I noticed how wires held the bones together, while smaller bones and resin filled the gaps. The Skel all carried menacing black crossbows. Two also had metal clubs, and the third a baseball bat.
As I watched, a fourth joined the others from the direction of the street. He made almost no noise as he walked, confirming the tales I’d heard that they excelled in stealth.
“Well?” demanded the largest Skel, the one with the baseball bat.
“Scavengers from Newhome, just like we figured. Blighters are lounging on the curb without a care in the world. One in front of this house, the other three on the far side of the truck.”
Every second word spoken by the Skel was accompanied by a profanity so foul that my face burned with embarrassment simply from hearing them talk.
“Let’s give ‘em something to care about, then,” the leader growled.
“You only mentioned four, Weasel. Where’s the fifth? They always run in teams of five,” the one with cow horns asked.
“Didn’t see ‘im.”
“Right, let’s do this, but keep ya eyes peeled in case there’s another one having a dump somewhere,” the leader said. “Crank, circle around to the left. Weasel, Jingles, go right and get close to the truck. Wait five and then drive them away from the truck and into me and Crank. And remember, we want ’em alive. Shoot to wound if they run. Now go!”
I dropped onto my belly in the tall grass as Weasel and Jingles moved quickly but quietly through a gap in the fence not far from my position. With a speed and stealth I wouldn’t have thought possible for men encased in bone armour, they went past me and disappeared into the back yard of the neighbouring house.
Clambering back onto my knees, I peered through the gap in the fence in time to see Crank rush off in the other direction while the leader stole furtively into the house.
I remained there, frozen in place, frantically debating what to do. The wise thing to do was run, to get as far away as I could, never once looking back. What could I possibly do against such armoured monstrosities anyway? The most I could hope to achieve was warn the others of the impending danger, which could quite likely result in me getting captured along with them. Besides, I was here to escape, not play the hero. Not to get dragged off by those brutes to be their slave.
Yet even as I debated this, I couldn’t get the image of Ryan’s face out of my mind. I didn’t know what his story was apart from the telltale signs he’d been deeply hurt. And in spite of that, he shared his lunch with me, an act of kindness that took me by surprise. Then there was the matter of Con, Matt and Jack – my brother’s best friends.
I couldn’t disregard the fact that they deserved better than getting rounded up like cattle to be driven away to the slaughter. I realised I already knew what I had to do, regardless of what it would cost me – I had to warn them. No, that wasn’t enough – I had to save them. And only then, should the opportunity avail itself, make my dash for freedom.
Time was of the essence, so I dropped my backpack and forced my way through a gap in the fence. Grabbing a steel leg that had fallen off the trampoline, I darted as quietly as I could into the house, following the Skel leader.
Using echolocation to illuminate the gloomy interior, I crept through the laundry and kitchen, and into the dining room. The Skel was in the lounge-room – I could hear him breathing as soon as I entered the house.
Watching carefully where I put each foot, I skirted around decaying chunks of plaster and disintegrating insulation bats fallen from the ceiling, wooden chairs with fraying upholstery, and shattered crockery fallen out of a buffet-and-hutch that had tipped over.
Entering the lounge-room, I spotted the Skel immediately – he was standing at the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the street. His loaded crossbow rested against the wall beside the front door, and he gripped the baseball bat with experienced hands.
I picked my way across the floor until I stood directly behind him, only to quail in fear when I realised he towered over me by at least a foot. What was I thinking? What could I do against a massive brute encased in bone and resin?
Glancing at the steel bar in my hands, I realised my intention of using it to knock him out was wishful thinking. It would just bounce of his skull helmet after which I would be at his mercy.
Laying the bar quietly on the floor, I pulled the long kitchen knife out of my belt, a sick feeling invading my stomach. As I had never hurt anyone before, what I was about to do went against every fibre of my being. Even though I was only going to give him a taste of what he planned to give my companions.
