This was it. I kept watching them through the scope but took my finger off the trigger and picked up my radio. “This is Crow One, please pick up the two-way and identify yourselves. Repeat. This is Crow One, please pick up the two-way and identify yourselves. Over.”
I nailed it. After all the doubt and dry mouth and panic, I nailed it. The words, the tone, everything, felt like it’d come from the mouth of a man, who was in a position of authority in part of a larger system. I exhaled long and slow in relief, then narrowed my eyes over the scope.
I could see them exchanging glances, communicating in silence as they worked out what to do next. Skinny rounded the side of the wall first. He was still cautious, but he moved in a way that said he now knew he was looking for a two-way radio. All visual fears of an ambush fell away as he saw it sitting on the table.
As soon as he picked it up I repeated my initial statement.
He looked at the others, now also through the gap in the wall, then around the environment. I could tell he knew he was being watched from further afield and he seemed to give signals to the others to that affect.
He fixed his eyes on the stadium, moving his gaze left and right across the Eastern and Riverbank stands. Clearly he knew it was the most likely spot he was being monitored from and I could see a wry smile on his face through the scope. It was as if he was saying I knew it, or, I’m onto you or something.
Then he responded. “Crow one, this is Kent Williams. I’m hoping you can help us. My friends and I have come all the way from Norwood. We’re seeking answers as to who killed our comrades in the mall a few days ago.”
There was something about his tone, something smug I really didn’t like. I’m not sure if he was using it to sound like he was also in a position of authority, or to impress his cohorts, but either way it was douchey.
He continued to scan the grandstands and I continued to lay low. I was starting to perfect the technique of transferring my right hand from trigger to two-way transmit button. I was about to send another message when I heard movement behind me.
After jumping in freight, I realised it was Shane. I must have given him a glare as he mouthed “sorry” to me – I’m not sure I’d seen that before. Then he grabs his two-way. “Kent Williams from Norwood this is Power One from North Adelaide. You are currently trespassing on our territory. Retreat or face the consequences.”
Then Skinny said something like, “Once we have the information we’re looking for, we’ll be on our way.”
Which lead to some back and forth between them. I can’t remember all the details, but it did seem like a dick measuring contest with Skinny’s tone just way too sure of himself. It felt like he was probing for more than info on the murders too. I was sure he was trying to suss out as much as he could about our setup. Shane played it all with a straight bat though. He didn’t let anything slip, played everything in character perfectly.
Then he just lost patience and told Skinny and his men to retreat behind the wall. Skinny said not until he found out if we were responsible for the murders.
“That’s not going to happen,” said Shane.
Skinny responded with, “Well, then we appear have a problem.”
It’s funny, thinking back on it, how quickly those moments escalate. The conversation started like two boxers sparring, lightly testing each other out. Then, within seconds, it had escalated to something completely different. Shane looked at me – and the look in his eyes scared me. Without saying a word, he aimed his weapon and fired. The sound seemed to crush my ear as it echoed off the walls in the grandstand. When I recovered my senses I looked through the scope and saw Skinny knocked backwards and the two-way on the ground as one hand clasped the other.
I felt sick. Not at the injury. I mean, I could see blood, but however bad it was, I had seen worse. No, I was sick knowing this moment would be the start of something I’d regret. I was sickened knowing that I was there but couldn’t do a thing about it. It just all played out in front of me in slow motion.
Shane said something, I can’t remember what, my focus was on Skinny, waiting for his next move. He’d ended up sat on his arse, nursing his injured hand in his shirt, and pushing away the help of the others. The he barked out some instructions and one of them retrieved the two-way and held it to his mouth. “You’re going to regret that,” he said.
“You’ll piss off back to Norwood and never come back if you know what’s good for you,” said Shane, with the same expression that freaked me out earlier.
He fired off another shot. I didn’t see it connect with anything, but the sound alone was enough to hasten the departure of the Norwood crew. They had Skinny on his feet and were headed back around the wall in no time.
Shane started laughing. “That’s right. Piss off!”
I was so angry. I mean, I’m not sure how differently it would’ve gone down had it played out through words, but I guess I’ll never know. And for Shane to do that, without consulting me… so ANGRY!
*
I’m shaking. Shane and I have just had a massive blowout. I mean, it was on! He was yelling, I was yelling – it was scary intense. It was over the shooting, of course. I mean, I was pissed at him for doing it, but I just wanted to talk through his reasons, that was my intention at least. I mean, we’d played everything up to now in total partnership – every decision we’ve made, every move we have taken has been discussed and planned together. And we knew these guys were coming and not once in our planning did we talk about opening fire on them from that far away.
I just wanted to find out what on earth his thought process was. It just feels like two weeks’ worth of trust evaporated in an instant. And it’s not like the outcome is a good one for us either. That move, that single move, has escalated this situation to… well, I don’t know what actually, and that’s the scariest part of all.
Control was lost today. Shane lost control and acted, our partnership has lost control and the situation with the Norwood Hub has most definitely lost control. I like control. You don’t get much of it in this world, so it’s worth hanging on to when you find it.
