Tomorrow, When the War Began

by John Marsden

  With the coming of night Corrie seemed to regather some reason, to be able to understand and to whisper back to us. Her voice was lifeless though, and when we got her up and walking she moved like an old lady. We had her wrapped in blankets from the shearers' beds and we knew that we would never get her on a bike. So at dusk Homer and Kevin took the Toyota and drove to Kevin's, bringing back the Ford and the Toyota. Homer still thought it important to leave the Toyota at Corrie's, to make it look as though we hadn't used it. He was hoping that they'd think we were blown up in the house. 'After all, they may not even be sure that anyone was here,' he argued. 'They may have just seen a movement in the house, or Flip might have made them suspicious.'

  Homer had an ability to put himself into the minds of the soldiers, to think their thoughts and to see through their eyes. Imagination, I suppose it's called.

  I went looking for Flip, but there was no trace of her. If she'd survived the explosion she was probably still running. 'Be at Stratton by now,' I thought. Still, I'd promised Kevin I'd look, while he was getting the Ford.

  The two boys came back at about ten. We'd been nervous while they were away; we'd come to depend on each other so much already. But at last the cars came lurching slowly up the driveway, dodging around pieces of wreckage. It was easy to tell that Homer was driving the Toyota. He wasn't much of a driver.

  We had another argument then though, when Homer said that we had to go through with the original plans, including separating into two groups. Corrie had been bad enough when the boys had gone to get the cars. But now, at the thought of Homer and me going into Wirrawee, into what she feared was dangerous territory, she sobbed and clung to me and pleaded with Homer. But he wouldn't back down.

  'We can't just crawl under the bed and stay there till this is over,' he said to her. 'We've made a lot of mistakes today, and we've paid a hell of a price. But we'll learn. And we've got to get Lee and Robyn back. You want them back, don't you?'

  That was the only argument that seemed to work, a little. While she was thinking about it, Kevin got her into the Ford. Then he and Fi hopped in either side of her; we said quick goodbyes and mounted our bikes, for the ride to Wirrawee.

  I can't pretend I was keen to go. But I knew we were the right ones to do it. And I wanted to spend more time with this new Homer, this interesting and clever boy whom I'd known but not known for so many years. Since our trip to Hell I'd been getting quite interested in Lee, but a few hours away from him, and in Homer's company instead, were making a difference.

  I remember going to the meatworks once with Dad for some reason, and while he talked business with the manager I watched the animals being driven up the ramp to the killing floor. What I'd never forgotten was the sight of two steers half way up the ramp, just a couple of minutes away from death, but one still trying to mount the other. I know it's a crude comparison, but that's a bit the way we were. 'In the midst of death we are in life.' We were in the middle of a desperate struggle to stay alive, but here was I, still thinking about boys and love.

  After we'd been riding silently for a few minutes Homer came up beside me to ride two abreast. 'Hold my hand Ellie,' he said. 'Can you ride one-handed?'

  'Sure.'

  We went like that for a k or two, nearly colliding half a dozen times, then had to let go so we could make more speed. But we talked a bit, not about bombs and death and destruction, but about stupid little things. Then we played Categories, to pass the time.

  'Name four countries starting with B, by the time we get to the turn-off.'

  'Oh help. Brazil, Belgium. Britain, I suppose. Um. Bali? Oh! Bolivia! OK, your turn, five green vegetables, before we pass that telegraph pole.'

  'Cabbage, broccoli, spinach. Slow down. Oh, peas and beans of course. Now, five breeds of dog, by the signpost.'

  'Easy. Corgis, Labradors, German shepherds, border collies, heelers. Right, here's a Greek one. Name three types of olives.'

  'Olives! I wouldn't know one type!'

  'Well there are three. You can get green ones, you can get black ones, or you can get stuffed.' He laughed so much he nearly ran off the road.

