by Tony Davis
‘Our dad wouldn’t give in,’ Beeper said, shovelling in more food.
Emily chewed slowly. ‘My latest dream was that things would be getting better. And guess what? In the past few days I thought they were.’ She shrugged. ‘Then I found I didn’t fit in.’
‘You never tried to fit in,’ said George. He had his spoon in his hand but hadn’t touched any food. ‘You wouldn’t even tell us your real name.’
‘I wasn’t sure who I could trust. But I’m glad Beeper’s safe. You too, George. I guess I’ll be saying goodbye as soon as we’ve finished eating.’
Beeper shook his head, chewed and swallowed hard. ‘No! You should stay with us. Please Torgie, let Emily stay. She saved us.’
George dropped his spoon on his plate. ‘She said she wants to go.’ His voice fell away as he was saying it. He wasn’t nearly so sure now that he wanted her to go. He didn’t know how they could last six or twelve months on their own. But every decision he made seemed to be the wrong one.
‘We’ll talk about it later, Beeps,’ he finally announced.
‘I’ll be gone later,’ she said.
‘Listen, Emily …’ George began. He paused, having no idea how he was going to finish the sentence, and heard a noise outside. The other two stopped eating and listened. Voices were coming from the street. A man and a woman talked and laughed loudly.
‘The front …’ George yelped. He stood and looked down the hall. The door was standing ajar. How stupid of him! The Welfare men had smashed the lock and steel security bar with their machines. There was no barrier to the outside world.
The voices were coming towards the house.
TWENTY-SIX
George peered around the edge of the half-opened door. Two people were standing by the front wall, staring at the house: a bald man with blue-and-red tattooed arms, and a short woman with spiky hair.
George bundled Beeper into their father’s bedroom. He wanted to yell out for Emily to join them. But he hesitated and, within seconds, the front door was kicked against the hallway wall.
There was no lock on their father’s door. George jammed the red chair under the handle. He heard Emily pace up the hall from the day room. ‘Out of the house, you two,’ she said. It was the same tone she’d used with the Welfare Officers.
‘Shut up,’ the woman replied. She loudly spat.
‘Take one more step,’ Emily declared, ‘and you’ll be discussing things with the law. My dad’s a police officer, and he’s …’
‘Big deal,’ the man interrupted. There was a loud slap, followed by the sound of someone falling to the floor. ‘Wouldn’t be the first policeman we’ve done away with.’
‘How dare you!’ Emily sounded winded. ‘What do you want?’
George braced one foot and both hands on the chair, hoping it would hold up if the couple tried to force their way in.
‘We want whatever we decide we want,’ said the man. ‘We’re just visiting a few houses to fill our sacks: food, drink, tools, cash, jewellery. We’ll take children, too. They’re worth a heap.’
‘No kiddos here, Mister.’
George glanced around the room in a panic. There wasn’t a hideaway under the bed, nor a hole in the ceiling. The window? They couldn’t squeeze out between the bars, even if they smashed through the glass and the plastic panel bolted to the outside.
Emily was dragged along the hall, shouting at the man and woman the whole time. In the kitchen, drawers and cupboard doors were flung open, furniture kicked. There was the sound of another slap. ‘I don’t see any big scary police. But I see three mugs and three plates. And only one of you.’
Beeper grabbed at his brother’s arm. ‘They’re hitting her,’ he squealed.
‘Ssh!’ hissed George, clapping his hand over Beeper’s mouth. But it was too late. The commotion in the kitchen stopped.
‘I can hear a voice,’ said the woman. ‘A little kiddie voice.’
She pounded back down the hall. Twisted and rattled the handle. Thumped the door with the palm of her hand. ‘Open up!’
The woman hit the door so hard that the chair legs jerked forward. Dust sprinkled through cracks in the ceiling. George pushed hard. ‘Dive on the floor, Beeper,’ he panted, ‘and push on the chair legs.’
‘Open up or we’ll rip the girl to bits,’ the woman snarled. She threw her whole body against the door. The chair held fast but the door shuddered and there was a sound of cracking wood.
