Forager (5 page)

Looking to the Japanese car in front of us, I was surprised to see the girl turn and glance at us – well, not at us but at me. Her brown eyes locked with mine for an instant. An expression I could not decipher fled quickly across her round face before she turned away.

Suddenly a crystal-clear image flashed in my mind. An image of several pairs of slippers, shoes and high-heeled black boots, arranged neatly in rows across a polished wooden floor. I was hit by an overwhelming feeling that this exact situation, right down to its smallest detail, had occurred previously. I instantly rebelled against this – for I knew that was not impossible. As I tried to wade through the implications of what I had just experienced, a sharp metallic taste filled my mouth, followed immediately by a sensation of falling from a great height.

I grabbed the truck's dashboard to steady myself, but almost as soon as it began, the sensation ceased. Intense pain exploded through my stomach, and then vanished. As if that wasn't enough, the unnerving episode concluded with every nerve ending in my body spiking with adrenaline. It felt like thousands of ants had bitten me.

The entire occurrence, from image to adrenaline spike, had taken perhaps a few seconds, but the after effect was weird. I felt as if I’d woken from a very deep and exhausting sleep.

"You okay, Ethan?"

I looked at Michal, who was glancing at me as he drove.

"I...uh, I'm just tired, I guess," I replied. I mean, what else could I say – I had absolutely no idea what just happened. It defied all logic. The vision made no sense, for I had never seen that polished floor, shoes, boots or slippers. Was my mind reacting to the most stressful day of my life? Or, and I shuddered to consider this disturbing possibility, was it a premonition of some sort?

Whatever it was, I never, ever wanted to experience it again.

"Hey, check it out, that girl keeps glancing at us," said Leigh as our three-vehicle convoy reached the end of Victoria Street and turned right to head north up Dryburgh Street.

"Did you see her clothes? She looks like a doll!" Shorty exclaimed.

"And her hair? What's with the pink?" Leigh laughed.

"Hey, don't knock her, mate. I wish Newhome girls were permitted to dress like that," David said.

"Can you imagine the Custodians reaction? They'd go psycho," Leigh agreed.

"Hey! You reckon all the girls are like her where she comes from? What's the place called?" Shorty asked.

"Hamamachi," I replied.

"Right – 'cause if they are, next chance I get I'm going AWOL and heading straight there. And I ain't never coming back!" Shorty vowed.

"She's not looking at us," Michal said after a moment. "She’s looking at Jones."

That brought a chorus of ribbing and jokes from the three in the back seat. I looked at Michal and sighed, but truth be told, the corners of my mouth had turned up ever so slightly. My life would be rather dull without those three clowns to liven it up. The 'Dour Duo,' that's what they called Michal and me. I guess that summed us up pretty well. I hadn’t always been so glum, though.

I’m pretty sure I had a more positive outlook on life before that ceiling fell on my head just after I turned eighteen. I have no memory of the event, just a gaping hole in my mind that covers pretty much my whole eighteenth year. My father told me the injury caused shocking epileptic seizures as well as chronic amnesia. All I remember is how I felt when I woke from the operation that healed me of those afflictions – disorientated, confused, and empty. It was like my life was only a shell of what it had been before.

I glanced at the 4WD in front of us again and concluded that Michal was right. Nanako was only glancing at me. Moreover, on occasion it was more like a long stare, causing me no small amount of discomfort.

I had seen very few girls in my life. Just my sisters and glimpses of those attending the Solidarity Festivals held several of times a year.

Thanks to the male-dominant, oppressive society the Founders created when they established our town a hundred years ago, girls were not permitted to attend school. Rather, they stayed home to learn practical skills from their mothers such as needlework, food preparation, and house cleaning. For that reason, I didn't know how to respond to Nanako's attention, and I was the one who broke eye contact.

Why was she looking at me anyway? Was it because I saved her life? Perhaps she thought I was an accomplished soldier? If that was the case, she would soon learn the truth – I was nothing but a school dropout and lowly forager.

As Dryburgh Street merged into Macauley Road, I ran my fingers along the scars on the left side of my head. My hair covered them now, but when I got my next buzz-cut, they would be visible for the whole world to see.

