Pallet-racks also ran the length of the warehouse walls, and on the pallets were bones – hundreds and hundreds of them. Some pallets had only skulls, others rib cages, others leg or arm bones, all meticulously sorted into types. Most of the bones were human, but some pallets had dog or sheep bones. And unlike the bones on the workbenches, the ones on the pallets hadn't been treated with resin yet.
And that wasn’t all, for we quickly realised we weren’t alone in here. Straw mats and hessian bags were laid out on the floor between the rows of workbenches, and on these mats were slaves. Most were asleep, but some tossed and turned, trying to find a way to get comfortable on a rough mat on a concrete floor.
And the slaves, never in my life had I seen people in such wretched straits. For thanks to the presence of oil lamps hanging throughout the warehouse, we could all see the slaves. And with the exception of Madison, we all gasped in shock now that we could see them up close.
"The poor blighters," David said, his voice choking up.
"Oh my goodness, look at the poor things, oh, this is terrible!" Nanako exclaimed, heartbroken.
Most of the slaves were gaunt, their skin pallid, bruised, and often covered with sores. For the most part, their lank hair was matted and infested with lice. Some were clearly ill, and the rest malnourished. Their clothes were worn and shabby, and covered with sewn-on patches.
I was unnerved and wished there was something – anything – we could do for these poor souls, but there wasn't, and I knew it.
"Come on, we'd better go," I whispered. But I'd taken only a couple of steps when a voice stopped me in my tracks.
"Who are you people?"
I turned and saw a slave close to us sitting on a hessian mat, staring at us with big, bloodshot eyes. His red hair was filthy, and his hands stained with dirt. He must've been one of the market gardeners.
I stood there, unable to move or reply, my eyes looking anywhere but at him. Nanako took a step forward to stand beside me, but the others edged slowly towards the door. I mean, how were we gonna answer that question?
The guy pushed himself to his feet, the motion disturbing several of the others. "You here to rescue us?" he asked, his voice tinged with hope.
I glanced at him, but couldn't maintain eye contact; I felt so wretched that we couldn't help them.
"You haven't, have you?" he said as he took a step towards us. I couldn't help but notice the irons around his bony ankles and the short chain between them. "So what are you here for, then?" he demanded gruffly, disturbing several more of the slaves, who lifted their heads to stare at us. "You're not Skel; you're not slaves; and you don't look like Rangers."
"We're, um, from Newhome," I said quietly.
"That walled-up town over in Melbourne?" he asked as he continued to shuffle towards me, his chains preventing him from taking normal steps.
"Ah, yeah."
A tall skinny, girl who'd been lying next to the guy rose and hobbled towards us too. Her hair was also red, and her pale, dirt smudged face was covered with freckles.
"So why are ya here then? Skulking around and gawking at us like some zoo exhibits, and then sneaking off again?" she demanded angrily.
"What do we tell 'em?" I whispered to Nanako.
"How 'bout the truth?" she suggested.
"Well?" the girl demanded. I had no idea how old she and the guy were, in their late thirties, was my guess.
"We're, ah, here on a mission," I said. I couldn't divulge too much in case the slaves were to run to the Skel in the morning and tell 'em what we said.
More hope kindled in the guy's gray eyes. "So the brass in Newhome are aware of what's going on here?"
"Not exactly," I answered slowly.
"Then what exactly?" the girl asked curtly.
"We're here on our own."
"How does that work?" the guy asked.
"We're exiles – fugitives who escaped Newhome. But the town's under siege by a combined force of Skel and Rangers and we're trying to save the town."
"How do you think you're gonna manage that?" the girl demanded.
"Considering there's what, six of you?" the guy asked.
I glanced unsurely at Nanako, and back at Madison. "Sorry, I can't divulge that."
"When you've finished this mission, whatever it is, you just gonna up and go, right, and forget you ever saw us?" the guy said bluntly.
"No!" said another, much older woman, her thin, greying hair cut short. "You gotta take us with you; you gotta get us out of here!"
