The Dead of Night

by John Marsden

  Gradually the bush thinned out and we started to get glimpses of the valley. Far below I saw yellow pieces of a dirt road, like one of those tracks for battery-operated racecars when you break it up to put back in the box. Soon we could see quite long stretches of road, as the valley spread out into wider and flatter country. Now we had to avoid open ground and hug the line of trees for cover. I spent most of the time walking with my head tipped back. It was nice to see lots of clear sky again. There'd been a bit of conversation as we walked through the thicker scrub, but out here people were quieter, so I didn't have to listen to anyone any more. That was fine by me.

  The firebreak was a long ugh stripe down through the bush: a bulldozed trail of clay and weeds and some regrowth, beside an old post-and-rail fence. Terry made us cross the firebreak in pairs, running with heads down, which was sensible. Then, with everyone over the other side, we climbed the hill. The sun was starting to drop; the air was getting colder quickly and the shadows of the trees were so long that they were lost in the bush on the other side of the trail. But the hard exercise kept us warm. The hill was steep and by the time we got to the top we were all red-faced and panting. It was worth it though. We found ourselves looking at one of the great views. There was some good land around Wirrawee, but these river flats were as fertile as you get in our part of the world. They picked up more rainfall than we did—because of the shape of the mountains or something—and a lot of people irrigated as well. You could see a long row of pipes on one place, looking like science fiction machinery. Further across was an orchard with white screening over the trees, a kind of outdoor sculpture. Even at this time of year a lot of the nearer paddocks were green, though they probably hadn't been irrigated since the invasion. It was only in the distance that the great dry yellow began. The setting sun was like a great watchful creature, guarding its kingdom. The land looked so tranquil, so old, so calm and peaceful, as if these pathetic squabbles by humans for the right to live on its surface were of no interest. It reminded me of a line from one of Chris's poems: "The ocean ignores the sailor, the desert ignores me."

  I was starting to worry about Chris now, and to feel guilty. The trip back to Hell was going to be such a grind. I made a resolution that I'd go and see Major Harvey early the next day and make him see how important it was we go back. I knew if it were Fi back in Hell, instead of Chris, I'd have gone back two days ago. Maybe I should get Fi to go and see the major in the morning.

  Now, however, it was Homer who found his way over to me and drew me to the other side of the hill. Without a word, he pointed down to the road. And there was Captain Killen's target. It was a juicy one too, if easy. Slewed across the road with its gun barrel pointing into the bush was a large green tank.

  "Unbelievable," I muttered.

  Even from our height you could see that the tank had met with some sort of disaster. It was tipped to one side and I thought I could see gouges in the road where it had gone out of control. The top was open and there was no sign of life around it.

  "Just like their troop carrier," I said.

  "What do you mean?" Homer asked, only half listening. He was gazing down at the tank, probably with jealousy, I thought.

  "Well, the first enemy vehicle Harvey's Heroes wiped out was a troop carrier, abandoned the same as this. And all the others since then, too."

  He started paying more attention then. "How do you mean?" We were interrupted by a soft call from Robyn.

  "There they are."

  We looked down. The guerillas were coming along the road about a k from the tank, walking in single file under the shadows of the trees, but not taking any great precautions. We recognised Captain Killen leading the way.

  "They're pretty confident," I said.

  "I guess they've sussed it out," Robyn said.

  "I hope so," Homer said. "So what was that you said about the troop carrier?"

  "Well, Olive told me. These guys are just pussies. They don't attack am target unless it's totally safe. They go for vehicles that have broken down or run off the road, like this one. They've knocked out a whole series of trucks like that."

  We were talking in whispers, though there was no need. Homer was getting a strange, worried look on his face.

  "You mean they do this regularly?"

  "I don't know how often. But Olive gave me the impression that all their attacks are the same."

  Homer started getting quite agitated. "But you mean they ... Do they think the enemy's going to let them keep walking up to vehicles and wiping them out?" He twisted round and stared down at Harvey's Heroes, anxiously, angrily. We could just see some of them through a canopy of trees as they started round the curve in the road.

