by John Marsden
Chapter Seventeen
Robyn and Kevin and Corrie and Chris were beaming. It wasn't hard to beam back. It was such a relief, such a joy, to see them again. I hugged them desperately, only then aware how frightened I'd been for them. But for once everything seemed to have gone well. It was wonderful.
They hadn't told Homer and Fi much, because they were tired, and because they didn't want to repeat themselves when they reached Lee and me. All they'd said was that they hadn't seen any of our families, but they'd been told they were safe and at the Showground. When I heard this, it was such a relief that I sat down quickly on the ground, as though I'd had the breath knocked out of me. Lee leant against a tree with his hands over his face. I don't think anything else mattered to us much. We did have lots of questions, but we could see how exhausted everyone was, so we were content to let them have their breakfasts before they told us any more. And with a good breakfast in them—even a few fresh eggs, cooked quickly and dangerously on a small fire, which we put out just as quickly—they settled down, full of food and adrenalin, to tell us the lot. Robyn did most of the talking. She'd already been their unofficial leader when they left, and it was interesting to see how much she was running the show now. Lee and I sat on a log holding hands, Fi sat against Homer in the V formed by his open legs, and Kevin lay on the ground with his head in Corrie's lap. It was like Perfect Partners, and although I still wondered if I might have liked to swap places with Fi, I was happy enough. It was just too bad that there was no chance of Chris and Robyn getting off together, then we really could have had Perfect Partners.
Chris had brought back a few packets of smokes and two bottles of port that he'd 'souvenired', as he called it. He sat on the log beside me, until he lit up and I politely asked him to move. I couldn't help wondering how far we could go with this 'souveniring' idea. It made me reflect on what I'd been thinking about the night before. If we were going to ignore the laws of the land, we had to work out our own standards instead. I had no problem with all the laws we'd broken already—so far we could have been charged with stealing, driving without a licence, wilful damage, assault, manslaughter, or murder maybe, going through a stop sign, driving without lights, breaking and entering, and I don't know how many other things. It seemed like we'd be committing under-age drinking soon too, not for the first time in my life, I have to admit. That didn't bother me either—I'd always thought the law on that was typical of the stupidity of most laws. I mean, the idea that at seventeen years, eleven months and twenty-nine days you were too immature to touch alcohol but a day later you could get wasted on a couple of slabs wasn't exactly bright. But I still didn't like the idea of Chris picking up grog and cigarettes whenever and wherever he felt like it. I suppose it was because they weren't as essential as the other things we'd knocked off. Admittedly I'd taken some chocolate from the Grubers', which wasn't much different, except that at Outward Bound they'd given us chocolate for energy, so there was at least something good you could say about chocolate. There wasn't an awful lot you could say for port or nicotine.
I wondered what would happen if Chris brought anything stronger into Hell, or if he tried to grow dope or something down here. But meanwhile Robyn was starting on the big speech, so I stopped thinking about morality and started concentrating on her.
'OK boys and girls,' she began. 'Everyone ready for story time? We've had a pretty interesting couple of days. Although,' she added, looking at Lee and me, and Homer and Fi, 'you guys seem to have had an interesting couple of days yourselves. It mightn't be safe to leave you here alone again.'
'OK Mum, get on with it,' Homer said.
'All right, but I'm watching you, remember. Well. Where do I start? The first thing, as we've said already, is that we haven't seen any of our families, but we've heard about them. The people we talked to swear they're all OK. In fact everyone in the Showground is meant to be in good nick. What we said jokingly a while back is quite true: they have got plenty of food. They've eaten the scones, the decorated cakes, the sponges, the home-made bread, the matched eggs, the novelty cakes ... Have I left anything out?'
'The fruit cakes,' said Corrie, who was an expert on these subjects. 'The jams, preserves and pickles. The Best Assorted Biscuits.'
'OK, OK.' About three people spoke at once.
