Land of Fences

by Mark Smith

  Daymu nods. ‘Each area has a commissioner,’ she says.

  I know what’s coming. My stomach twists in a knot and I feel the stew rise in the back of my throat.

  ‘Ramage is alive,’ JT says, the words cutting me like knives. ‘He’s Longley’s commissioner.’

  ‘And Tusker?’ Kas asks.

  ‘His deputy,’ JT replies.

  The conversation Kas and I had on the beach rings in my head. She was right—this summer has been an illusion. We’ve been lulled into thinking we’re okay, but the real world is pressing in on us again. And, if it’s possible, Ramage is even more dangerous now.

  JT and Daymu are tired. They desperately need to sleep.

  ‘There’s so much more we need to tell you,’ JT says. ‘But can it wait till morning?’

  ‘Course it can,’ Ray says. ‘There’s an old mattress out in the shed we’ll bring in for you. And we’ve got blankets.’

  Daymu struggles to her feet, leaning against the table. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘We didn’t know where else to go.’

  Kas puts her arm around her shoulder. ‘You’re welcome here,’ she says. ‘We Sileys have to stick together.’

  Daymu forces a smile.

  JT and I go out to the shed. He looks weary to his bones. As we struggle out the door with the mattress he stops. ‘Thanks, mate,’ he says, too tired to say anything more.

  ‘Kas is right,’ I say. ‘We’ve gotta stick together.’

  Once Daymu and JT have closed the door on the lounge room and Ray has headed to bed, Kas and I sit either side of the one candle left burning on the table. The flame lights her face, highlighting her birthmark.

  ‘I can’t stop thinking about Hope,’ she says. ‘Ramage’ll know where to find her.’

  ‘Harry and Stella will protect her,’ I say.

  ‘But what if they can’t? Ramage can do what he likes now and he’ll take her back. She’s a Siley’s daughter.’

  I don’t have an answer for her, except that there’s nothing we can do about it right now.

  ‘I can’t believe the authorities in Wentworth have put Ramage in charge of Longley,’ I say.

  ‘Maybe they’re as bad as he is. This country they’re trying to rebuild wasn’t fair to begin with, so why should it be fair now?’

  I don’t sleep well—and I’m pretty sure Kas doesn’t either. The wind moans through the sheoaks and the cypress scrapes the spout outside our window. I toss and turn, and when I finally sleep I dream of Ramage turning his back and taunting me to shoot him as he mounts his trailbike and disappears into the night.

  In the morning Kas and I find JT sitting on the back step, trying to bandage the wound above his ear.

  ‘You’re doing a shit job,’ I say, and he laughs. I take the bandage and wind it firmly around his head before tying it off.

  Daymu watches through the open doorway. She looks better after a night’s sleep. ‘You want to eat out here?’ she asks.

  Ray has provided the eggs and dipped into the stores for one of the remaining cans of beans.

  ‘Yeah, out here,’ Kas says.

  We sit cross-legged around a frying pan of tomato omelette and a pot of beans. Ray struggles down the steps, carrying a chair from the kitchen. ‘All right for you lot,’ he says. ‘I’d have to break my ankles to sit like that.’

  There’s not enough food to fill us, but I’ll check the traps later in the morning. When we’re finished, JT moves over to the shed, sitting with his back to the wall. Daymu follows, while Kas and I sit on what’s left of the grass in the yard.

  There’s a tension in the air that Kas, Ray and I haven’t felt all summer. It’s the same house and yard, the same river flowing out to the beach, and the same waves breaking across the bar—but the news Daymu and JT have brought has changed everything. The radio broadcast was unsettling, especially for Kas, but I still had a sense time was on our side. We were quarantined and protected by our isolation, and the storms had made travel almost impossible. But the world beyond Angowrie is rebuilding quicker than I’d thought—and the more organised it gets, the more danger we are in.

  ‘So,’ I say. ‘What happened after the Wilders arrived at the No-landers’ farm? How did you escape?’

  JT crosses his arms and leans back in the sun. ‘Tusker was beside himself when he saw Daymu and Danka.’

  ‘Sileys,’ Kas says.

