John Marsden - Tomorrow 1

by When The War Began

  Cold, fear, excitement. They were all contributing generously. But the greatest of these was fear. That rang a bell – a quote from somewhere. Yes, the Bible: ‘and the greatest of these was love’. My fear came from love. Love for my friends. I didn’t want to let them down. If I did, they would die.

  I looked at my watch again. 3.08. We really had coordinated our watches, just like in the movies. I pulled my chinstrap a little tighter. I must have looked pretty silly, but the only useful things I’d found in the Council Depot, apart from ignition keys, were these safety helmets. I’d put one on and chucked six more in the truck. They probably wouldn’t stop a bullet, but they might make the difference between death and just permanent brain damage. The shiver became a shudder. It was 3.10. I turned the ignition key.

  The truck rumbled and shook. I reversed carefully, trying not to see soldiers under every tree, behind every vehicle. ‘Never reverse an inch more than you have to.’ That was Dad’s voice. With him it applied to going forward too. And I wasn’t just talking about driving. I grinned, put in the clutch again, and chose low second. Out with the clutch – and I stalled. Suddenly I was hot and sweaty instead of cold and lonely. That was one of the weaknesses of this plan: I had no time to get used to the vehicle, to practise.

  Coming out of the gates I put the lights on as I turned into Sherlock Road. This was one of the things we’d argued most about. I still didn’t think Homer and Robyn were right, but we’d agreed to do it, so I did it. Homer had said, ‘It’ll confuse them. They’ll have to think it’s one of their own. It might just give us another few seconds.’ I’d said, ‘It’ll attract them. They might hear the noise a block or two away but they’ll see the lights a k away.’ So the argument had gone, backwards and forwards.

  I came to Barker Street and began the turn. It was so awkward manoeuvring this big heavy slothful thing around a corner. I’d started working at it a hundred metres before the corner but even that wasn’t enough and I went far too wide, nearly hitting the gutter on the opposite side of Barker Street. By the time I got it straightened and on the right side of the road I was nearly on top of Robyn and Lee.

  And there they were. Lee, white-faced, leaning on a telegraph pole, staring at me like I was a ghost. Or was he the ghost? He had a big white bandage wrapped around his calf and the wounded leg was resting on a rubbish tin. And Robyn, standing beside him, not looking at me but peering with sharp eyes in every direction.

  I’d already brought the shovel down as low as I could, as I drove along. Now I brought it down further and hit the brakes. I should have done it the other way round, the brakes then the shovel, because the shovel hit the ground with a burst of sparks, ploughing up bitumen for about twenty metres, till the truck came to a rocking halt and stalled again. I hadn’t really needed to bring the shovel down any further, because Lee could have easily hopped into it, but I was trying to be smart, show off my skill and finesse. Now I had to start the engine, slam the truck into reverse and, as Lee came hopping painfully forward, bring the shovel up a bit and come in again.

  Robyn helped him into the shovel. She was being so calm. I watched through the windscreen, too intent on their silent struggle to look anywhere eke. A whistle was the first I realised anything was wrong. I looked up, startled. Lee had just got into the shovel and was lying down. Robyn, hearing the whistle and without even looking to see where it was from, came pelting round to the passenger door. I could see some soldiers at the end of the street, pointing and staring. Some were dropping to one knee and lifting their rifles. Perhaps the headlights had bought us a moment, for they hadn’t fired yet. Although we’d worked out a route and agreed on it I decided I was no longer bound by majority vote: circumstances had changed. I tilted the shovel up then grabbed the gearstick. The truck rasped reluctantly into reverse again. ‘Don’t drop the clutch,’ I begged myself. ‘Don’t stall,’ I begged the truck. We started going backwards. ‘Put a helmet on,’ I yelled at Robyn. She actually laughed but she took a helmet. The first bullets hit. They rang on the steel of the truck like a giant with a sledgehammer was attacking it. Some of them hummed away again, out into the darkness, violent blind mosquitos, ricochets. I hoped they wouldn’t hit anyone innocent. The windscreen collapsed in a waterfall of glass. ‘Never reverse an inch more than you have to.’ We’re using metrics now Dad, in case you hadn’t noticed. Inches went out with paddle steamers and black and white TV. Anyway, sometimes you have to go backwards before you can go forwards. Before you go anywhere. We were going backwards way too fast though. I wanted to take the corner in reverse, as there wouldn’t be time to stop, change gears and go around it the right way. I started spinning the wheel, hoping that Lee was holding on tight. My poor driving was at least making it hard for the soldiers – we were an erratic target. We lurched over something, then I instinctively ducked as something else whipped over the top of the truck. It was a tree. I spun the wheel even more sharply and the wheels on the left hand side left the ground. Robyn lost her composure and screamed, then said ‘Sorry’. I couldn’t believe she’d said it. Somehow the truck didn’t turn over; the wheels came down again and we rocked our way along a footpath, knocking down fences and shrubs. I was using the wing mirrors mostly; the tray and its sides blocked the view through the back window or in the rear vision mirror. I dragged hard on the wheel again, as hard as I dared. We’d either roll now or make the corner. One more bullet hit us as we went around; it flew so close to me that it made a breeze against my skin, then shattered the side window. We thumped back on to the road, out of sight of the patrol. In the wing mirror on my side I caught one glimpse of a small vehicle with lights on high beam. It was a jeep I think. There was no way we could miss it, and we didn’t. We smashed into it bloody hard and ran right over the top of it. Both Robyn and I hit our heads on the roof of the truck, justifying the safety helmets. I gave a savage grin at that thought.

