Tomorrow 7 - The Other Side Of Dawn

by John Marsden

‘You know what it looks like?’ I said.

  ‘Bombs?’

  ‘Yeah, exactly. Could even be Cobbler’s Bay. Wow. I guess Ryan was serious when he said there was going to be a counter-attack. D-Day.’

  ‘Fits in with this convoy. They’re going flat chat. Check out that car for instance.’

  A large grey-green car, maybe a Fairlane, was overtaking a string of trucks. The driver sure had his foot down. Even on the blind bend at the bottom of the hill he stayed on the wrong side of the road.

  ‘He must know the road ahead’s clear, to risk overtaking like that,’ I said.

  ‘Yeah. I guess they’ve got radio contact all the way along the convoy. So they could tell him if there’s a car coming.’

  ‘It’d be great to wipe out a car like that. It’d be a general or someone. If we could get them, we might make a big difference.’

  This was what Ryan had talked about, by the water, as we ate Kit-Kats and avocado. ‘If you take out one truck, one load of fuel, one soldier, if you slow down one convoy for half an hour, who knows what difference that could make? “For want of a nail a war was lost.” Every target’s a big target. Grab any opportunity. Somewhere out there, one of our soldiers, someone you’ll never meet, someone who doesn’t even know you exist, will have cause to be grateful to you.’

  Kevin crawled over to join us. He lay watching the trucks, without a word. When I pointed out another series of flashes towards Cobbler’s he just grunted.

  I had given up trying to guess what Kevin might be thinking. After a while though, still staring at the convoy, he said, kind of nervously: ‘If we blew up that cliff with the plastics, we’d block the road big-time.’

  I gazed at the cliff he was talking about, feeling quite impressed. It dawned on me as I looked at it that it would be a lot safer for us to blow up a cliff than to fling ourselves at a long line of army vehicles.

  But Homer said: ‘I don’t think we’d handle that too well. Remember, Ryan said go for stuff we know we can achieve. Like, how would we know where to put the charges, and how much to use? We could waste a lot of explosive and not have anything to show for it.’

  ‘Well, you got a better idea then?’ I asked.

  ‘I think we should have a look along the highway a bit. I know we’re meant to be going at it full-on, but that doesn’t mean we have to rush in and attack the first target we see.’

  I woke Fi and Lee up and we left Fi on sentry while Lee and I walked along the escarpment looking down over the road and Homer and Kevin went the other way. We stayed well back of course, in among the trees, but there wasn’t a lot to see. The best target was a small bridge, but it wasn’t much. Even if we blew it up they’d fix it in no time.

  Homer and Kevin had done a bit better though. They arrived back busting with excitement.

  ‘There’s a truck stop about three k’s up the road,’ Kevin said.

  ‘And they all stop there,’ Homer added.

  ‘For fuel,’ Kevin said.

  ‘And food. And to go to the dunny.’

  ‘It’s a real centre of gravity.’

  They were like a comedy act, doing the lines backwards and forwards.

  ‘The trucks stop for about twenty minutes each.’

  ‘And there’re guards, but if we wait till tonight, we should be able to get around them.’

  Kevin looked anxious when Homer said that. I was still nervous about Kevin, would always be nervous about him now, wondering if he would crack up again.

  Gavin, who was awake, was following the conversation keenly. I was never sure whether he picked up every word, but he certainly seemed to understand enough to get the sense of things. I’d tried a few times lately to lip-read, when I could see the others talking too far away for me to hear, but I couldn’t work out any of it. I just did it for fun, to get a sense of what it would be like for him, but I was glad I didn’t have to rely on it.

  ‘So what are you suggesting?’ Fi asked. She was pale, and her finger was tracing the scar on her chin.

  Homer sat on a rock and we all drew in closer. In the short time they’d had, walking back after spying on the truck stop, he’d worked out a whole complicated plan. And ten minutes later he’d talked us into it.

  Chapter Seven

  It started pretty well. The later the night got, the more time the trucks spent at the servo. I guess everyone slows down at night. Some of the small convoys sat around for thirty or forty minutes. That was good for us, because we would have more time to sneak up on the vehicles and plant the explosive charges.