I considered knifing him in the back, but flash sonar revealed the futility of that action. Not only were there no gaps in the armour, but the bones themselves had been hardened with resin. Which meant they were probably impervious to knife thrusts. A feeling of hopelessness threatened to overwhelm me. I was almost out of time. Desperate to find a chink in his armour, I took a step back and gave him another once over with flash sonar.
To my surprise, I found two weaknesses. There were no bones covering his neck or the back of his knees. Unfortunately, he was too tall to stab in the neck, and at any rate, I refused to kill him. That left only one other choice – I had to go for his knees.
Afraid I would hear cries of terror from my companions at any moment, I gripped the long knife firmly and slashed it as hard as I could across the back of his right knee. The blade cut deep, severing tendons and muscles. The Skel bellowed in agony and reared back.
I sprang away from him immediately, but was still too slow. With a speed that belied belief, he whirled around, swinging his baseball bat with murderous intent. Luckily for me, his knee gave wave as he turned, eliciting an even louder cry of pain as he collapsed to the floor with a crunch of bones.
His bat still connected with my stomach, sending me careening backwards to slam awkwardly against the side of a dirt-covered armchair. The wooden armrest dug into my back, sending waves of intense pain coursing through me. My knife also went flying from my grasp. All the same, I appreciated the hours spent doing sit-ups and burpees, otherwise that blow to my stomach would have incapacitated me.
“You stinking varmint, I’m gonna gut you and string your entrails up for the crows!” the Skel hissed. Grimacing in pain, he clawed his way onto his knees and lifted the baseball bat.
I tried to ignore the pain lancing unmercifully through my torso and rolled quickly aside. The bat smashed into the chair, splintering the wooden armrest. I glanced at my fearful opponent and panic ripped through me – it would only take one solid hit and it would be all over.
I rolled under another swing and regained my feet. Picking up chunks of plaster and discarded DVD cases, I flung them at the Skel in quick succession. They ricocheted off his helmet, but he kept coming.
Remembering his weakness was his right side, I feinted to my left. As I expected, he lunged for me but then collapsed to his hands and knees when his injured leg gave out. Seeing an opportunity to escape, I jumped to the right and darted past him, making for the front door.
Ignoring his injury, the Skel twisted around and swung his bat with all his strength. It clipped my left thigh with enough force that I was sent sprawling against the wall beside the door, my shoulder smashing through the powder-like plaster sheeting. With freedom only a few steps away, I pushed myself off the wall and limped through the open doorway as fast as I could, grabbing the Skel’s surprisingly heavy metal and wood crossbow on the way out.
Chapter Eight
Now that I was in the front yard, I saw our truck parked in the driveway to my right. Con, Jack and Matt must have heard the Skel bellowing when I wounded him, for they were on their feet, looking in my direction, clearly alarmed.
“Skel!” I screamed as I limped/ran.
“In the truck, quick!” Con shouted. He didn’t need to say it twice. The three of them were off like a shot, faces white with terror.
My heart missed a beat when I realised I couldn’t see Ryan on the far side of
the truck where he had been sitting for lunch.
“Where’s Ryan?” I shouted.
Con was already in the cab, turning the key in the ignition and pumping the accelerator as fast as he could. Jack ripped open the passenger door and flung himself inside.
“Forget him!” Matt snapped. He reached for me, eyes wide. “Get in!”
I stepped back, shaking my head. “Which way did he go?”
“Just get in!”
Con was already backing the truck out of the driveway.
I saw Ryan then, emerging from further down the driveway from between two bushes, pulling up his zipper. He realised something was amiss, because he was running full pelt towards us. He wasn’t going to make it, though. Weasel and Jingles chose that moment to spring their ambush, jumping out of shrubs on the other side of the road, sighting down their crossbows.
“Look out!” I called out to Ryan while lifting my stolen crossbow and firing it at the Skel. The bolt went wide, but they ducked their heads down all the same.