  At the five k sign we started getting serious again, keeping to the edge, staying quiet, Homer riding two hundred metres behind me. I like taking charge—that's no secret—and I think Homer had had enough for a while. Approaching each curve I'd get off and walk to it, then wave Homer up if the road was clear. We passed the 'Welcome' sign, then the old church, and were into what Homer called the suburbs of Wirrawee. As the population of Wirrawee would barely fill a block of flats in the city, the idea of suburbs was another Homer joke. The closer we got to Robyn's, the more tense I became. I was so worried about her and Lee, had been missing them so much, was so scared at the prospect of any more confrontations with soldiers. So much had happened during the day that there'd hardly been time to think of Robyn and Lee, except to say to myself the trite and obvious things, 'I wonder where they are. I hope they're there tonight. I hope they're OK.'

  They were true thoughts though, for all that they were trite and obvious.

  The last k to Robyn's we moved very very carefully, walking the bikes and ready to jump at anything, the movement of a branch in the breeze, the clatter of a falling strip of bark from a gum, the cry of a night bird. We got to the front gate and looked up the drive. The house was silent and dark.

  'I can't remember,' Homer whispered. 'Did we say we'd meet at the house or on the hill at the back?'

  'On the hill, I think.'

  'I think so too. Let's check there first.'

  We left the bikes hidden behind a berry bush near the front gate, and detoured around the house, through the long grass. I was still in front, moving as quietly as I could, except for a couple of surprises—like bumping into a wheelbarrow and falling painfully over a tall sprinkler. After the ride-on mower at Mrs Alexander's that had got Corrie I began to wonder if anyone ever put anything away. But I couldn't see any hope of converting the wheelbarrow or the sprinkler into weapons. Maybe we could turn the sprinkler on and wet the enemy? I giggled at the idea, and got a startled look from Homer.

  'Enjoying this are you?' he whispered.

  I shook my head, but truth to tell I was feeling more confident and relaxed. I always prefer action; I'm happier when I'm doing things. I've always found TV boring for instance; I prefer stock work or cooking, or even fencing.

  At the top of the hill nothing had changed. The view over Wirrawee was the same, the lights were still on at the Showground, and in a few other places. One of those places, as Homer pointed out, was the Hospital. It looked like they had it functioning. But there was no sign of Robyn or Lee. We waited about twenty minutes; then, as we were both yawning and getting cold, we decided to try Plan B, the house.

  We stood, and started down the hill. We were fifty metres from the house when Homer grabbed my arm. 'There's someone in there,' he said.

  'How do you know?'

  'I saw a movement in one of the windows.'

  We kept watching for quite a time, but saw nothing.

  'Could have been a cat?' I suggested.

  'Could have been a platypus but I don't think so.'

  I began to inch forward, not for any particular reason, just because I felt we couldn't stand there forever. Homer followed. I didn't stop till I was almost at the back door, so close I could have reached out and touched it. I still wasn't sure why we were doing this. My biggest fear was that we were about to be ambushed. But there was a chance Robyn and Lee were in the house, and we could hardly walk away while there was that possibility. I wanted to open the door, but couldn't figure out how to do it without making a sound. I tried to recall some scenes in movies where the heroes had been in this situation, but couldn't think of any. In the movies they always seemed to kick the door down and burst through with guns drawn. There were at least two reasons we couldn't do that. One, it was noisy; two, we didn't have guns.

  I sidled closer to the door and stood in an awkward position,
pressed backwards against the wall and trying to open the door with my left hand. I couldn't get enough leverage however, so instead turned and crouched, reaching up with my right hand to grip the knob. It turned silently and smoothly but my nerve failed me for a moment and I paused, holding the knob in that cocked position. Then I pulled it towards me, a little too hard, because I had half expected it to be locked. It came about thirty centimetres, with the screech of a tortured soul. Homer was behind me, so I could no longer see him, but I heard, and could feel, his breath hang in the air and his body rise a little. How I wished for an oilcan. I waited, then decided there was no point in waiting, so pulled the door open another metre. It rasped every centimetre of the way. I was feeling sick but I stood and took three slow careful steps into the darkness. I waited there, hoping my eyes would adjust and I'd be able to make some sense of the dull shapes I could see in front of me. There was a movement of air behind me as Homer came in too: at least, I hoped it was Homer. At the thought that it might be anyone else I felt such a violent moment of panic that I had to give myself a serious talk about self-control. But my nerves sent me forward another couple of steps, till my knee bumped into some kind of soft chair. At that moment I heard a scrape from the next room, as though someone had pushed back a wooden chair on a wooden floor. I tried desperately to think what was in the next room and what it looked like, but my mind was too tired for that kind of work. So instead I tried to tell myself that it hadn't been the scrape of a chair, that no one was there, that I was imagining things. But then came the dreadful confirmation, the sound of a creaking board and the soft tread of a foot.

