Suddenly the front door thrust open and Grandmother and Mother walked in, carrying bags of groceries. As soon as my mother caught sight of Father, her face clouded over.
“You’re back,” Father said amicably.
“What are you doing, playing something like that in here? You’ll break my China!” she snapped. Then she caught sight of my bangles and she grimaced in disgust. She strode over to me, yanked them off my arms, and flung them in the bin. I glanced at my father, tears cascading down my cheeks, hoping he would come to my defence.
“Do not waste our money on rubbish, Husband!” she said. “The Founders taught us a woman's beauty should come from her inner self and her actions, not from baubles and trinkets!”
The light that shone from my father’s face as he played with us went out, and he retired to his room, crestfallen.
Tears fell as the memory slipped away. I realised my father’s change in character wasn’t only from the accident and the ensuring three months he spent in prison. My mother’s endless tirade of criticism and disapproval wore away at him over the years, chipping away at his person, his individuality, his character. Long before the accident, he had already faded from life, and from us. The accident and what followed were merely the straws that broke the camel’s back.
Sniffing back tears, I retreated to the kitchen and grabbed a couple of Brandon’s plastic foraging bottles. Their filters strained out silt and dirt when filled with water from natural water sources. I also grabbed three slices of bread left over from dinner, encased them in cling wrap, and nabbed a bag of dried fruit. I popped everything in the backpack, and then crept back to my room, where I added a bag with the assortment of seeds I collected over several years. Pumpkin, carrot, turnip, parsley, wheat, orange, mandarin, and apple seeds, to name a few.
My plan was to find an abandoned farm in the country, plant the seeds, and make a life for myself. Until those seeds produced an edible harvest, I would have to live off the land. Brandon told me what wild fruits and berries to look out for in the bush, even bringing samples back so I knew what they looked like. I don’t know how long I planned to live alone. Maybe once I had settled in, I would scout around to see if I could locate any small towns or villages that had managed to avoid the Skel by sticking together.
Finally, I added a few rolls of toilet paper and sanitary pads, and then hid the bag and the clothes under my bed.
I stood there for a moment, looking at the sleeping forms of my mother and sister, just visible in the pale moonlight coming through the cracks in the worn, floral print curtains. It felt cruel to acknowledge it, but neither of them would miss me. All my mother had ever done, as long as I could remember, was criticise and put me down. She seemed to carry a massive chip on her shoulder against everyone and everything. Except Brandon, perhaps.
I was never close to my sister, either, partly because we had absolutely nothing in common, but mostly because Brandon and I lived in our own world most of the time.
Thinking of Brandon, I was sure going to miss him. Our deep and meaningful conversations, camaraderie, the ability to know exactly what each other was thinking without saying a word. Downhearted, I climbed into bed and tried to sleep.
Chapter Four
Such was my state of mind that I didn’t fall asleep until the sun rose, at which point my mother shook me awake a few minutes later.
“Up you get,” she said.
“I’m not feeling too well,” I groaned. It was true. I felt emotionally and mentally exhausted from having had little sleep.
“Are you sick?” Mother asked.
“I feel terrible.”
I could feel Mother glaring at me. “Get up as soon as you’re able.”
She woke Karen, who dutifully climbed out of bed to attend to her morning duties. “What about her?” she asked as she followed Mother from the room.
“Not feeling well. Apparently.”
“She was fine last night.” Karen frowned at me, not wanting extra kitchen duties.
“Quit fussing and help me get breakfast. Your father will be awake soon.”
I slipped out of bed after they closed the door, and to the sounds of my family preparing breakfast, became my brother, following the steps laid out in my notebook.
The first thing I did was bind my breasts flat. Fortunately, I wasn’t abundantly blessed in that department; otherwise, I would have been in trouble. After that, I dressed in Brandon’s jeans, t-shirt and hoodie.
Next problem was my hair, which was a good six inches longer than his was. It required some amount of dexterity, but I soon trimmed it to the right length. That done, I tied my hair into a ponytail, put on the baseball cap, and pulled the hair through the hole at the back. This was the way my brother wore his hair, which was lucky for me, because it was easy to imitate. I would keep the cap pulled low to hide the large purple birthmark above my left eye and to shield my face. Not that hiding my face particularly mattered, because I was the female version of my brother anyway. All the same, if anyone who knew him got a good look at my face, they might see through my ruse.
To complete the transformation, I had to dirty myself up. Since he was a forager, it didn’t matter how often Brandon showered and scrubbed, he was never entirely clean. I went over to one of the potted plants on the windowsill, and using a mirror, smudged dirt on my face. Next, I scraped dirt under my fingernails and into the grooves around their edges. My fingers were finer than his were, but once I put my hands in the fingerless gloves, I doubted anyone would notice.