When we reached the town’s eastern gates, some rather astonished Custodians spoke at length with Sergeant King before giving the vehicles a once over. Satisfied, they opened the gates and let us through.

King led us through streets lined with ominous row after row of grey ten-story blocks of flats; past the commercial district with its market stalls, green grocers, hardware and department stores and clothing shops. These were frequented by everyone except the North Enders.

We drove past a massive billboard on the side of the road. Below the slogan
‘Play Your Role in Creating a Better Tomorrow’
was a picture depicting a group of contented men – factory workers, farmers, teachers and students. Beside them, equally contented women and girls were portrayed in the home, cooking, sewing, and cleaning.

I wondered what our Japanese guests thought of the billboard, and of the others like it we drove past on our way through the town. That the Japanese sent a female translator along with Councillor Okada could indicate that their society is not as male-dominated as ours.

After that we passed the greenhouse enclosed market gardens and finally reached the imposing walls of North End. This was where our world ended and the VIPs’ world began – a world that could have been mine had I chosen to live in it. However, as far as I was concerned, a well-to-do prison was still a prison.

North End occupied the land north of what had once been the Flemington Racecourse. The austere, grey-concrete walled factories of the industrial sector had been built over the top of the racecourse itself.

Our convoy stopped before North End's gates.  King got out to talk to the officer in charge and then sauntered over to our truck. "Hop out boys, we'll take it from here."

"What do we do now?" I asked King as we clambered out of the truck, seething with anger at the impertinence of the stuck-up North Enders. They wouldn't even let us drive our own truck in there!

King rewarded us with a forced smile. "You get the rest of the day off."

"Our pay better not get docked because of this," I grumbled louder than I should have.

The sergeant looked me in the eye and raised his eyebrows. "Is that right?"

I knew I should have backed down, but I was sick and tired of kowtowing to the Custodians. "You've got our truck, Sir. We can't go back to work."

"Tell you what, since you're so concerned about it, I'll give your boss a call later and fill him in."

I did not know if he meant it or not, but I gave him the benefit of the doubt. "Thank you, Sergeant."

"Right then. You lot are dismissed. But don't worry, I'll have your truck back to the yard by day's end, so it's work as usual tomorrow. Now, Jones, a word with you," King said.

My teammates backed off, leaving me standing alone with King. I tried to meet his gaze, but instantly regretted it. Now I was gonna pay for today's list of misdemeanours.

"Not only did your team have weapons – which by itself can get you a three year prison sentence – but you disobeyed my direct orders today and put my squad and your team at risk," King growled in my face. "Give me one reason not to lock you up right now, Jones."

I had gotten away with blue murder today and I knew it, but one wrong word now could put me away for years. "My sincerest apologies, Sergeant, but had we left when you said, Councillor Okada and his translator would have been killed. We wouldn’t have known about Hamamachi's attempt to trade with us. As soon as I saw their big black cars, I knew something important was going down."

"The results never justify the means, Jones."

"We did save your life, Sir," I added somewhat hesitantly.

"Which was only placed in jeopardy by your disobedience and recklessness!"

"As I said, I'm sorry, Sir."

"Just make sure you never pull a stunt like that again, you hear me?"

"I won't, Sir."

"You'd better not. Now get out of my sight." Having said his piece, King strode away to join his fellow Custodians.

I watched him go, mystified by his inexplicable behaviour. A Custodian would never let off someone who had committed such blatant misdemeanours with nothing more than a verbal dressing down.

I rejoined my work mates and Michal grabbed my arm and pulled me to him. "What's wrong with you today, Ethan? You wanna get locked up or something? Why King hasn't already done so, I don't understand."

"I just couldn't let the Skel kill those Japanese," I argued.

"I'm not talking about that," Michal said. "I'm talking about you giving lip to King."

"Hey, don't cramp his style." Leigh laughed as he slapped me on the back. "He gave that Custodian what's what, he did."

"Be more careful, okay?" Michal said as he shoved Leigh back with a hand on his face.

I nodded, and the five of us turned to make our way home. As we walked away, I looked back one last time to see if the Japanese girl would glance at me again. To my surprise, she was watching me, concern etched on her face. I wondered if I should wave or something, since I'd probably never see her again. Not knowing what to do, I returned her stare until she was out of sight.