‘Where —’ the man in the day room barked, ‘do — you — hide — your — money?’ With each word there was a slap, as well as a moan from Emily.
‘They’re going to kill Emily,’ Beeper whimpered as he crouched on the floor, pushing against the chair legs. ‘They’re going to take me away.’
George heard a cry of pain from the day room and looked down at his brother’s terrified face.
‘No, they’re not,’ he said in a firm voice. George surprised even himself with his sudden change of tone. His terror had completely dissolved. He took one hand off the chair, grabbed Beeper’s sleeve and pulled him up close. ‘Stand and stick your foot here,’ he said, pointing to the edge of the seat.
‘Push as hard as you can.’
George went straight to the wardrobe and slid his hands underneath.
‘What’s that?’ Beeper gasped.
George unsheathed the samurai sword and exposed the glimmering blade. ‘The last resort. That’s what Dad called it.’
‘Open the door, you scum,’ the woman shrieked. George grabbed the chair with his spare hand just as she crashed into the door for the third time. A long split opened in the door’s centre but it stayed shut.
The woman noisily backed up for another charge.
Without letting go of the sword, George pushed Beeper to the side of the room, well away from the door. Then, seconds before the next impact, he kicked the chair aside and stood well back.
As the woman crashed into the door, it flew open. She toppled into the room, colliding face first with the wooden post at the end of their father’s bed. She yelped and rolled on the floor, clutching at her jaw.
George gripped the sword handle tightly in his fists, shot past her and leapt into the hallway. ‘Quick!’ he shouted to Beeper, who followed a step behind.
Emily was backed against one of the day room walls. The man’s hands were around her throat. He thumped her body against the crumbling plaster. Then he swung around to face the boys.
‘Drop that!’ he leered. His mouth was filled with black and broken teeth. ‘Or I’ll finish her off right now.’
The man let go of Emily’s neck with one hand and reached for a knife in his belt.
‘No!’ Beeper shrieked.
The breath stopped in George’s throat. Everything switched to slow motion. Suddenly, every detail was perfectly clear. The man was wearing a torn singlet. There was a raised scar across his collar bones; tattooed lightning bolts on his neck. George scanned his black eyes and thought of the rabbitoh man lying on the ground bleeding.
Emily’s face was purple. Her lips were open; her swollen eye was closed. There were flecks of foam at the corner of her lips.
The man grinned as he gripped the handle of his knife. But he moved too slowly. George was already racing across the room. The man lifted a big boot to kick George in the stomach, but George bounced off his left foot and sidestepped onto his right.
He was in the perfect position. Balanced and focused. Sure of the exact spot to aim for. He’d thrown his whole weight behind a blade once before.
‘One good strike.’ George took his final step forward and swung down hard. ‘Three, two, one …’
The tip of the sword traced a perfect arc. The man’s smile vanished. He jerked his head back. Steel hit flesh halfway between shoulder and elbow, and the blade stuck fast. George had to twist it free. He raised the sword, ready to swing again.
The man let go of Emily. He dropped his knife and clutched his arm. Blood spilled through his fingers and onto
the floor.
Emily slumped down the wall. Beeper bolted across and threw his arms around her as the man backed towards the hallway.
Just then the woman stumbled into the room, bumping into the retreating man. Her forehead was gashed, her mouth also bleeding.
‘Get out!’ George said. He kept the sword up, poised to strike at the man again as many times as he had to. He’d take a swing at the woman too, if she didn’t leave right now.
The man staggered along the hall, leaving splashes of blood behind him. ‘All right! All right! We’re going!’ he groaned.
George followed closely behind as the couple hurried down the hallway and out the front door. He shadowed them across the front yard to the wall, and all the way to the street. The woman broke into a clumsy jog. The man was a few paces ahead of her, stumbling down the hill in the direction of the stadium.
‘You’ll get worse if you ever come back!’ George shouted. He kept the sword raised as the wanderers vanished into the dust haze.
With his heartbeat still racing, George spun triumphantly towards the house. He noticed another person in the corner of his eye.
