Tomorrow When The War Began (24 page)

Chapter
Twenty-two

When we met Homer and Lee, up in a gully
behind the Fleets’ house, there was a babble of noise for about ten
minutes, with everyone trying to talk at once. Relief, excitement,
explanations, apologies.

‘Everybody shut up!’ Lee finally yelled, using
Homer’s tactic, and in the sudden silence said, ‘There, that’s
better. Now Fi, you go first.’ We told our stories, then the boys
told theirs. Feeling safer on their side of the river, they had
stayed to watch the explosion; the earthquake that we had only
heard and felt.

‘Oh Ellie,’ Homer said, ‘it was the greatest
thing I’ve ever seen.’ I began to fear that we’d turned him into a
pyromaniac too.

‘Yeah,’ said Lee. ‘It was a real blast.’

‘Tell us everything,’ I said. ‘Take your time.
We’ve got all day.’ The morning had begun and we were breakfasting
on cans from the Fleets’ pantry. I had baked beans and tuna. I was
feeling pretty good; I’d had a predawn swim in the dam and was glad
to have washed the last of the petrol from my skin. I was in the
mood to be treated gently, and was looking forward to snuggling
into Lee for most of the day. But in the meantime I was happy to
lie back and close my eyes and hear a bedtime story.

‘Well,’ Homer said. ‘It went so well at first.
We got to the stud with no hassles, although pushing those bikes
for the last few k’s was hard work.’ Homer had done it twice;
taking his bike to the hiding place, then going back for Lee’s. ‘As
you know,’ he went on, ‘our plan was for me to do the mustering and
get them out to the road nice and quietly. Then Lee was going to
hide on the road and jump out at them with the flash, while I used
the prod to stampede them.’

We’d only been able to find one prod and we’d
ruled out the aerosol can as too dangerous, but we’d found a
battery-operated flash attachment for a camera, and Homer was
confident that the quick, blinding flashes of light would do the
trick.

‘So there we were,’ Homer continued. ‘Nicely
set up, just lying back in the paddock, watching the stars and
dreaming of huge fresh T-bone steaks. We had a few chats to you, as
you know, and we were happy to wait for a convoy to roll through.
Then we hit our two big problems. One was that no convoy came. That
wouldn’t have been so bad maybe, if we could at least have called
you and told you we were going ahead anyway. Although there was
still the big danger that we’d suddenly find a convoy up our
backsides. But the other problem was that the bloody walkie-talkie
packed it in. We couldn’t believe it. We tried everything – in the
end Lee just about took it to bits – but it was as dead as the
dinosaurs.

‘Well, we were pretty desperate. We knew you’d
be sitting there, in a lot of danger, waiting for a signal that
wasn’t going to come. We got close to panic at that point, I guess.
We had two choices – to go ahead with the cattle and hope you’d be
able to react in time, or to call it off. But we couldn’t call it
off without telling you – that would have left you in an impossible
situation. That was a weakness in our planning – we relied too much
on the walkie-talkies. That’s one thing I’ve learnt – don’t put too
much trust in machines.’

‘So we only had one choice really. It was
getting so late we couldn’t wait any longer for a convoy. Lee went
out in the road to do his flashing, and I got the cattle
moving.’

‘How?’ Fi asked.

‘Eh?’

‘How? How do you get a big mob of cattle to do
what you want, in the middle of the night?’

I remembered she’d wanted an answer to this
question before. She was serious about becoming a rural.

‘Well,’ said Homer, looking a bit silly. ‘You
hiss.’

‘You what?’

‘You hiss. Old cattleman’s trick. Old Miss
Bamford taught me. They don’t like hissing, so you walk around
behind them making like a snake.’

I half expected to see Fi take out a notebook
and earnestly write it down. Having given away one of his
professional secrets, Homer went on.

‘Our big ambition was to hold them in the road
until the sentries were at the right end of the bridge, but it was
hopeless. The cattle were too restless and we were scared that a
convoy or a patrol would turn up. So we got the prod and the flash
and away we went.’

‘It was fun,’ Lee said reflectively. ‘Except
for the first few seconds, when I thought they were going to charge
me.’

‘But the guards were at the right end of the
bridge,’ I said. ‘They were in the perfect spot.’

‘Were they? Well, that’s the best bit of luck
we had in the whole business then. That was totally unplanned. We
just worked the cattle up to a frenzy, till they were outrunning
us, then we raced back and got the bikes. Next thing we saw was
when we stopped the bikes along the riverbank to have a look. And I
tell you what, I wished we’d brought the camera as well as the
flash. It was unbelievable. The last cattle were rumbling off the
bridge, and the soldiers were still hanging off the sides of it,
but they were firing at you Ellie, like it was the duck season.
Ellie, to the end of my days I’ll never understand how those
bullets didn’t hit you. The air must have been just full of them.
We were screaming: “Go Ellie, go, go!” You were still holding the
rope, that was the amazing thing. We could see the tanker sitting
patiently under the bridge, waiting to be blown up. Then you
disappeared into the bushes. Tell the truth, you seemed to float
into them, like an angel. I had this bizarre idea that you’d been
hit and you were dead and I was watching your spirit.’