  Daymu digs her toes into the dirt. ‘There’s a bounty on every Siley they catch,’ JT says. ‘They hold them at Longley until someone comes from Wentworth to collect them.’

  ‘What sort of bounty?’ I ask.

  ‘Sheep, cattle, grain. They see it as win–win. Wentworth gets Sileys and the farms can start working again to provide food.’

  ‘What happens to the Sileys at Wentworth?’ Kas asks.

  ‘We don’t know,’ Daymu says. ‘We only discovered this much because a Wilder got drunk and started talking. That’s how we found out about Ramage, too.’

  ‘What did they say about him?’ I ask.

  ‘A whole lot of stuff you don’t want to hear. Somehow he made it back to Longley. They reckon he nearly died. He can’t travel, but he trusts Tusker to act for him.’

  ‘Good luck with that,’ I say. ‘Trust and Tusker aren’t two words I’d use in the same sentence.’

  ‘How long were you held at the farm?’ Ray asks, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

  ‘A couple of days,’ JT says. ‘Tusker didn’t want to risk leaving any of his men in case the No-landers came back. On the third morning, they tied us in pairs and marched us out the gate.’

  ‘Where were the No-landers?’ Kas asks.

  ‘Out there somewhere,’ Daymu says. ‘We heard them signal-ling to each other across the valley.’

  ‘Two high-pitched whistles answered by three the same?’ I say.

  ‘You know it?’ JT says.

  ‘Yeah. We heard it when they followed us to Longley last spring.’

  ‘We didn’t even get out of the valley before they attacked,’ JT continues. ‘It was crazy. Shots fired. Everyone running. The Wilders took cover in the trees, pulling Danka and the feedstore kids along with them. It was the Sileys they wanted, but Daymu and I were too quick for them. We were tied together but we ran towards the farmhouse. When we got there we worked free of our ties and took off into the bush on Bess.’

  ‘That’s rough country,’ I say. ‘Steep and rocky. No place to be riding a horse.’

  ‘We didn’t get far,’ Daymu says, ‘but we were safe. We’d put enough distance between us and the Wilders.’

  ‘It took us two days to find our way out to the Swan’s Marsh road,’ JT says. ‘There was no sign of anyone—Wilders or No-landers. We were starving, but we decided the best bet was to try to get through to the coast.’ He stops and pushes his legs underneath him so he’s squatting against the wall. ‘We got lost,’ he says. ‘We ate berries, ferns, anything we could hold down. I lost count of the number of times we spewed.’

  ‘So, you never saw anyone? No one tried to follow you?’ Kas asks.

  ‘There were some drifters on the road near Pinchgut Junction, but they were headed towards Swan’s Marsh,’ JT says.

  ‘They won’t find any shelter there,’ I say. ‘Not if the Monahans catch sight of them.’

  The sun is fully up now and it filters through the trees into the backyard. There are decisions to be made, but even if we need to leave Angowrie, JT and Daymu won’t be fit to travel for a few days. And right at the moment I can’t think of anywhere safer than where we are. We know the terrain here, where to hide, all the escape routes.

  JT seems happy to talk, so I ask him how he came to be at the feedstore last year.

  He eases down and sits against the wall. ‘My mum died when I was little, so it was just me and Dad on the farm.’ He looks uncomfortable, picking at a seam on his shorts. ‘I never knew what Dad did. He’d disappear for days at a time and leave me on my own.’

  ‘What are y
ou talking about?’ Kas turns her head to the side, trying to follow JT.

  He can’t look at her. ‘Dad was a driver with—’

  We’re all leaning forward now. Only Daymu is unmoved. She squeezes JT’s arm, coaxing him to speak.

  ‘He transported Sileys,’ JT says, his eyes locked on the ground at his feet.

  ‘He did what?’ Kas says, her voice low, accusing.

  ‘I didn’t know,’ JT says. ‘Honestly, Kas. He never spoke about it.’

  ‘So how did you find out?’ she demands.

  ‘There was paperwork left in the truck one day. I saw it. There were names, delivery dates. I asked him and he said it was the only work he could get.’ He hesitates. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Kas looks straight at JT, and all I see is pity in her eyes. ‘Don’t beat yourself up about it. You’ve stuck with Daymu and helped Finn and me escape.’

