Forager (Forager - A Dystopian Trilogy)

by Peter R Stone

  I often wondered what my life would be like had I chosen to live in there instead of out here. My life as it was, wasn’t a particularly happy or fulfilling one, for there was a deep, aching hole in me that gnawed endlessly away at my mind and emotions, threatening to pull me into a miry pit from which there was no escape. I hadn’t always been like that. Before the injury and operation, I had been more positive and resilient. I was sure of it.

  The only time I felt at peace was when I was out there, rooting through ruins looking for metals, and, ahem, doing all the other extracurricular activities we engaged in once we’d filled our truck. We had archery competitions, practised stealth techniques by playing hide and seek, explored old buildings, and once we even found an amazing stash of guns. My, that was fun - there's an old billboard out there that will never be the same. We also unearthed and read old books and magazines that had not perished over the decades.

  As I continued to search aimlessly through North End, I almost dropped my precious binoculars when I spotted the Japanese girl, Nanako, sitting on the flat rooftop of a North End apartment block. She was sitting with her back against the stairwell exit and cradling her knees to her chest. I zoomed in closer and gasped when I saw she was crying, causing her black eyeliner to run down her cheeks.

  Was her sorrow due to having endured such a terrible day - being ambushed by barbaric Skel and watching four of her people be slaughtered? I figured that was probably the case, yet as I examined her I thought I recognised something of my own despondency in her forlorn expression, and wondered if she was weighed down by an impossibly heavy burden.

  My reflections were interrupted when I heard several pairs of feet scurrying up the stairwell behind me, followed soon by the door banging open.

  "Ha! Told you he'd be here," Shorty laughed as he emerged, after which he began doing cartwheels around the roof, as was his habit. (A roof, mind you, that is ten stories up and has no guardrail.) Leigh, David, and Michal emerged next, each smiling broadly when they saw me.

  Okay, I admit it, there was one other time I forgot about the emptiness that haunted me, and that was when I was with these four goofballs. "Hey guys, what happened, got sick of cards?" I asked as I stood and went over to join them.

  "Not the same without you, mate," Leigh said as he thumped me on the back.

  "And," David added as he took off his backpack, "it's not windy tonight, so I suggested that we - wait for it - have another paper plane war!"

  "And there’s nothing like seeing them Custodians picking up the planes in the morning and scratching their beefy heads, trying to work out where they came from," Shorty laughed after he cart wheeled over to us.

  "Hey Jones, if the Custodians catch you with those," Leigh said, indicating my binoculars, "you're going to be in trouble with a capital 'T,' mate."

  "Hey, can I have a go?" Shorty asked, smiling deviously.

  "Why? What do you want to look at?" I asked, suspicious.

  "You can see into people's apartments, yeah?"

  "I guess so."

  "Into women's bedrooms," he continued in a most conspiratorial manner.

  "Probably," I replied, trying hard to remain serious.

  "Then hand 'em over, Jones me boy," Shorty said as he held out a small hand.

  "Ain't no way you're using my binoculars to be a Peeping Tom," I said. However, there was another reason, too; I didn't want him to see Nanako crying.

  "A peeping who?"

  "It's an expression. It means...oh, never mind," I said.

  "Please," Shorty begged.

  "There's a reason why these things are banned," I pointed out, looking down at his over eager face.

  "Yeah, and that’s to stop us spying on North End and seeing what we're missing," said David, flicking his head to the north.

  "I won't do that, honest," Shorty declared sincerely.

  "I’ve no doubt that’s the real reason, David,” I said, for he'd hit the nail on the head. “But Shorty, seriously, would you want people spying on your mother and sister in their bedroom?"

  "Ewww, of course not. Look, I promise I won't spy on anyone, I'll observe them for purely educational purposes."

  "I - ain't - letting - you - use - 'em."

  "You're no fun," he pouted.

  David held up a sheet of blank paper and shook it. “Guys, focus - paper plane time!”

  “I’m in, hand over a sheet,” Michal said.

  We mobbed David and grabbed sheets of paper, moved back to the stairwell exit so we could see, and set to work with frenetic zeal. Several minutes later, we stood in a line one step back from the edge of the roof.

  "Putting a stone in the nose of your plane is cheating, Shorty," David said.

  "Hey, what? Why, that would be dishonest, David. I give you my word there is no stone in my plane."

  I leaned forward and clicked my tongue a couple of times. "Will you look at that, David, Shorty's telling the truth - he didn't put a stone in his plane."

  "You see."

  "He put in a piece of metal," I said.

  Shorty looked up at me. "I don't like that clicking thing you do, Jones."

  "We throw on the count of three!" David announced. "One, two, three, throw!"

  Five paper planes flew off the roof. Shorty's lead-nose plane flew straight and true, flying maybe twenty metres before it hit the road down below. Leigh's landscape-orientated plane was blown straight up by the slight updraft coming up the front of the building and disappeared behind us. Mine corkscrewed in a northerly direction, while Michal's long, narrow plane almost gave Shorty's a run for its money. However, the plane that got our attention was David's - tiny red and green lights at its wing tips blinked on and off as it sailed off into the night.