Checking my appearance in the full-length mirror in the wardrobe, I was shocked. I really did look like Brandon. The loose fitting clothes concealed my feminine figure, and with the cap and dirt, I believed I could pass myself off as him for a few hours. That was all I needed to make my escape.
Not wanting my family to fret because they didn’t know what happened to me, I wrote them a short note:
Dear Family, please don’t worry about me – I’m OK. I’ve impersonated Brandon today and will run away in the ruins while foraging. Don’t take it personally; I’ve been looking for a chance to escape for years. Brandon will explain more when he comes home. Love, Chelsea.
I hid the note under Mother’s mattress, so she would find it when she washed the sheets on Sunday. That done, I skimmed through my notebook to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything, and then popped the book in the backpack.
Now I had to escape the flat without anyone seeing me. Having enhanced hearing at times like this was a bonus. I waited until I heard Father go to work and the sound of my mother and sister returning to the kitchen to have their breakfast. Then I made my move.
I exited the bedroom and moved as furtively as I could, darting through the lounge-dining room and slipping out the front door. As I stood on the walkway outside, it hit me that I was embarking on a foolhardy venture guaranteed to fail.
There I was, a young woman, outside my apartment and without a chaperone. It felt completely inappropriate; going against everything I’d been taught. Waves of guilt and tangible physical discomfort washed through me. Newhome law stipulated that girls and younger women – women under thirty-five – were not permitted outside without a suitable minder. This would normally be their mother, mother-in-law, or one of the men of the family. This was done to protect women, preserve their reputation, and prevent men and women falling prey to sexual temptation. Those who committed adultery or fornication were executed or consigned to hard-labour prison-factories.
Standing on the walkway, I felt exposed and self-conscious, convinced that everyone in the adjacent apartments as well as the two men behind me, knew I wasn’t actually a guy, but a girl in disguise. I froze on the doorstop and held my breath as a middle-aged man from several doors down caught up to me. He was dressed in a black business suit that had seen better days and his grey eyebrows needed trimming. I kept my head forward and my gaze averted, but my hands shook so severely that I had to grip the doorknob to hide it.
This is so
not going to work!
“Morning, Brandon,” the man said as he passed me, inclining his head slightly.
“Hey,” I replied in my deepest, most Brandon-like voice.
Yes! He bought my ruse! He thought I was my brother! Maybe I could pull this off after all?
I hefted my backpack over my shoulder and followed the man towards the elevator, concentrating overtime as I struggled to walk like a guy. I tended to sway my hips slightly when I walked, which most definitely would not do.
The apartment blocks, which housed most of Newhome’s inhabitants, were ugly ten storey affairs. They had flat roofs with open walkways on one side and windows on the other. They were constructed in great rows, one after the other.
It wasn’t like that for the more fortunate people who lived in the walled off exclusive district of North End. Their apartment blocks, which towered over the wall that divided North End from Newhome Proper, were a beauty to behold. They were constructed from red, brown, and black bricks and tiles rather than ugly slabs of grey concrete.
Only the V.I.P.s and their families lived in North End. That included the Chancellor, councillors, geneticists, scientists, other council officials and senior business managers. And their families, of course. It was said they had no curfew, better schools, playgrounds, cinemas, even colour-brick roads! It was even rumoured that if you were able to attain a high enough position in a Newhome Proper vocation, you could earn a free ticket into North End.
Taking the elevator down, I took care to keep my cap down and gaze averted. All the same, I almost bumped into two guys loitering outside our building. One was slightly obese and towered head-and-shoulders above me. The other was just shy of six-foot, with swept back greying hair and a neat goatee.
I stepped around them and continued on my way. When I passed the next block of flats, I scowled at the massive billboard mounted on the wall facing.
‘Report the Mutant!’ read the caption in bold, red lettering over three-feet tall. The accompanying image depicted a man with a cleft lip as well as six fingers and toes. He looked mournfully at his two children, a young boy and girl, who were tarnished with the same deformities. They stared dejectedly back at him, their pitiful lives the result of no one having had the courage to turn him into the authorities before he procreated. The sign’s message was clear – if mutants were not dobbed in, their children would pay the price.
How I loathed that billboard! Cleft lips were correctable with surgery, and so what if they had six fingers and toes? That was a bonus as far as I was concerned – just think of the advantage that would give them with improved grip, balance, and dexterity. The father and his children were in no way less human than normals, and had just as much right to live peacefully as everyone else. I utterly resented the town’s practice of terminating unborn babies, children or adults found with mutations.