  There’s a pause and I take the opportunity to change the subject. ‘But how did you end up being captured and held at the feedstore? What happened to your dad?’ I ask.

  JT turns his face away and I realise he’s swiping away a tear. Daymu loops her arm through his and pulls him close.

  ‘He killed himself,’ JT says. He leaves a long silence while we take this in. We look at each other, hardly daring to breathe.

  ‘I found him,’ JT says. ‘In the shed. I had to cut him down. I had to bury him. I had to forget he ever existed.’

  ‘It doesn’t mean he didn’t love you, son,’ Ray says. His voice sounds old and steady and tired.

  ‘Maybe,’ JT says. ‘But there was no note, no nothing. He left me on my own. That’s a pretty strange kind of love.’

  ‘Adults sometimes have reasons for doing things they don’t think they can share. I know it’s not fair,’ Ray says.

  JT sits quietly for a while. Rowdy moves between us, angling for a pat. We all want the distraction, and he gets the affection he’s looking for.

  ‘Anyway,’ JT says finally, ‘it wasn’t long before Ramage’s men moved out onto the plains and started rounding up anybody they could find. I was dumb—trying to work the farm on my own, instead of running.’

  ‘How long ago was this?’ Kas asks.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ he says. ‘But you and Rose had escaped by the time I got to the feedstore. I remember how angry Ramage was. He made us all come out into the yard while he tied Ken Butler to a rope and dragged him behind the trailbike.’

  It’s strange, this piecing together of our lives, all the connections and near misses. Rose had told me about Ken Butler being dragged into the Monahan’s yard at Swan’s Marsh, how she wished she’d never seen it.

  ‘We must have just missed each other,’ Kas says. ‘Ken was killed because he helped us escape.’

  The next few days are spent hunting, fishing and eating while JT and Daymu regain their strength. We could survive like this for as long as we’re left alone, but there’s a shadow over everything we do. We post sentries on the ridge above the football ground, taking it in turns to watch the road. There’ve been no drifters or Wilders, but the bounty on the heads of Sileys will be enough to bring hunting parties from the north. They’ll fight their way through the storm damage into quarantined areas like ours to get here before the authorities. And Ramage and Tusker will be their own lawmakers, out to settle old scores. We know they’ll come, we just don’t know when.

  I like sentry duty, looking out over what remains of Angowrie. Every time I come up here, it seems a little bit different, like the bush has moved closer to the buildings, reaching out to reclaim the town. The roads are only half the width they used to be; the asphalt has been lifted and buckled by the roots of trees and the grass has spread into the cracks.

  I find a comfy spot with a view of the road, my back against a weathered stringybark and my legs stretched out in front. Rowdy settles next to me, resting his nose in my lap, knowing I’ll scratch him behind the ears.

  The noise is distant at first, a scraping sound followed by the thrum of an engine. It gradually gets louder, coming along the road into town. The scraping stops, but the motor revs then drops to an idle, and there’s just the rumble of a diesel engine pushing through the trees.

  I’m on my feet and running. I sprint down the hill towards the bridge, Rowdy racing ahead. My heart is in my mouth and my breath comes in short gasps. I haven’t had to move this fast in months and my legs feel slow. By the time we make the bridge, the scraping has started up again, the heavy sound of metal on bitumen and the slaving of the engine behind it.

  Kas calls to me as I run along the riverbank. She’s with JT and Daymu, hiding behind a cypress hedge in the house next to the petrol station. I veer towards them and dive for cover. Rowdy almost lands on top of me.

  ‘What is it?’ Kas asks. She’s climbed into the hedge and stuck her head through to get a better view of the road.

  ‘Dunno,’ I say. ‘I couldn’t see it from the ridge.’

  The rest of us pull ourselves up next to her, our eyes fixed on the bridge. JT has the rifle, and he slides the bolt back to load it.

  The sound is louder now, filling the valley. Finally we see it—a big army truck with a bulldozer blade on the front. It stops on the bridge and the driver lifts the blade from the road. As far as we can tell, there’s just the one vehicle. It edges forward now, and turns parallel to the river, coming towards us. Kas has hold of my arm. I look down to Rowdy and point my finger. He drops to the ground.

