might have been some kind of resin. It was thick like honey, but it poured easily.

  As the train belted down a hill, the pool I’d created ran down the floor of the truck, disappearing among the other drums.

  And it had an effect on the soldier. Maybe he’d read the writing on the labels and knew what it was. Or maybe he recognised the smell. He stood up again to get away from it, one foot on one drum, one on another, his arms spread wide to balance himself against the rocking of the train.

  Then I showed him the cigarette lighter.

  It worked quite well. The way he put his hands up and started stepping backwards, looking behind to see where it was safe to put his feet, made me wonder just what was in these drums. I squatted down, as if to light the fluid, and he retreated fast, this time not even bothering to look. He shouted something at me, but I couldn’t hear it above the clattering of the train, and I wouldn’t have understood it anyway. I stood up again, and gestured at him to keep going. He slowed a bit, kind of sulkily, like he’d decided I wasn’t going to light the stuff after all. I used the drums to take a leap to the top of the wall and leaned down, showing him the lighter, as though I was going to ignite it and drop it. He moved faster then. As he got to his end of the carriage I dropped down out of his view, onto the couplings, and jumped to the next truck. I knew I didn’t have much time. I’d run out of bluffs.

  Three carriages further I came to my destination. By then I had no energy left. I’d taken each carriage at the run: the sprint down the middle and the scramble over the wall, till my ribs were aching, my legs had no drive left, and my arms wouldn’t lift any more.

  I got to the truck with the five-gallon drums, and more importantly, the container with the lids. For a moment I just hung onto it, panting. The lids were my last chance. If this didn’t work, I was finished. I had nothing left to continue this fight: no strength, no energy, no spirit.

  I glanced in the direction I’d just come, the direction where he’d be appearing. He was already there! I couldn’t believe it. I thought I’d run so fast and so hard. Nobody could have kept up with me. But unmistakably his two white hands, like long pale spiders, showed up against the black of the railway steel as he climbed over the other side.

  I tried to steady my beating heart, steady my heaving chest, steady my trembling hands. I grabbed a lid, turned a little to get the right rhythm, and chucked it, just as his scalp bobbed up over the top.

  It was way too high. Missed him by a metre. And I realised at once that I’d been too early. All I’d achieve would be to drive him back into cover. He’d just go back and find a weapon, or get reinforcements.

  My good luck was that he was so busy climbing the wall he didn’t see my frisbee. So now I waited. At least I’d got the range, and at least I knew the lids would fly. They were heavy, much heavier than the ones we had at home, but that was good. I needed them to do a lot of damage. I wanted him to be balanced on the top, and I wanted a lid to smash him in the face, and I wanted him to fall off the train, even if it meant he was crushed to death under the wheels. I was too tired to fight him any more. It was either him or me, and I still didn’t want to die.

  As he reached the top I let fly. For a second I thought I was going to wipe him out there and then. The lid looked like it was going to hit him right in the nose. But just like a frisbee it curved gracefully away and missed by a whisker.

  He noticed that one. He looked up, startled. The next one was already on its way. He saw it coming and ducked. It missed by quite a bit I think, but I didn’t get a good view, because I was already grabbing at another one.

  As I went to throw it I had to hesitate. It was too late. He was dropping off the top of the wall, not on the other side, where he’d be safe, but on my side, where I wouldn’t be safe. My stomach felt like I’d done a belly flop from the high tower. Suddenly my arm got its strength back. I let fly with a throw that I knew was about the most violent I could ever do; maybe the most violent I’d ever done. He was just straightening up from his landing. This time it did hit him in the face. God it hit him hard. I’m glad it wasn’t me. His arms flew to his face and he fell backwards, staggering against the drums to his right. Blood flew from between his fingers. I knew I’d hurt him bad. I picked up a U-bolt that was in the drum. It was a big one, the size of a shoe. I gritted my teeth and flung it, as hard as I’d frisbeed the lid. The man was turning away, bent over, with his hands still to his head. The bolt hit him on the temple, with a heavy hard thump. He went down without a whimper, like he’d been hit by a baseball bat.

  I approached carefully. He was still moving, lying on the floor of the truck, his hands jerking and his legs twitching like a dog in its dreams. I was scared that maybe he was faking it, but when I stood over him I could see his eyes had rolled right back in his head and his eyelids were fluttering uncontrollably. I remembered Kevin saying there was a spot on the temple, where if you hit someone you could kill them.

  I took another step, to get around the man, and felt something scrunch under my feet. His glasses. I’d completely smashed them, lens and frame. That’s the trouble with boots. They’re kind of unforgiving.

  I still hadn’t solved my problems. I wanted to destroy the train and destroy the tracks, but I couldn’t risk leaving the man. If he recovered and came after me again I wouldn’t have a chance. He’d be so determined the next time. He wouldn’t underestimate me again.

  I looked around, unsure of what to do, wanting a clue, a sign from somewhere.