It was Mr Carey, stepping out of his front yard. He was slightly unsteady on his feet. His hair pointed in every direction and he looked old and pale in the daylight. But he had his gun held high.
Mr Carey turned in the direction the couple had fled and stared along the gun sight. But he didn’t fire. He dropped the barrel and made eye contact with George. Then with Beeper and Emily, who had come to the doorway with their arms wrapped tightly around each other.
Mr Carey drew a breath, as if to speak, but George didn’t wait for him to start. ‘I have it sorted,’ he said. ‘We don’t need help.’
Mr Carey paused for a moment. Then he shook his head, and went back to his house.
The steel front door shut with a clunk.
TWENTY-SEVEN
George had aimed perfectly. Used all his strength. Kept the sword ready, even after the wanderers had fled.
Right now, he was restless, filled with energy. He put on a mask and goggles, fearlessly dug into the dirt in his bedroom and found the hammer. He took a leg from a broken stool, nailed one end to the floor in the hallway and wedged the other against the inside of the front door. It wasn’t perfect, but it would stop anyone pushing the door open from outside.
He calmly picked up the wanderers’ knife and lined it up next to the sword on the servery, where he could easily grab them if needed. Then George blocked the smashed day room window with shelves from the wardrobe. He scraped up the sticky mix of blood and dirt from the floor into the bucket, and threw it against the back fence.
Beeper and Emily sat close together on the back patio. Silently. Their eyes followed George as he emptied the bucket. Back in the day room, George grabbed the sacks left by the wanderers and upended them on the dining table. Out tumbled several tins of food; two wrist watches; a brooch; coins; saucepans; cutlery; a small bundle of notes; some ration coupons; a packet of cashew nuts in silver foil. There were cans of soft drink. A squashed packet of cigarettes. A squared-off bottle without a label, filled with a dark brown liquid.
‘Come in here,’ he said. ‘See what they’ve left behind.’
‘It’s not ours,’ Beeper said softly as they all stood around the dining table.
‘We’re keeping the food and soft drink, Beeps. We deserve that.’ George picked up a can of cola and pulled up the tab. It fizzed, and bubbles poured out the top. He handed the can to Beeper, who sat and stared at it blankly.
‘One for you, Emily?’ George asked.
‘Yeah, sure. Please.’ Her voice was as hollow and weak as Beeper’s.
George slid a can in Emily’s direction. ‘Is your neck okay?’
She sat, tilted her head from side to side, then rubbed her throat. ‘Yeah. You did good, George.’
He didn’t reply. Just ran through the events again in his mind. How he kicked away the chair at the right moment, brought the blade hurtling down. How he didn’t hesitate. Not once.
Emily managed only a tiny sip of her drink. George opened a can of cola and took a generous mouthful. His whole body shuddered; he’d forgotten how sweet and fizzy it was. He quickly tore open the packet of cashews and swallowed some.
‘Did you notice Mr Carey out the front?’ he said at last.
Emily gently shook her head to an offer of cashews. ‘Sorry?’
‘Mr Carey. I told him we didn’t need his help.’
Emily rubbed her throat again. ‘That might change at some point,’ she muttered.
George pulled up the seat at the head of the table and drank more cola. He wasn’t really listening to her. In his mind he was still holding up the sword, chasing out the wanderers, doing something that would make his dad proud at last.
‘One day a sword may not be enough,’ she added.
George tipped up the cashew packet so the broken bits would fall from the corners. ‘What are you talking about?’
Emily’s voice was still uncertain. ‘Tomorrow could be different. Next time, you might be needing this Mr Carey. You’ve got to be careful who you’re rude to.’
George finished his drink. He gazed out into the back yard and tried to ignore her. She had no right to tell him what to do, especially now. And as for being rude to people …
‘That man,’ she said, ‘could help protect Beeper.’
George coughed into his hand. She should be giving him thanks, not this. ‘Don’t you reckon I’ve thought of things like that? I spoke to him. I went to his house in the night. But he’s a drunk.’
