“Let’s go!” I said.
The three of us hurried down the restaurant-lined street, going in the opposite direction of the Bushmasters, which were slowing to take a corner. Nanako brought up the rear, firing quick bursts at the few Custodians behind us. A quick glance revealed the deadly cost of the battle – over a dozen Custodians were down. Some sprawled lifelessly on the blood soaked ground while others pressed hands to horrific wounds, moaning in agony. This debacle was not what I had in mind when I woke this morning. The only comforting thought was that these men were all part of Gamma Company, the chancellor’s most fanatical troops.
If we wanted to start a shooting revolution, we’d gone and done it now. The men cowering in terror in the restaurants and clubs and all nearby residents could hear the gun battle.
More bullets skipped around our feet as we drew close to the end of the street. Jogging backwards, Nanako fired a sustained burst at a couple of Custodians using a brick wall for cover, forcing them to drop out of sight.
“Which way, Aika?” I said. “Left or right?”
Instead of her answer, I heard several loud bangs blast through the earpiece, followed by Aika swearing. “Blast! The gunner in the guard tower’s found me!”
“Change position!” I said.
“Already on it,” she replied between breaths. It sounded like she was running, or at least, going as fast as she could manage with her injured leg.
“Which way do we go?” Nanako asked. She fired another quick burst back the way we came.
“We’ll go right,” I said, pointing to next side street. “We have to stay where Aika can see us.”
Normal procedure was to check before going around a corner, but bullets ricocheting off the brick foyer of the two-storey Chinese restaurant beside us put paid to caution.
With one arm wrapped tightly around Madison’s waist and the other still keeping her arm around my neck, I practically carried her around the corner and into the adjacent street. And then staggered to a stop so abruptly that Nanako slammed backwards into me.
Five Custodians stood just meters from us, assault rifles pointed loosely at the ground. They appeared just as surprised by our sudden appearance as we were by theirs, but strangely, they didn’t raise their guns. The hulking shape of a Bushmaster sat ominously behind them, parked on the side of the road. We were trapped, and I knew it. With both arms supporting Madison, I couldn’t even grab my rifle. Frustration welled up within me at the realisation that even our attempt to escape General Cho was a failure.
Nanako spun around to face the Custodians with her gun at the ready, but I shook my head. She kept her weapon aimed at them, but didn’t shoot.
“Aika – you back yet?” I whispered. If she could see what was going down she would make all the difference.
There was no response.
Then, to my utter astonishment, the Custodian sergeant lifted a sat-Smartphone to his ear – it was one of ours. He spoke softly into it and I heard a man reply, telling him to hide us.
The sergeant – Turan according to his badge – gestured for us to come closer. “We’re with Freehome. Quickly, into the Bushmaster – it’s the only place the general won’t check when he’s turning the town upside down looking for you.”
I didn’t need to be told twice. Strengthening my grip around Madison’s waist, I hurried her to the back of the vehicle. With the sergeant’s assistance, I helped her climb through the rear hatch and into the vehicle, then followed her. My wife scampered in behind me.
Inside the Bushmaster’s cramped interior, Madison sat wearily on the edge of a seat while Nanako pulled the vehicle’s med kit out of an under-seat storage locker.
“She need a doctor?” the sergeant asked.
“No,” Madison replied.
“Well, knock on the hatch three times if you do. Can’t have you dying on us. Now sit tight until I receive further instructions on what to do with you. There’s water and food packs if you need them.”
“Sergeant Turan?” I said quickly as he began to swing the hatch closed.
“What?”
“Who were you speaking to on the phone?” As far as I knew, most of Freehome’s leadership had just been arrested, so who was giving these Freehome sympathetic Custodians their orders?
Dark eyes set in a swarthy, clean-shaven face appraised me intently. “The Patriot.” With that, he closed the hatch, leaving Madison, Nanako and me the Bushmaster’s only occupants.
