by Gus Frazer
They stepped out of the Patrol. It was quiet, and even though it was only just after 10 am, it was hot and dry. Finn went up to the door of the post office, finding it locked.
‘Yep, nothing going on here,’ said Finn.
‘Let’s try The Australian, it’s just down here,’ said John, pointing to the pub down the road.
Walking down the empty footpath, Finn felt like he was in a movie where the town had been taken over by zombies. If all was going according to the script, the zombies would be waiting at the end of the main street to attack them.
John pushed on the main door of The Australian — it was open. Walking into the bar, it took a moment for Finn’s eyes to adjust to the darkness. He couldn’t see if there were people in there or not. It was a disconcerting feeling.
John had walked up to the bar and started talking to the bartender. Gradually Finn’s eyes became used to the light. He walked up and joined John at the bar.
‘Finn, Dave here was just saying how the Chinese have been destroying homesteads and property all around the town.’
‘Is the army sending troops?’ asked Finn.
Dave, the old barman, looked at Finn. ‘Nah, mate. Apparently the army is too busy reorganising itself after the last big push — it’s every man for himself.’
‘Can I use your phone, please?’ asked Finn.
‘Sure, it’s over there,’ said Dave, pointing to a pay phone in a corner of the bar.
Finn walked over to the booth and picked up the heavy receiver. He started to gingerly push the sticky buttons, but nothing was happening. He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned around to see a grinning John proffering a fistful of coins.
‘You’ll need these, mate,’ he said, chuckling and turning around to return to Dave, who was laughing so hard he was bent over the bar. Flushing bright red, Finn shoved some coins in the slot and dialled his parents’ house. There was no answer, so he tried his mum’s mobile. It went through to her voicemail, her message freshly recorded a few days ago. Finn listened in relief to her message. She couldn’t have been injured in the attack on Sydney — she wouldn’t attend to petty personal admin like updating her voicemail message if she or Tom were hurt. He took a deep breath and left his message.
‘Mum, it’s Finn. I’m okay. I’m somewhere in the desert up north. I’m staying with some good people until the army can get me out of here. There isn’t a phone on the farm, so you can’t call me. I hope you and Dad are okay. I love you guys and I’ll see you soon.’
Finn hung up the receiver and immediately started dialling the army hotline number. As he lifted the receiver to his ear, John ripped it out of his hand.
Finn turned to John. ‘What are you —’
‘Come on, we have to get back to the farm,’ John interrupted urgently. ‘I just heard that the Chinese are headed that way. They’ve been destroying everything in their path — killing civilians, for Christ’s sake!’
‘Wh, what? You can’t be serious!’ Finn stuttered in disbelief.
John was pulling at Finn’s right arm. ‘Very. Come on. I need your help. Jess is out there all alone. If the Chinese find her God knows what’ll happen.’
‘Okay, let’s go!’ Finn broke from John’s grip and ran for the door.
John drove the Patrol like a man possessed, not slowing at all for ruts or ditches. The Patrol took a hammering, as did Finn’s injured arm. Every bump now intensified the ache from where the bullet had torn through his flesh.
Coming down the long straight road that led directly to the homestead, Finn was searching for signs — smoke, military vehicles, San’s, any sign of destruction. The homestead was now visible — it all looked in order.
The Patrol came to an abrupt halt outside the homestead, John braking so hard the wheels locked. They leapt out.
‘Jess! Jess!’ yelled John.
Finn went inside the house to search. ‘She’s not in here,’ he yelled to John, coming back outside.
‘Dear God, where the hell is she? Please don’t say they took her!’ desperation saturated John’s voice.
‘The horses. Where are the horses?’ Finn asked.
‘Around there,’ said John, gesturing to the stables, ‘I’ve been over there, though.’
Running around to the stable, Finn looked around. There were only three horses. ‘John, don’t you have four horses?’
‘Ye … Yes, yes four horses,’ he nodded frantically. ‘Think she’s gone for a ride?’ he asked, his face alight with hope.