'And,' said Robyn, 'they're eating their way through the livestock. It's a shame really, because it's some of the best stock in the district. So they should be getting some top quality tucker. They bake bread in the CWA tearooms every morning—there's a couple of stoves in there. For a while they were running short of greens, once they'd eaten the Young Farmers' display, which I might add I helped set up, the day before we went on our hike.'
'You're not a Young Farmer,' I said.
'No, but Adam is,' she said, looking faintly embarrassed.
When our immature wolf whistles and animal noises had died down, she continued, undaunted.
'But there's been a few developments,' she said. 'They've now got work parties going out of the Showground each day. They go in groups of eight or ten, with three or four guards. They do jobs like cleaning the streets, burying people, getting food—including the greens—and helping in the Hospital.'
'So the Hospital is running? We thought it was.'
'Yes. Ellie's been keeping it busy.'
As soon as she said that, she looked like she wished she hadn't.
'What? Did you hear something?'
She shook her head. 'No, no, nothing.'
'Oh come on, don't do that Robyn. What did you hear?'
'It's nothing Ellie. There were some casualties. You know that.'
'So what did you hear?'
Robyn looked uncomfortable. I knew I'd be sorry but I'd gone too far to stop. 'Robyn! Stop treating me like a kid! Just tell me!'
She grimaced but told me. 'Those three soldiers hit by the ride-on mower, two of them died, they think. And two of the people we ran over.'
'Oh,' I said. She'd said it flatly and calmly, but the shock was still terrible. Sweat broke out on my face and I felt quite giddy. Lee gripped my hand hard, but I hardly felt it. Corrie came and sat on my other side, where Chris had been, and held me.
After a minute Chris said, 'It's different from the movies, isn't it?'
'Yes,' I said. 'I'm OK. Please, just go on Robyn.'
'Are you sure?'
I'm sure.
'Well, the Hospital's had a few other casualties. The first day or two there was a lot of fighting, and a lot of people got hurt or killed. Soldiers and civilians. Not at the Showground—the surprise was so complete that they took the whole place in ten minutes—but in town and around the district, with people who hadn't gone to the Show. And it's still going on—there's a few groups of guerillas, just ordinary people like us I guess, who are hanging around and attacking patrols when they get a chance. But the town itself is quiet. They seem to have flushed everyone out, and they're confident that they've got it under control.'
'Are they treating people well?'
'Mostly. For example, the people who were in hospital the day of the invasion have been kept there, and looked after. The people we've talked to say the soldiers are anxious to keep their noses clean. They know that sooner or later the United Nations and the Red Cross'll be wandering around, and they don't want to attract a lot of heat from them. They keep talking about a "clean" invasion. They figure that if there's no talk of concentration camps and torture and rape and stuff, there's less chance of countries like America getting involved.'
'That's pretty smart,' Homer said.
'Yes. But for all that, there's been about forty deaths just around Wirrawee alone. Mr Althaus, for one. The whole Francis family. Mr Underhill. Mrs Nasser. John Leung. And some people have been bashed for not obeying orders.'
There was a shocked silence. Mr Underhill was the only one of those I knew well. He was the jeweller in town. He was such a mild man that I couldn't imagine how he might have aggravated the soldiers. Perhaps he'd trie
d to stop them looting his store.
'So who have you been talking to?' Lee asked at last.
'Oh yes, I was getting to that. I'm telling this all out of order. OK, so this is what happened. We cruised into town the first night, no problems. We got to my music teacher's house about 1.30 am. The key was where she always left it. It is a good place to hide out, like I said, because there's so many doors and windows you can get out of. There's a good escape route out of an upstairs window, for example, where you can go across the roof, onto a big branch, and be next door in a couple of seconds. Also, the sentry has a great view of the street and the front drive, and there's no way anyone could get over the back fence without a tank. So that was cool. The first thing we did after we sussed out the house was to get some gear together and go and set up the fake camp under the Masonic Hall. That was quite fun—we put in a few magazines and photos and teddy bears to make it look authentic. Then Kevin took the first sentry duty and the rest of us went to bed.