  "David, how did you...?" Michal stammered, voicing what we were all thinking.

  "Trade secret."

  "David, it's a piece of flat paper! How did you get lights in it?" Shorty demanded, upset his winning throw had been upstaged.

  "Round two!" was David's come back.

  We made paper planes of all shapes and sizes and tossed them off the roof for another fifteen minutes, littering the ground below with over two dozen of them, but then called it quits. If a Custodian night patrol was to spot which roof they were flying off, we'd find ourselves in a spot of bother.

  I bade the others good night and sent them back down the stairs, mostly because I had to disassemble the binoculars and hide the pieces, but also because I wanted to check on the Japanese girl.

  She was still there, sitting with her back against the stairwell exit, but had put on a pair of very odd-looking goggles - they were opaque and had a button on the side, which she kept pressing from time to time. I must confess I was perplexed, for I'd never seen anything even remotely similar to those goggles.

  I was about to call it quits when for a second time today a vision-strength image burst into my mind; this time of a narrow walking track in the bush I’d never seen before. Gum trees grew on both sides, while the track was overgrown with ferns, wild grass, sticks and leaves. Once again, a powerful feeling of déjà vu persuaded me that this experience, of seeing this image while standing on the roof, had happened before. Bewildered, I tried to reason that it couldn't possibly be true, but then came the metallic taste in my mouth, and the sensation of falling from a great height. And as had happened this morning, that was followed by intense stomach pain and every nerve ending in my body spiking with adrenalin.

  I half sat, half collapsed onto the roof, breathing heavily as I waited for the after affects of the horrific experience to fade away, wondering yet again what was happening to me.

  I had been in the bush on foraging trips in the past, but never on a bushwalking track. Was this a premonition of the future, of an event that was going to happen?

  I lingered on the roof for another hour, until exhausted and sleepy, stumbled down eight flights of stairs to my flat. I could have used the elevator, but that would’ve meant breaking my vow to never use it.
Stairs were an excellent medium for staying in shape.

  Chapter Seven

  I must confess I was surprised when I strolled into the Recycling-Works yard the next morning and saw our truck was back, and looking unaffected by its trip into North End. As I walked over to join my workmates, I ran my eyes along its battered body, memories of yesterday’s encounters with the Skel and Japanese running through my mind. I hoped today would be a bit more low key.

  There was no sign of Sergeant King and his Custodians; in fact, we might even be sent a different squad since King lost half his men yesterday.

  As if summoned by my thoughts, a Custodian Bushmaster Protected Mobility Vehicle roared down the street and backed slowly into the yard, parking parallel with our truck. The Bushmaster looked like a box on wheels, but from what I had heard, it was bullet proof, impervious to mines, and coated with fire retardant paint. It was also very, very old – all our Bushmasters pre-dated the Apocalypse, and just about every part of them had been reconditioned or replaced at some stage over the years.

  "Looks like they're expecting Skel today," Michal commented dryly.

  "Yeah, got a bit of a shock yesterday, they did," Shorty laughed.

  “Two of them got a bit dead,” I added, reminding my lads of the cost of yesterday's encounter.

  The Bushmaster's rear door swung open on well-oiled hinges - and wouldn’t you know it - out stepped Sergeant King, ready and willing to face the Skel again. My respect for the guy went up a notch.

  The Recycling-Works boss rushed outside to talk to King, no doubt thanking him for his squad’s wonderful effort in saving my team yesterday. I wonder what he'd say if he found out it was the other way around.

  Hearing feminine footsteps in the street outside piqued my interest, so I spun around and froze in shock when Nanako walked into the Recycling-Works yard with Councillor Okada several steps behind her. In her hands was a small, black box wrapped in a checked-pattern handkerchief.

  Upon spying me, her petite, round face lit up with joy and she ran over to me with lively steps. She bowed briefly, held out her hands, and said, "I made this for you."

  I looked down at the beautiful lacquered wooden lunchbox and had no idea what to do. Just seeing her, a single girl, out here in Newhome's streets - although with a chaperone - was a concept so unfamiliar that my mind was spinning in confusion.

  "For me?" was all I could think to say.

  "It's obento," she said, nodding to encourage me to accept the home-cooked lunch.

  Michal gave me a gentle shove in the back, whispering, "Go on, accept it, you drongo."

  I stumbled forward a step and received the beautiful lunchbox, trying not to stammer as I replied, "This is wonderful, thank you, Nanako."

  Sergeant King chose that moment to interrupt, sending a questioning glance towards Nanako and Councillor Okada. "Okay boys, the day's not getting any younger. Saddle up and move out!" He could have at least greeted them, the unsociable sod.

  We clambered into the truck and as Michal drove us out of the yard, Nanako walked to the gate with Councillor Okada, where she stood quietly, watching us drive off. I flashed her a warm smile and waved, clutching her unexpected gift with my other hand. She bowed, and held it until we were out of sight.