Chapter Fifteen
"I'm sorry..." I began, wishing we'd run as soon as the redheaded guy had started talking.
"You have to!" the woman said, standing to her feet. She wasn't much taller than Nanako.
"Jones," I heard Madison whisper from behind me. "Let us go. We cannot achieve anything by talking to these people."
"How many of us can you fit in your vehicle?" the woman asked, her voice bordering on panic.
"Look, sorry, we don't have a vehicle," I said apologetically.
"Then how did you get here?" demanded the redhead guy.
"We walked..."
"Bull!" This from the girl.
"Look, as I told you, we're fugitives," I said, raising my hands. "Please, I'm sorry, but we've got nothing – nothing that can help you. We've got no vehicle, no food, no weapons other than these bows and arrows, and we're on our own. We don't even know where to go when we're finished here."
"But..." blustered the older woman.
"Okay, we get the picture; you can't help us," said the redhead, raising his voice. His chin dropped to his chest for a moment, and then he looked back up at me. "However, maybe I can help you."
"Oh?" I asked, wondering what the catch was.
"How much of this place have you seen? Have you found what you're looking for?"
"We just got here," I replied, "And no, we've seen nothing but this warehouse and that place across the yard."
"In that case come with me and I'll show you what's in the other warehouses. I trust you've got some way of breakin' and entering, since you got in here?" he said as he shuffled over to us.
I looked at the chains on his legs, and I so wanted to remove them, but the shackles on his ankles were closed with pins, so my lock picks wouldn't be of any help.
"You guys get back to sleep; I'll be back soon," he said, and then upon reaching us, held out a calloused hand. "Jack."
I shook his hand gently, painfully aware of how bony it was. "Ethan."
"Wish I'd met ya in more pleasant circumstances, Ethan. But come, let me show you what's next door," he said, and led us slowly out of the resin-factory to the next warehouse along.
I had the padlock off in a jiffy, and we stepped into a darkened warehouse, since no slaves slept here. I pulled out my torch and swept it back and forth, causing a low, long whistle to erupt from David.
"It's a munitions dump," I said as I ran my eyes over pile after pile of old artillery shells, mortar shells, crates of gunpowder, and a plethora of items such as pressure cookers with which the Skel made their homemade bombs.
"Exactly," Jack said, nodding.
"Hey, how come there ain't no guards?" Shorty asked after we left the building and I locked it back up again. I couldn't leave any signs that we'd been here.
"Don't need 'em," Jack said. "They lock us in at night and that's that."
"Do you ever try to escape?" David asked.
"Like this? How far do ya think we'd get?" Jack replied, glancing down at his shackled ankles.
"The Skel are animals," I lamented.
"No, worse – no animals do this to their own kind," Jack said, and then took us to the next warehouse.
I picked the lock and removed the padlock, but Jack reached out a hand to stay me before I opened the door.
"How much you know about the origins of the Skel?"
"Nothing," I replied. "Even what we thought we knew was wrong."
"Then open the door and learn," he said.
I pulled open the door so that we could all go in, and though I was using the torch, I'd already seen pretty much everything by echolocating before the others had a chance to register what was before us.
"Shoot me dead!" Shorty exclaimed.
"Good grief," David practically drawled.
"Do they work?" Leigh asked.
For this warehouse was filled with dozens, no hundreds, of immaculately preserved motorcycles – Harleys for the most part – parked in perfectly straight rows. Their chrome shone, their engines glistened, and their bodies were polished. Their tyres were painted with thick black paint, but echolocation revealed that they were perishing, riddled with cracks and dry rot.
"No," I said. "They don't work. They're museum pieces."
"Correct," Jack added. "They're over a hundred years old, all of 'em. The bikie gangs who founded the Skel chapters used to ride 'em. The Skel would give anything to ride 'em too, but they ain’t got no spare parts."
"The Skel's ancestors were bikies? That explains a lot," David mused as he ran his eyes over the beautiful bikes arrayed in neat rows.
"Excuse my ignorance, but what is a bikie?" Madison asked.