  I instinctively went for the floor, quietly slipping down to the right, then wriggling around the soft chair that I'd just been touching. Behind me I felt Homer doing the same. I lay on the carpet. It smelt like straw, clean dry straw. I could hear Homer shuffling around, sounding like an old dog trying to get comfortable. I was shocked at how much noise he was making. Didn't he realise? But in front of me came another noise: the unmistakable sound of a bolt being drawn back in a breech, then slid forward to cock the rifle.

  'Robyn!' I screamed.

  Afterwards Homer said I was mad. And even when I explained, he said it wasn't possible I could have worked all that out in a split second. But I could and I did. I knew that the soldiers who'd chased us had modern automatic weapons. And the weapon I'd heard being cocked was just a typical single-shot rifle. Also, I remembered that Mr Mathers had gone hunting with Dad quite often, and he did have his own rifle, a .243. So I knew it had to be Robyn or Lee, and I thought I'd better say something before the bullets started flying.

  Later I realised it could have been someone else entirely, a looter, deserter or squatter, or someone on the run from the soldiers. Luckily it wasn't, but I don't know what I would have done if I'd thought of that at the time.

  'Ellie,' Robyn said, and fainted. She'd always been a bit prone to fainting. I remember when the School Medical Service came around and in Home Room Mr Kassar had announced the girls would be having rubella injections. As soon as he'd mentioned the word injections, Robyn had been on the floor. And in Geography, while we were watching a film on face carving in the Solomon Islands, we'd lost her again that time.

  Homer had a torch and we got some water from the bathroom and splashed it in her face till she came around. We seemed to be giving a few facewashes that day. I was interested to see that the town water supply was still working. There was no electricity at Robyn's, even though we'd seen the power on in other parts of Wirrawee.

  I was still pretty calm through all this but one of our worst moments was about to come. When Robyn sat up, the first thing I asked her was 'Where's Lee?'

  'He's been shot,' she said, and I felt as though I'd been shot and everything in the world had died.

  Homer gave a terrible deep groan; in the torchlight I saw his face distort, and he suddenly looked old and awful. He grabbed Robyn; at first I thought it was to get more information from her, but I think it was just that he needed to hold on to someone. He was desperate.

  'He's not dead,' Robyn said. 'It's a clean wound, but it was quite big. In the calf.'

  Robyn looked ghastly too; the torchlight didn't help, but her face was more like a skull than a face, high cheekbones and gaunt cheeks and sunken eyes. And we all smelt so bad. It seemed a long time since our swim in the river, and we'd sweated a lot in the meantime.

  'How do we find him?' Homer asked urgently. 'Is he free? Where is he?'

  'Take it easy,' Robyn said. 'He's in the restaurant. But it's too early to go back there. Barker Street's like rush hour in the city. I took the worst risks to get here.'

  She told us what had happened. They'd had trouble at every street corner, nearly running into a patrol, having to hide from a truck, hearing footsteps behind them. Lee's parents' restaurant was in the middle of the shopping centre, and their house was above the restaurant. As Homer and Fi had found, Barker Street, the main shopping drag, was a mess. Robyn and Lee had come in from the opposite end to Homer and Fiona, but their problems were the same. They'd taken an hour to travel one block, because there were two groups of soldiers looting; one group in the chemists and one in Ernie's Milk Bar.

  As they waited, hiding in the staircase of City and Country Insurance, they'd heard a noise at the top of the stairs. They'd turned around and found themselves looking at Mr Clement, the dentist, crouching there furtively, peering down at them.