I just laughed and didn’t say a word.

‘Then,’ Homer said, ‘a second later along came
this flame. I don’t think the soldiers could work it out. They just
stood there, pointing at it and calling to each other. They
couldn’t see the tanker, cos it was tucked very nicely in under the
bridge. But then they all suddenly decided that they were in
danger. They turned around and went belting off the bridge. They
were just in time. You’ll be glad to know,’ he said, looking at me,
‘that I don’t think any of them were hurt.’

I nodded a thank-you to him. It meant a lot to
me, but not everything. If I knowingly did things like blowing up
bridges, then the fact that by sheer good luck no one was hurt
didn’t let me off the hook. Once I’d made my decision to go with
the tanker I’d been ready to live with the consequences, whatever
they were.

‘There was a pause of another second,’ Homer
went on. ‘And then she blew. I tell you, I’ve never seen anything
like it. The bridge lifted about five metres at the tanker end. It
actually hung in the air for a few seconds, before it fell back.
But when it fell back everything seemed just slightly out of
alignment. Then suddenly there was a second explosion and bits flew
everywhere. This massive fireball went straight up, then there were
two more explosions, and all we could see was fire. There were spot
fires everywhere, as well as the main fire. The whole park seemed
to be burning, let alone the bridge. Like Lee said, it was a real
blast.’

‘Well, Wirrawee’s been wanting a new bridge
for a long time,’ Lee said. ‘Looks like they’ll have to get one
now.’

Homer’s bedtime story had been exciting, and
I’d enjoyed it, even though I was almost scared by the power of
what we’d done, and what we were able to do. The only thing Homer
had left out was the way he’d wept when he’d found us both safe. I
saw the sweetness of Homer then, that he’d had as a little guy, but
which some people probably thought he’d lost as a teenager.

We went off to some shady spots in among the
rocks. Lee had first sentry duty. I wanted to sit up with him, to
keep him company, but suddenly a wave of fatigue hit me, so
powerfully that I really did buckle at the knees. I crawled into a
cool gap between some boulders, and with a purloined pillow made
myself comfortable. I went into a sleep so deep that it was more
like unconsciousness. Lee told me later that he’d tried to get me
up to do a sentry turn, but he couldn’t wake me, so he did my shift
for me. I didn’t wake till 4 o’clock.

It was nearly dark before any of us showed
much life or energy. The only thing that got us going was a desire
to get home, to see the other four again. We decided it was safe to
use the bikes – we worked out a route that would both take us back
to my place, where we’d left the Landrover, and a leapfrog pattern
of travelling that should protect us from unwelcome patrols.

It’s funny, when I look back on that trip, I
wonder why I didn’t feel any premonition. We were all too tired I
suppose, and we felt that the worst was over and we’d done our job
and now we deserved a rest. You’re sort of brought up to believe
that that’s the way life should be.

So, at about ten o’clock we set off. We were
careful, we travelled slowly, we were as quiet as possible. It was
about midnight when we rode up my familiar driveway, bypassing the
house and going straight to the garage. The Landrover was hidden in
the bush, but I wanted some more tools from the shed. I switched
the bike off and put it on its stand then turned the corner into
the big machinery shed.

What I saw there was like one of those
Christmas tableaus at church, with Joseph and Mary and the
shepherds and stuff, standing in their positions, lifelike but
frozen. The tableau in our shed was lit by a dim torch, its
batteries starting to weaken. Kevin was sitting against an old
woolpress that was up against the wall. Crouched beside him was
Robyn, with one hand on his shoulder. Chris was standing on his
other side, looking down at Corrie. Corrie was lying across Kevin’s
lap. Her eyes were closed and her head was back and there was no
colour in her face. As I stood there Kevin and Chris and Robyn all
turned their faces towards me, but Corrie still didn’t open her
eyes. I couldn’t move. It was as though I too had joined the
tableau.

Then Kevin said, ‘She’s been shot Ellie’.

His voice broke the spell. I ran forward and
knelt beside Corrie. I heard the exclamations from Homer and the
others as they came into the shed, but I had eyes only for Corrie.
There was a little blood coming out of her mouth, tiny bright
bubbles of pink blood.

‘Where was she hit?’ I asked them.

‘In the back,’ Chris answered. He seemed
almost unnaturally calm. Robyn was sobbing soundlessly; Kevin was
shaking.

‘What are we going to do?’ Fi asked, coming
forward. I glanced up at her. Her huge eyes seemed to fill her face
with shock and horror.

‘We’ll have to take her into town,’ Homer
said. ‘We know the Hospital’s still functioning. We’ll have to
trust them to look after her. There’s no other choice.’

He was right. There wasn’t.

‘I’ll get the Landie,’ I said, standing
up.