"A bikie was a member of a motorcycle gang," I replied.
"Illegal motorcycle gangs on the most part, in the case of the Skel's ancestors," Jack added.
It was hard getting my head around this startling revelation, but it set my imagination adrift. I could visualise the members of the outlaw motorcycle gangs getting together after the nukes came down and the petrol ran out, and over the decades, evolving into a new, depraved society through which to express their crooked individuality.
The last warehouse that Jack took us to was packed with wooden crates crammed full of ripening vegetables – the market gardens' produce.
I walked over to one of the closest crates, picked up a handful of carrots, and showed them to Nanako.
"You thinking what I'm thinking?" she asked.
"Sure am," I replied, and then turned to our guide. "Hey Jack, if we remove just a few handfuls of vegies, will anyone notice?"
"Nah, wouldn't think so."
"So let's load up and take 'em back to the resin-factory – give your people something to eat," I suggested.
Jack was so overcome with emotion that it took him a moment to speak. "You'd do that? I mean, it's something we've always wished we could do, but they guard the warehouse during the day and lock us up at night. And if we try to smuggle even the slightest morsel of food back from the gardens, they give us a savage beating."
"We can’t give you much, though," Nanako said sadly, "or you’ll be sick."
"Look, anything would be appreciated," Jack said.
We loaded up a couple of wooden crates with vegies – including potatoes checked thoroughly to make sure they weren't green – and then carted them back to the resin-factory.
"Tell me, Jack," I said as he shuffled along beside us in the cold night air, "why have they stuffed you lot in the resin-factory? Surely those fumes aren't doing your health any favours?"
"It’s one of the only warehouses that’s still intact, you know, with no holes in the walls or roof. They’re afraid we’ll try to escape if they billet us in anything less secure."
"Should make them sleep in there with you, see what they think then," Nanako said angrily.
"Our longevity ain’t exactly one of their priorities," Jack explained. "The sooner we die, the more bones they get for their suits of armour."
"That’s an awfully inefficient, barbaric system," I said as we reached the resin-factory and carted our two crates of vegies inside.
"They don’t care. Thanks to those accursed Rangers, we slaves are a readily renewable resource."
"Do they bring new batches of slaves here often?" I asked.
"The Rangers?"
"Yeah."
"It’s sporadic. Might bring three truckloads in one week, and then nothing for a month."
We stepped out of the office and into the warehouse and bumped into a small crowd of slaves who were waiting for Jack to get back.
"You brought us food?" the redhead girl asked, though none too kindly. "What if it’s missed? There’ll be all hell to pay."
"Don’t worry, we just skimmed a few from each crate," Jack said, trying to placate her. "Please hand ‘em out, but make sure no one gorges themselves – don’t want no one getting sick. And we gotta finish it all too, can’t leave any evidence of this laying about afterwards."
The girl nodded, and helped Nanako, David, Shorty and Leigh to hand out the food. The slaves who were still asleep didn’t take to kindly to being woken in the middle of the night, but quit fussing once they saw the reason.
"That’s my sister, Beth, by the way," Jack said after they’d gone off to hand out the food.
"How’d you two get caught?" I asked.
"Rangers," he spat. "We lived in a small community – there were thirty-five of us – but raiders hit us. They took what they could carry and burned the rest. We couldn’t stay there anymore, and we’d heard about Hamamachi’s prosperity, so we made our way there, hoping they’d grant us refugee status."
"But the Rangers intercepted you on the way and brought you here," I growled. I so wanted to pop every Ranger in the head for these crimes.
"You got it."
"Were all the slaves here brought by the Rangers?"
"’Bout half, perhaps? The rest of us were nabbed by the Skel on one of their raids. They’re sneaky little blighters, conducting raids all over Vic, and grabbing people when they least expect it." Jack looked at me meaningfully. "Something’s got to be done about ‘em, Ethan, the Skel and Rangers both."
"We’re working on it," I assured him sincerely. Unfortunately, the solution wasn’t gonna help them at all, and for that I felt terrible.
