With our shoes on we moved faster, but less quietly, although the noise we made was at least partly disguised by the noise of the birds whooping and shrieking in the trees overhead. Up on the ridge the trees grew further apart, the ground between them mostly clear, so without much sense of where we were going we raced on, following the line of the hill sideways and down.
As we ran I kept Gracie’s hand clamped in mine. Although I had not had time to look at her carefully I had seen the light of the Change in her eyes when she woke, its glow a reminder that whatever process was overtaking her body was hastening, leaving her weaker and more confused. Ahead of us Matt kept stopping to let us catch up, before outpacing us again.
As we crested the hill I heard a dog bark behind us, the sound followed by a series of excited yelps. Gripping Gracie’s hand tighter I charged on, running faster as the hill dropped away, until all at once Matt skidded to a halt in front of us, only just catching himself before he pitched over a rock face.
‘I don’t want to climb down,’ Gracie said as we drew level with him.
‘That’s okay,’ I said, glancing wildly from side to side. ‘We’re not going to climb down,’ I said. To the left the clifftop was covered with a tangle of trees, but where the hill sloped down to the right the ground was clearer.
‘This way,’ I said, pointing. I thought Matt was going to argue but just then we heard a crash and turned to see two men on the hill above us. One had close-cropped blond hair and a pair of dogs straining on a leash in front of him. The other, I realised with a sick feeling of inevitability, was the man we had spoken to on the road yesterday.
Matt stood staring at them, his face pale. I reached out and grabbed his arm.
‘They won’t catch us,’ I said, and pushed him ahead of me, then ran after him, Gracie’s hand still clutched in mine.
The ground along the edge of the rock face was rough, broken by stones and roots and fallen branches, but we barely noticed as we scrambled on. Behind us the dogs were barking wildly, the sound growing closer as we slipped from stone to stone. Although we didn’t speak it was obvious the sound of the dogs terrified Matt, his white face and wide panicked eyes testament to his fear they would be released.
Frightened he would bolt I came to a halt between two ledges of rock. Below us I glimpsed a series of ledges that seemed to offer a route to the bottom of the rock face.
‘Here,’ I said. ‘Take Gracie.’ Scrambling down I lowered myself onto the first ledge, then reached up. Matt handed Gracie to me. The dogs barked again, closer now, and he flinched.
‘Now you!’ I said. He stared back, then swung his legs over the edge and dropped down beside me.
‘This way,’ I hissed, slipping on down with Gracie over my shoulder. The ledge was rough and the path narrow, so I had to fight not to lose my balance or slip. Halfway down Matt clambered past me.
‘Here,’ he said, holding out his hands for Gracie.
There was a shout; I looked up and saw the men above us, the dogs straining on their ropes.
I handed Gracie to Matt and he slid down off the ledge and onto the next, and then the next, Gracie clutched to his chest, until finally he reached a small slope covered with leaf litter and slithered down to land with a thump. I followed as quickly as I could, my heart hammering in my chest.
On the forest floor the trees grew closer together, undergrowth crowded between them, but we threw ourselves forward, ignoring the way we slipped and fell. Behind us the barking of the dogs grew closer, broken now and again by a frantic whining or a cry from one of the men.
‘Follow me!’ Matt cried as we burst from the undergrowth into an open patch of ground. We headed for the stand of trees on the far side, vaulting the low bushes and long grass in a frantic, stumbling dash. As we ran I tried to take my bearings again, taking note of the broken shape of the hill visible in the pale light to our left, but it was difficult to concentrate with the sound of the dogs so close behind. Then we were across the clearing and amongst the trees again.
The undergrowth was thinner on this side of the clearing, but Matt was struggling to keep running with Gracie in his arms. A few hundred metres in we came to another rock face, but as we did Gracie gave a piercing shriek and stretched her arms out back the way we’d come. Matt came to a halt, his eyes wide with shock, and I skidded to a halt next to them.