Anyways, I honestly went to him to find out why he did it. I really didn’t feel like it was an accusation, I just wanted to get into his head, to work out why, get things back on track as much as possible and move on. I guess it was the serious lack of sleep, combined with my freak-out over events… maybe I wasn’t as subtle as I thought I was being. Maybe I did lash out a bit. I can’t really remember the finer details of how it started, to be honest.
I can’t even remember what we were fighting over for most of the time, but I do know the only thing we could agree on is that we’ve taken on a whole lot more than we can probably handle. I mean, we’re both at breaking point, not only with today’s situation but with everything. Between fortifying the oval, food raids and being on the lookout for the Norwood crew, there’s barely any time for sleep as it is. I’d be lucky to be getting five hours a night. And that’s not about to change any time soon. Not after what Shane did today. It’s compounded everything and the only loser in that situation is sleep, because everything else will need to be scaled up just for us to stay alive.
As for Shane, I haven’t seen him in a couple of hours. He obviously had some thinking to do because he grabbed a bottle of scotch, called me some names I choose not to repeat (for my self-esteem) and stormed off. Yep, for all I know, he’s gone back to his base, or God knows where else… as long as he stays clear of me for the rest of the night, I’ll be OK. I think we both need the space right now. But he better be back in the morning because there is zero chance – none – that I can handle this place on my own.
Yep, this grand plan of ours is feeling pretty shaky right now.
I’m feeling pretty shaky right now… and not only literally.
To be fair to Shane, he did raise some good points as to why he did it. I mean, the Norwood crew still have no idea of our numbers, firepower, or anything about the fortification of this place. And
now they know it’s a very, very bad idea to get too close. I get all that, I do, but that shit is worth planning beforehand, not justifying afterwards. You don’t just make game-changing moves on the fly, not when there’s so much a stake.
Has it brought us some time? I don’t know. Maybe. I try to put myself in their shoes. There’s no doubt this action will not go without reprisals. But what? And right now they know next to nothing about us, apart from the fact we can kill, and that we’ve stashed a whole lot of food. They’ll be cautious, I’m guessing; they’ll want to know more before they attack again. But we are a threat and we have food – in Norwood mentally that means we are target No.1 in the world right now… of that, I am sure.
As for the Shane situation, I’m not sure what to expect there in the near future. That question mark is as big as the one for the Norwood crew’s plans.
Awesome. Just perfect.
I’m still shaking, although I’m not as angry as I was. I’m trying to find peace in the crazy chaos of this afternoon, just enough so I can get a few hours’ sleep. Because, come morning, that entrance will need to be guarded from an hour after dawn – and it’s not my shift, but I’m not sure if that will matter in the morning.
This is not going to plan.
*
October 25, 2014
Well, that was an interesting morning. Three things happened, all good. Well, two things happened and one thing totally didn’t happen (the return of the Norwood hubbers), so, well, I’m alive and all.
As for the actual good news, firstly, Shane was in position when I went down to cover his shift this morning. He apologised, I apologised, the air has been cleared… somewhat. Despite that, I’m not sure I’m ever going to forget that little stunt. It’s as if I’ll always be keeping half an eye on him when the heat is on, but for now at least, we’re cool.
That was enough to lift me, big time. The thought of facing this thing alone, well, I’m pretty sure it was unachievable. That would’ve meant the partnership coming to an end, which would’ve meant splitting our stuff and heading home – and not one part of that feels like a positive move right now.
Still, I was able to set aside the flimsy nature of our partnership enough to semi enjoy the morning. Shane had this idea of seeing what equipment we could get our hands on to help with the task of building ash barricades. Ideally, there’d be a front end loader on one of the old construction sites near here, but at the very least we could use some of the groundskeeper’s machinery from around or under the stadium. He reckons he has enough nous with cars and engines from his tinkering to be able to strip something down, clear out all the ash and bring it back to life. If we could pull something like that off, it would save a gazillion man hours, and it was definitely worth a morning of my time scouting the area around the stadium to see what I could find.
I decided to head over to where they were building the new hospital pre-rock. The site was only a few hundred metres away, and there were two massive buildings under construction when the comet hit, so there had to be some sort of heavy lifting/moving equipment about.
I was approaching the Morphett St bridge when I was distracted by a noise. I knew straight away it was not a noise to fear, it was one to salivate over. It was faint at first, but there’s no mistaking the sound of a quack. And the only thing that I know goes quack is a two-legged, winged and very meaty creature known as a duck. I’m not joking about the salivation either; the thought of actual fresh meat turned my mouth into Niagara Falls.
I followed the sound to where the bridge met the water. There used to be a running track along there pre-rock. Which was buried under the ash now, but you could pretty much make out where the edge of the water was. The first few metres out in the river were a grey area – not shore, not water, not ash, just a gunky mess, that tailed off and down into what looked like a creek of flowing water in the middle. I say water, I mean less gunky gunk than what the edge was made of. But it was liquid and flowing and it seemed to be a spot of great interest for a number of ducks. I saw at least a dozen either hanging out over the old running track under the bridge or walking on the heavy gunky material to the flowing water.
A dozen.