Nanako and the others returned, the food having been handed out.
"We need to move on," Madison said. "If we stay in one spot too long we risk being discovered."
I looked at Jack and his sister Beth, and at the older woman we’d spoken to earlier. "Look, we gotta go. I’m sorry we couldn’t do more."
"We gonna see you again?" Beth asked, "Or you just gonna walk off and forget all about us."
I glanced at Nanako, and saw the pain in her eyes. She wanted to help them too. "I dunno, we’ll have to see. We’re not planning on staying here long, though."
"Nice for you," Beth spat and hobbled off.
We turned to go, but Jack grabbed my arm. I couldn’t believe how weak his grip was. "Don’t forget us, Jones. Tell people about us, make them aware of our plight, and send someone to rescue us."
I gave his hand a squeeze in a vain attempt to reassure him. Tell who, exactly?
And then we were back out in the car park with the wooden crates we’d used to deliver the vegies. With hands shaking from guilt, I put the padlock back on the resin-factory’s door, locking the poor unfortunates back into their prison. After that we put the crates back in the food supplies warehouse and made sure we left everything exactly as we’d found it.
Then we left the factory complex and headed back towards the market gardens and our temporary accommodation. I glanced at Nanako, and saw her studying my face in the moonlight.
"We did good, right?" I asked, totally unconvinced.
Chapter Sixteen
"Wasn’t enough," she said.
"What more can we do, then?"
"We cannot do anything for them, and you know it, so stop beating yourselves up for nothing," Madison piped up from the back of our group. "We came here to do a job, remember? Not to give temporary aid to a bunch of slaves on death’s door."
"Someone burn your conscience with a hot iron or something?" David asked Madison.
"Don’t think she’s got one," Leigh quipped.
"We cannot let them distract us from the bigger picture," Madison continued. "We came here to expose the Rangers, so let us stay focused."
Madison was right, but it didn’t make
me feel any better. Nor did it stop me feeling like whacking her on the head too.
"Isn't there some way we can get them out of here?" Nanako asked, ignoring Madison completely.
"If there is, I can't think of it," I replied, frustration colouring my words. "Firstly, we don't have any way of getting off their chains. Secondly, even if we did, how far do you think they'd get on foot? They're too malnourished and ill to take anywhere – they'd collapse on the way."
"Those slaves we just met – they're not the only ones," David said, joining the conversation. "That's just the market gardeners. What about the rest of them?"
"So we just sweep the problem under the floor and forget about it?" Nanako demanded quietly.
"No!" I replied.
"Yes!" Madison answered.
"I dunno what else you think we can do," David said.
Nanako dropped the topic, then, but I could tell by her vibe she wasn't happy. And nor was I, for that matter – but surely she could see that our hands were tied.
"Where to now?" Leigh asked as we moved quietly down the street like dark shadows slipping through the night. "We gonna call it quits for tonight?"
"The night is still young," Madison replied curtly. "I say we investigate the source of the light we saw earlier."
My head was crammed full of thoughts of Jack, Beth and the other slaves' plight, as well as the fearful sights I'd seen in the charnel house. And simmering away beneath all that were the worries generated by Madison saying Nanako and I couldn't have kids, and what I had to do if she was right.
"Jones?" Madison prompted.
"Oh, sorry. Yeah, let's check out the lights we saw further down Police Road. I heard a lot of Skel voices, so I'm curious to find out what they're up to."
"Lots of Skel?" Leigh asked fearfully.
"Don't worry, we'll be careful," I said, turning north-west. I led us through a maze of backstreets rather than using the larger roads, for I figured there'd be less chance of running into Skel that way. All the same, I kept my wits about me, echolocating constantly. The others followed me in single file, and Madison brought up the rear, singing ultrasonically, as was her way. I found her method of echolocating strangely soothing, and somewhat cultured compared to my system of crude pulse-like shouting.
Forager - the Complete Six Book Series (A Post Apocalyptic/Dystopian Series) Page 58