  ‘Where’s Ray?’ I whisper.

  ‘At home,’ Kas replies.

  The truck slows about twenty metres from us, then turns and reverses over the gutter and up onto the grass of the riverbank. Exhaust fumes fill the air. Other than Ramage’s trail bike, we haven’t seen any sort of vehicle for three years, and the size and noise of it is surreal, an assault on our senses. The driver kills the motor. Then the passenger door swings open and a soldier in full fatigues steps out. He carries a machine gun and a mask covers his face. He hits the side of the truck and half a dozen soldiers, all dressed the same, spill out the back. It’s quiet enough to hear the thuds as their boots hit the ground. The driver hasn’t moved, but a crackling noise comes from a loudspeaker mounted on the roof of the cabin.

  The male voice is harsh and metallic. ‘All survivors, please show yourselves.’ He repeats this message at least five times, adding ‘Now!’ at the end.

  We’re frozen in our positions, buried in the hedge, but keeping the truck in view.

  ‘You are in a quarantined zone,’ the voice continues. ‘We are here to evacuate you. Show yourselves.’ The soldiers surround the truck, sweeping left and right with their guns.

  The voice repeats the announcement over and over, the sound echoing up the valley and bouncing back at us, garbling the words. Finally, the driver opens his door and climbs down. He’s not in uniform, but he is wearing a mask too. There’s something familiar about the way he moves, his shoulders hunched towards his ears and his legs splayed. He walks around the front of the truck and talks to the first soldier, who seems to be giving the orders. They’re arguing, though we can’t make out what they’re saying. The driver’s arms wave in the air, pointing to the ridge then towards the river mouth. The soldier turns and barks orders at the others, who lower their weapons and begin to climb back into the truck. He then reaches into the cabin and pulls out some sheets of paper in plastic sleeves. He pushes them at the driver and directs him to the power pole by the side of the road, only a few metres from where we’re hiding. The driver opens a metal box on the truck’s side and lifts out a hammer, before walking towards us and nailing a sheet to the pole. He’s close enough for us to hear his laboured breathing through the mask. Then he walks along the road attaching sheets to two other power poles, before lumbering back to the truck.

  All the soldiers are inside now. The driver stops at his door and scans the town one more time. Before he mounts the steps he pulls the mask from his face. His beard is longer and more grizzled, but the scar down
the side of his face is unmistakable.

  It’s Tusker.

  The truck throbs to life and Tusker grinds through the gears. He drives a hundred metres to the car park below the lookout, where he turns in a wide arc and comes back past us. The truck doesn’t stop again as it crosses the bridge and heads up the hill and out of town.

  We stay where we are until the sound of the engine has faded into the distance. JT climbs out the front of the hedge, checks both ways then walks to the notice on the nearest power pole. We all follow. The print is faded and hard to read, as though the printer was low on ink. JT reads it aloud:

  ‘Compulsory Evacuation Order. Towns in this area fall under the jurisdiction of the South West Regional Commissioner. Any survivors within this zone must report to the quarantine transition camp at Longley, where health services are provided. Decontamination teams are coming to your area. Survivors who have not voluntarily evacuated will be detained and transported to Longley. Anyone found to be harbouring Sileys will be arrested and charged. In the interest of public health, it is your duty to comply with this order.’

  He hesitates, turns to look at us, and continues. ‘By order, B. Ramage. Commissioner. South West Region.’

  We all stare at the notice. The edges flap in the breeze.

  Without another word, we turn and head back to the house. Ray meets us in the driveway. His hands are pushed deep into his pockets and his hat sits low over his forehead.

  ‘You heard?’ I say.

  ‘Yeah,’ he replies. ‘Recognise any of them?’

  ‘Tusker.’

  ‘Shit,’ he says.

  We file into the kitchen. I can hardly bear to look at Kas. Her head is down and she is rubbing the palm of her hand into her forehead. I know what she’s thinking—that harbouring Sileys is a crime and we’re all implicated.

  ‘Why the masks?’ JT says.

  ‘They think it’s a contaminated area,’ I say.

  ‘Nah,’ JT replies. ‘There’s something else going on. Did the Wilders ever wear masks when they came to Angowrie?’