  And I got one.

  Strangely enough it came from the train itself. I think all the time I’d been frisbeeing the drum tops at the soldier the train had been slowing down, but I hadn’t noticed it. I’d been concentrating too hard on staying alive. But now I became aware that the train was making the grinding noises trains make when they’re coming to a halt. We’d been running through a pretty level part of the country, and going at quite a speed, but suddenly the wheels gripped the track and I heard the squeals of metal on metal.

  I didn’t know if this would be good or bad. At first I crouched beside the soldier, almost expecting to be attacked. But I knew as soon as I did it that I had to find the energy to fight on. So I went to the end of the truck and climbed on a drum, peering over the top of the wall to see what was happening.

  I couldn’t see much. Sure there was plenty of moonlight, but that’s not the reason I couldn’t see much. The reason was, there was nothing to see. Just trees, trees and more trees. We were slowing right down in the middle of the bush. Maybe there was a red signal up ahead. Maybe there was a problem with the engine. Maybe the driver needed to take a leak.

  I glanced back at the soldier. He had rolled onto his side but he didn’t look any better. I thought it was safe to leave him a bit longer. I shinned over the wall and crouched on the coupling, just as we came to a complete halt. There was a chance that someone would come along, either
looking for me, or making a general check of the train. I had to take that chance. I knew what I wanted to do. I just didn’t know if it would be possible. But I couldn’t believe how easy it was. Once I’d removed the pin the coupling lifted straight off, easier than taking the trailer off the tractor at home. All I had to do then was pull out a couple of cables.

  It took thirty seconds. I sat back, feeling relieved, excited, and annoyed that I hadn’t done it ages ago, when we were still going. I could have saved myself a lot of trouble.

  Now I just had to wait, and hope the soldier didn’t recover in the meantime. I snuck back over the wall, keeping my profile as low as possible. The man was still lying there, but was on his back again. His breathing was more peaceful, more relaxed. He’d stopped blinking. He looked like he might wake at any moment. I picked up a drum lid, wondering if I’d have the guts to hit him again. I didn’t think I would somehow. The fury had gone out of me; I’d calmed down. I suddenly felt cold.

  I went back to the wall to see if anything was happening. Peering over the top, looking at the silent grass shoulder of the track, I had another idea. Maybe I could kill two birds with one stone. I hitched my pack up tighter and just about vaulted over the wall. Ignoring the separated coupling I jumped down onto the track. I peeped out, first looking to the front of the train, then to the rear. Still no movement. As stealthily as I could, I ran around to the gap between the next two trucks. Then, when no-one reacted, I ran straight out from the train to the trees.

  It seemed a long way. It probably wasn’t: about thirty metres I think. But I felt pretty relieved to get into the protection of the bush. Trouble was, I didn’t have time to feel relieved. I had to race the train. I took off without caring much about the noise I made. The train engine revving away, waiting for the signal to start again, was noisy enough. With luck it would cover me.

  I crashed through the undergrowth. It was darker in here, because of the tree canopy. I couldn’t see any details of the obstacles, just their outline. There seemed to be an interesting range of vegetation, including wire grass and blanket leaves and of course blackberries. I think there was even some holly. Whatever, I collected so many scratches that my skin must have looked like red mohair. Some of the wood I hit was rotten and broke easily; some wasn’t. I tried to protect my bad knee but I couldn’t very well. It was just madness, running as fast as I could, through heavy bush, keeping one eye on the train, hoping the next dark shape was a soft shrub, not a solid tree trunk ...

  After I’d tripped and rolled for the third time I tried to make myself slow down. It was no use. A kind of madness had got control of me. If I’d been cold a few minutes earlier I was hot now. I crunched full length into a patch of broom, then brushed through some nettles. When your blood’s up you don’t feel a lot of pain. It’s only later that the stinging sets in. I slowed a little though, running at what I hoped was a safer speed, not even able to see the train now, but sure from the lack of noise that it was still sitting where I’d left it.

  I angled back towards the track. It was a relief to get out of the bush and into the clear ground alongside the line. A slight bend hid me from the train driver. I kept going. My idea was to blow up the track further along when the train had gained speed and would derail properly. Otherwise the driver might see the damage and stop in time. I wanted maximum effect.

  I reckon I went a kilometre and a half. The good thing was that I’d reached a steepish downhill slope. That was pretty much perfect. When it flattened I stopped, took off my pack, and as gently as I could, tipped out the contents.

  All I had was the last of the plastic explosive. The charges I’d made with Lee were in his pack, but I still had enough left. It would be nice to blow up the track and the train simultaneously but I couldn’t hope to be that lucky. The train might arrive in thirty seconds or it might sit where it was for a day and a half.

  I cut the fuse to about fifty centimetres and wrapped the explosive around it. At least there was no need to waterproof it when it was going off this soon. I used my super-duper little lighter again and without even looking around, lit the fuse.