'At about eleven in the morning I was on sentry duty and suddenly I saw some people in the street. There was a soldier and two of our people. One of them was Mr Keogh, who used to work at the Post Office.'
'You mean the old guy with no hair?'
'Yes. He retired last year I think. Well, I woke the others fast, as you can imagine, and we watched them working their way along the street. There were three soldiers altogether, and six people from town. They had a ute and a truck, and it seemed like they were clearing stuff out of each house. Two of them would go into a house while the soldiers lounged around outside. The people spent about ten minutes in each house, then they'd come out with green garbage bags full of stuff. They'd chuck some bags straight into the truck, but other bags were checked by the soldiers and put in the ute.
'So what we did was, when they got close to us we hid in different parts of the house and waited for them. I was in the kitchen, in a broom cupboard. I'd been there about twenty minutes when Mr Keogh came in. He opened the fridge door and starting clearing out all this smelly, foul stuff. It was the job we hadn't been able to bring ourselves to do on an empty stomach when we'd got there at 1.30.
'"Mr Keogh!" I whispered. "This is Robyn Mathers." You know, he didn't even blink. I thought, this guy is cool. Then I remembered that he's quite deaf. He hadn't even heard me. So I opened the door of the broom cupboard and snuck up behind him and tapped his shoulder. Well! I know Chris said a few minutes ago that war's not like the movies, but this sure was. He jumped like he'd touched a live wire in the fridge. I had to hold him down. I thought "Help, I hope he doesn't have a heart attack". But he calmed down. We talked pretty fast then. He had to keep working while we talked—he said if he took too long the soldiers would get suspicious and come in. He said his job was to make the houses habitable again, by cleaning out mouldy food, and dead pets, and to pick up valuables, like jewellery. He told me about our families, and all that other stuff. He said the work parties would be going out to the country too, starting any day now, to look after the stock and get the farms going again. He said they're going to colonise the whole country with their own people, and all the farms will be split up between them, and we'll just be allowed to do menial jobs, like cleaning lavatories I suppose. Then he had to go, but he told me they were doing West Street after Barrabool Avenue, and if I got into a house there we could talk some more. And off he went.
'Well, when the house was empty again we had a quick conference. Kevin had talked to a lady called Mrs Lee, who'd come into the bedroom where he was hiding, and he'd got more information from her. So we agreed to go to West Street and try again. We got there fairly easily, by going through people's gardens, and we tried a few different houses. The first two were locked still but the third one was open, so we spread ourselves around it. I got under the bed in the main bedroom. Chris kept watch and told us when they were getting close, which wasn't for nearly two hours. It was pretty boring. If you want to know how many cross-wires the people at 28 West Street have got on the underside of their bed, I can tell you. But finally someone came in. It was a lady I didn't know, but she had a green bag and she went to the dressing table and started scooping stuff out. I whispered "Excuse me, my name's Robyn Mathers", and without looking round she whispered "Oh good, Mr Keogh told me to watch out for you young ones". We talked for a few minutes, with me still under the bed, but sticking my head out. She said she hated having to do this work, but the soldiers occasionally checked a house after they came out, and they got punished if they'd left anything valuable behind. "Sometimes I'll hide something in the room if it looks like a family heirloom," she said, "but I don't know if it'll make any difference in the long run." She also told me that they were picking the least dangerous people for the work parties—old people and kids mainly—and they knew that if they tried to escape or do anything wrong, their families back at the Showgrounds would be punished. "So I don't want to talk to you for long dearie," she said. She was a nice old duck. The other thing she told me was that the highway from Cobbler's Bay is the key to everything. That's why they hit this district so hard and so early. They bring their supplies in to Cobbler's by ship and send it down the highway by truck.'
'Just like I said,' I interjected. I'd never thought of myself as a military genius, but I was pleased to find I'd got this right.