The Patriot? The enigmatic leader of the Underground Resistance Movement that Chelsea told us about was still free and active? Seeing a faint glimmer of hope, I dropped into a seat. I was surprised to observe that Nanako had already pulled up Madison’s top and untucked her shirt so she could examine the gunshot wound, which was just above her left hip. I pulled out my phone and thumbed on the light.
“Went right through,” Nanako said.
“She gonna live?” I gave Madison a wry grin.
“It’s just a flesh wound – I’ll have her patched up in no time.”
If that was what Nanako called a flesh wound, I didn’t want to see what she considered a serious one.
Digging into the med kit, Nanako cleaned the injury and surrounding area. She placed a thick bandage over the entry and exit holes, and pressed upon it firmly with her palms. When the bandage was soaked with blood, she quickly replaced it, and continued to press down. After ten minutes of this, the bleeding had mostly stopped. She put on a clean compress and wrapped a bandage tightly around Madison’s waist. Next came strong painkillers.
Madison sank back into her seat and exhaled deeply.
“Getting shot wasn’t part of the plan,” I said.
“Neither was Custodians dropping in on the meeting this evening,” she said.
The speaker in my ear crackled to life. “Back. The tower gunner’s been taken care of,” Aika said. “Sitrep?”
“Stand down – we have friendly Custodians present. Current location: inside said Custodian’s Bushmaster in Serong Street. Also, Madison’s been wounded.”
“Badly?”
“No. Gonna slow her down, though.”
Aika swore.
“Get some sleep, may need you later.”
“Gotcha.” The earpiece went quiet.
Nanako leaned closer. “Someone at the meeting, or someone who knew about the meeting, was either a traitor or a spy.”
“How’s that even possible with Bhagya’s ability to detect lies?” Madison asked.
“Bhagya can’t possibly screen everyone who joins the resistance. It could have been one of the restaurant staff,” I said.
“Maybe someone let slip about the meeting to a friend or workmate?” Nanako said.
“Who knows how deeply they’ve infiltrated the resistance movement.” I ran my fingers through my hair. This evening’s meeting was supposed to be the first concrete step towards setting them free from oppression.
I recalled the day I brought home a small wooden game I found in the ruins during my early foraging days. After washing the dirt off my hands and face, I grabbed my nine-year-old sister, Meredith, and took her to the lounge room table. With her long brown hair tied into an immaculate braid, she examined the wooden board, opposing hoops, levers, and ball. Her big eyes sparkled with delight.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Pocket basketball. It’s a game – you’ll love it.”
She touched the small nets. “How did it survive a hundred years intact?”
“It didn’t. I’ve been using my lunch breaks to repair it. New springs, new nets, and a bit of glue here and there.”
“It looks so fun! Let’s play.” She gave me an innocent smile. I smiled back, but my heart was breaking. She should be going to school and running around outside with friends. I hated the Founders and their narrow-minded vision of a better society, a society that imprisoned girls in the home and forced them to learn how to sow, cook, and look after the house.
We set up the game on the table,
placing an old tablecloth under it so it wouldn’t scratch the surface. A moment later, we were using the levers to fling the tiny basketball towards each other’s hoops. Meredith lost the plot almost immediately, dying with laughter every time she lobbed the ball over the hoop to bounce off my chest. I think she was flicking it too hard on purpose. I was delighted to see her so full of joy.
Hearing the commotion, my older sister, Ruth, stomped into the room, frowning in disapproval. “Stop this nonsense at once, Elder Brother. She has needlework to do.”
“Why don’t you play it with her?” I said.
“Don’t be ridiculous, we don’t have time to engage in such trivialities.”
Suddenly mother was there, gently shepherding Ruth from the room. “Let them have their fun, dear.”
“But Mother–”
“No harm’s being done, Eldest Daughter.” Pausing in the doorway, Mother looked at me. “All the same, best put that somewhere safe before your father gets home.”
My mother was a gentle, kind soul, whose joy for life was being slowly crushed thanks to living in this horrible town. I would be over the moon if I could set her free from fear.