Ryan realised the danger he was in and ran faster. As though watching in slow motion, I watched the Skel lift and sight down their crossbows again. One aimed at Ryan, the other at me.
I threw my weapon aside and ignoring the stabbing pain that accompanied each step, darted for Ryan. I echolocated as I went, singing out staccato musical notes, hoping to detect the speed and direction of the bolts when they fired them. Ryan ran towards me with his head cocked to one side, completely baffled by my actions.
When I was only a few paces away, the Skel fired. Jingles wasn’t following his leader’s instruction to wound us, either – his bolt was going straight for Ryan’s head. Weasel had fired at my legs.
I realised I had only one chance to get this right. Even the slightest miscalculation and I’d be down and Ryan would be dead. I considered calling out to him to duck, but if he didn’t duck low enough...
Intercepting Ryan, I grabbed him and pulled him one way while at the same time leaning backwards so that there was a gap between us. One bolt flew past me, the feathers brushing against my leg as it did so. The other passed between us, missing Ryan’s head by an inch.
“What the...” Ryan stammered when he saw the bolts fly past and he realised what I had done.
“The truck!” I yelled. The Skel had already reloaded their bows and were frantically winding back the strings.
Ryan and I reached the truck a moment later. Matt leaned out and gave us a hand into the back seat.
“Go that way!” I shouted to Con, pointing at the road where Weasel and Jingles were still winding their bows.
“Are you nuts?” he shot back at me.
“There’s another Skel waiting for us back the other way. If you go that way he’ll have a shot at the windshield – at you,” I said.
He didn’t need to be told twice. He floored the accelerator and the truck lurched up the street. “Get down!” he said as we passed the Skel. Just in time too. A couple of bolts hit the side windows, shattering them and showering us with splinters of glass. Con kept driving.
When the Skel were far behind us, I sat up, brushed off the glass, and sank back into my seat, utterly spent now the adrenalin rush was over. The pain that had been clamouring for my attention at the edges of my consciousness sprang to the forefront with such intensity I had to concentrate on my breathing to ride it out. My stomach felt like it had been hit by a pile driver, and my ribs were worse. Every breath sent waves of pain stabbing through my back.
My leg was starting to stiffen up too, so I slowly stretched it out and rubbed it, gritting my teeth as agony shot up and down the limb. I couldn’t let it seize up. If I couldn’t walk when we got back to Newhome and Con insisted I got my injuries checked out, I’d be spending my next few birthdays behind bars for impersonating a man.
Back to Newhome. The implications of that thought hit me with the force of a sledgehammer, causing the physical aches and pains to diminish in comparison. My escape attempt failed. If not for the Skel, I’d be happily traipsing through the empty streets by now. Free from the town’s rules and regulations, free from living in fear for my life, free to choose my own destiny.
Now, before I could even consider another escape attempt, thanks to leaving my backpack behind, I had to replenish my collection of fruit and vegetable seeds. And they took me years to collect. That meant I would have to go to the market and buy them, which created new problems. If I bought the seeds tomorrow, I wouldn’t be able to go to work as a forager. If I went out as a forager, I wouldn’t be able to get the seeds. Of course, I could get the seeds on the weekend, when the foraging teams didn’t go out. Except I had no money with which to buy seeds, unless I was stupid enough to go out foraging again tomorrow. If I did, I would be able to collect Brandon’s pay, since he got paid every Friday. My life seemed so simple this morning – why did those Skel have to go and throw a wrench in my plans.
For now, though, I had to go back to Newhome, to oppression, my mother, and her endless tirade of criticism and condemnation. Not to mention the trouble I would be in the moment I stepped through the front door, since I had been absent all day and was wearing Brandon’s clothes. And if Mother caught sight of my bruises? I settled further back into my seat, crushed, sore and too tired to contemplate returning to that life.