‘He seemed okay just now.’ Emily’s voice was finding its old strength. ‘He’s probably just been having a horrible time like the rest of us. If you — if we — were nice to him, he might join the team.’
‘What do you mean we? I can take care of my brother. I can protect my family.’
George said it so forcefully he surprised himself. But he was angry. Emily had done some good things, it was true. She might even be right in what she was saying. But you can’t break into someone’s house like she had, and then just expect to be let into their lives. That wasn’t how things worked. He lowered his voice. ‘Anyway, I thought it was everyone for themselves in your world.’
‘Why are you being so mean, George?’ Emily’s voice cracked. She cleared her throat. ‘I’m trying to help. That stuff I said about everyone for themselves was just some nonsense. Some stupid thing I said to make it seem like my parents taking off, my sister Laurissa choking on dust … that things like that wouldn’t crush me, wouldn’t stop me trying to survive as best I could.’
George said nothing. Emily sniffled and blinked, then dropped her gaze. Beeper shifted off his seat and put his hand on her shoulder. She wrapped her thin arms around him.
‘Welfare’ll come back one day, George,’ she said. ‘You’ll start running out of food …’
‘Calm down!’ George looked at her tear-streaked face and tried to set the right tone. ‘Listen Emily, I’m not going to kick you out.’ He squeezed his cola can as he worked out what to say next. ‘I’m sure we can help each other. Until Dad comes back. Even if it’s a year.’
Emily stood up. ‘Your dad? How do you know he’s coming back in a year, George?’
‘Because he’s been conscripted.’
‘You don’t have any proof of that.’ The old strength was back in her voice. ‘I’d be betting you still haven’t told Beeper that all that talk of secret agents is make-believe. That his father may never be coming back!’
Beeper pushed himself away from Emily and faced George. ‘What does she mean?’
‘It doesn’t matter, Beeps. Don’t believe her.’
‘Is Dad not coming … Is he … Torgie … Is she saying he’s dead?’
‘No, Beeper, she’s not. He’s working in a mine. But he could escape. There’s still a chance any minute, any day, he’ll just walk through that door.’
‘He’s not going to, George!’ sai
d Emily. ‘Deep down, you know that.’
‘Torgie!’
‘Listen to me, Beeper, not to her.’ George grabbed his brother by the shoulders and pulled him away from Emily. ‘Dad’s held up … but he’s coming back. He is. I’m sure.’
Emily sat back down, took a deep breath and spoke more gently. ‘We should be planning for the future together.’
‘It’s my job to take care of Beeper, Emily. We are family. Me, Beeper, and …’ George’s voice faltered. He let go of Beeper.
‘That might not be enough,’ she said. ‘Sometimes you have to make family out of whoever’s about.’
‘Torgie! Tell me the truth!’
‘Stop all this, Emily. You’re scaring Beeper. I said I wasn’t going to kick you out, didn’t I? We probably do need you. There, I’ve admitted it.’
‘It’s not about being kicked out or being not kicked out, George. It’s not even about being needed. Not any more.’ She pointed to her swollen eye. ‘Do you have any idea of the risks I’ve run finding food for you?’
‘I just saved your life,’ George blurted out.
‘They would’ve let me go if I’d given up Beeper. But I wouldn’t be giving up Beeper. Ever.’
George slumped into a chair opposite her. He’d offered her what she said she wanted, and now that wasn’t enough. ‘I don’t understand what you are trying to get from me.’
‘Are you stupid, George?’ Emily slammed her can of drink on the table. She grabbed her bag and picked up a couple of tins of food. ‘I had this mad idea that something might have changed.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘That maybe you’d come to care … to care about me.’ Emily stood and threw her bag over her shoulder. ‘But you can’t make someone care about someone else. It just doesn’t happen that way. I was right first up: it’s time to be trying my luck somewhere else.’
‘You’re not going to leave,’ George said.
‘Try me!’
Before George could reply, Emily marched down the hall and kicked the stool leg so it flew away from the front door. She pulled the door open and used both hands to swing it shut behind her. It bounced on the door frame, swung open again and thumped back against the hallway wall.