‘Pretty sure of it. Look, let’s keep searching but I reckon that’s what she’s doing. There are no signs the Chinese have been here, nothing suspicious. I think we can assume she’s okay,’ Finn reassured John.
‘Hang on. Normally she writes up on a board in here where she’s headed and when she’ll be back,’ said John, pacing off into the stable.
A whiteboard on the wall just inside the door to the stable had a neatly written log of the day’s date, where she was going and when she would be back.
Finn turned to John, his training taking charge. ‘Okay, that settles it then. Let’s load up the Patrol with everything we can take, and I mean food, water and essentials. We need to be out of here in one hour — tops. Jess should be back in half an hour but, if she isn’t back in an hour, we head out in her direction until we find her. Then we make a beeline for the most remote area around here. I’ll need your help with that, John.’
‘Leave? No bloody way, mate,’ John said, shaking his head. ‘You take Jess and get her the hell out of here, but I’m stayin’.’
‘John, I know what the Chinese are capable of — you won’t be able to do anything to stop them. There’s no point in trying.’ Finn said forcefully.
‘Bullshit,’ John said, folding his arms, ‘there’s no way in hell I’m getting run off my property, son.’
Finn was getting frustrated. ‘John, they’ll destroy your homestead. It’s just a building, no building is worth dying for — think of Jess, please.’
John wavered. Thinking about it now, he realised that Finn was right, but he was not quite able to let his pride settle. It seemed totally foreign to flee his own property, which he had worked so hard to create.
‘Alright,’ he said, finally relenting, ‘come on then. We better get cracking.’
Half an hour later Jess rode up to the barn, smiling. Finn jogged out to meet her. Jess jumped off the horse, her smile broadening in surprise. She was glad to see Finn had come back. She’d thought that perhaps he would just leave straight from town.
Her smile was met by Finn’s scowl. ‘We have to get out of here right now,’ he said, all business. ‘Unsaddle your horse and let them all go. We’re leaving in 30 minutes.’
Jess’s smile immediately evaporated and her face twisted with confusion. ‘What’s going on? Where’s Dad? Why are we leaving?’
‘Your dad’s in the house, we’re loading up the Patrol. We’ve got to get out of here because the Chinese have been on a rampage, destroying properties around here. We’ve heard that they’re killing civilians, too.’
‘Jesus, how long do we have?’ asked Jess.
Finn started back to the house. ‘I don’t know, but we’re not taking any chances. We leave in 30.’
Jess stood stunned for a moment while it all registered, then immediately started unsaddling the horse.
Finn loaded the final boxes of food into the Patrol. They had enough to survive for a few days if necessary. They had sleeping bags, a tent, a cooker, everything they would need to get by out in the desert overnight. John had a .308 Tikka hunting rifle and a 12-gauge shotgun, which Finn packed along with extra ammo.
‘Finn!’ yelled John from the veranda. He was looking through a pair of binoculars at a dust cloud in the distance. ‘That dust cloud means someone’s coming, can’t say who though.’
Finn didn’t turn to look or question John. ‘Jesus,’ he muttered to himself before yelling, ‘We leave in 30 seconds.’
Piling into the
Patrol, John drove and Finn sat beside him in the front, with Jess in the back seat holding the rifle and shotgun across her lap. John tore out the rear gate and headed towards the low range of hills to the west.
It was a three-hour drive to the top of the hills, and the whole time Finn was constantly looking back to see if they were being followed. John brought the Patrol to a standstill, which was a relief after the hours of cross-country driving. They were at the top of a range of hills and had views in every direction. The afternoon sun was setting now and the light was quickly dimming. To the west was a magnificent sunset, a brilliant orange that looked like the world to the west was on fire. To the east was another orange glow, but this was a heavier, sinister glow. John and Jess got out of the car and looked across the desert plain as they watched their home in the distance burn. John put his arm around Jess as they stood there on the rock looking down.