  Lee and Robyn had been wildly excited to see him, just as Homer and I were to hear about it. But he hadn't been so excited to see them. It turned out that he'd been there the whole time, watching them without saying anything. It was only when he got a cramp that he made a noise. When they asked why, he just said something about 'least said, soonest mended'.

  He did give them some valuable information, however grudgingly and impatiently. He said everyone who'd been caught was held at the Showground. He said that there were two types of soldiers: professionals and the ones who were just there to make up the numbers. Conscripts probably. The professionals were super efficient but the conscripts were badly trained and poorly equipped, and some of them were really vicious. Oddly enough, it was the professionals who treated people better.

  He said that the soldiers hadn't got the numbers to search the town thoroughly, house by house. Their policy was to preserve their own lives at any cost. If they suspected danger in a house they'd set up a rocket launcher and destroy the house, rather than go in to a possible ambush. He said he thought there were a few dozen people like himself hiding out, but after they'd seen what happened to people who, in his words, 'tried to be heroes', they were all keeping well out of sight. Robyn got the impression that Mr Clement had his family hidden somewhere close by but he wouldn't answer any personal questions, so they gave up asking. Then a patrol went past the building, and Mr Clement got really agitated and told them to go.

  They crept along the street, but there was little cover and not enough darkness, as the lights were on in several shops. They were dodging towards the door of the newsagency when shots started pouring down the street. Robyn said they sounded so loud it was like they were from ten metres behind, but in reality they didn't know who was firing or where the shots were coming from. But Robyn and Lee were definitely the targets.

  'We were two steps from the glassed-in bit that takes you to the door of the newsagents,' Robyn explained. 'That was the only thing that saved us. It was like we already had the momentum up to go those two steps. Even if we'd been hit by a dozen bullets we'd still have gone the two steps.'

  They got into that little bit of cover and went straight on, through the smashed door of the newsagency itself. Robyn took the lead, not realising that Lee had been shot. The newsagency was dark but there was enough light from the street for them to see their way. The trouble was there was enough light to make them good targets, too.

  Both of them knew of course that the newsagency goes right through to the carpark and Glover Street. Their idea
was to get out the back and then go in whatever direction seemed better at the time. But when Robyn was nearly at the back door she realised two things: that the door was locked, and that Lee was a long way behind her. 'I thought he'd stopped to look at the pornos,' she said. But when she turned around she could see by the paleness of his face that he was hurt. He was limping along, holding his side with one hand, staring at her but biting his lip, determined not to cry out. She hoped he'd just pulled a muscle but she said 'Were you hit?' and he nodded.

  Robyn skipped over the next bit pretty quickly but it's one of the reasons for writing all this down, because I want people to know about stuff like this, how brave Robyn was that night. I don't want medals for her, and neither would she—well I don't know, I haven't asked her, she'd probably love it—but I think she was a bloody hero. She picked up the photocopier that sits on a stand near the lottery desk and chucked the whole thing through the door. Then she ran to Lee, heaved him onto her back, across her shoulders, and carried him through the shattered door, kicking out bits of glass as she went. Now I know Robyn's fit, and strong, but she's not that strong. Don't ask me to explain it. I reckon it's like those stories of mothers lifting cars to get trapped babies out from underneath, then you ask them the next day to do it again and they can't even move it, because the urgency's gone. Robyn, being religious, has got a different explanation, and who knows? I'm not stupid enough to say she's wrong.

  Well, carrying Lee, she staggered along the five buildings to get to the restaurant. The old door at the back, facing the carpark, had been broken open, so she got in there OK. She dropped Lee onto the loading dock and pulled up the roller door and dragged him into the darkness. Then she raced out to the front to have a look into Barker Street. There were three soldiers looking into the newsagency. After a couple of minutes two more came out and joined the other three, then the five of them came walking past the restaurant, lighting cigarettes and talking and laughing. They seemed to just walk off into the distance without showing much interest, so she figured there wouldn't be any more problems from them for a while.