  Running over the jeep was like running over a small hill at high speed. I wrenched on the wheel and the truck made a sharp 180-degree turn. Now at last we were facing in the right direction. Ahead of us was the car we’d hit. I could see bodies in it, but the car looked like a huge boulder had been dropped on top of it. Two or three soldiers were crawling away into the darkness, like slaters. I gunned the engine and we charged. We swerved around the jeep but still hit it a glancing blow, first with the shovel, then with the left-hand front side of the truck. I felt sorry for Lee: I’d forgotten to raise the shovel. We raced down Sherlock Road. It was hard to see a lot. I tried the lights on high beam but nothing happened: it seemed that we only had parking lights left. Then Robyn said ‘There’s blood absolutely pouring down your face’, and I realised another reason I couldn’t see too well. I’d thought it was sweat. ‘Put your safety belt on,’ I said. She laughed again but she buckled it on.

  ‘Do you think Lee’s all right?’

  ‘I’m praying my ass off.’

  At that moment came the happiest sight I’d ever seen. A thin hand appeared out of the shovel, made a V sign or a peace sign – it was hard to tell in the dimness – and disappeared again. We both laughed this time.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Robyn asked anxiously. ‘Your face?’

  ‘I think so. I don’t even know what it is. It doesn’t hurt, just stings.’

  Cold wind was rushing into our faces as I accelerated. We got another block, past the High School, before Robyn, looking out of her side window, said ‘They’re coming’.

  I glanced in the wing mirror, and saw the headlights. There seemed to be two vehicles.

  ‘How far to go?’

  ‘Two k’s. Maybe three.’

  ‘Start praying again.’

  ‘Did you think I’d stopped?’

  I had my foot pressed so hard to the floor my arch was hurting. But they were gaining so fast we might as well have been standing still. Within another block they were fifty metres behind us.

  ‘They’re firing,’ said Robyn. ‘I can see the flashes.’

  W
e roared through a stop sign, doing 95 k’s. One of the cars was now right on our tail, the headlights glaring into my mirror. Then the mirror disappeared. Even though I was looking right at it I didn’t see it go. But it definitely went.

  The stop sign didn’t give me the idea; I’d already vaguely thought of it as a possible tactic. But the sign seemed like an omen, appearing when it did. I decided to follow its advice. I just hoped Lee would survive.

  ‘Hold on real tight!’ I yelled at Robyn, then hit the brakes with everything I had. I used the handbrake as well as the foot brake. The truck skidded, went sideways, nearly rolled. It was still skidding when I heard the satisfying crump of the car behind hitting us on our rear right side, then saw it spinning out of control away into the darkness. Then it rolled. We came to a stop and sat there, rocking heavily. The engine stalled again and for a minute we were a perfect target. I furiously wrenched at the key, so hard that the soft metal actually twisted in my grip. The second car was braking and almost stationary, but about a hundred metres away. The truck started. I rammed it into gear. More flashes of gunfire came from the second car, and suddenly there were two bangs from underneath me. I swung the truck onto the road and hit the accelerator, but the truck was tilting and sluggish, wallowing all over the road and bumping badly. ‘What’s wrong?’ Robyn said. She looked scared, unusual for Robyn.