Ducks.
This was like winning the lottery on Christmas Day… actually, they probably didn’t used to have lotteries on Christmas. Whatever, it was huge.
I just watched in famished silence. It was almost like one of those old Warner Bros cartoons. I was seeing feathered living ducks, but I was picturing fat-dripping roast. Anyway the living roasts noticed me at some point… but they didn’t seem too concerned with my presence. They would’ve been had they known what I was thinking. There’s always been a fair population of ducks around the Torrens, and even though they may not have seen one for a while, they were very used to humans.
The thought of sniffing out some earth moving equipment was a distant memory. I headed back to the oval and told Shane of the find. We did a very lame, and probably very embarrassing (had anyone else been watching), jig then hatched a plan to relocate those friendly fowls to a more ovally location.
I found myself some netting that was hanging up in one of the players’ change rooms – I think players must’ve kicked footballs into as part of their warm up – then I sourced some rope from the groundskeepers’ area and made myself a large trap. On the way back out to the bridge I grabbed a couple of packs of dried biscuits to use as bait.
When I was riverside again, I laid out the net, threw the rope up to the bridge, then crumbled up a bunch of biscuits over the trap. Then I approached the ducks again, closer this time, and dropped a few biscuits nearby. After a very short trust exercise, one of the braver birds sampled a taste, seconds later it was every duck for themselves. I headed slowly back to the trap, leaving a trail of crumbs on the way, dumped the rest on the spot, then made my way up to the bridge.
While I feel like the planet’s greatest hunter/gatherer right now, I completely acknowledge that it was like taking candy from a baby. I trapped six in the net on my first lift and carried them back to the oval.
After a couple of hours I had relocated the entire colony back to one of the corporate boxes in the riverside stand. I poured them a large trough of water and set out some food. God, I was so hungry. I mean, I was eating my usual daily rations but the memories of the taste of fresh meat engulfed me. Flavours I had not tasted in forever.
*
By the time I’d finished the afternoon watch (no sign of the Norwood crew today), I headed back to base, where Shane was busy prepping one of the birds for a feast.
We decided there was no way we weren’t going to eat at least one… just to remind ourselves of the flavour. The temptation was too much to ignore. We decided to feast, then to plan a sustainable system to produce eggs and meat for the long term.
While dinner cooked, we started to crunch some numbers on our plans. The short version is that between all of our current responsibilities and, now, tending to ducks, there are only barely enough hours in the day. We are both seriously on edge emotionally through lack of sleep, overwork and the imminent threat of the Norwood hubbers returning.
Something, somewhere had to give, and at this rate, it was either going to be our sanity, our headquarters or our lives. None of those options were overly appealing.
So, while the smell of that delicious duck filled the air, and while Shane sucked back scotch and I had a few beers, we shot out just about any and every idea that came to mind. Shane had some really good thoughts on setting up strategic barricades throughout the city, to not only better protect us at the oval, but to protect whatever food stocks remain. The further away we can impede an advance, the safer we can sleep at night. It’s pretty dependant on getting some sort of earth moving equipment in working order again. So that’s a priority more so now than ever before.
Beyond that idea, most other things we came up with ended with the statement, if only we had another set of hands around the place… or something similar. In fact, mo
st of our discussions over the past few days have felt like they’re going around in circles somewhat… all ending at the same point.
But the line of thought was interrupted when the duck was ready. I have never… and I mean never… anticipated a meal as much as I did that duck in that moment. Duck isn’t even my favourite meat, but that didn’t even matter. I was drooling when Shane served me up a plateful.
We both hoed in at the same time. That’s when the taste hit me. It took a few seconds to absorb it. Hidden under that salivating meat taste was something… not right. I chewed and swallowed then asked Shane if he tasted it too. He did. It was a bit hard to describe, metallic maybe… just a bit off. We figured it was caused by the amount of crap the duck had consumed from the river. I mean, it was pretty crusty down there.
It was so disappointing. After all the anticipation, the result was barely edible… probably not edible in the olden days with food standards and regulations. But, we were going to finish the meal regardless. Shane came up with the genius idea of using one of the gravy mixes to douse the flavour in another more appealing flavour, which went some of the way to masking the offness… but once you knew it was there, no amount of pretending made it otherwise.
So, the fate of the other ducks became far brighter… on life expectancy grounds. In fact, we reckoned our best bet was to keep them clean, well fed, relaxed and protected, and hope that Mother Nature does its thing. It’s the next generation that’ll have to watch out. It might seem crazy to go to all this effort for the sheer calorie reward on offer, but some things are just worth it. Fresh meat is worth it.
Anyway, while I was grinding through my plateful, an idea came to me. It was super risky, it was a big play and it was a game changer, but what move worth doing in this world isn’t? We had no shortage of food (if you factor in some of the future maybe supplies) and a manpower problem, whereas the watched out at TTP were in the opposite place. If, and it’s a big if, we can get into communication with them, come up with some arrangement… just… I don’t have any details at the moment, I just know it could (highlighting could) be a massive advantage to both groups.
Diary of a Survivor (Book 2): Apocalypse Page 17