  From then on everything happened so fast I’m not even sure what came first, what came second, what came last. I only know that suddenly things got very ugly.

  Chapter Ten

  The train was there with no warning. I still can’t believe I didn’t hear it, but then in peacetime I could never understand how people got killed on railway crossings. Like, how could you not hear a train? Well, at least now I knew the answer to that. I guess I was concentrating too hard on the job at hand. Dad would have been pleased with me. He was always saying I didn’t concentrate enough.

  Anyway, I’d just stepped back from lighting the fuse, when I felt a push of cool air against me and realised a milli-second later that it was the train. Only then did I hear it. It still didn’t have any lights. I sprang back, grabbing my pack, then did a sort of half-turn and a dive down the bank. It wasn’t graceful but it got me clear of the engine. I deliberately kept rolling till the ground levelled out and I couldn’t roll any further.

  I got up to run but at that moment the bomb went off. God the fuse had burned fast. Maybe the rush of air from the train caused it to go faster; I really don’t know. So just as I was getting up I was bowled over again. Bowled over and blown away.

  By now I should have been used to the power of an explosion. I’d been in enough. But nothing can get you used to them. They’re such a shock to the body, the mind, the place where you have your emotions. It’s like you’ve been chucked into a coffee grinder and someone’s turned it on at full speed. You lose all control over everything. ‘Jump down spin around pick a bale of cotton.’ That’s a line from a song. You’re like an epileptic cotton-picker. You’ve been wired with electrodes and your limbs go into a dance you didn’t choreograph. It’s horrible.

  The only good thing about it is that it doesn’t last very long.

  I ended up on my back in a dump of bark and leaf litter, my bones loose in my body, my skin stretched and sore. I didn’t know where my pack was. I just knew that I didn’t have it any more. But at least I got a good view of the anarchy above. Bits of bark and branches were flying in all directions. Behind them were lines of white smoke, no patterns to them, just going where they felt like. I saw a thick huge white cloud billowing up in the centre of the wreck, then it started rolling, very fast, towards me. Suddenly I was in a fog and couldn’t make out anything any more.

  It gave me the kick up the backside I needed. Before the fog I’d seen enough to know that the engine and the first couple of carriages had gone over the bomb before it blew up. So the people in them were probably OK. But they’d be madder than a staff room on Year 12 Muck-up Day. They’d be swarming after me with every weapon they could find.

  I started groping through the fog. While I’d been lying on the leaf litter I thought the fog was ideal; I could make my escape in safety. But now I realised it wasn’t such a bonus after all. I had to go too slowly, and the so-called fog was already lifting. Within a minute it cleared as quickly as it had arrived, and I was still within a hundred metres of the train wreck.

  I heard yells from behind, and I didn’t need an interpreter to know what they meant. ‘There she is!’ was the general drift. The bush was straight ahead and I’d never been more glad to see it. I bolted into the treeline like a rosella in a wheat crop. I felt a big attraction to the smell of eucalyptus at that moment.

  As I started down a slope which I knew would take me out of sight of the train I risked one glance behind. I got the shock of my life. What looked like a squad of soldiers had fanned out across the top of the hill, and in the light of the burning trucks I could see that they were armed to the teeth. A couple of them were in the act of kneeling. They obviously thought they could get a good shot at me before I scurried into the deeper bush.

  Unfortunately by looking back I’d lost my momentum. I’d like to have accelerated down the slope, maybe diving through the bra
cken to throw them off their aim. But I wasn’t going fast enough. All I could do was swerve, and try to get up more speed at the same time. So I swerved to the left, and came almost immediately to a bank I hadn’t seen in the darkness.

  I plunged down, thinking, ‘Well, at least I’ll be out of their sight for a little bit now’.

  I was overconfident about that.

  I ran another six paces before I was shot.

  It was a feeling I’ll never forget. If it was some other pain, I guess I would have got over it. At first it wasn’t even the worst pain I’ve had in my life. In some ways being winded was worse. But one difference was that you soon start getting better when you’re winded. With this I soon started getting worse.

  Another difference was the psychological one. When you know you’ve been shot, it hurts all over.

  For a moment I actually thought it was a snakebite. I know you don’t expect to be bitten by a snake at night, although I’m sure it’s very possible. I’ve seen quite a few snakes out at night when it’s hot enough, once even on our verandah at home.

  This wasn’t such a hot night. But I still thought it was a snakebite. There was a terrible stabbing pain in my left calf, like a red-hot three-inch nail had been driven in there. Right away a burning feeling spread up my leg, like a hot coal was lodged inside.

  I looked around frantically, expecting for a moment to see a quick swerve through the grass as a tiger or a brownie took off in a hurry. But it was too dark and I didn’t see anything.

  I hopped along on one leg for about six paces, then the pain virtually went again. I mean, sure, there was still an ache, but nothing worth writing home about. I put my foot back down, ran three or four more steps, then, bang, the leg went from under me.