Finn, too, was looking towards the homestead, but he was looking for signs of the Chinese. Nothing — perhaps the Chinese didn’t notice their tyre tracks leaving the homestead, or, more likely, they couldn’t be bothered chasing after people in the desert, particularly in the dark.
Finn wanted to get moving, to find somewhere to pitch their tent and get sorted before it was completely dark. Looking at John and Jess though, he didn’t have the heart to hurry them up. They were mourning the loss of their home.
Finn turned and walked back to the Patrol, leaving them to grieve in peace. It wasn’t ideal, but Finn scoped out a spot for the tent. He would have preferred more tree cover, in case a drone or San’ was about in the morning, but there wasn’t much point in driving around the desert in the dark looking for the perfect camping spot.
The next day the sun rose to greet a perfectly clear morning. Finn woke in the back seat of the Patrol. It had been an uncomfortable night and his legs and back now ached. The others were still sleeping and there was no sound coming from the tent. Finn shut the door of the Patrol loudly, hoping it might stir them. Walking over to the rock ledge, where last night they had stood watching the burning homestead, Finn squinted in the direction of the house. It was quiet and still with no wind, only the sound of the odd bird breaking the silence — even the animals seemed to be sleeping in this morning. Looking down onto the desert floor and over to the homestead, Finn noted the layer of smoke hanging low in the sky. Taking a deep breath of the crisp, clean air, Finn noticed a distinct note of smoke, a sharp but woody smell that, if it were not due to the fact that it was these people’s ruined homestead, would have been pleasant.
Finn could now hear John and Jess talking in the tent. He sat down on the ledge, wanting to give them some privacy. Today would be a hard one, Finn knew, going back down to their ruined home — especially for John.
While Finn prepared breakfast, the other two packed up the tent and sleeping bags. When breakfast was over, they climbed back into the Patrol and headed slowly down the hill towards the homestead. They took their time now, and the journey was much more comfortable. Bar a few discussions on the best route and how to negotiate some of the trickier parts of the track, the drive was silent. Finn thought about how hard it would be to lose the house you grew up in, and with it your entire lifestyle.
Finn looked ahead and thought he recognised where they were. ‘How far are we from the homestead, John?’
‘About three kilometres, I reckon.’
‘Okay, pull over here,’ said Finn, unbuckling his seatbelt.
Jess leaned forward, holding on to the back of Finn’s seat. ‘Why are we stopping here, Finn?’
‘I’m not stopping, but you two are,’ replied Finn, as John brought the Patrol to a standstill.
Finn opened the door, twisting his neck around to look at John, with Jess in the corner of his eye.
‘Guys, there is a remote chance that they’ve stuck around, or left a guard behind to alert them if we come back. It’s unlikely, but there’s still a chance. So I’m going to get up a bit closer, alone on foot. If there’s someone there I’ll come back and we’ll just have to stay away until they clear out.’
‘What will you do if they spot you?’ asked Jess.
‘If I’m alone, they shouldn’t see me. But if I am spotted I can lead them away from you guys, lose them and then I’ll come back. So whatever you do, stay here, don’t move.’
‘But Finn, you’re injured. How are you going to get away from them if they see you?’
‘Jess, seriously I’ll be fine. I’ll do a lot better if I’m alone, okay?’
‘Finn’s right,’ said John, ‘Let him go. We’d only slow him up if he had to make a run for it.’
Jess got out of the Patrol, slamming the door harder than necessary.
Finn turned to John and whispered. ‘If I get into any trouble, you’ll hear the gunfire. If you do, get away from here, as far as you can, for as long as you can.’
Not waiting for an answer from John, Finn set off toward the homestead with the .308 rifle across his good shoulder and spare ammunition bulging in his jeans pockets.
Around 30 minutes later, Finn came to a large rock. Clambering up awkwardly, he reached the top and crouched down to minimise his profile against the background. He checked that the safety switch was on and that the chamber of the .308 was empty. The last thing he wanted was to let off a round that would be heard for miles. Painfully, Finn wrapped the shoulder strap around his left hand and wrist then put the butt of the rifle to his good shoulder. Propping his elbow on his knee, Finn looked through the scope on the rifle, adjusting the zoom and focus. It gave him a good view of the homestead. Finn spent a long time in this position, scanning the homestead for movement. The sun was now high and the heat was getting stifling. He constantly had to wipe the sweat from his brow, which stung his eyes and prickled the skin on his face.