  "Do you think...?" I started asking.

  "I think they're mad. If they've done this before ... A tank's worth millions." He led us forward a few metres so that we were quite exposed ourselves, but more directly above the tank. "Use your eyes," he muttered. "Watch for anything."

  Terry was away to my left in thicker scrub, where he was talking to olive. Now he called to us in an urgent whisper. "Come in under the trees."

  I edged a few steps to the left but Homer and Robyn stayed where they were. Lee and Fi had been watching the tank from behind a patch of rock on the other side of the firebreak, but now they turned towards us.

  "What's wrong?" Lee called.

  "There!" Robyn said, at exactly the same moment.

  A sharp ray from the setting sun had suddenly flashed on something in a tree way down near the road. It was a gun barrel. And all at once I saw everything. I was astonished that I hadn't seen it before. Maybe my eyes had needed all this time to get used to the light. Or maybe it was like one of those ambiguous pictures, where you're staring at it for ages and all you can see is the young woman's body and then your vision adjusts and all you see is the old woman's face.

  Now, wherever I looked, I saw soldiers. They were hidden behind trees and among rocks, spread in a half moon above the road, waiting for Captain Killen and his men.

  It was an ambush, a trap for fools.

  "Time spent in reconnaissance is seldom wasted."

  Robyn was a second ahead of everyone else.

  "COOOOOOOO-EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" She was on her feet, hands to her mouth, and her call rolled around the hills like the cry of a giant bird. The effect was dramatic. It reminded me of times at home when I'd shaken a tree to send the bronzewings rattling out and beating away into the distance. But now there wasn't just movement from one tree. There was sudden scrambling movement everywhere. Soldiers started standing and I saw guns turning towards us. They obviously hadn't known they had anyone behind them. Terry came running out from the scrub like a demented sheep. He had no idea what was going on. He must have thought Robyn had gone mad. Or else that we were the stupid irresponsible kids that Captain Killen had thought. But I hardly noticed him or the soldiers. My eyes were on the guerillas. When they heard Robyn's call they were already around the bend and must have just come into the view of the soldiers. With every shred of my body I was begging them "Run! Run! For God's sake, run." But they seemed transfixed. They were staring up at us. I could see Captain Killen's face and could imagine the expression on it. He was probably already composing the speech that he would make back at camp. But that was a speech no one would ever hear. Not one of Harvey's Heroes had even unslung his rifle. They still hadn't seen the ambush. The three of us started screaming at them, pointing. A couple of them started to look around and one actually lifted his rifle. Then the shooting started. The men began to dance like mad puppets, just for a moment, turning in different directions, taking a few steps, then jerking and shaking as the bullets hit them. I didn't see any of them fall, because by then some of the soldiers had started firing in our direction. We had about a second, because they were still moving themselves. They hadn't got themselves into good positions, and they didn't have the range or the aim worked out.

  We three went to our right, towards Lee and Fi. The distance fro
m our positions to the edge of the firebreak was probably a bit greater than if we'd gone to the left, but our instincts attracted us to our friends. Also, the camp was to the right, and to have the firebreak between us and the camp was not a comfortable thought. I covered the last couple of metres in a dive, as bullets chopped branches from trees above me with savage ferocity. I think one bullet must have ricocheted from a rock, because it whined past me with a sound like a distant jet. I landed in gravel and some scratchy kind of dark green plant, crawled a few metres, then was up and running, just taking a moment to glance around at the others and check that they were all right. Fi was on my heels; she gasped "They're OK," so I kept going.

  We ran through the bush for twenty minutes. I could hear people blundering along on my left and my right, and Fi panting hard behind me. Then I heard Robyn's voice to my left calling dangerously loudly. "Stop, everybody! "By then I needed to stop. I pulled up, wheezing, and grabbed Fi to steady myself. Robyn came running heavily up the hill towards us.

  "Are you OK?" she asked.