A question from Nanako snapped me back to the present. “So the revolution’s over? Before it could even begin?” She was crestfallen.
“Well, the resistance movement’s screwed at any rate,” Madison said.
“The Freehome Movement’s in trouble, at any rate,” I said. “But there’s more than one way to skin a cat. If the Underground movement’s cells are known only to the Patriot as Chelsea said, it should survive the pending shake-down intact.”
“True.”
“We have to get in touch with the Patriot, then,” Nanako said.
“That’s foremost on my mind. As soon as Sergeant Turan’s able to talk to us, I’ll ask him to set up a meeting. We’ll have to overthrow the chancellor with the Underground, the Freehome Custodians, Smithson’s Delta Company, and our unit.” I met Madison’s gaze in the dim light of the vehicle’s interior, and saw the same flicker of hope in her eyes that I was feeling.
“Any idea who the traitor is?” Nanako asked.
I cast my mind back to the meeting and recalled each member’s face one by one, remembering what they said, what they did. But nothing any of them did stood out. “No.”
Madison suddenly lifted a hand, and we fell quiet. Cocking my head slightly to one side, I realised I could hear several vehicles entering the street – Bushmasters and G-Wagons. Hatches and doors opened and many pairs of booted feet hit the road. Officers shouted out a flurry of commands, ordering their men to search the surrounding buildings.
“What is it?” Nanako asked.
“More Custodians,” I said.
“A lot more,” Madison added.
The hatch opened and a Custodian private clambered in. Shutting the hatch behind him, he squeezed past us and climbed into the driver’s seat. He brought the Bushmaster’s electric engine to life.
“What’s going on?” I asked quietly.
The private snorted. “Cho’s gone off his rocker after you three just up and disappeared. He’s placed the whole town on lockdown and called in all off-duty Custodians. All four companies are turning the town upside down trying to find you. Looks like we won’t be dropping you off anywhere soon.”
“Great,” Madison said, groaning.
“Do you want to lie down? The floor’s just wide enough if we put our feet up,” I said.
“No, here’s fine.”
“Hey, Madison,” Nanako said. “If by some miracle we find a way to overthrow the chancellor, what’s the first thing you’d like to do?”
“Find my family.”
“Can you remember much about them?”
“Not that much; I was taken to the lab when I was five,” Madison said. “But I remember that my mother was always anxious, especially when she had to take me with her to the market – which wasn’t often – or to the Solidarity Festivals.”
“Really? Why?”
“She knew I was different and was terrified the Custodians would take me away.”
“Your mother must have been very perceptive. My family never had a clue,” I said.
“I remember her catching me crocheting a doily in the dark one morning before the sun was up. When she turned the light on and saw that I was singing without making a sound and that I could see in the dark, she got so scared. Then she lost her rag and told me to never do it again.”
“Crocheting in the dark? Little show-off,” Nanako said, laughing.
“Who’s calling who little?”
“Hasn’t changed much, has she?” I said.
Madison chuckled, and then cursed. “Don’t make me laugh, or I’ll have to kill you.”
“If you don’t want it to hurt when you laugh, don’t get shot,” I said.
“You have any brothers or sisters?” Nanako asked
“A younger sister. I remember she had long blond hair and used to cling to Mother’s dress a lot. She’ll be all grown up by now, probably married.” She looked up. “You two are lucky, growing up with your families and all.”
“It wasn’t all a bed of roses,” I said.
“Still had to be better than getting brainwashed and growing up in the lab.”
“Got me there.”
Madison picked away at a hangnail. “You reckon they’ll be pleased to see me?”
“Of course they will,” Nanako said. “To be reunited with you after what, fifteen-plus years? There’s nothing your parents would want more.”
“Really? And if they find out about the things I did for Cho?”
“No one can hold you responsible for the things you did when you were brainwashed,” I said. “Besides, you don’t need to tell them everything.”
“Guess not.” Madison turned to me.
“It’ll be fine, just wait and see.” Nanako laid a comforting hand on her arm, and then spoke to me. “How about you, Ethan? Worked out what you’ll say when you see your father again?”
