Forager - the Complete Six Book Series (A Post Apocalyptic/Dystopian Series)

by Peter R Stone

  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.

  Chapter Five

  The greeting on my lips came out as a muted squawk. They didn’t recognise me – I was done for! My plans to escape were already ruined.

  “Hi, I’m Matt. You must be the new guy,” the tall redhead said. He reached out to shake my hand.

  I was too stunned to react. I was wearing Brandon’s clothes, cap, and backpack – who did they think I was?

  “Nice of you to bother turning up again, Brandon.” Jack said. I risked a glance at him and saw a hint of mirth in his eyes.

  Oh – they were teasing me! The feeling of relief that accompanied that revelation was so powerful my legs almost buckled.

  “Where the blazes you been this past week, you gutless wonder?” Con asked. He stepped so close that his forehead almost bumped the rim of my cap. His beady eyes transfixed me with such intensity it felt like I was under the scrutiny of a search light.

  “Been sick,” I said, sticking to the plan I’d worked out in advance, doing my best to copy Brandon’s voice. Something I’d spent hours practising in front of the mirror.

  “Sick? You never get sick,” Con said.

  “It was something I ate. Spent six days with my head in the can.”

  “Your absence had nothing to do with what happened last Thursday?” Con mocked.

  “This is me you’re talking to, remember?” I snapped as my mind went into overdrive. What happened last Thursday? Whatever it was, it must be what upset Brandon so much he left home that night and skipped work ever since. Did they bully him? No, that didn’t make sense. He was close friends with Jack, and often spoke of Matt. Con, not so much. I so wanted to ask them what it was, but that would have given the game away big time.

  “Looks like you’ve shed a few kilos. You okay, mate?” Jack asked, clearly concerned. He flashed an irritated glance at Con.

  “Yeah, had to take a stupid pill to make it stop,” I replied.

  “Did you see a doctor? Could have been gastroenteritis,” Matt said. “If so, good thing you took that pill. Gastro can severely dehydrate you if you let it go too long, and that can be fatal.”

  “If we needed a biology lesson, we would have asked for one.” Con glared at Matt.

  “Just saying,” Matt replied.

  “You’re always saying,” Con replied. He turned his penetrating gaze back to me. “Still think your timing’s sus.”

  “Good for you.” I gave him my best Brandonesque sneer.

  “Look here, you little runt,” Con blustered.

  “Knock it off, Con, you can see how pale he is,” Jack said, coming to my rescue again. I guessed being the youngest in the group explained Con’s patronising attitude and Jack sticking up for me.

  “Whatever.” Con backed off.

  I started breathing again. I hadn’t even been aware I was holding my breath. I just wished we could get in the truck and out of town so I could get this escape attempt over and done with.

  We wandered back towards one of the battered trucks when a tall, handsome, lanky guy strode into view, accompanied by several other foragers. He looked about my age.

  “Great, here comes his Royal Highness, Ethan flippin’ Jones,” Con growled.

  I studied the guy carefully, and something about him struck me. He seemed unpretentious, determined, yet haunted. I wished I could talk to guys without waiting for their permission to speak because I wanted to know who this guy was. Then it hit me. Right now I was a guy, so didn’t need permission to speak. This was so weird!

  “You don’t like him?” I asked Con.

  “He’s a loser who’ll be the death of his teammates,” Con replied. “Who cares if he’s only seventeen and helped his team take out three groups of Skel slavers.”

  “He did what?” I exclaimed, only just remembering to keep my voice an octave lower. Brandon told me about the Skel. They were the scourge of Melbourne, skulking around the ruins looking for victims to slaughter or enslave. They were said to be lawless nomads who dressed in suits of armour made from the bones of the dead. No one knew where they came from, only that they’d been around for decades. They were survivors of the Apocalypse too, but unlike us, had turned their backs on civilisation, choosing to live as lawless barbarians. Brandon said that although all foragers lived in fear of them, he’d never seen one.

  “Barfed your memory down the loo too, did you?” Con snapped.

  “I thought he only took out two Skel teams,” I replied, hoping it was a good enough save.

  I fell back a step and looked to Jack. “How come Jones gets all the fun – why haven’t we seen Skel?”

  “Hello. ‘Cause Jones’ team drew the short straw and got the eastern suburbs,” Jack said.

  So most encounters with the Skel occurred in the eastern suburbs. That was a relief – Brandon’s team worked in the northern areas.

  “How’d he take them out, anyway?” From what I heard, Skel were supposed to be invincible.

  “What’s with your head today, Brandon?” Jack gave me an inquisitive look.

  “Let me rephrase that,” I said, hastily trying to dig myself out of the hole I was burying myself in. “How do you recon he does it? Everyone I’ve spoken to has a different version.” I hoped that was true!

  “I don’t know. His teammates reckon they never get jumped by Skel if Jones is with them. He somehow spots their ambushes before they spring them. And if they can’t get away, he creeps behind the Skel and ambushes them.”

