Forager (Forager - A Dystopian Trilogy)

by Peter R Stone

  Forager

  Forager Series, Book One

  Copyright 2013 by Peter R Stone

  Smashwords Edition

  This is a work of fiction. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Chapter One

  The Custodians' G-Wagon four-wheel-drive was the last thing I expected to see when I strolled into the large Recycling-Works yard a couple of minutes late for my shift. My boss, a tall, balding guy whose once-impressive muscles were slowly turning to flab, was talking – more like bowing and scraping – to the Custodian sergeant. Three privates stood beside the G-Wagon with their Austeyr assault-rifles slung over their shoulders. The Custodians wore their usual camo-pattern fatigues, bulletproof vests, and helmets.

  Panic surged through me with such intensity that I had to fight the urge to flee, for they could be here for one reason and one reason only, and that was me. I must have slipped up somehow, a slip up that had allowed them to discover the secret I had gone to such lengths to hide my entire life. Now they would haul me away to their chop-shop and dissect me like a frog.

  I glanced about frantically for my four workmates and spotted them slouching beside our battered old truck, their eyes darting about nervously. They were unnerved by this unexpected arrival of a team of Custodians too, and despite not knowing why they were here, I'm sure a whole host of minor misdemeanours they had committed were flying through their minds as they wondered if they had been caught out.

  Noticing I had arrived, my boss nodded deferentially to the sergeant and hurried over to me, puffing slightly from the effort. "There you are, Ethan."

  "What's going on, Boss?" I asked, unable to stop my voice quivering slightly. "Why are they here?"

  "Starting from today, they'll be accompanying you on your foraging trips," he explained as he glanced back at them nervously.

  "For what reason?" I demanded.

  "They said that due to increased Skel attacks on our foraging parties, Custodian Command has decreed that all foraging teams will be accompanied by Custodian squads from now on."

  I shuddered, for just the thought of the degenerate, demented Skel was disconcerting, and encountering them out there in the abandoned ruins of the city of Melbourne gave me recurring nightmares. Nightmares of their mad eyes, fetid breath and body odour that reeked of decaying flesh, and their suits of armour made from the bones of the dead.

  All the same, on the few occasions they had attempted to ambush my workmates and I, we had either driven them off or slain them, using prohibited weapons we had found while foraging.

  "Boss, we don't need Custodians to keep us safe, we're more than capable of looking after ourselves," I protested as a profound sense of relief flooded through me - the Custodians were not here because of me! My secret had not been discovered.

  "This ain't negotiable, Ethan," he snapped, glaring at me from beneath bushy eyebrows, "And don't give them attitude or lip; Custodians ain't known for their patience. Now come, let me introduce you."

  Inwardly fuming, I followed the boss over to the Custodian sergeant.

  "Ah, excuse me, Sergeant King, this is Ethan Jones, the leader of this foraging team," my boss said.

  The sergeant had about five years on me I reckoned, and was one mean piece of work. He had a six-foot tall, well proportioned, muscular body (unlike mine - I was still in the lanky stage), and a pockmarked face that leered at me as though I had just been dredged up from the gutter. "As I'm sure your boss has informed you, Jones, we'll be accompanying your team on your foraging missions from now on. But don't mind us, just go on your business as usual. Our purpose is to keep you boys safe out there, not to get in your way," he growled.

  I bit back the first dozen answers that popped into my head, like: what a load of a baloney! What do you take me for? I wasn't born yesterday, and a selection of one or two word responses that normally never graced my lips, and finally settled upon, "Understood, Sergeant."

  "I trust you have some system for determining where to forage each day?"

  The way he accentuated the word 'system' sent thrills of fear surging through me again. Perhaps I had been too quick to think the danger had passed. "Ah, yes, past experience has given us a pretty good indication of where to look," which was true to a limited degree, "but today we're going to continue stripping out the apartment block we hit in Carlton yesterday."

  "Alright then, lead the way," the sergeant ordered before he strode back to the G-Wagon.