  "Yes," I said, thinking, "I hope I don't look as bad as you." She had blood on the side of her head and more coming out of her nose. Fi went to touch her face but Robyn pushed her off.

  "It's nothing," she said. "I hit my head on a branch."

  It was already quite dark. There was a snapping of undergrowth and rattling of gravel as someone came up the hill. I turned anxiously, trying to see through the gloom. It was Homer. "Are you OK?" we all said simultaneously. He just nodded.

  "Where's Lee?" I asked.

  "Isn't he with you?" Fi asked Homer.

  "No, he was with you."

  "No," Fi said, "he jumped straight down to where you were, just as you got into the trees."

  "I didn't see him," Homer said.

  There was a sudden silence.

  "We can't yell out," Homer said. "Too dangerous."

  I turned on Fi, looking for someone to blame.

  "You told me everyone was OK," I said furiously.

  "Well," she snapped back, "they were! He was. He was in the treeline and running and he hadn't been shot. How much more OK can you be? I wasn't going to stay and give him a medical."

  Fi was shaking, and I felt bad for having attacked her. But there wasn't time for apologies.

  "Let's think this through," Homer said. "We've got to get back to the camp and warn them. And we've got to find Lee. If he's OK he'll be heading back to the camp. If he's not OK, well, we've got problems."

  "The others can warn the people at the camp," I said. "Terry and them."

  "But they might be on the other side of the firebreak," Homer said. "They might be trapped."

  "They might be dead," Robyn said.

  "We have to split up," I said.

  "Agreed."

  "I'll go looking for Lee," I said.

  "I'll come with you," Homer said.

  "OK," Robyn said, "we'll go to the camp. Then we'll come back and find you guys."

  "That's not going to work," I said. "We'll never find each other in the dark. Homer and Ml go back to the firebreak. If there's no sign of Lee there, and no trail we can follow, we won't be able to do a lot ourselves till dawn. If we can't find him we might as well go back to the camp too."

  And that's what we decided. We all thought we could find the camp again, even if it meant going right up to the base of the cliffs and looking for the ridge.

  Homer and I hurried back the way we'd come. We weren't too worried about making some noise, because we weren't expecting to be chased through the bush now that it was nearly dark. But we had to try to calculate when we were getting close to the firebreak. As it turned out we overestimated and crawled along at the speed of an eroding rock for about half an hour.

  The firebreak was like a pale highway in the moonlight, compared with the dark of the surrounding bush. We lay behind a bush for twenty minutes looking at it. Finally Homer whispered: "Looks OK."

  "I'll go. You stay here."

  Before he could object I stood and started creeping down the side of the scar. Funny how with a group of people Homer nearly always took the lead, and with Homer I took the lead. I went almost the whole way down to the road. There was nothing worth looking at. No bodies, no soldiers, no guns. No tank either. Boy, had Harvey's Heroes been stupid to fall for that one. But, I had to remind myself, I'd fallen for it too. I'd thought we were going to see a free bonfire; instead I'd seen a free shooting gallery, a sickening useless massacre.

  I edged along to the right, till I was nearly at the corner. I could see dark patches on the road and stared at them with a kind of gruesome fascination, not sure if they were patches of blood or shadows from the trees. Had everyone been killed? I started wondering what would have happened to survivors, and that began a chain of thoughts that sent me scrambling back up the hill to find Homer.

  "Listen," I panted, as I came round behind his bush. "Supposing they weren't all killed? Suppose some were only wounded?"'

  "What? What are you talking about?"

  "Well, what's the first question they'd ask anyone they caught?"

  "What? Oh. Yes, I see what you mean. 'Where's your camp?'"

  "And if they had to torture them to find out..."

  "They'd do it. Let's go." He stood quickly, then paused again. "What about Lee?"

  "What about Robyn and Fi? If they've got Lee," I said, and the skin across my forehead prickled as I said it, "then they've got him. If he's hurt and lying in the bush we could search all night and not find him. If he's OK he would have headed back to the camp too. The three of them could be there and the place could be getting attacked right now, while we sit here having a talk about it."