  “What a load of bull,” I said, hoping I wasn’t coming on too strong.

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  Ethan Jones and his team climbed into their truck and they were off, the truck engine roaring noisily as they drove out the gates. I wished I could join them instead of getting stuck with Con. Just being near him made my skin crawl. Besides, there was something about Ethan that intrigued me. Not to mention that I wanted to see him in action.

  “Okay lads – and child,” Con said, looking at me, “the boss wants to see us.”

  We went through the automatic glass doors and headed up stairs worn smooth by countless boots over the decades. Con took us to a cramped office where logbooks and pieces of paper crowded the desk and lay heaped in piles on the floor.

  Two men were in the office. One was an older, balding man, starting to pile on the kilos. His nametag said ‘Trajan Barclay, R.W. Manager.’ The other man was only a few years older than me. His gaze was fixed on the floor, and he didn’t look up when we entered. I wasn’t sure if he was not happy to
be here, or just not happy full stop. He was six-foot, with short brown hair, a handsome angular face, and an impressive muscular frame.

  Aware I was staring at him, I quickly averted my gaze. All the same, I wished I could have met him before today. Not because he was handsome, but because I suspected there was a tragic story hidden behind his sad demeanour. Mentally kicking myself for staring at him again, I suddenly felt somewhat guilty for harbouring desires inappropriate for an unmarried girl. Yet, if I was about to leave town for good, were those restrictive, suffocating rules still relevant? Besides, I was a boy now, right?

  “Decided to grace us with your presence again, did you, Brandon?” the boss snapped as soon as he saw me.

  “Uh, sorry, Boss. I was laid up with a stomach bug,” I said.

  “Really. Well, here’s a little news flash for you. Next time you get sick, use the blasted phone! Was I supposed to guess where you were?”

  “Sorry, Boss.”

  “Was beginning to wonder if I needed to replace two workers instead of one.”

  I glanced at him, wondering what he meant. Which forager needed replacing?

  “Right lads,” the boss continued. “This here is Ryan Hill. He’s Dan Smith’s replacement.”

  I looked up in surprise. Dan’s replacement? That’s why he didn’t meet me with the others. Did he quit, was he hurt, or did he run away?

  “Hey mate, welcome to the team,” Jack said to the newcomer. “I’m Jack – come to me if you ever need help with anything. That’s Con, the team leader. The tall ugly one is Matt...”

  “Ha-ha,” Matt said.

  “And the kid’s Brandon.”

  I nodded in greeting.

  “Ah; yeah, hi,” Ryan replied, glancing at us before returning his gaze to the floor. I saw a glimpse of the deep inner pain he was trying to hide, confirming my initial impression that he was distressed.

  Con stepped closer to him. “You’d better pull your weight, Hill. I don’t know what you’ve heard about foraging, but it’s not a cushy job, and Dan will be a tough act to follow.”

  “That’s enough!” Trajan Barclay stared twin laser beams at Con. “And take better care of him than you did Dan, or you’ll be spending the rest of the year sorting through scrap. Got me?”

  Con glared at the boss, but then nodded, though I could tell he wasn’t cowed in the slightest. More hints about Dan, though. Did he have an accident? One that should have been easily avoided? I wished I could just out and ask, but then they’d know I wasn’t Brandon. Anyways, in a couple of hours, I would be hightailing it through Melbourne’s ruins and none of this would matter anymore.

  “What was your last job, Hill?” Matt asked.

  “Automotive factory,” he replied.

  “Maintenance or manufacturing? I’ve got a cousin who’s–”

  “Why’d you leave?” Con said, interrupting.

  “Personal reasons.”

  “Did they sack you?”

  “No!” Ryan frowned at Con, resenting the accusation.

  “Why’d you quit then?”

  “As I said–”

  “Alright you lot, I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than stand in my office making idle chit chat. You know, like getting out there and doing your jobs?” Trajan Barclay said.

  “Sorry, Boss,” Con said. “We’ll get out of your hair.”

  We traipsed down the stairs after Con, the new guy coming last. I peeked up at him, but he broke eye contact as soon as our eyes met. I wondered what his story was. Did he live at home or have his own place? He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, so he wasn’t married. That was nothing out of the ordinary, though. Guys in Newhome tended to marry between twenty-five and thirty, and Ryan Hill looked to be in his early twenties.

  I was so busy reflecting on these questions buzzing through my mind, that I didn’t even realise we reached our truck until Con stuck his face in mine.

  “You drive,” he said, handing me the keys.

  Chapter Six

  My face blanched and my heart missed a beat. I’d never even ridden a bike, let alone a truck. My mind went into panic-mode as I sought a way out of this disaster. “Ah, Con? I’m well enough to come back to work and all, but I’m still a bit woozy. I need to sit by a window and breathe in fresh air. If I drive, I might barf all over the steering wheel.”