  My workmates met me before I reached our truck, their faces full of questions and complaints. I held up my hands to forestall them. "Stow it, guys. We'll just have to get used to it, 'cause there's nothing we can do about it. Now hop in the truck."

  Michal, our driver and my best friend, clambered into the truck first, having to duck his head just to get through the door, since he easily topped six-foot-four; and at seventeen I suspected he hadn't even finished growing. I clambered in beside him while Leigh, David and Shorty climbed into the back seat.

  Michal looked down at me, clearly displeased about something. "You gotta be more careful, Ethan."

  "Me?" I asked, not having the slightest inkling of what he was referring to.

  "Yes, Ethan, you," he confirmed as he turned the key in the ignition and pumped the accelerator gently to get the engine started. The truck was pretty old and I doubted it had a single part that hadn't been replaced or refurbished at some stage. "I'd wager my bottom dollar they're here 'cause they want to find out why our team brings in more metals than the others."

  Our team was one of many that foraged in the ruins outside for non-corrosive metals - such as gold, platinum, copper, bronze and lead - that had survived the decades since the Apocalypse. We would take them back to the Recycling-Works where they would be sorted, melted down, and handed over to the factories.

  "What do you mean?" I replied, feigning ignorance.

  "Them other three goons," he whispered as he jerked his head back to indicate our workmates in the back seat, "they ain't too bright. They think you just know the best spots to look, but not me. I've seen you."

  That sent icy tendrils of dread creeping back into my gut. "Seen me what?"

  "You can drop your act with me, okay?" he said softly as he shifted the truck into gear and drove it out of the Recycling-Works yard and towards the town gates. "I've heard about people like you, and you're secret's safe with me. Just don't keep hitting pay dirt every day from now on, 'cause those Custodians, they're not here to protect us from the Skel like they claim, or they'd have brought a Bushmaster instead of that G-Wagon."

  He was right, and I knew it. The Custodians always rode in their Bushmaster Protected Mobility Vehicles when going into situations they perceived as potentially dangerous. That they came in an unarmoured G-Wagon today proved they were not expecting to encounter Skel as they claimed. So that was just a smokescreen to cover their true intention - which was to find out which of us had my aberrant, mutant ability: the ability I used to locate the metals we were looking for.

  What was wrong with me? What kind of fantasy world did I live in? How on earth had I convinced myself I could get away with bringing back a load of non-corrosive metals every time, never once coming back empty-handed. We told the boss we just knew where to look, not to mention being extraordinarily lucky. But that kind of naivety really showed just how out of touch I was with reality - or was it typical thinking for teenagers, thinking we could get away with anything? For the Custodians were relentless in hunting down those with genetic mutations. Ninety-nine percent were detected before birth and resulted in the unborn child being terminat
ed. Anyone else found with mutations like mine were taken away and never seen again.

  These ruminations triggered one of my strongest childhood memories. I was five-years-old and following some boys from my block of flats to school, merrily humming to myself, when an elderly Chinese gentleman suddenly popped out from behind a pillar, grabbed me, and pulled me back into the shadows with him. He knelt down and forced me to meet his gaze. "You must hide your ability, child," he said. "Hide it from everyone, even your family - do not trust anyone! Because if the Custodians find out you have it, they will haul you away and dissect you like a frog. You understand me, child? Like a frog!"

  And then he walked off, leaving me shaking in fear - of him and of what he had said. I had already known I was different, and I most definitely did not want to die like that!

  "So where are we heading today, boss?" Michal asked, snapping me out of my reverie.

  "Back to where we went yesterday - there's still plenty of copper we can strip out there," I said. Normally there was not much to find in the way of useful metals that close to the CBD - Melbourne's Central Business District. That whole area had been stripped virtually clean by foragers over the decades. However, yesterday I had struck pay dirt when I found an old apartment block that still had copper pipes rather than the plastic ones they had used in later years.