‘No,’ Homer said swiftly. ‘The Merc’s still
here. It’s closer and it’ll give her a better ride.’

I ran to get it. I backed it into the shed and
jumped out to help lift Corrie in. But they didn’t need me for
that; they moved her carefully and slowly into the back seat. Then
we stuffed the footspace with hessian sacks, and jammed cushions
all around her, so she couldn’t roll or move. I choked on my sobs
as I watched her lying there, her chest slowly rising and falling
with each gurgling breath. This was my dear Corrie, my lifelong
friend. If Homer was my brother, Corrie was my sister. Her face
looked so calm, but I felt that there was a terrible war being
waged inside her body, a fight to the death. I straightened up and
turned to the others. Homer was speaking.

‘This is going to sound cruel,’ he said, ‘but
the only thing to do is to take her to the gate of the Hospital,
abandon the car with Corrie in it, ring the bell, and run like
hell. We’ve got to try to think rationally about it. Seven people
are better than six. If we lose not just Corrie but someone else
too, well, it weakens us badly. Not to mention the unpleasant
questions that person would have to face.’

Kevin stood. ‘No,’ he said. ‘No. I don’t give
a stuff what’s rational and what’s logical. Corrie’s my mate and
I’m not going to dump her and run. It has to be me or Ellie because
we’re the only drivers, and Ellie, if you don’t mind, I want to do
it.’

I didn’t say anything, didn’t move. I
couldn’t.

Kevin walked around to the driver’s seat and
got in. Fi leaned through the window and kissed him. He held her
arm briefly then let it go.

‘Good luck Kevin,’ Lee said.

‘Yes,’ Homer echoed, as the car started to
reverse. ‘Luck Kevin.’

Chris patted the bonnet of the car. Robyn was
crying too much to speak. I ran around the front of the car and
leaned in Kevin’s window, walking with the car as it continued to
back.

‘Kevin,’ I said. ‘Give my love to Corrie.’

‘Sure will,’ he answered.

‘And to you Kevin.’

‘Thanks Ellie.’

The car was out in the open and making its
turn. He put it in first and turned on the lights and drove away. I
could see the concentration in his face as he avoided the bumps in
the driveway. I knew Corrie was in good hands, and I understood the
lights too. I stood watching until the red tailspots had
disappeared in the distance.

‘Let’s go home,’ Homer said, ‘to Hell.’

Epilogue

It’s hard to work out where stories begin – I
seem to remember saying that at the start of this one. And it’s
hard to work out where they end, too. Our story hasn’t ended yet.
We’ve been holed up here for a week since Kevin drove away with
Corrie in the back seat. I’ve been writing frantically all that
time, but the others have been up on Tailor’s Stitch a lot,
checking around. There’s no sign of any patrols yet, so we think
Kevin’s been able to fake them out with some story about where he
and Corrie were hiding. That camping stuff was still under the
Masonic Hall, so maybe he remembered that and made good use of
it.

We don’t talk about the other possibilities,
that Kevin didn’t even get as far as the Hospital, for example. We
just don’t know what’s happened, but I pray my guts out a dozen
times a day for them. If I go an hour without thinking about them,
I feel guilty.

I’m glad I got this up to date. Guess I’ll
have to show it to the others now. Hope they like it. It’s a big
thing to leave a record, to be remembered. I keep thinking about
the Hermit’s tin box. Without that we’d have known nothing about
him, except the rumours, which really told us so little.

I don’t know how long we’ll be here. Maybe as
long as the Hermit. We’ve got the chooks, and we’ve planted
vegetables, and we still hope to get ferrets and nets. That’s where
Kevin and Corrie went that night, to Kevin’s uncle’s, to get some.
They didn’t even see the soldiers who shot them. Suddenly there
were bullets flying, and Corrie got hit. Kevin ran back, picked her
up, and carried her all the way to my place.

Loyalty, courage, goodness. I wonder if
they’re human inventions too, or if they just are.

I look around me. There’s Homer, making lists
and drawing plans. God knows what he’s got in mind for us. Robyn’s
reading the Bible. She prays quietly every night. I like Robyn and
I like how strong she is in her beliefs. Chris is writing too,
probably a poem. I don’t understand any of the ones he’s shown me
so far – I don’t know if he understands them himself – but I try to
make intelligent comments about them. Fi’s putting in some posts
for a bigger chookyard. Lee’s sitting next to me, trying to make a
rabbit trap. It doesn’t look as if it’d catch any rabbit with an IQ
of more than 10, but who knows? Maybe rabbits have IQs in single
figures. Anyway I like the way Lee stops every few minutes to
stroke my leg with his lean brown fingers.

We’ve got to stick together, that’s all I
know. We all drive each other crazy at times, but I don’t want to
end up here alone, like the Hermit. Then this really would be Hell.
Humans do such terrible things to each other that sometimes my
brain tells me they must be evil. But my heart still isn’t
convinced.

I just hope we can survive.