  We were on our way as I finished that sentence. Yet another blundering, panicking run through the bush, getting scratched and hit. At one stage we had a good clear run for some minutes, with no blackberries or rabbit holes or fallen logs, then I suddenly slid on a mossy rock and fell heavily, jarring my knee. I nearly-brought Homer down with me.

  "Are you OK?" he asked.

  "Why'd I know you were going to say that?"

  "Well are you?"'

  "I don't know." Then, trying for that mental toughness Homer talked about sometimes, I said, "Yes, I am. Just give me a sec."

  I took about three, then said "OK, help me up." I stood but I was a bit wobbly. It wasn't so much the knee, just that I'd given myself a shock when I fell.

  "Take it easy," Homer said.

  "How can I? Let's go."

  We ran and limped for twenty paces, then stopped again, abruptly. This time it was the sound of gunfire that brought us to a halt. It was some distance away, but there was the frightening yammering of machine guns, and in the background the dull thuds of shotguns. Homer and I stared at each other wildly. I wondered if he and I and Chris would end up living together in Hell for the rest of our lives. It seemed horrible, gruesome. What if none of us got back and Chris was left there on his own forever? Neither of us seemed able to think of anything to say. I could see Homer's mouth trembling as he tried to come up with some brilliant suggestion. I opened my own mouth, not sure what would come out.

  "Let's go to the tree?"

  "The tree? What tree?"

  "The tree we came down the cliff on, from Hell. Our ladder."

  "Can you find it?"

  "Yes, if we just go up to the cliffs and work our way around. That's where they'll go, surely."

  "OK."

  We knew there was nothing we could do at the campsite now that the soldiers were there. We had no weapons. Bare hands don't stop bullets.

  We hurried on. I was still leading, travelling fairly well. I figured if I kept the knee hot it mightn't be too bad, and although it gave me the occasional sharp sudden pain, it was bearable. We kept going uphill, gaining ground all the time, to pass well above the campsite and strike the cliffs. There were still occasional bursts of gunfire, punctuated, now that we were closer to the camp, by screams and hoarse shouts. I had no trouble keeping my
knee hot; I was hot all over and sweating frantically. We were back in dense trees and running soon became impossible, but I ploughed on. The combination of dark, tiredness, panic, and thick bush made every metre a misery. I was hitting things, crying out in pain and frustration, banging my knee again and again. I got to a point where I came to another fallen tree and couldn't get over it—I had no energy left—and I just stood there making stupid little crying noises like a three-year-old.

  "Come on," Homer said, stumbling up behind me and giving me a prod in the back, not very sympathetically. I think he was too tired himself to be sympathetic.

  I came on and climbed over the log, which wasn't even a big one, and kept going.

  It was another half-hour before we hit the cliffs. I'd got to the point where I was convinced that we'd missed them, even though that was geographically impossible. But I hadn't realised how slowly we'd been travelling. I greeted the cliff like an old friend, leaning against it for a moment, feeling the cool stone on my cheek. Then I slowly, wearily, stood again, like an old lady, and pushed on. It was hard going still, as in a lot of places the trees grew right to the face of the cliff. But at least we knew we were on track for a definite target; the knowledge gave us some sense of purpose, even though there mightn't be anyone at the end of the journey.

  At about I am we came to the old white tree, gleaming like a ghost in the thin moonlight. There was no one there. I sat on one side of it, leaning against it; Homer sat on the other side. We didn't say a word, just waited.

  Ten

  There was a hint of light in the eastern sky. Or was it my imagination? I'd looked for dawn so many times already, but with no satisfaction. Homer was asleep on my left, mouth open, snoring slightly. My eyes felt heavy and dull; as though they would look glazed and opaque to anyone staring into them. Luckily no one was staring into them. I looked around listlessly. A faint breeze tickled the leaves of the trees, made them move and whisper and play around. In the bush ahead of me a branch cracked and fell. It sounded surprisingly loud, though I didn't hear it hit the ground. A large bird, a white owl I think, flapped across the top of the cliff.