Jubilee Year

by Gerard O'Neill

  He dropped down a gear and floored the accelerator, making the big diesel roared.

  The fear he felt had nothing to do with cowardice. He was not a coward. His past proved as much and so too would his future. He was born with a particularly well-developed sense of self-preservation, and it was due to his well-honed instinct to survive that he felt truly afraid now.

  They slowed their vehicles as they approached the bridge. There was no sign of movement at the checkpoint. Taylor crept the Bushmaster up to the barrier arm and brought the truck to a stop.

  “Looks like no one's around, Corporal,” Taylor said squinting through the dusty windshield.

  “We're stopping at a roadblock on the entry to Gilgandra Bridge,” Cameron said into the mic on his helmet. “You lot stay cozy tight while I do a recon.”

  A single barrier blocked the road; a police wagon parked in front of it. He tried the door of the patrol car and finding it locked, wiped the side window and pressed his face to the glass. There was nothing and no one to see inside the cab. He walked to the end of the bridge and satisfied all was just as it appeared. He turned around and walked back to the truck.

  They watched the Bushmaster brush the barrier aside as easily as a wave tossing flotsam onto a beach. Storm waited until the carrier reached the other side of the river before he set off again. The bridge had been badly damaged in the quake, but the larger vehicle proved it was still solid enough. He kept it slow and easy, looking for the first sign the bridge about to give way under them. The twisted structure held together, and they followed Taylor onto the bypass road that took them to the highway and away from the town center.

  “That place would've been deader than Coona,” he told Darren. After all, not getting to see Main Street was no major loss.

  “Some locals might be hiding in their homes,” Darren replied.

  He was trying without success to hide his disappointment. There would have been stuff to find in those shops and houses that might have proven useful. It was a pity they were in such a hurry.

  Storm watched the turnoff disappear in his rear vision mirror. “They would never have shown themselves to an Army carrier in camouflage colors with a machine gun on the roof,” he pointed out. It was the best he could think of to cheer up Darren.

  “Very true,” Darren replied, and he gave a dry chuckle.

  Darren was indeed cheered that he and Storm were getting on so well together. He was happy too, that they both shared a similar sardonic sense of humor. Not many people in the old world appreciated his kind of dry wit, but that was their loss. Possibly it reflected the average level of sophistication, or to be precise, lack of it in most people he encountered.

  Yes, this was a new world, and if he played his cards right, he could make a place for himself in it. Others would respect him for who he really was. Respect him for what he was worth. He couldn't wait.

  It was close to three o'clock and still a good hour from Wingari when the first large green meteorite they had seen since the sky rolled back into place passed overhead. The bolloid disappeared over the horizon with a rumble, on a track that would take it over the Blue Mountains if it didn't smash into the ground first. Minutes later, another passed on the same trajectory as if both had been fired from the same cannon.

  “It's starting again,” Darren said glumly.

  “Looks like it,” Storm replied. Despondency began to crawl inside his gut like a cold dark lizard looking for its home. He glanced into the mirror. Franchette was resting on the stretcher, her eyes closed. Penny gazed back at him. She looked exhausted, but she gave him a smile.

  “Pen. Are you all right?”

  “Yeah, I'm good,” she said attempting a smile. She pulled her hair back from her face, happy to have his attention even if it was just a brief few seconds.

  He smiled into the mirror at her.

  But, she didn't sound as if she was all that good. Storm saw Penny's hand resting on her mother's wrist. “Is Franchette sleeping?”

  Penny gave him a nod and turned back to her mother. Franchette looked to have more color in her cheeks. Perhaps she would return to her old self once she had rested. Penny smiled at the thought, and she stroked the sleeping woman's head.

  The ambulance was making slow progress over the narrow, potholed road they were traveling along. Above them ran a long escarpment. Clusters of thick scrub clung to the base of the hill. The bush thinned into patches along the cliff top, clumping around old trees that had somehow escaped past bushfires. The dome of the hill, though, was as bare as a monk's hairless pate.