  ‘They’ve shot some tyres out.’ Robyn’s mirror was still there and I glanced at that. The second car had started again and was coming on fast. Robyn was looking through the little rear window.

  ‘What’s in the back here?’

  ‘I don’t know. I didn’t look.’

  ‘Well there’s something there. How do you operate the tipper?’

  ‘That blue lever I think.’ Robyn grabbed it and heaved it down. The second car was now trying to pass us. I was swerving all over the road to prevent him, a process made easier by the punctured tyres. Then something did start pouring out of the back, with a slow sliding noise. I still don’t know what it was, gravel or mud or something. In Robyn’s mirror I saw the car brake so hard it nearly stood on its head. A minute later we were at Three Pigs Lane.

  I slewed the wheel around and blocked the lane with the truck as we’d agreed. For a moment I couldn’t see Homer. I felt sick. All I wanted to do was fall on my knees in the dirt of the lane and vomit. Robyn had total faith though. She was out of the truck and running to the shovel, helping Lee to stand. Then I saw Homer, backing dangerously fast, without lights, towards us. I jumped out of the truck and ran at him as he brought the car to a wobbling halt, just a few metres away from me and in the gutter. Everyone seemed to be reversing tonight, and not very efficiently. I heard a bang, and another bullet whirred past me, somewhere in the darkness. Homer was out of the car. It was a station wagon, a BMW, and he was opening the tailgate and helping Lee in. Robyn left him to it and ran to the front passenger door, opening it, and the back one for Homer. A bullet hit the car, smashing a hole in the rear passenger door. Only one person seemed to be firing at us, using a handgun. It was quite possible that there’d only been one person in that second car. Homer had left the driver’s door open and the engine running. I clambered in, out of the gutter, and looked around. Lee was in, Homer was getting in, Robyn was in. Close enough. I pushed it in gear, not adjusting well after the truck, and using too much force on the clutch and the gearstick. We kangaroo-hopped out of the gutter. There was a cry of pain from the back of the BMW. I put the clutch back in and tried again, this time getting a smoother takeoff, then lost yet another side window and windscreen, to a bullet that must have angled past me.

  We’d been lucky, but when anyone’s shooting at a wildly moving target in the dark the luck should favour the target. I knew that from hunting trips. Sometimes I’d have a shot at a hare or rabbit that the dogs were chasing. It was a waste of ammunition, and dangerous for the dogs, but fun. I only ever got one, and that was a fluke. These guys had actually done pretty well in their attempts at us. They weren’t to be underestimated Some of them might be undertrained, like Mr Clement had said, but they’d given us a hard time.

  The BMW was flying. It was a dirt road, but straight, and smoother than most. ‘Nice car,’ I said to Homer, glancing at him in the rear vision mirror.

  He gave an evil grin. ‘Thought I might as well get a good one.’

  ‘Whose is it?’

  ‘I don’t know. One of those big houses by the golf course.’

  Robyn, beside me, turned and looked to the rear of the car.

  ‘You OK, Lee?’

  There was a pause, then Lee’s quiet voice, which I felt like I hadn’t heard in a year. ‘Better than I was in that bloody truck.’ We all laughed, loudly, like we had a lot of nervous energy.

  Robyn turned to me, took my helmet off and started inspecting my forehead as I drove. ‘Don’t,’ I said. ‘Too distracting.’

  ‘But there’s blood all over your face and shoulders.’

  ‘I don’t think it’s anything.’ I certainly hadn’t felt a thing. ‘It’s probably just a bit of glass. Head wounds always bleed a lot.’

  Already we were approaching Meldon Marsh Road. I slowed down and turned the lights off, leaning forward to concentrate. Driving at night without lights is horribly hard and dangerous, but I figured we’d lost the element of surprise that we’d had with the trucks. These guys would have radios. We had to rely on concealment now.

  To drive directly to my place would have taken about forty or fifty minutes. But we still had a couple of hours of darkness left, and we’d agreed when making our plans, back at Robyn’s, to use that time. It was a choice of two evils. To go straight home would make it too easy for them to track us. To stay on the roads would expose us to enemy patrols. We could have hidden up somewhere and gone to my place the next night, but we figured that with every passing day, the grip these people had on the district would tighten. And after the damage we’d just done to them they might well bring in more troops by the next night.