  "Hey Jones, why do you reckon the Custodians are going to accompany us on our trips from now on?" asked Leigh.

  I twisted the rear-view mirror so I could catch a look at him as I answered. Leigh was a wiry built individual with spiked auburn hair, and was eighteen-years-old like myself. He was a typical school dropout - not bright and full of lip. We had to watch him near authority figures to keep him in line before he got himself into too much trouble. "To keep us safe from Skel attacks, according to them," I replied.

  "Oh come on, Skel? I'd bet my bottom dollar they're here to make sure we 'behave' out there, to rob us of the only freedom we've got left," Shorty retorted angrily. Shorty was our youngest member, having dropped out of school only recently. With long white-blonde hair, he was a whole head shorter than I, but was as nimble as a monkey. He could climb anything and get through virtually any gap or hole.

  "They probably think we're doing drugs or having wild sex parties out there," said Leigh.

  "I wish!" Shorty declared a little too enthusiastically.

  "Which one?" David asked, laughing. Of Chinese ancestry, David was our Mr. Fix-it, an absolute whiz with anything mechanical, whether putting them together or pulling them apart.

  "Both, of course," Leigh replied, grinning.

  "And where do you suppose they think we're finding the drugs and women?" Shorty demanded.

  "You'd be surprised," David answered seriously from where he sat watching out the window. "Before you joined us, Shorty, we found a whole stack of tins packed with drugs in airtight bags."

  "Fat lot of good that haul did us, Jones made us burn the lot," Leigh protested.

  "He what?" said Shorty, staring at me as though there was something seriously amiss with my head.

  "That was for your own good!" I protested, remembering the horrified expression on Leigh's face when I gave the order - and then stayed to make sure he followed it.

  "But...but if you'd sold it you'd have been set for life! You know, I've got some contacts..." Shorty said. He was definitely on the same page as Leigh.

  "Selling drugs is an automatic death sentence, Shorty," I shot back at him, "and don't get me started on how they can totally mess up your life."

  "Custodians are a confounded waste of space, can't they find something useful to do with their lives apart from ruining ours?" Leigh moaned. "Hey Jones, let's introduce 'em to some real Skel today - bet they soil themselves and go runnin' home to mummy."

  "Yeah, that's the ticket! Do it, Jones, do it!" Shorty said, practically bouncing up and down in his seat.

  "As attractive as that sounds, I wouldn't wish Skel on anyone, not even Custodians. We are supposed to be on the same side, remember?"

  "Yeah, but do they know that?" David asked pointedly.

  "Pipe it down guys, the gates are ahead," Michal announced firmly as the massive metal gates loomed before us. A twelve-foot high, outwardly curving concrete wall, topped with spikes and barbed wire, ran the perimeter of the entire town. There were only three exits, each with two tall metal gates that rarely ever opened, as the only people permitted to leave the town were foragers and Custodians, and the latter rarely did so. There were also man-height secret exits in the walls - concrete doors that became flush with the walls when shut. I had seen the Custodians using one when I was using my binoculars one night.

  We stopped at the gates so Michal could show the Custodians guarding the gates our papers. They examined them carefully and then strolled down to talk with the Custodian squad following us. Using the rear-view mirror, I watched them talk with Sergeant King for a few minutes, before they returned and gave back our papers. The gates swung slowly open on well-oiled hinges and Michal finally drove out of Newhome with the Custodians' G-Wagon close behind, and together we crossed the 250-metre wide no-man's land that surrounded Newhome. All of the buildings surrounding the town had been demolished so that no one could approach it without being seen from the guard towers on the walls.

  Heading for Victoria Street, we entered North Melbourne’s eerily quiet and empty streets of slowly decaying buildings that were in the process of being overgrown by shrubs, creepers, trees and wild grasses. Wrecks of rusting vehicles littered the roads as well, but not in great numbers, for most of the city folk who had survived the bomb had taken their cars with them when they fled to the country after the water, gas and electricity cut out. Sadly, most of them died of starvation, malnutrition and disease, for the country towns that had not been bombed were unable to cope with the influx of over two million people.

