Jubilee Year

by Gerard O'Neill

  “Yeah, it was too,” the pale man said with a look of pride. “All things considered.” The dour expression had brightened. “Hey! You know what? There's a gas burner in the house. I can fix us coffee.”

  “I better keep moving,” Storm told him. He was still weighing the odds.

  “The car in the garage wouldn't be much good. It's been sitting there for six months. The head blew. That means it will need a new engine, you know? About two grand's worth!”

  “Sorry to hear it. Well—I gotta go. So—good luck.”

  The man looked disappointed. He shifted about like he was having problems coming arriving at a decision, or perhaps he too was sizing up his opponent. Looking for Storm’s Achilles heel.

  “If you're traveling far, you need something dependable. Something that won't break down. With enough power to pull you out of the rough—if you go off the road.”

  If the guy was trying to sound like a commercial for a four-wheel drive vehicle, he was convincing. “Yeah,” Storm replied. “That's just about what I'm looking to find.”

  “Something a security patrol might not bother to stop. How about a service vehicle? Like a truck?”

  “That would be good—I guess,” Storm said.

  He had forgotten about the possibility of encountering security patrols on the roads.

  “I can get you something like that. If you can take me a little past the hospital, I'll show you.”

  “What if you pull a knife on me—then leave me on the side of the road?” Storm asked.

  “If I was going to ambush you, I would have done it when you had your back to me,” the man told him.

  It was difficult to argue with the logic, and so, Storm set his doubts aside and introduced himself.

  The man stared at the extended hand with surprise before grasping it in both of his. “I'm Darren Calder. I'm really pleased you turned up.”

  Darren directed Storm to park in the drive of a two-story brick structure situated at the corner of an intersection. The building was surrounded by neatly mowed lawns. A flagless pole stood at the front. It had meant something once, but now it just looked sad. He shut the car door quietly and gazed up and down the street for a sign of movement. There was none to be seen. Not that he had expected to see any. Then again, he had not expected to run into a hostile cop at the police station, or to bump into a character like Darren for that matter.

  He studied the metal doors in front of him. Each wide and high enough for a small truck to drive through. Both were locked and he could see no other way inside.

  Storm turned to say as much to Darren, but his passenger had vanished. “Shit, this is not good!” Storm muttered under his breath.

  It was close to noon and he should have been on the road. Then, he heard the clink of keys and the garage door flipped up with a bang.

  Storm leaped back. “You scared the bejeezus out of me!”

  Darren had a proud grin on his face as he dangled a large ring of keys from an outstretched hand. “It helps to know where the keys are kept. So what do you think? Will it do?”

  The white wagon with its red lettering, iridescent yellow strip above the grill, and checkered stripe running along both sides were all instantly recognizable. It was totally unexpected.

  “An ambulance?”

  “A Volkswagen T5 Transporter to be exact!” Darren exclaimed. He slapped the hood and grinned at Storm as if he was showing off his brand new Lamborghini.

  “Do you think it will do the job? I guarantee it's been well-serviced and has a full tank.”

  “It'll do,” Storm told him.

  The ambulance was pretty damn good in fact, but he didn't want to give Darren the idea he was owed anything.

  “Good,” Darren replied. “Because I can't have slept more than three hours since they cleared the town. You drive the first half. Then I'll take over. Where’re we going?”

  “There's two of them,” Storm said, pointing to the second ambulance. “You take one and I take the other.”

  “I'm really tired!” Darren complained.

  “Haven't you got somewhere you have to go?” Storm asked.

  “No, mate, I could stay here in Coona or I could go with you.”

  “Well—” Storm began.

  “Oh—I get it. You don't trust me, do you?”

  “It's not so much that I don't trust you,” Storm exclaimed. “I don't even know you!”

  “There's a group of you, isn’t there? You don't want to risk bringing a whack job back with you. That would put everyone’s life in danger,” Darren said, nodding his head more vigorously than he needed. “I get it.”

  “Yeah—well,” Storm said. He took a step back. He didn't want to fist this out. He was tired too. It would also mean looking for another vehicle. He knew he didn't have time to do that. He was unsure what was going to happen next, but he suddenly felt still inside. He was not leaving without one of the ambulances. “That's how it is. Sorry mate, I can't take you with me.”

  Darren appeared to be in pain. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, staring beyond the open garage door. Finally, the dark-ringed eyes turned back to Storm.

  “I wouldn't bring someone I had just met into my group either. Not the kind of situation we’re in. No way. I would only trust familiar faces.” He gave a heavy sigh. “Look, I work at the hospital—I mean I did work at the hospital. It wasn't a skilled job. I'm not like a nurse or a paramedic. Most of the time I was wheeling people around in their beds. I was an orderly.” He cleared his throat. “But I know a lot of useful stuff—I'm someone worth having at your side. Honest, I am!”

  Storm stared at Darren's pale face. He had been wrong about Davenport. Maybe he was wrong now. “If you turn out to be trouble, you're on your own,” he said finally.

  Darren grabbed Storm's hand and shook it vigorously all over again. “Thanks! I mean it! I won't be trouble.”