“I’m more nervous about meeting him again than I am about our current predicament,” I said. Actually, that was far from the truth, but I was still dreaded the day I would see him next.
“Really? What happened?” Madison asked.
“He’d rather believe the Custodians’ lies than his own son,” I growled.
“Work out a game plan before you see him and stick to it. Stay objective, don’t let him rile you up,” Nanako said. “If you do that you’ll get through to him eventually.”
“How long’s eventually?”
“You going to tell me what happened?” Madison asked.
“Not a memory I want to revisit.”
“Come on, Jones, spill it.”
“Accused me of being a Hamamachi spy and disowned me.”
“Ouch.”
“Yes and no. To be honest, I gave up on trying to get through to him years ago. Stubborn as a mule and blinder than a welder’s dog.”
“Come on, Ethan – you know he cares for you deep down, yeah?” Nanako said gently.
I sighed. “Guess we’ll see.”
Chapter Thirteen
~ Chelsea Thomas ~
With my ankles clamped in irons and wrists encased in handcuffs, I sat at plastic table in a bleak interrogation room. My spirits had never been lower. I berated myself for having been so stupid as to actually entertain the hope that Ryan and I could share a future together. Against my better judgement, I had started to envision us living in a small one- or two-bedroom unit. That we could work together as foragers and eat in restaurants as a result of the revolution setting the town free.
I wondered where Ryan was now. I hadn’t seen him or any of the other revolutionaries since they brought us to Custodian HQ, and I feared for his well-being. Custodians were a corrupt, tight-knit bunch who didn’t take kindly to their own if they ratted on them. They had made his life miserable when he dobbed on four squad mates after they framed my father after accidentally shoo
ting him. I couldn’t even begin to imagine how badly they would treat him after discovering he betrayed them again by joining the resistance. I wished I could trade places with him and take the insults and abuse they would throw at him. He’d been through enough.
A few weeks ago, I observed him striding into university, brooding and uncommunicative. Acting in my undercover role as a cleaner, I went into his small office with the excuse of emptying his wastepaper bin.
He barely acknowledged my presence, which was normal when he was in a dark mood like this. Fortunately, I’d known him long enough to get past the walls he erected when he was hurting.
Making sure there were no students or teachers outside his office who could observe us, I laid a slim hand on his forearm and gazed up into his eyes.
“I hate it when you do that,” he said. He didn’t mean it, though – the wall was already beginning to come down from that simple gesture.
“Your fellow Custodians still on your case?” I asked softly.
He met my gaze then. “Never ends.”
“What did they do this time?”
“Tripped me going down the stairs.”
“Are you hurt?” I shuddered to think of what they’d put him through so far. His locker had been trashed, his uniform slashed, his bag filled with excrement, his drink bottle spiked with urine, and on it went. He never retaliated, either, which was a testament to his character.
“The bruises don’t worry me – it’s the fake sympathy and apologies they sling at me afterwards.”
“Do you ever wish you could go back to being ‘one of the boys?’”
“That’s a trick question, isn’t it?” The traces of a smile were tweaking the corners of his mouth.
“Right on. Because you know I wouldn’t have fallen for you if were corrupt and dishonest like the rest of them.”
“Thanks, I needed to hear that.”
Hearing sounds in the classroom outside, I gave his arm a gentle squeeze and made my exit, pleased that I had lifted his spirits.
Coming back to the present, I realised Ryan was probably in a bad way right now. I was used to getting disappointed, seeing my dreams crushed, and suffering distressing trial after trial. But not Ryan. Apart from the constant bullying he received at the hands of his comrades, the rest of his life had been much easier. He’d never had an alcoholic father with a gambling addiction or a mother who rejected him. With two parents that supported him as well as his father being a doctor, he’d never been thrown out of home or had to live somewhere like the homeless shelter.
Forager - the Complete Six Book Series (A Post Apocalyptic/Dystopian Series) Page 132