  We’d set up an assembly line, back in the bush, out of sight of the road, where we spent two hours putting twenty small bombs together. Gavin organised the raw materials, Lee and I did the actual assembling, then Fi checked them, then Kevin. Homer stayed on lookout.

  It wasn’t difficult doing the work. If they’d been bonbons, which I’d always made for Christmas instead of buying cheap nasty ones in the shops, I’d have done them quite quickly: no sweat, no worries. These weren’t any more complicated than bonbons. But knowing I was working, not with cardboard tubes and tissue-paper hats, not with handwritten jokes and homemade nougat, but with detonators and fuses and high explosive ... well, it did make a difference. It was yes sweat, yes worries. The memory of Ryan’s cute demonstration didn’t mean much now. I had to stop to wipe my hands on my jeans every few minutes, and I brushed my hair out of my eyes so often that Fi got sick of it and tied my hair back with a bit of her ribbon.

  After that we armed the grenades.

  We finished at 2.30 in the afternoon then suddenly realised we had hours ahead with nothing to do. It was a bit of an anticlimax after the tension of leaving Stratton and travelling through the night. Ryan had told us so strongly how we should use every minute, every situation, every opportunity, and now here we were settling back for a long lazy afternoon, getting a tan. I felt too guilty, so I said to Homer: ‘We should find another target.’

  ‘Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. But where do we find one? We’re still fifty k’s from Cavendish, easy. We’re not going to find an enemy airfield behind the nearest gum tree.’

  I knew he was right. But I was restless. No way could I sit and wait till dark.

  ‘Do you want to just come and check out what’s over that way? It might help us tonight, if we have to do a runner.’

  ‘Oh yeah, if you want. Nice day for a walk.’

  Of course Gavin had to come too. He roamed ahead like a young dog, zigzagging through the bush, following one scent then another. I mean, I think he really might have been following scents. With no hearing he probably had developed his other senses more strongly. They say blind people can tell who you are by your smell. After a couple of months without a shower, they certainly could have smelt me.

  The bush was very quiet. I saw one small bird with a green-gold breast, and way ahead of us a black wallaby suddenly broke cover and bounded across the hill, head down, putting as much distance between himself and Gavin as he possibly could. I sympathised with him.

  We were on an animal track, probably made by roos or foxes. It was lucky we could follow it, because all around us wire grass had taken over and was slowly covering the trees and bushes and fallen logs. It seemed a bit eerie. All the living things were shrouded, like mummies, or furniture with dust sheets. But one thing you could guarantee: there was life here, even if we didn’t see it. Just as I was thinking about how ghostly it was, we passed a new hole in the ground, under a rotting stump. It looked like it had been dug that very morning. Caramel-coloured earth, little granules like sugar, forming a mound as big as Homer’s boot. We stopped and peered down the hole but of course we couldn’t see anything. It was too small for a rabbit though. Probably a bandicoot, or maybe an echidna. A bit further on was a whole area of earth, about ten metres by five, that had been worked over really thoroughly by something. Homer said that definitely was an echidna.

  Over the third ridge we found a different form of life. Very human. It l
ooked ugly: raw and artificial, stretching across bush that had been there a long time.

  It took us by surprise. We hadn’t realised we were so close to the railway line. It shone in the afternoon sun. Stratton to Cavendish, city joined to city by a silent cold ribbon of steel. Well constructed too, and well maintained, built up with gravel and timber, neat and clean and tidy.

  Gavin, little idiot, was already right down at the tracks, inspecting them with great interest. God knows how he’d survived so long in Stratton. Talk about fools rushing in. We couldn’t attract his attention to get him back, so in the end I had to go down there. I pulled him away, crossly, but he wasn’t bothered.

  We went up the hill to where Homer was waiting. My mouth was watering, and when I saw the gleam in Homer’s eyes I knew he was thinking what I was thinking.

  ‘Let’s blow it up,’ I said.