  The two of them needed each other, Storm told himself. Just the same, he was going to keep an eye on Darren.

  43

  Bird Clouds

  They were approaching Pilliga forest and were close to the turnoff, thankful not to have encountered any roadblocks. The two had even begun to relax. In the distance, they could see a shifting black mass above the tops of trees.

  “Birds,” Storm said. “A lot of them!”

  “What do you think they are?”

  “All sorts,” Storm replied. “Looks like they've had a fright.”

  They watched the spiral of black specks wheel and spin. The edges of the moving mass spread and pulled back. The two watched as the flock began to disperse like a vast quantity of oil across the surface of the sea, breaking up to dissipate over the plains.

  “So what happened in the town?” Storm asked. “Where did they all go?”

  Darren turned to Storm with surprise. “I thought you knew. Weren't you watching?”

  Storm gazed up at the last of the scattering flock of birds merge into the gray. “I only got into town around noon, and the place was already deserted.”

  “It was the Army!” Darren said nodding to emphasize that he had seen as much with his very own eyes. “They banged on doors and herded everyone into the streets. They must have taken them to that camp on the other side of Pilliga forest.”

  “The one people say is outside Gwabegar village?”

  “Yeah, Gwabegar. That'll be where they were taken.”

  “Did you have any idea how many buses it took to empty the town?”

  “They put them on a train.”

  “No way! So that was the reason they've been repairing the old train lines? And we were told they planned to re-open the railway to bring through tourists,” Storm said.

  He remembered all the excited chatter in the local paper of how a proposed train service would rejuvenate the region.

  “Yeah, that was a bullshit story,” Darren said.

  “Bloody liars!” Storm exclaimed.

  “They woke me at two in the morning with th
is long blast on the horn,” Darren said with obvious enthusiasm. He was encouraged by Storm's reaction to his story and continued with enthusiasm. “The troops were everywhere with spotlights and megaphones. They emptied the houses straight away... Where did you say you were hiding?”

  “In Marsfield.”

  “They would've been through all the towns by now,” Darren told him.

  Storm didn't reply. He was thinking about the residents of Marsfield being rounded up by soldiers. There would be no one waiting at the rendezvous point. He felt sick.

  “I think there were foreigners with the soldiers,” Darren continued.

  “Oh, yeah?” Storm asked as dread spread its cold tentacles through him.

  “I heard Kiwi voices. Brits, Yanks, and maybe Canucks as well. They were civil enough to everyone—for the most part. Almost friendly, you know? But anyone messed that about—shit—you should have heard them give them an earful.”

  Darren took a breath and gazed across at his new friend. He was disappointed Storm wasn't shooting questions his way.

  “The train came back at daybreak...” he said, and he turned to look out his window. “They would've returned to pick up the stragglers. I saw it through the ventilation shutters up in the attic. Dude, it was super bloody long! Like those ore carrying trains on the East Coast. The ones from the mines. Only—I can tell you that this one was pulling carriages and not coal buckets.”

  As he listened to Darren's story, Storm realized how narrowly he had escaped arrest. Not only the patrols on the road but the last train as well. He wondered how long his luck would hold out.

  “How can you be so sure the train was going to that camp?” He asked Darren.

  “What else is up that way? They had unloaded everyone and were back in the town again in no time. They hadn't traveled far.”

  “That camp must be freaking huge!” Storm said.

  “They've been putting out scare stories about those places,” Darren said. “And, they have them right across the country. They want us to be afraid, you know? That way, we give up our rights without a fight, and do as we're told.”

  Darren was definitely an oddball. He was clever though. It actually helped that he hardly ever shut up.

  “I've seen photos of the Gwabegar camp,” Darren said. “The fences have razor wire and guard towers. And they got dogs. At least they have proper hardboard shelters. They’re better than tents.”

  “I don't get why they round up everyone in town and put them in a place like that,” Storm said.

  “It was a cleanup operation,” Darren told him with raised eyebrows. “I mean you only need to ask yourself what is their endgame?”

  “And what is it?” Storm asked.

  “Total control,” Darren replied. “It's far easier to deal with small groups of people, than it is to face them all once they’ve joined forces as one big mob.”

  Darren fell quiet for several minutes.

  “I think what they want to do is improve bloodstock. You know? It's like they are the farmers and we are their cattle and sheep. They want to refine the gene pool by removing the weakest characteristics.”

  “Kill us, you mean?” Storm asked. He didn't really want to hear Darren's answer. It didn't matter a whole lot whether the camps had gas chambers or not. With the Dark Star up there, the end result was going to be the same for a lot of people.

  “Not all of us,” Darren replied. “You want my guess; I would say they're weeding out undesired qualities.”

  “That sounds fascist,” Storm said, remembering what he had learned in high school history about Hitler and the Nazis.

  “Fascist is right,” Darren said, adding a nod of confirmation.

  “There's a turnoff coming up,” Storm told him.