‘What is it?’ I asked.
Gracie reached out her arms. ‘Bunny!’ she cried.
‘You dropped him?’ I asked. ‘Where?’
‘There!’ Gracie cried, pointing back the way we’d come.
I turned, staring wildly for some glimpse of her toy.
‘No, Callie,’ Matt said. ‘They’re too close,’ but as he spoke I caught sight of Bunny a couple of hundred metres behind us.
‘It’s okay,’ I said. ‘I see him.’
‘No,’ Matt said. ‘We have to leave it.’
I looked at Gracie, who was still wailing. Over the past few days I’d looked at her more than once and wondered how little of her remained behind the altered eyes and glassy stare, but now all I could see was a little girl who had lost the only thing she had left of her old life.
‘I have to,’ I said. ‘You take Gracie and keep going. I’ll catch up.’
‘No,’ Matt said. ‘Callie . . .’
‘Go!’ I said.
Matt took one more look at me then nodded.
It only took a few seconds to reach Bunny, but that was long enough for me to see our pursuers appear through the trees. I reached down and grabbed the toy, then turned and bolted back the way I’d come, shouts and barking echoing after me. As I reached the rock face I scrambled around the side, frantically searching for a path upward again. The dogs were only a hundred metres or so behind me now, and as I ran I tried not to think about what would happen if they caught me, my legs wavering beneath me as images of their jaws tearing at my legs and arms or ripping at my face crowded my mind.
At the top of the rock face the path levelled out and then, to my horror, divided, one branch heading upward, the other down again. A sick feeling rising in my stomach, I stopped, looking for some sign of which way Matt had gone: although the route up was rougher it looked safer compared to the other, which plunged back down into the undergrowth. Frantically I looked over my shoulder, only to see our pursuers already nearly at the point where I’d left Matt and Gracie. Looking back at the two paths I took a breath and decided to head downward, back into the undergrowth.
At first it seemed I’d made the right decision: the path was easy, the ground clear and unbroken, but almost at once the path seemed to vanish, petering out into a mass of bushes. Our pursuers were very close now, so not knowing what else to do, I began to push forward, shoving myself through the bushes as hard as I could, one arm up to shield my eyes as I tried to ignore the way the branches scratched and tore at me. After ten or fifteen seconds the scrub thinned, replaced by grasses and ferns; desperately I stumbled on, but then the ground beneath me gave way and I pitched forward into some kind of bog, landing hard on my wrist and elbow, the pain making me cry out. I rolled over frantically, trying to regain my feet, but my ankle caught on something and I fell again, harder this time, the force of the impact knocking the wind out of me. Behind me there was a crash and with an explosion of barking the dogs burst out of the bushes behind me, dragging the man with blond hair I had glimpsed on the hill behind them.
I froze, terrified, but at the last second their handler yanked them back, the jaws of one snapping shut so close I could feel its hot breath on my face.
‘Gotcha,’ he said.
I couldn’t move, paralysed by the dogs’ teeth flashing and snarling in front of me. But then I remembered Gracie and Matt and began to drag myself to my feet.
‘I wouldn’t,’ the blond man said. As he spoke the man we had seen on the road appeared beside him. Out of his car he looked frighteningly p
owerful, and he carried himself as if he was fully aware of the menace he exuded. Yet it wasn’t his manner that frightened me the most, it was the shotgun in his hands.
He stepped past the dogs and stopped in front of me.
‘Where are your friends?’ he asked.
When I didn’t reply he gave a humourless smile, his lips curling back to reveal nicotine-stained teeth.
‘Perhaps you’d like to get to know the dogs a little better?’ he asked. As he spoke the blond one gave his charges some slack and they leapt forward, baying. Despite myself I flinched, and both men laughed, the sound provoking a cold rage in my belly.
‘Do it!’ I spat, surprising myself. The man with the shotgun stared at me coldly. Then he turned back to the blond man.