Remarkably, a large part of the house looked in reasonable condition, though the front was charred and ruined, with wisps of smoke still rising from it.
There was no sign of movement, at least nothing that Finn could see, which didn’t mean there was no one there. He decided to walk up and take a closer look. Finn now crept slowly forward, staying low, in case someone was watching him. Now 200 metres from the homestead, he lay down on his chest and looked through the scope on the rifle — still no sign of movement. Not satisfied, Finn moved around to the right, circling the homestead to be absolutely certain there was no one waiting. He moved quickly from one point of cover to another, staying low. At each point he scanned the homestead and listened until his ears strained. All he could hear was the sound of wind over the chorus of blood pumping loudly in his head. He had now come around 180 degrees and there was still no sign of movement. Finn felt tense, uneasy with the situation. He had visions again of Carver’s head, his mangled mouth, the dimly-lit shed and the Chinese officer who’d tortured Carver. The sweat was rolling off his forehead now and Finn felt a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach. He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed them with his dirty hand.
‘Pull it together, dickhead,’ he said to himself. ‘Let’s go take a look,’ willing himself to move in towards the homestead.
Out in the open, Finn ran for the cover of the homestead. Reaching the corner at the back of the house, which was unscathed by the fire, he stood with his back flat against the wall and caught his breath, rifle across his chest. The sweat was trickling down his forehead and he wiped it away with the crook of his arm.
Looking around the corner, Finn could see where the back steps led up to the kitchen, and across to the shed and horse stables. He thought about where he would hide if he were ambushing someone. It wouldn’t be the house, it would be the strongest structure, with the least vulnerability and an easy exit route, if required — which made the shed the most likely place. There was no cover near the shed, nowhere to run if bullets started to fly. Finn looked around, but there was nothing, no way of getting to the shed other than a 50-metre dash across the open driveway. It was a suicide run, no question. Realising that it wou
ld be better to flush out anyone with a weapon, Finn decided to make a run for the kitchen, which was closer. Anyone watching would see him and very likely respond with fire. He would be running across the line of fire and had only 10 metres to reach the steps to the kitchen. Taking two deep breaths, Finn turned and ran for the kitchen. His legs felt heavy and slow, like they weren’t getting any traction in the dirt. It seemed to take an age to get even halfway to the steps. Finn felt panicked that he wasn’t going faster. He felt exposed and vulnerable, just waiting for the shot or the feeling of pain, or worse — blackness.
A flash of movement caught his eye.
Someone was coming down the steps from the kitchen. In a split second his mind reacted and his torso pulled back viciously — instinctively. His legs were slow to react. It was as if the instinctive stop command from the receptors in his brain sent a pulse travelling down his body and, as it went down, each fibre of his body obeyed accordingly. He fell backwards, fumbling with the .308.
Finn’s focus sharpened and the rifle went up. He held his breath, straining his neck to take aim. No soldier, not even a person. A blue heeler — a cattle dog! It stood on the steps panting cheerfully, turning its head to look at Finn lying on the ground. Then it walked down the remaining steps and wandered over to the stables, oblivious to any danger and ignorant of Finn’s rifle.
Finn relaxed his muscles, letting his head fall back in the dirt, breathing heavily. If there was anyone around, they would have heard him and sent a volley of bullets his way. After a minute, Finn composed himself and sat up, smirking now at what had happened. He was glad no one had seen his reaction to the dog. Shaking his head, Finn stood and walked over to the steps and went up to the kitchen. He walked through the wreck of the house. The fire had destroyed most of it, and what was left was badly damaged by the smoke. Before heading back to the others, Finn did a thorough search of the shed and stables — just to be sure there was no sentry or sniper.