  44

  On the Edge of the Woods

  The astronomer watched the ambulance spray gravel as it braked almost too late for the corner. It came to a sudden stop a few feet from where Michael stood. Even before he could make out the features of the driver behind the dust-covered windscreen, he felt his spirits lift. That had to be Storm behind the steering wheel.

  Goodness knows, he needed a lift. His attempts to lift Franchette from the depths of her despair had left him exhausted. No matter what he said or did, nothing seemed to work.

  Franchette had continued to slip further and further into herself every hour she stayed in the RV. She had barely moved from her seat by the back window. All she did was sit and stare through the glass.

  “This is going to be handy,” Michael said with a grin, and he slapped the side of the ambulance. It was a display of bravado. A show of enthusiasm. And he felt all the better for it.

  “Darren found it.” Storm said. He jumped to the ground, excited to see them. “I've picked up almost everything on Franchette's list.”

  Michael climbed peered over the front seat into the back of the vehicle. Something a little larger would have been better, but it should prove useful, he thought to himself. He didn't ask Storm about his dad. That could wait. He was just happy to see the boy again.

  Storm tried not to stare at Michael. The astronomer looked gaunt. So little time had passed since they had last seen each other and yet it could have been years.

  “There were masses of birds circling above the forest,” Storm told him.

  “Yes, they made a hell of a racket when they took flight,” Michael replied.

  Darren stared up at the rippling cloud mass. “Do you think there's a shower of rain heading our way?”

  “No,” Michael replied with a frown. “I think—there's something else that’s heading our way.”

  He had been watching the undulations the past two days with a sense of foreboding.

  “A good part of all that water up there is evaporated ocean, and the usual dust, gas, and ash from all the volcanoes going off around the globe. But the way the clouds are churning around up there—I think that's a result of something going on with the magnetosphere. It's reacting to something big and powerful heading our way. We need to be on the road early in the morning.”

  “It's a little like we are in the eye of a hurricane,” Darren said as watched the swirling mass.

  “It would have to be a frigging big one!” Storm exclaimed.

  Michael, keen to change the subject, pointed to the RV. “You two must be hungry. We ate sandwiches earlier. If you don't mind stale bread, there are some leftovers inside.”

  Matthew was under the front of the RV. When he looked up and saw Storm, he tossed the spanner in his hand aside and wriggled out from behind the tire. He brushed away a lock of hair leaving a smudge of axle grease across his forehead. “You do read maps, after all,” he said with a chuckle. “Great to see you back.”

  When Storm asked him about his uncle and aunt, Matthew's face fell. “Uncle wanted to stay behind.”

  “Why would he want to do that?” Storm asked in astonishment.

  “He didn't want to leave the land he was raised on,” Matthew replied.

  “What about Aunty?”

  “She's here,” he said. “Uncle wouldn't let her stay with him. He said she knows the caves and the surrounding area. He said we'd get lost without her. Lucky for us she couldn't argue with him about that.”

  Summer came running from the RV. She launched herself at Storm with a screech. “Hey, bro!”

  He gave his sister a bear hug, waving over her shoulder to Stella and Penny who stood peered out from the door of the camper van.

  Franchette's white face stared over the shoulders of the two women. She held a hand to her mouth. She tried to remember the reason she got up at the sound of the boy's voice.

  “Champ!” Summer shouted in glee as the dog licked her face. “Storm found you!”

  “He found me,” Storm told her before his words were smothered by his mother's embrace.

  Then she let him go, her eyes searching his face. “Where's Pete?”

  “I couldn't find him, Mom,” he said. “Darren told me a train came
through Coona. It had the Army on it. They did a sweep of the town during the night and cleared it of everyone they found. He said it headed up the line in the direction of Gwabegar.”

  “The military camp?” She asked, her eyes filling with tears as the realization that Pete was not going to be with them hit her.

  “He'll be fine, Mom,” Summer said, putting her arm around her mother. “He will be, won't he, Storm?”

  “Of course. Dad's tough as nails.”

  Storm put his arm around his mother's shoulders. “Don't worry. We'll all be back together.”

  “No,” Stella said in a matter-of-fact voice, wiping her tears away. “No, he won't be coming back. He's gone. And we will have to get used to that.”

  “Mom?” Summer gasped, her eyes wide in disbelief at her mother's words. She turned to Storm for reassurance, but he was not able to meet her gaze.

  Stella was the strongest person Storm knew, and part of her strength came from an unfailing ability to acknowledge facts before most others could see them. She could act with absolute certainty. Sometimes Stella was a little too quick off the mark. He knew she put up a hard front to protect them as well as herself from life's mortal blows. He would try to comfort her, but there was little he could do. She had made up her mind. The very thought that he would never see Pete again made him shake inside.

  After they had eaten the remaining sandwiches Storm and Darren walked back to the ambulance. They exchanged few words once they left the RV. Darren saw the look in Storm's face and knew that any attempt at conversation would be a waste of time and energy.

  Later, when the snoring from the opposite stretcher began, Storm began to relax. He thought about his dad.

  Champ jumped onto Storm's stretcher. It curled into a ball in the valley between the boy's legs. It was as if the dog knew.