  ‘Sounds good to me.’

  Gavin, watching our lips avidly, giggled.

  ‘Sounds good to me too,’ he said.

  I took a swipe at his head but he ducked away easily.

  ‘Cheeky little brat,’ I said.

  ‘Cheeky little brat,’ he echoed, ducking again. But this time I’d bluffed with my right arm and I got him nicely with my left. It was hard enough for me to hurt my hand, but neither of us showed any pain. That’s what growing up’s all about, isn’t it? Not showing your pain.

  Now, as we talked about blowing up truck stops and train tracks, Gavin thought his dreams had come true. To him this new world we lived in was a violent and exciting place, where you could destroy anything and not get in trouble – in fact, far from getting in trouble, you got praised. It was a long way from being yelled at on the beach when you kicked over some kid’s sandcastle.

  Homer and I tried to ignore him as we picked our way along the ridge above the railway line, looking down for a good place to attack. The only time we paid him any attention was when he started chucking rocks into the gully, probably hoping one of them would derail the next train. We paid him a lot of attention when he did that.

  We only found one place that was a possibility. A bridge nearly a hundred metres long, across the gully. The line went underneath. We didn’t go too close, as it was fairly exposed, but we went back into the bush and found the road that led to the bridge. It was bitumen, but it seemed quiet. Not the kind of road where you’d expect to find convoys, or even patrols.

  ‘So what’s the plan?’ Homer asked me.

  ‘The ideal thing would be to drop the bridge on it. But I don’t know, maybe they could clean that up pretty quickly. Or we could blow up some of the tracks. But again they might be able to fix that.’

  ‘We could do both,’ Homer said, looking about as doubtful as I felt.

  We started walking back towards the line. ‘Where’s Gavin?’ Homer asked.

  ‘God, I don’t know,’ I said anxiously, looking behind me as though I expected him to jump on my back.

  ‘He’s probably ripping up the tracks with his bare hands,’ Homer said.

  ‘Homer, it’s not funny. He can’t go missing all the time. He’s got to learn, before he kills the lot of us.’

  We walked much faster, searching the trees with our eyes. From the top of the gully we saw him easily enough. He was back down at the tracks, but he was crouching beside them. I couldn’t see what he was doing.

  ‘What’s he up to?’ Homer asked crossly.

  Gavin saw us, but he didn’t muck around like he often did these days. Instead he looked very serious. I realised he had his hand on the tracks. Then, running with incredible speed, bent close to the ground, he raced up the slope.

  We both faded back into the bush as he reached us. You didn’t need a huge IQ to know something was going on.

  With Gavin very much in charge, waving us into position, we hid behind trees and a rock, where we could still see the railway line. Nothing happened for quite a while. I’d say, four minutes. Then, just as I thought Gavin was having us on, a strange vehicle appeared around the bend. It took me a few secs to figure out what it was. But I soon got it. One of those old-fashioned things you see in Westerns sometimes. It was the size of a little Japanese car. Two men pushed a lever up and down and made it go along the tracks. Four others, two men and two women, were perched on its corners. They held automatic rifles and as the truck came towards us they peered into the bush on both sides. They were the lookouts.

  Gavin must have felt the vibrations on the track. Lucky he had, because the thing was practically noiseless and I don’t think we would have realised it was coming until it was right on top of us. That was another favour I owed Gavin. What with that, and the way he’d swung the door open at the Whittakers’, I was losing count.

  We crouched even lower. There was no chance they would see us, but you feel so naked when there’re people with rifles who’d love to use them on you. I had my hand on the back of Gavin’s neck, not because I thought he’d do anything stupid, just for security. I could feel his bristles stand up, like the stubble on Homer’s chin. You could actually feel the goose pimples. Or maybe I was getting fingers as sensitive as his.

  The truck continued silently on its way, the two blokes in the middle still pumping, until it had gone under the bridge and disappeared around the next bend.

  I felt Gavin slowly relaxing, but we still didn’t say anything for a few minutes. Then we eased ourselves up from our cramped positions.