  The buildings in this part of the city were relatively intact, though for the most part their windows had been either blown out when the nuclear bomb hit Melbourne, or smashed by vandals or foragers. The bomb that hit Melbourne must have had the wrong co-ordinates, for it had hit the south-eastern suburbs, leaving the city's Central Business District mostly intact. I could see it now, dominating the skyline ahead of us, a motley assortment of skyscrapers of varying heights and designs. We had only been in there a few times, for many of the buildings looked structurally unsafe, plus, there were 'things' in there - I hesitate to call them people - that made the Skel seem friendly. Besides, there are still plenty of resources to scrounge up from the suburbs.

  As we drove I pondered what Shorty said; that the Custodians were with us to curb the only freedom we had left. I wondered if he was right - perhaps Michal and I were being paranoid. Yet if he was right, that meant it was for naught that I had spent years downplaying my intellect and abilities in school so I could flunk school and get a job as a forager. Only foragers were allowed out of Newtown on a regular basis, and I needed that freedom. While foraging was the only time I felt free and alive, for it was only out here that I could use my special abilities without danger of being caught. Alas, thanks to the Custodians, that was no longer the case.

  Perhaps it was time to go AWOL while foraging one day soon and never come back. However, I couldn't do that in the immediate future, for my younger sister was ill and I was the only one in our family willing to buck the system to help her.

  Chapter Two

  With our truck in the lead, we eventually reached Victoria Street and headed east through a ghost city of eerily silent shops, hotels, and office blocks; and then finally entered Carlton, where we found the ten story apartment building we had raided yesterday. Michal drove around the rusting shell of a semi-trailer and turned off Victoria Street into an extremely picturesque side street, and parked. Trees flourished down the length of the street, casting it into shade. Sparrows fluttered about the ground and twittered in the branches, while crows cawed from rooftops. It was one of the most peaceful and tranquil spots we h
ad encountered, though sadly, it was in appearance only, for Skel could turn up anywhere in Melbourne’s ruins.

  The G-Wagon pulled up beside our truck. Sergeant King and two of his goons climbed out, leaving the driver inside the vehicle. As they glanced about nervously at the trees and high-rise buildings that crowded around us, the typical arrogance that radiated from Custodians was absent. In fact, they weren’t just uncomfortable, but nervous as well, and that gave me a great deal of pleasure. This trip was quite probably their first time outside the town.

  "What next, Jones?" the sergeant demanded.

  I picked up a crowbar and pointed at the ten-storey apartment block to our right. "We worked the first two floors yesterday, so we'll be hitting the third and fourth today. Are you coming in with us?" And as an afterthought I added, "Hopefully there won't be any Skel in there."

  King's eyes widened ever so slightly. "Ah, no, it is imperative that we remain out here to guard the vehicles."

  ‘Guard the vehicles?’ What a convenient excuse to stay outside where they felt safer. And anyway, weren't they supposed to be protecting us? But staying out here also enabled them to watch any monitoring device they may have brought in order to catch me if I used my unique ability. Well, news to them, I wasn’t going to comply.

  On the other hand, knowing I could not use my ability today left me feeling naked and exposed. If the Custodians weren’t here I would have already scoped out the immediate area and would know if there were any Skel waiting in ambush. I looked up at the ominously dark apartment building that reached up to blot out the clouded-over sky, and at the trees and bushes that ran wild throughout the street - which were all perfect hiding spots. And I shivered. Today we would have to do it the hard way.

  "You ready, Ethan?" Michal asked as he hefted a sledgehammer over his shoulder.

  "Coming," I answered, and then turned to say one last thing to the valiant Custodian leader. "Oh, Sergeant, try not to stand too close to the building, because we'll be tossing all the copper we find straight out the window, and we don't want a stray piece striking one of you guys on the head."