  More than twenty minutes had passed since they had left the highway. The last manmade structure sighted was an empty water tank surrounded by a few skittery wallabies that bounded away as the two vehicles rattled past.

  Behind Storm's seat, the radio crackled into life. Penny picked up the headset. “What?” She asked whoever it was on the other end. “I see. Okay.”

  “What's the corporal saying?” Darren asked.

  “We're getting close to a network of caves. He said we ought to be careful. He told us not to stop. He says Aunty Wanganeen tells him we will arrive at our destination soon.”

  “Why d'you think he told us not to stop?” Storm asked Darren.

  “Could be something to do with that lot up there,” Darren said pointing at the hill above them.

  Storm craned his head forward to get a better view.

  Darren frowned when he saw Storm take his eyes off the road. The last thing they needed to do now was hit a tree. “I saw a couple of figures bent over and running like they were trying to keep up with us.”

  “When?” Storm asked.

  “A few minutes before he radioed.”

  Storm pulled the ambulance in closer to the Bushmaster. They passed an expanse of sandy earth imprinted with the footprints of countless feet. The entrances to the public caves would be further back from the road. In better days, curious tourists would walk the trails and marvel at the geology and the cave paintings.

  There was a loud clang followed by another.

  Storm glanced around the inside of more. Rocks were falling from the hill. Must be have been quakes, but they hadn’t noticed them while they were on the move.

  Darren turned to look back.

  Penny stared back at him. Her face had turned bone white.

  Storm’s was focused on driving, but he saw with a start that sparks were coming off the side of the Bushmaster.

  They heard a loud twang then a thump in the front of the ambulance.

  “They're shooting at us!” Storm yelled.

  “You don't say!” Darren shouted in reply. He turned to look back at Penny and Franchette.

  “Hey, Penny, call the... Penny?”

  “What's going on?” Storm yelled when he heard the change in Darren’s voice.

  He turned in his seat to look back, and the ambulance crept within feet of the carrier vehicle.

  “No!” Darren cried out. “Not so close!”

  “I've got it!” Storm yelled.

  “Back off, Storm!” Darren yelled back at him, red-faced. “It’s not us they’re shooting at!”

  “What are you talking about?” Storm asked in bewilderment.

  “They are shooting at the Bushmaster!” Darren yelled.

  Another bullet ricocheted off the back of the carrier into the body of the ambulance.

  “Fuck!” Storm hollered over the racket.

  Darren grabbed his arm.

  “Leave it!” Storm shook off Darren's hand. “I've got this.”

  “No,” Darren yelled. “You don’t understand. We have to stop! Franchette's been hit!”

  “What?” Storm asked in shock and looked into the mirror. The image fixed in his head would remain as clear as a photo in an album. Even as he fought to straighten the ambulance, he could see Franchette lying still on the stretcher. It was her eyes! They were dilated. Almost entirely black. They were lifeless.

  Penny held her Franchette’s hands up in
the air as if urging her to sit up. Her mouth was opened in a silent scream. Her face spotted with bright red. Her hands wet with her mother's blood.

  In the front of the Bushmaster, Cameron watched his laptop display as he worked the optics linked to the cannon. He had zoomed in and found the shooters. They were crouching in the grass on the hilltop. He had fired two rounds at them, but the figures stayed put. Their return fire from was lighting up his display. Cameron swore in frustration.

  “Good thing they can't aim straight,” Taylor muttered through the headset.

  Cameron ignored the driver's sarcasm. “Maybe they're were aiming to scare us away,” he said. He made some adjustments and fired two more rounds. This time the bullets struck the ground between the shooters. Cameron grunted with satisfaction as he watched the puffs from the impacts and saw the shooters make a quick retreat.

  Storm's voice came over the radio. A bullet had pierced the skin of the ambulance and struck Franchette.

  Cameron switched his display to the rear camera. The ambulance had come to a stop in the hollow behind them.