  Besides, we all wanted so desperately to get back to Fi and Corrie and Kevin, and to the sanctuary of Hell. We couldn’t bear the thought of another day so far away from it. We wanted to get as close as we could. It took all our self-control to take a roundabout route now.

  Homer’d had the time, as he sat silently waiting in the BMW, parked in the shadows of Three Pigs Lane, to work out a rough route, and now he started calling out instructions from pencil marks he’d made on a map. ‘This takes us past Chris Lang’s place,’ he said, as we drove as fast as I dared along Meldon Marsh Road. ‘We’ll change cars there. If the keys aren’t in the cars, I know where they’ll be.’

  ‘Why are we changing cars?’ asked Lee’s tired voice from the back. I think he was dreading another painful move.

  Homer explained. ‘Our plan is to go up to Hell in four-wheel drives and hide out there for a while. The Landrover’ll be packed and ready, at Ellie’s. That means we’ll be dumping whatever car we’ve used to get there. Now if, a day or two later, a patrol arrives at Ellie’s and finds a shot up BMW, that they’ve been searching the district for ... well, some very nasty things could happen to Ellie’s parents.’

  There was a pause, then Lee said, ‘Chris’s parents have got a Merc.’

  ‘That did cross my mind,’ Homer admitted. ‘And they’re overseas, so the Merc’s probably in the garage, not at the Showground. I don’t think Chris has got his licence yet. If we’re going to have a war we may as well have it in style. Next left, El.’

  We arrived at Chris’s ten minutes later, racing straight past the house to the garage and sheds, about a hundred metres away. We were getting tired, not just with physical exhaustion but with the emotional intensity of the last few hours. We climbed stiffly out of the car. The others went looking for the Merc while I went to the back of the BMW to talk to Lee. I was shocked by how pale he looked; his hair was blacker and his eyes bigger than ever. He smelt even worse than we did, and there was a new dark red stain on his bandage.
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  ‘You’re bleeding,’ I said.

  ‘Only a little. I’d say a couple of stitches probably came apart.’

  ‘You look awful.’

  ‘And smell it too. Lying there sweating for twenty-four hours, I wouldn’t recommend it.’ There was a pause, then, self-consciously, he said, ‘Listen, Ellie, thanks for getting me out of there. Every minute of the twenty-four hours I could hear the footsteps of soldiers coming to get me.’

  ‘Sorry about the wild trip in the truck.’

  He grinned. ‘I couldn’t believe it. Towards the end there, when you hit the brakes, I actually got thrown out, but I did a sort of roll and landed back in. That’s when I bust a few stitches I think.’

  ‘Yeah, I’m sorry. We needed to get rid of a car behind us.’ I wiped my face. ‘God, I can’t believe the things we’ve done.’

  ‘A couple of bullets hit the shovel. They didn’t go through it, but the noise they made! I thought I was dead. But I don’t think they knew I was in there, or they would have sprayed it with bullets.’ Homer came backing out of the garage in a large olive-green Mercedes. Lee laughed. ‘Homer hasn’t changed.’

  ‘Yes he has.’

  ‘Has he? I’ll be interested to see that. He’s a pretty smart guy, Homer. Listen Ellie, there’s one problem here. If we leave the BMW sitting where it is, and a patrol finds it, they’ll think there’s a connection between us and Chris’s family. They might burn his house, or if they’ve got Chris as one of their prisoners, they might do something to him.’

  ‘You’re right.’ I turned to the others, who were getting out of the Merc, and repeated what Lee had said. Homer listened, nodded, and pointed to the dam.

  ‘Can we do that?’ I asked. ‘To a nice new BMW with only a couple of bullet holes?’

  It seemed that we could. I drove it to the upper side of the dam, put it in neutral, got out and gave it a good push. It was a light car and moved easily. It ran down the slope, holding almost a perfect line, and went straight into the water. It floated out for a few metres, getting lower and lower, then stopped floating, leaned to one side and began sinking. With a sudden gurgle and a lot of bubbles, it disappeared. There was a small cheer from Robyn and Homer and me.