  ‘Nice little surprise,’ Homer grunted. ‘You’re not safe anywhere these days.’

  We faced towards the tracks and I’ll be damned if Gavin didn’t do it again. Without even going down to the line. A look of intense concentration came over his face, like a baby pooing its nappy. He held up one hand, then pointed towards the bend again, from where the little truck had come. A moment later Homer and I heard it. But Gavin had beaten us by a good five or ten seconds. I don’t know how. He must have felt the vibrations in the air. I can’t explain it any other way.

  There was a slow chugging, then a big diesel locomotive came around the bend. Not just a locomotive either. It pulled a row of trucks and it was a long row.

  We ducked down again, but this time I made sure I got a good view. I needed to see this. The noise got louder as the engine hauled its way past. It was a beautiful thing, a bit greasy and streaked, but so graceful, so powerful. Then followed the carriages. I started counting, like a kid at a level crossing. ‘Five, six, seven, eight.’ They were all crammed with soldiers. ‘Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen.’ A couple of soldiers lay on the roof of each carriage, rifles ready, gazing around looking for people like us. ‘Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen.’ Then the guards van, which seemed to be packed with more soldiers. Ryan had been right. Big stuff was happening. That train must have held a thousand soldiers. They were peering out of windows, standing in corridors. One was even perched on the couplings between two carriages taking a leak, a sight that had Gavin nudging me and giggling, and which I tried to ignore.

  ‘Wow,’ I said to Homer.

  ‘What a target,’ he said.

  ‘Let’s blow them up,’ said Gavin.

  ‘Do you reckon it’s going to Cavendish?’ I asked Homer.

  ‘Well, yeah, obviously, right now. But that doesn’t mean they’ll stay there.’

  We went back to the other three, thinking hard all the way. If troops were being moved around the country in their thousands it was more evidence that some heavy action was going down. I didn’t know where the New Zealanders had launched their attack – Ryan wouldn’t tell us a syllable more than he had to – but wherever it was, they’d triggered a huge reaction. I hadn’t seen this much movement since taking the lid off a grain bin in the last mouse plague. The bin had rusted through at the bottom and the mice had taken full advantage.

  Fi and Lee and Kevin were stressing out big-time at us for being away so long. Kevin started it, which was just like his style. ‘Where the hell have you three been?’ It was like being nagged by your parents. ‘You’ve been
hours. No-one had a clue where you were.’

  All he needed to add was ‘Your mother and I have been worried sick about you’, and I would have felt right back at home.

  But the other two were equally annoyed. ‘Honestly,’ Fi said, ‘as if we weren’t stressed enough already. How were we supposed to guess where you were? For all we knew you could have been caught.’

  The one I hated hearing it from most was Lee. I didn’t want Lee telling me I’d done something dumb. I wanted him telling me, ‘Good one, El, you’re a legend’. Instead he said: ‘We can’t afford this kind of goofing off. We’ve got to be disciplined twenty-four hours a day.’

  That was a bit rich coming from him. But it was true, we had been away a long time. We hadn’t told them which direction we were going, which was slack.

  They were so worked up about the attack on the truck stop that they were half off their heads. They would have been stressing about a broken shoelace, let alone us going missing for most of the afternoon. So we had to stand there feeling guilty while they got stuck into us.

  Once they’d got that out of their systems we told them about the train line. They were interested, and even impressed, but they were so focused on the truck stop that they immediately forced us back to that. The best I could get was a lot of mumbles about how ‘We can have a look at it after this, if we get a chance’.

  We went over the plan of attack again and again, working out all kinds of possibilities. If they did this, we’d do that; if this happened, we’d make that happen; if they went this way we’d go that way.

  The trouble was we had too much detail, too many plans. We could have done with three weeks to memorise them, instead of a couple of hours.

  The other trouble was that we didn’t give much thought to escape routes. The only plan Lee and Kevin and Fi had was to race back to our packs and get the hell out of the place. But we made them agree that after the petrol station we’d head to the railway, and use any remaining charges on the bridge and the tracks. It was another enemy centre of gravity.