  “Maybe you should’ve taken a few more days off,” Matt said. He took a few steps back, eyes wide with alarm.

  “I’ll be okay, just don’t make me drive.”

  “Fine. I’ll drive, you big wuss.” Con snatched back the keys and climbed into the cab. Matt jumped in beside him.

  Jack, Ryan and I got in the back. The engine turned over with a loud bang and we were off, driving through the streets of Newhome heading for the eastern gates. I lowered my window, which was quite a challenge for it was almost stuck fast. Then I went through the pantomime of breathing in fresh air and watching the view as it whistled past.

  The twelve-foot tall gates were made of iron and still looked impregnable even though the black paint was peeling off in patches and rust was working its way into the metal. The walls were even more imposing than the gates. Constructed from thick slabs of concrete that curved outwards, they were topped with razor-sharp coils of barbed wire.

  Five heavily armed Custodians decked out in helmets and bulletproof vests stood at the gates. More occupied the outward facing guard tower atop the wall.

  I sat there, glued to my seat as the guards approached the truck. I wondered if these were the same men who checked Brandon’s papers every day. Would they only check if the papers were valid, or would they examine us as well?

  “Papers,” the sergeant snapped, reaching up his hand.

  We handed our papers to Con, and he handed them down to the Custodian, who matched our faces with the photos. For a horrible, panic-stricken moment, I was sure he would ask me to remove my cap. If he did, my subterfuge would be revealed; for there was no way anyone could mistake me for my brother if they saw the birthmark. Keeping my eyes down, I sat on my hands to stop them shaking. This wasn’t going to work! A procession of images fled through my mind. I saw myself in one-piece blue overalls, slaving away in a textiles prison-factory, surrounded by hostile inmates.

  Just when I convinced myself it was all over, the guard abruptly handed back the papers and the gates swung open on well-oiled hinges. They fell for my ruse! They too thought I was Brandon. I sagged into my seat as a palpable sense of relief flooded through me. This was going to work – I was actually going to escape today!

  The truck roared through the gates and we crossed the open area devoid of cover that surrounded the town. From there we drove east into a street lined with houses over a century old. Windows were shattered, wooden window frames were rotten, aluminium guttering hung to the ground, and doors smashed off hinges gave haunting glimpses into darkened interiors. For the most part, houses built of brick were relatively intact, while those constructed from wood were dilapidated ruins. Some terracotta roofs had gaping holes, and the occasional aluminium sheeting used on flat roofs had collapsed or been blown away. Nature was also in the process of forcibly reclaiming everything. Clumps of grass grew out of the cracked and pitted asphalt roads and concrete sidewalks. Waist high grass, bushes and trees flourished in the median and nature strips, as well as in the once well-manicured front yards lining the street. Vines and creepers fought their way up walls and fences, even through smashed windows.

  Small numbers of rusted-out wrecks of cars and trucks littered the road, reminders of a time when every family had their own personal transportation. As opposed to Newhome, where the only vehicles belonged to Custodians, hospitals, government officials, and businesses.

  However, it wasn’t the scene of utter devastation that impacted me the most. It was the eerie silence – a silence punctuated only by the rustling of the wind through the trees, twittering of birds, the unmistakable cawing of crows and the cackle of magpies. I could easily imagine ghost
s of our ancestors haunting the runs, still trying to go about their daily lives in a city destroyed by their generation’s excesses and utter stupidity. Why did they build such weapons, let alone use them?

  A shudder wracked my slim frame, and then again when I realised that Skel could be hiding anywhere, waiting for unsuspecting travellers or foragers to nab and haul away as slaves.

  After driving for thirty minutes, Con took us into a street crowded with run down houses, and backed the truck into a driveway on the opposite side of street.

  “Everybody out,” he barked.

  We tumbled out of the truck while Con grabbed a saw from a toolbox behind the cab as well as a stepladder from the back of the truck.

  He thrust the items at the new guy. “All right, Hill, this is where you show us if you’ve got the stuff. At the back of that house, you’ll find plastic downpipes outside the toilet and bathroom. Cut them down and throw them in the truck.”

  Ryan stared at him for a moment, and then glanced at the rest of us. “By myself?”

  “You got a problem with that?”

  He shook his head, and looked at the saw Con gave him. “Wouldn’t a wrench be better?”

  “No one’s touched these pipes for over a hundred years. They’re stuck fast. You’ll have to cut them.” Con spoke down at him, as though the answer was obvious.

  Ryan shrugged, trudged up the driveway, and disappeared from view through the half-rotten side gate that led to the backyard.

  “Right lads, gather round, real quick like,” Con said.

  “What’s up?” Jack asked as we moved in closer.

  “Anyone else smell a rat?” Con asked.

  “He don’t look like your typical forager recruit,” Jack said.

  “Agreed,” Matt added. “Doesn’t have that no hoper, nonconformist look to him. Holds his shoulders back like he’s still got pride.”