  “Don't stop there!” Cameron shouted to Storm as Taylor brought the Bushmaster to a halt at the top of the rise.

  Keech's voice came over the headset. “I'm right beside the turret, Corporal. I can take them out.”

  “No, you fucking won't!” Cameron shouted over the intercom. “Kwong will!”

  “On the way, Corporal,” Kwong replied.

  “See the muzzle flash on the peak!” Cameron barked into his mic.

  “Got it!” Kwong replied.

  The heavy thumps of cannon fire reverberated inside the vehicle.

  “Shooter on the lower ridge!” Cameron yelled.

  “Roger that!” Kwong growled.

  Cameron watched the display as Kwong fired three more rounds.

  “Shooter—down,” Cameron reported into the mic. The cannon fired again.

  “The shooters are down!” Kwong's voice said over the headset. “That's what you get when you take on a .50 caliber automatic AMR, you shitheads!”

  “Keep an eye open for more of the bastards,” Cameron told him.

  Minutes of silence followed, but they stayed where they were, waiting for Kwong to confirm the all clear.

  “Corporal, got a runner coming off the peak. He's in the scrub above the big tree. You see him?”

  It took Cameron several seconds before he found the target. “Yeah, I've got him on the screen,” Cameron replied.

  It might have been a woman or a man, it was difficult to tell. The figure was slightly built and young. judging by the speed at which they scrambled down the steep slope.

  There had to be a cave entrance behind the grove of trees below the escarpment, Cameron thought. Otherwise, why on earth would a shooter be heading toward the Bushmaster?

  “Corporal, you want me to take him out?”

  “Leave it. He's not carrying anything.”

  “Roger that,” Kwong replied flatly, not bothering to hide his disappointment.

  “Storm,” Cameron said, speaking into his mic.

  “You still there.”

  “I'm here.”

  “How's Mrs. Boulos?”

  “Is Michael listening?”

  “No, he hasn't got a helmet.”

  “It's all messed up in here,” Storm said.

  Cameron heard the tremor in the boy's voice.

  “You okay?”

  “Not really,” Storm replied quietly.

  “Keep it together,” Cameron told him. “We should get going.”

  “Let's do it then,” Storm echoed.

  “Hey, Bud,” Cameron said. “How about one of my team take over driving the ambulance? You hop in the back of the Bushy.”

  Storm's reply was curt. “How about we just get going!”

  Taylor watched the ambulance move up behind the Bushmaster. He exchanged a glance with the Corporal.

  “Let's go,” Cameron said.

  “You are not thinking of heading back to base tonight are you, Corporal?” Taylor asked, flicking off his helmet mic before he spoke.

  “Ah—we'll be staying the night in the cave,” Cameron announced to the rest of the truck. “We'll head back to base at first light. After we make sure this lot are safe and settled.”

  Cameron flicked off his mic and turned to Taylor. “Are you happy now?”

  Taylor took a deep breath. “Couldn't have said it better myself, Sean.”

  48

  Graves and Caverns

  Boyd was determined to ignore Aunty Wanganeen's persistent requests for him to give up his seat to her. He pretended not to hear over the noise of the truck. Whenever she leaned across to ask yet again, he turned his head away, or he simply closed his eyes.

  By the time she had caught her first glimpse of the familiar line of hills through the side window, she was all out of patience. She slapped the private hard on his thigh and stared up at the man with wide-open eyes. The old lady was fierce in her determination.

  Boyd opened his eyes and stared back at her in surprise.

  “Come on, Boyd,” Keech yelled. “Just swap seats. What's the big deal?”

  Boyd straightened his helmet. “What are you saying? I can't hear you.” He settled back with a smug smile and closed his eyes once again.

  The old woman pressed a hand on Boyd's thigh. Leaning on him for support, she rose unsteadily to her feet. Then she thrust a finger into the startled soldier's chest. “How do you expect to get there if I can't show that lot up-front driving this thing the way we supposed to be going?”