‘Here,’ he said, handing him the shotgun. ‘You and Ryan go after the other two. I’ll deal with this one.’ Reaching down he grabbed my arm and dragged me to my feet. I twisted away from him angrily, but he wrenched my arm around and behind me, the motion sending pain shooting through my bruised elbow and wrist.
‘Don’t even think about it,’ he said.
14
As the sound of the dogs receded my captor tightened his grip on my arm. Uncomfortably aware of the knotted strength in his hands and arms, I resisted the impulse to struggle.
‘Don’t try anything,’ he said. I heard a rustling, as if he was taking something out of his pocket and a moment later he looped something around my wrists and jerked it tight. I cried out and he gave a mirthless laugh.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s get moving.’
I limped back up the hill with him behind me. Although he had released his grip on me once my hands were tied, he didn’t let me stray far, stepping forward to shove me in the back if I slowed down or stumbled. As I walked I was dimly aware of the pain in my shoulder and elbow, my bruised foot and the scratches on my face and arms, yet they seemed of little importance compared to the fact of my capture and the thought that Matt and Gracie were still out there somewhere. Unbidden the image of the shotgun came back to me, and I almost choked, imagining the two of them shot or worse, the thought bringing everything that had happened that morning crowding in on me, filling me with a sick sense of failure. Tears rose, and I almost gave way, but then I remembered my captor behind me and I blinked them away, unwilling to give him the pleasure of seeing me cry.
As we reached the spot where the two tracks had divided he shoved me toward a rock to one side.
‘Sit,’ he said.
I obeyed, lowering myself to an outcrop of rock with a wince. I could feel his eyes on me but I refused to look up or meet his gaze. As I tried to process what was going on I kept returning to the idea that this couldn’t be happening, that it didn’t seem possible that we’d made it this far only to fail. Dimly I realised I must be in shock.
‘You think you’re pretty tough, don’t you?’ he asked after a minute or two but I didn’t respond. He laughed again.
‘We’ll have your friends soon, then we’ll see how tough you are.’
At this I glanced up, despite myself, and caught him staring at me. He smiled, and I realised he’d been goading me, looking for this response. I looked away again, and he laughed.
I’m not certain how long we sat there. An hour, maybe two. After a while he got up and paced around, clambering up the rocks and peering off through the trees, although he never went far enough for me to make a break for it. For a while when his back was turned I watched him. As well as the gun he had a long knife in a sheath and some kind of walkie-talkie, but while the knife and the gun frightened me there was a sense of coiled power in his movements that suggested it would be a mistake to underestimate his speed or reflexes.
As we waited I tried not to think about what lay ahead. I wanted to believe Matt would manage to get away but it seemed difficult to believe he could, particularly with Gracie. Worse yet, every time I circled back to the thought of what that would mean, of what might happen to Gracie if they caught her, I wanted to break down and cry. I hated myself for failing her.
Eventually my captor took out a bottle of water and took a swig. Although my throat was dry and my head tight with dehydration, I was careful not to let him see how much I wanted a drink, but in the end it didn’t matter because once he had drunk his fill he put the bottle back in his belt.
A few minutes later his walkie-talkie trilled and he unclipped it.
‘Well?’ he asked. There was a brief silence.
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I’m going to head back. You can meet me there.’ He paused, then laughed.
‘Yeah, I reckon I’ll be okay,’ he said.
He replaced the walkie-talkie on his belt. ‘Get up,’ he said.
I just sat, staring at him. He shook his head and leaned forward to grab my arm.
‘I said get up,’ he said, and wrenched me to my feet.
The walk back took a couple of hours. After the first hour or so we joined what seemed to be an old fire track or logging road that wound its way through the hills. As the sun rose the day grew hotter, but I barely noticed.
Eventually the track joined the road, and not long after that we came to the ute we’d seen yesterday. My captor opened the back door and shoved me in, slamming the door behind me.
‘You keep your eyes on the road,’ he said as he started the car. ‘And if we pass anybody don’t try anything.’