I forced my mind onto more positive thoughts and continued to the Recycling Works. My brother had given me an impromptu guided tour of the town last week when we turned eighteen and it had granted him the authority to act as my chaperone. One of the places he took me was his work, which was perfect timing, as I now knew where it was. Unfortunately, he wasn’t allowed to show me inside the facility.
It took twenty minutes to walk there, but felt more like an hour, because of the fears and doubts that assailed my mind. Where was I supposed to go once I went through the gates? Would my disguise fool Brandon’s teammates? I knew who they were, of course, as they had dropped into our place to visit Brandon many times. But what if they asked me questions about things they’d done with Brandon? There were so many ways this could go pear shaped even before we got out of town to go foraging.
The wooden gates of the Recycling Works stood wide open, so I took a deep breath and walked confidently into the yard. A dozen foragers milled around three beaten-up trucks. Behind them was a massive warehouse with a corrugated aluminium roof, and on my right was the office, a two-storey building with a glass foyer.
My heart thumping wildly, I looked about for Brandon’s teammates, wondering what to do if I couldn’t spot them. I worried needlessly, though, for three foragers strode straight for me as soon as they saw me.
They were three of Brandon’s teammates. Con Dimitriou, the team leader, bore down on me like a bull at a gate. He was overweight, with a round face, beady eyes, and flat, oily hair. Matching his pace was Matt Bancroft, a tall guy with a head of curly red hair. A couple of steps behind came Jack Kwan. He was my height, had a buzz cut, and an impressive muscular build. Of the three, he was the least intimidating. There should have been another guy, Dan Smith. He was relatively new to the team, if memory served.
“Who the blazes are you?” Con asked when they reached me.
To continue reading, visit Impersonator on Amazon
Other Books by Peter R Stone
The Clockwork Mechanical, now available on Amazon Kindle, is a middle grades children's book, ages 7 to 12, and has 88 pages. Join Brad on his frantic quest to disable the space station's force field generator and save the world. See him team up with some unlikely companions - a swarm of little clockwork butterflies, a mechanical spider, and a girl with ADHD - as he tries to outsmart the Clockwork Mechanical.
The Ring of Fire (Mechanicals Book 2) now available on Amazon Kindle. Bradley Millner and his friends have completed the mission the Orb gave them, but instead of taking them home, it dumped them onto an oil rig that’s drilled a well deep into the belly of the Earth. Worse, there’s an evil Mechanical onboard that’s planning to drop a powerful bomb down the well. A bomb that will cause over four hundred volcanoes in the Ring of Fire to erupt.
High Altitude Airship (Mechanicals Book 3) now available on Amazon Kindle. The Orb has taken Brad and his friends to a high altitude airship, which is over Antarctica. A Mechanical onboard is using it to enlarge the hole in the ozone layer. They have to stop it, for without the ozone layer, humanity, the animals, and most of the earth’s plant life, will die.
Clockwork Mechanicals - the Complete Trilogy now available on Amazon Kindle. Clockwork Mechanicals - the Complete Trilogy - a middle grades book for one low price. 33,902 words and 287 pages.
Includes:
The Clockwork Mechanical.
The Ring of Fire.
High Altitude Airship.
Acknowledgements
Thank you, Lord Jesus, for being my Saviour.
Thanks also to:
Alice Kurata, the lovely model pictured on the book's cover to represent Nanako.
Gordon A. Long, for his invaluable critique of the completed manuscript, and for his assistance with revision and editing.
Juliet, for finding holes in the synopsis for me to fix and for her feedback after reading the finished manuscript.
Rachel Barret and Rachel Malcom, for beta reading the completed manuscript and finding so many errors I’d missed.
Tim Steen, for his continued encouragement and editing of the manuscript.
Special thanks to Melissa Scott for her suggestions to improve the manuscript, and for her amazing editing work.
About the Author
Peter Stone graduated from Melbourne School of Ministries Bible College in 1988. He has been a Sunday school teacher and church keyboard player for over twenty-five years. He has an international marriage and two children.
He has worked in the same games company for twenty-six years, but still does not comprehend why they expect him to work all day instead of playing games.
Peter dreams of becoming a writer when he grows up. However, he has serious reservations that either of these events will ever come to pass.
Peter, an avid student of history, still mourns the untimely passing of King Leonidas of Sparta, and Field Marshal Michel Ney of France.
Forager Online
http://foragertrilogy.blogspot.com.au/
Forager Trilogy on Goodreads
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Stone, Forager - the Complete Trilogy (A Post Apocalyptic/Dystopian Trilogy)
Forager - the Complete Trilogy (A Post Apocalyptic/Dystopian Trilogy) Page 74