  Kwong leaned toward Boyd. “Hey, ya better watch out for the pointy finger of death.”

  “That's when they point a bone, ya moron,” Boyd snapped back. But, he eyed the old woman up anyway, to make her finger was not still pointing his way. His pinched features tightened. Boyd was given to paranoia and more than a little superstitious.

  Keech, who was sitting opposite to Boyd, unfastened his harness. “You want us to stay outside tonight under all that shit up there?” Keech asked Boyd. “Why don't you sit in my seat? I'll take the old girl's place and we’ll be done with it.”

  Boyd sprang up with a scowl and sat in Keech's empty seat on the opposite side of the carrier. He muttered to himself as he watched Auntie strap herself into the seat he had left.

  Aunty watched the landscape flicker by for many minutes before she gestured to Matthew.

  He crouched down beside her and they talked for a while. Then he straightened up and tapped Keech on the shoulder. He pointed to the soldier's mic.

  “Tell the corporal, Aunty says we need to head for the section of the cliff where there's an overhang,” he said. “Tell him we have about twenty minutes more traveling before we get there. Then we will need to park up and walk the rest of the way. The cave entrance is at the end of a narrow valley.”

  After Keech had relayed the information to the corporal, he shouted into Matthew's ear. “The corporal wants to know if she's expecting others to be in there too.”

  “There will be others,” Matthew answered immediately.

  “Will they have weapons?”

  Matthew shook his head.

  “Negative on the weapons,” Keech replied into his mic.

  The dirt road narrowed between groves of young eucalyptus that threatened to block their passage, and yet, they were making steady progress. The heavy Bushmaster had cleared a path for the ambulance, and they had not been bothered by any more shooters.

  The foliage shifted in an inconsistent breeze making it difficult to see the details of the cliff. But, at last, the two men in the cab caught sight the landmark. The limestone cliff rose above them as a long shelf with a gentle curve that went up and over like an ocean wave that was breaking over the treetops.

  Taylor noted with satisfaction the indent in the rock face looked deep enough to shelter the entire width of the truck and the ambulance behind it. That was dumb luck if ever there was such a thing, he noted with some satisfac
tion.

  Aunty Wanganeen walked up the slight slope ahead of them until she reached the base of the cliff. She stood under the high overhanging ledge and grabbed a handful of the brown grit at her feet. She rubbed it between her fingertips and nodded her head.

  Cameron jumped down from the cab to join the old lady. “All right, bring the Bushy as close as you can to the rock face,” he called out.

  “We won’t be able to drive out in a hurry if I do that,” Taylor complained.

  “You might have nothing to drive if the truck is hit by a bloody meteorite!” Cameron replied.

  The old lady waved her hand at Cameron. “He doesn't need to be that close to the cliff.”

  “Why not?” Cameron asked.

  “Them meteorites come from the North and Northeast, best as I can tell.”

  “How d'ya know they won't come from a different angle?”

  “Because they haven't yet,” she told him. Aunty made her way back toward the ambulance. She was still unaware of Franchette's sudden death.

  The stand of trees around the shifted like restless warriors, tense and resolute in a breeze that came and went.

  Storm did his best to comfort Penny and Michael. But they were inconsolable. There was little he could do. He left them in the back of the ambulance to wrap Franchette in a blanket and sit with her a while.

  Cameron had his men dig a grave in the loamy stretch of soil at the bottom of the hill. Michael spoke a few words over her before he collapsed in tears. Then it was that they committed Franchette to the earth.

  Aunty Wanganeen wailed at the grave for over an hour, and Michael and Penny were inconsolable. There was nothing Cameron or anyone else could do or say to get the old lady to lead them to the cave.

  The corporal and his men were anxious to find shelter before nightfall. Cameron decided it was time to action his backup plan. It was pretty simple. They would go back down the road, locate the caves the shooters were in, and take them by force.