Robyn went on. 'Anyway there we were, chatting away like old mates. She even told me how she used to work as a cleaner at the chemist, part-time, and how many grandchildren she had, and their names. She seemed to have forgotten what she'd said about having a short conversation. Another couple of minutes and I think she would have taken me into the kitchen and made a cup of tea, but I suddenly realised there were these soft little footsteps coming along the hall. I pulled my head back in like a turtle, but I tell you, I moved quicker than any turtle. And the next thing, there were these boots right next to the bed. Black boots, but very dirty and scuffed. It was a soldier, and he'd come sneaking along the corridor to try to catch her out. I thought "What am I going to do?" I tried to remember all the martial arts stuff that I'd ever heard of, but all I could think of was to go for the groin.'
'That's all she thinks of with any guy,' Kevin said.
Robyn ignored him. 'I was so scared, because I didn't want to cause any trouble for this nice old lady. I didn't even know her name. Still don't. And I didn't want to get myself killed either. I'm funny like that. But I was so paralysed I couldn't move. I heard the guy say, very suspiciously, something like "You talking". I knew I was in trouble then. I rolled across the floor to the other side of the bed and crawled out from under the bedspread. I was in this little gap between the bed and the wall, about a metre wide I guess. I heard the old lady laugh nervously and say "To myself. In the mirror." It sounded weak to me and I guess it did to him too. All I had going for me was my hearing, and my guesses. I knew he was going to search the room and I guessed he'd start by lifting the bedspread and looking under the bed. Then he'd come round the base of the bed and either go to the built-in, or look in the little gap where I was lying. There were no other places in the room where anyone could hide. It was a bare room, not very nice at all. So I listened for the little swish of his lifting the bedspread, and sure enough the room was so quiet I heard it. In fact the room was so quiet I thought I could hear the old lady's heart beating. I knew I could hear my own heart beating. I could hardly believe that the soldier couldn't hear it Anyway, the trouble was I couldn't hear the second little swish that he should have made when he dropped the bedspread back down. I was in agony, wondering if he was still staring under the bed or if he was coming around to where I was lying. God, I was listening so hard I could feel my ears grow. I felt like I had two satellite dishes on the sides of my head.'
'You look like you do,' said Kevin, who never missed an opportunity.
'And I did hear something—the tiniest creak of what I thought was his boot, and it seemed to be coming round the base of the bed. I couldn't hear my heart any more—it had stopped. So I tho
ught "Well, I can't lie here and wait to be shot. I've got to take the risk." And so I rolled back under the bed. And sure enough, about a second later I saw his boots in the gap that I'd just left. The fronds on the edge of the bedspread were just moving slightly from where I'd hit them, and I had this terrible time, lying there wondering if he'd notice them, thinking that he must notice them. They seemed so obvious to me, so conspicuous. He seemed to stand there forever. I don't know what he was looking at—there wasn't much to see, just a picture of a long bridge across a ravine, in Switzerland or somewhere I think. Then the boots turned and I could hear him more distinctly, going over to the cupboards and opening them and searching through them. Then he said to the lady "Come on, next house", and out they went. I lay there for so long—I thought it might have been a trap—but at last Kevin came and got me and told me they'd gone. I'd had a pretty bad time though—well, I don't need to tell you guys what it was like.
'Corrie talked to someone too, in the kitchen, didn't you?' she said, looking at Corrie, who gave a little nod. 'That's when you were told about the casualties from our two fights with them?'
'Yes,' Corrie said. 'I think they caused a bit of a sensation. I talked to a funny little man who looked about fifty. I don't know his name either. He didn't want to talk to me much. He was just so scared that we'd be caught. But he told me there was a bit of guerilla activity going on. He was the one who had this theory of the "clean" invasion, too.'
'So,' said Robyn, 'that was the end of our secret chats with the work parties. We made our way back to our hideout and stayed there till dark.' She looked at Homer while she said the next bit. It was like they felt a bit guilty, but they were defiant too about the way they'd done things. 'Now,' she said, 'I know we had all these carefully worked out plans about Kev and Corrie spying on the Showground and so on, but it's different when you get there. The whole time we were in Wirrawee we didn't want to lose sight of each other.'