The trip back to his compound only took a few minutes, the landscape outside flashing by with surprising rapidity. After a week of walking it was a shock to be reminded of how easy travel was when you had machines.
At the entrance to his compound he decelerated and swung the ute up the drive, pulling up in front of the gate we’d seen yesterday. Up close it was bigger than it looked from the road, heavier as well, its steel structure strung with vicious-looking razor wire, the whole arrangement controlled by some kind of electronic device my captor kept in his pocket.
Once we were inside he parked the truck, opened my door and ordered me out. I considered making him drag me but something about the way he looked at me made me decide against it.
He marched me over to a shipping container that stood at the back of the yard and opened the door. A wall of heat struck me, thick with the stench of urine. Grabbing my wrist he dragged me toward a chain attached to the back wall and fastened it to my ankle. Once he was done he stepped back and gestured toward a reeking bucket in the opposite corner.
‘You know what to do.’
‘What about water?’ I asked. ‘What do I drink?’
He made a sound, perhaps of amusement, perhaps of derision and turned away.
‘Hey!’ I shouted at his retreating back. ‘Hey!’
A minute later he returned with a plastic bottle full of water and tossed it to me.
‘Don’t drink it all at once,’ he said, and slammed the door of the container shut.
‘Where are you going?’ I demanded, pulling on my chain and straining toward the door. ‘You can’t leave me here like this!’ But there was no reply, and after a few more shouts I fell silent.
Not knowing what else to do, I slumped down against the wall, trying to keep as far from the bucket as I could. Opening the bottle I gulped a mouthful or two, fighting the urge to drain it in one go. Glancing at the bucket standing in the shadows by the other wall I tried not to think about the fact I obviously wasn’t the first person who had been kept here, or to wonder what had happened to those others.
Eventually it occurred to me that despite the gloom it wasn’t completely dark, and looking up I noticed a hole had been cut in the wall above me then covered with some sort of grille.
Standing I reached up and tested it with my hands. It was a little less than thirty centimetres long, and perhaps fifteen or twenty centimetres high; too small for me to fit through even if I could have broken through the grille, but if I pushed m
y fingers through the grille it was possible to pull myself up and peer out, the fresh air cool on my face after the heat of the container.
It was uncomfortable hanging there with my hands pressed close to my face and the grille cutting into my fingers but I clung on long enough to establish the back of the container faced a clearing of some sort. To one side was a small rise and then the fence, on the other a shed of some sort with a covered area in front of it, under which stood three old armchairs. In the middle of the space was a mess of scorched, blackened material that might once have been branches or rubbish, or something much worse.
When my fingers hurt so much I couldn’t hold on any longer I let go and crouched on the floor. I felt ill from the heat, but more than that I was sick with fear about what was going to happen to the three of us.
I’m not sure how long I sat there: a few hours perhaps, although in the heat and the dark it was difficult to be certain. But then I heard the sound of a car, and a few seconds later the gate. In my chest my heart began to race, a sick feeling of inevitability making me light-headed. I stood up, careful not to let the chain make too much noise, and listened for Matt’s or Gracie’s voice.
At first it was hard to hear what was being said, but then I heard car doors slam and my captor’s voice raised in irritation.
‘Did you backtrack?’
‘What? You think we’re stupid?’ said a voice I recognised as that of the blond one. ‘Of course we did. But they were gone.’
At this I felt my heart leap. Matt and Gracie had got away! Pressing myself closer to the door I tried to hear more.
‘We got this though,’ said a third voice. There was the sound of yelping. Somebody laughed.
‘Fine,’ I heard my captor say. ‘Put it around the back.’
Somebody passed down the side of the container. There was a brief silence, and I wondered whether they had left again, but then I heard the blond one’s voice.
‘She’s in there?’ he asked quietly.
‘For now,’ my captor replied. Something in his tone told me he was the real power in this group.
The Silent Invasion Page 12