"Hey, let's head back to my pad and watch the box and play cards," Leigh suggested. Like me, he had worked long enough to be able to rent a two-room flat. No one owned property in Newhome – it was all rented from the town council.

The others all replied in the affirmative to Leigh's invitation, but having the rest of the day off afforded me an opportunity to do something I was rarely able to do – and that was to see my twelve-year-old sister during the daytime.

* * *

An hour later, I was behind the block of flats in which my parents lived. I had a small bag on my back. I checked carefully for Custodian patrols. If they caught me scaling up the back of the building and creeping into a woman's bedroom, I would be in a world of trouble. No male was ever permitted in a woman's bedroom, except her husband, and then only on nights when he…well, where my parents were concerned, that wasn’t a thought I was gonna entertain.

Seeing no Custodians, I began the ascent to my family's third-floor flat. Using balcony floors and railings, I could climb quite quickly, hauling myself up from one floor to the next. Of course, if anyone looked out their back window at that moment they would see me. The same applied to the inhabitants in the next block of flats, since the buildings were built close to one another.

I reached the third story and clambered over the railing covered with doonas – my mother always hung them out to air them. I threaded my way through the clothes horses covered with drying garments.

I slipped into the women's bedroom, since the door was never locked, and quietly closed it behind me. Waiting for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, I could hear Mother and Elder Sister moving about in the kitchen, and the shallow breaths of Younger Sister, who was in bed. Her name was Meredith, but as a sign of endearment, family members did not use each other’s names, but their kinship classifications. The Founders gave us this system, saying it would draw families closer together and prevent division. I never thought twice about it until I started reading books when foraging. Now I realise it may be a custom peculiar to our town.

"Got the day off, have you?" Younger Sister asked.

My eyes had adjusted enough to see her now. I went and sat on the edge of her bed, which was the one closest to the windows. Elder Sister's bed was next to hers, and Mother's beside the door. With two tallboy chests of drawers against the wall opposite the beds, there really was little space left in the room.

A plate with a couple of golden crumpets sat virtually untouched on her bedside table – the remains of her breakfast. "Yep, our truck's in for repairs, and we can't do much without it." Which was close enough to the truth.

"You'll have to put it in for repairs more often." She smiled.

"Sounds like a plan." I laughed as I leaned forward to examine the sores at the corners of her mouth. They were definitely worse than the last time I saw her. She was paler as well. I opened the backpack and handed her a tube of antiseptic cream. "Rub this into your sores three times a day."

"Okay," she replied somewhat dubiously.

I dug into the backpack again and took out two plastic containers and some mandarins. "I got you some lunch." Younger Sister looked at the grilled chicken, tofu, bread, and fresh veggies, and shook her head. "Oh no, I can't eat it, Older Brother. You spend too much of your money buying me these lunches!"

"Yes you can, and no I don't." I smiled. I opened the containers and laid them out for her, handing her the plastic fork.

"But chicken is so expensive."

As all of our food was grown in Newhome, we rarely had meat. The only 'animals' raised here for food were chicken – raised by the thousands in the poultry shed. All the same, it was expensive.

Younger Sister stabbed a piece of diced chicken breast, nibbled at it, and then put it back.

"What's wrong? Isn't it nice?" I asked, frustration and helplessness adding to the fear that rose up within me every time she refused to eat.

"It's nice, but I'm just not hungry," she said softly, refusing to meet my gaze.

I looked at the nutritious food I had laid before her and despaired. "Younger Sister, for your health – please eat."

She took a small bite of carrot and returned the rest to the container. Next was a bite of bread, after which she lay back against the bedhead.

"You can't stop there, you've barely touched it." I tried but failed to knock the frantic edge off my voice.

"I'll have some later," she said, which probably meant she wouldn’t eat it at all. And that created a problem. If Mother found out I was bringing her food she would not be impressed. On the other hand, she had never eaten much of the food I brought her, and Mother had not mentioned it yet.

I took her hand in mine and brushed my thumb over her upward curving nails. I decided to talk about something other than her refusal to eat, which was driving me insane. "You been reading those books and magazines I got you?" Sometimes I found contraband books when I foraged for metals, and would smuggle them to her to read.