  As we headed for the town gates, I wondered what had prompted her to give me such a gift - did she feel indebted to me for saving her life yesterday? If that was the case, I had to tell her that she didn't owe me anything, for it had been my honour to save her from the Skel.

  It took us multiple stops and almost the whole morning to find a source of non-corrosive metals to strip out, for there was no way we were going to return to the Victoria Street apartments, and I couldn’t risk using flash sonar. We eventually found a virtual goldmine in a street of ransacked one-story houses - they still had their external gas hot water systems.

  The Custodians gave the worksite a quick once over when we arrived and then retired to the Bushmaster, where one of them operated the roof mounted machine gun at all times.

  After we had removed and pulled apart several hot water systems to cannibalise the parts we wanted, my watch chimed one o’clock.

  My workmates and I ripped off our gloves, wiped our hands clean with anti-bacterial paper towels, and climbed onto the truck’s bonnet and roof to eat, just as we did every day.

  Sitting cross-legged on the bonnet, I carefully untied the handkerchief from the lacquered lunchbox, aware that my workmates looked on with baited breath. I lifted off the lid and gasped – for the partitioned tray inside was filled with a whole host of painstakingly prepared delicacies, the likes of which I had never seen. There were tomato slices with sculptured rabbit ears, slices of carrot carved into flowers, marinated chicken pieces, slices of bread curled about beans and tendrils of fried fish, and even rolls of scrambled egg. Beneath this tray was another, this one filled with fruits and vegetables, each imaginatively presented.

  “Well, do we share?” I asked.

  “Get real,” Michal laughed, “She made it for you, Ethan - we ain’t going to touch it.”

  "Hey, speak for yourself," Shorty complained.

  "Yeah, I think I'd sign up for some of that," David agreed.

  Michal glared at the others and they quickly backed down.

  “I think she likes you,” Shorty ribbed me with a knowing smile.

  “Well, come on, if you ain't gonna share it, taste it and tell us what it's like,” David demanded impatiently.

  And so began the mostly delightful culinary experience of my life. “It tastes even better than it looks!” I declared enthusiastically with my mouth full. As I ate, I imagined a young, petite Japanese girl getting up early this morning, buying fresh food from the market, and slaving away in her apartment's kitchen as she prepared the lunch. And this is the bit that blew me away – she did it for me. I also thought of her walking all the way to the Recycling-Works to deliver it by hand - she must have asked someone where I worked, including when I started my shift. I was deeply moved by her gesture – and with the strict segregation of males and females in our society, I wondered if this was the first time something like this had happened in Newhome.

  Shorty said she liked me, but how could that be possible when we had just met and spoken only a few words to each other?

  Having consumed the obento to the very last morsel, I packed up the lunchbox and made mental plans to drop it off at North End's gates this evening with instructions to return it to her. She had clearly brought it with her from Hamamachi and as it looked quite valuable, she would want it back.

  "Ethan, I've been thinking about yesterday, and something bothers me," Michal said when we had finished eating.

  "Shoot."

  "Excluding yesterday, we've fought Skel, what, four times in two years? Three of those times were in the middle or outer eastern suburbs, and there's never been more than three or four of them. What I want to ask is: have there been other occasions where you 'detected' Skel and steered us away from them?"

  Michal was on the ball all right. The times we fought Skel was when they tried to jump us while we were in the act stripping out a place. "Yes, on several occasions. And to pre-empt your next question, it was normally in the outer eastern suburbs."

  Michal met my gaze. "So why were there twelve of them yesterday, and practically on Newhome's doorstep?"

  "I’ve been pondering the same thing. I hope it was just a one off, but life isn’t ever that simple, is it?" I replied.

  Glancing at the other three sitting on the truck's cab, Michal indicated Leigh, who was staring into space with a dreamy expression on his face.

  "What's up, Leigh?” I called out. “Never seen you this quiet before – can’t find something to grumble about?"

  "Leigh's been doing something lately that he shouldn’t be," David answered somewhat testily.

  "Like what?" I asked, curious. Whatever Leigh was doing, David was consumed with jealousy.

  "You don't want to know, Jones," Short
y said with a giant smirk, before adding with a whisper, "but he's not being a model citizen these days."

  "Please don't do anything stupid, Leigh," I implored him.

  "Too late for that!" Shorty laughed.

  "Keep your voices down, you drongos!" Leigh whispered harshly when he realised we were talking about him.

  I grabbed Leigh’s forearm and made eye contact. “I don’t know what this is about, Leigh, and I don’t want to, but whatever you're doing, cut it out before it’s too late, you hear me?”

  “Whatever!” Leigh snapped back.

  I don’t think my message got through to him, so I gave up and jumped down from the bonnet and stretched. "Let's get back to it, guys. We don't want the Custodians keeping tabs on the length of our lunch breaks."

  Chapter Eight

  I got to work a bit earlier the following morning as I was secretly hoping Nanako would bring me lunch again, though not because of the meal, but because I wanted to see her. She was the first thought on my mind when I woke, and I couldn’t deny my interest in her.