I wished Ryan knew what I’d given up to save him. I glanced at him, but then shrank back, uncertain and confused. He was looking at me, but not with appreciation for saving his life. His glance was wary, as though he couldn’t work out if I was a friend or an enemy. My face blanched with fear when I realised I may have given the game away that I was a mutant when I helped him dodge the bolt. I looked away quickly, heart thumping. I thought he’d thank me for saving him, not react like that.
I stared out the window, wishing I was already home so I could put this behind me. I wondered if I’d ever have the courage to attempt to escape again by impersonating my brother. Today was a disaster, with Con’s attitude, Matt trying to leave Ryan behind, the Skel, and the injuries.
“That was too close!” Jack said after we’d been driving for several minutes.
“Too close doesn’t even begin to cut it,” Matt replied.
“What the blazes are Skel doing in the northern suburbs anyway?” Con asked.
“No reason for them not to be. They’re nomads, right? The foragers we’ve bumped into from other towns said they raid all over Victoria,” Matt replied.
I had to bite my tongue to stop myself asking the question that immediately sprang to mind. There were foragers from other towns? Where were these towns and what were they like? Were they like Newhome? I recall Brandon mentioning there was a Japanese colony over near Inverloch, but surely that was too far away to send foragers to Melbourne?
“You want to tell us what happened, Thomas? How come you knew where they were?” Con asked. I looked up to see him staring at me in the rear view mirror, his beady, dark eyes like twin holes to the abyss.
Chapter Nine
“Hey, the kid just saved our butts. How ‘bout you cut him some slack?” Jack said.
“Answer me.” Con said.
“I was taking a dump–” I began.
“TMI!” Matt protested.
“–when these four Skel suddenly appeared next door and started planning their ambush. When they split up, I rushed back to the truck to warn you.”
“Is that right? Care to explain how one moment we heard a Skel screaming and the next you come running out of the house with his crossbow?” Con growled.
“I took a short cut through the house but bumped into a Skel. He tried to catch me, but I stabbed him in the back of the knee with a knife I found in the kitchen–”
“You did what?” Jack asked, eyes wide.
“Let him finish!” Matt snapped.
“After that he couldn’t catch me, so I grabbed his crossbow and ran outside. You saw the rest.”
“No, I don’t think they did,” Ryan muttered under his breath. He stole
a glance at me, distrust, or was it disbelief, framing his handsome features. I was so glad the other three didn’t see my little ‘dodge-the-bolts’ sideshow. That would have taken some explaining. Thankfully, Ryan was keeping quiet about it. Maybe he figured no one would believe him even if he did share it. Maybe he was having trouble believing it himself.
“We’re gonna have to start calling you Ethan Jones the Second,” Jack said. At least he was impressed by my exploits. I could see why Brandon liked him so much – he was cool. Why he liked Con and Matt, I couldn’t fathom.
“You hurt, Brandon? You were limping when you came out of the house,” Matt asked.
“Nah, it’s nothing.”
“All the same, get that leg examined when we get back to base,” Con said.
“Seriously, I’m fine.”
Con clearly didn’t believe me, but he let it drop. Maybe it was a guy thing to hide the extent of your injuries. Brandon sure did. He came home from school once with his knee half scraped off, didn’t go to sickbay or anything, just put up with it like a little Aussie battler.
“So what do we do now – go home?” Jack asked.
“And why would we do that?” Con snapped.
“Uh, Skel?”
“The Skel are back where we left ’em. We’ll hit another suburb and get back to work. We have a quota to meet.”
“Party pooper,” Jack muttered.
“Excuse me?”
Jack acted all innocent like. “I didn’t say anything.”
“I heard somethin.’”
“Just clearing me throat.”
“Well, keep it to yourself next time.”
Con drove west for another twenty minutes, putting as much distance between the Skel and us as he could without crossing into the foraging area of the western suburbs’ teams. He eventually settled for a picturesque street with median strip and opposing nature strips overgrown by native gumtrees.
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