Afraid I would hear cries of terror from my companions at any moment, I gripped the long knife firmly and slashed it as hard as I could across the back of his right knee. The blade cut deep, severing tendons and muscles. The Skel bellowed in agony and reared back.
I sprang away from him immediately, but was still too slow. With a speed that belied belief, he whirled around, swinging his baseball bat with murderous intent. Luckily for me, his knee gave wave as he turned, eliciting an even louder cry of pain as he collapsed to the floor with a crunch of bones.
His bat still connected with my stomach, sending me careening backwards to slam awkwardly against the side of a dirt-covered armchair. The wooden armrest dug into my back, sending waves of intense pain coursing through me. My knife also went flying from my grasp. All the same, I appreciated the hours spent doing sit-ups and burpees, otherwise that blow to my stomach would have incapacitated me.
“You stinking varmint, I’m gonna gut you and string your entrails up for the crows!” the Skel hissed. Grimacing in pain, he clawed his way onto his knees and lifted the baseball bat.
I tried to ignore the pain lancing unmercifully through my torso and rolled quickly aside. The bat smashed into the chair, splintering the wooden armrest. I glanced at my fearful opponent and panic ripped through me – it would only take one solid hit and it would be all over.
I rolled under another swing and regained my feet. Picking up chunks of plaster and discarded DVD cases, I flung them at the Skel in quick succession. They ricocheted off his helmet, but he kept coming.
Remembering his weakness was his right side, I feinted to my left. As I expected, he lunged for me but then collapsed to his hands and knees when his injured leg gave out. Seeing an opportunity to escape, I jumped to the right and darted past him, making for the front door.
Ignoring his injury, the Skel twisted around and swung his bat with all his strength. It clipped my left thigh with enough force that I was sent sprawling against the wall beside the door, my shoulder smashing through the powder-like plaster sheeting. With freedom only a few steps away, I pushed myself off the wall and limped through the open doorway as fast as I could, grabbing the Skel’s surprisingly heavy metal and wood crossbow on the way out.
Chapter Eight
Now that I was in the front yard, I saw our truck parked in the driveway to my right. Con, Jack and Matt must have heard the Skel bellowing when I wounded him, for they were on their feet, looking in my direction, clearly alarmed.
“Skel!” I screamed as I limped/ran.
“In the truck, quick!” Con shouted. He didn’t need to say it twice. The three of them were off like a shot, faces white with terror.
My heart missed a beat when I realised I couldn’t see Ryan on the far side of the truck where he had been sitting for lunch.
“Where’s Ryan?” I shouted.
Con was already in the cab, turning the key in the ignition and pumping the accelerator as fast as he could. Jack ripped open the passenger door and flung himself inside.
“Forget him!” Matt snapped. He reached for me, eyes wide. “Get in!”
I stepped back, shaking my head. “Which way did he go?”
“Just get in!”
Con was already backing the truck out of the driveway.
I saw Ryan then, emerging from further down the driveway from between two bushes, pulling up his zipper. He realised something was amiss, because he was running full pelt towards us. He wasn’t going to make it, though. Weasel and Jingles chose that moment to spring their ambush, jumping out of shrubs on the other side of the road, sighting down their crossbows.
“Look out!” I called out to Ryan while lifting my stolen crossbow and firing it at the Skel. The bolt went wide, but they ducked their heads down all the same.
Ryan realised the danger he was in and ran faster. As though watching in slow motion, I watched the Skel lift and sight down their crossbows again. One aimed at Ryan, the other at me.
I threw my weapon aside and ignoring the stabbing pain that accompanied each step, darted for Ryan. I echolocated as I went, singing out staccato musical notes, hoping to detect the speed and direction of the bolts when they fired them. Ryan ran towards me with his head cocked to one side, completely baffled by my actions.
When I was only a few paces away, the Skel fired. Jingles wasn’t following his leader’s instruction to wound us, either – his bolt was going straight for Ryan’s head. Weasel had fired at my legs.
I realised I had only one chance to get this right. Even the slightest miscalculation and I’d be down and Ryan would be dead. I considered calling out to him to duck, but if he didn’t duck low enough...
Intercepting Ryan, I grabbed him and pulled him one way while at the same time leaning backwards so that there was a gap between us. One bolt flew past me, the feathers brushing against my leg as it did so. The other passed between us, missing Ryan’s head by an inch.
“What the...” Ryan stammered when he saw the bolts fly past and he realised what I had done.
“The truck!” I yelled. The Skel had already reloaded their bows and were frantically winding back the strings.
Ryan and I reached the truck a moment later. Matt leaned out and gave us a hand into the back seat.
“Go that way!” I shouted to Con, pointing at the road where Weasel and Jingles were still winding their bows.
“Are you nuts?” he shot back at me.
“There’s another Skel waiting for us back the other way. If you go that way he’ll have a shot at the windshield – at you,” I said.
He didn’t need to be told twice. He floored the accelerator and the truck lurched up the street. “Get down!” he said as we passed the Skel. Just in time too. A couple of bolts hit the side windows, shattering them and showering us with splinters of glass. Con kept driving.
When the Skel were far behind us, I sat up, brushed off the glass, and sank back into my seat, utterly spent now the adrenalin rush was over. The pain that had been clamouring for my attention at the edges of my consciousness sprang to the forefront with such intensity I had to concentrate on my breathing to ride it out. My stomach felt like it had been hit by a pile driver, and my ribs were worse. Every breath sent waves of pain stabbing through my back.
My leg was starting to stiffen up too, so I slowly stretched it out and rubbed it, gritting my teeth as agony shot up and down the limb. I couldn’t let it seize up. If I couldn’t walk when we got back to Newhome and Con insisted I got my injuries checked out, I’d be spending my next few birthdays behind bars for impersonating a man.
Back to Newhome. The implications of that thought hit me with the force of a sledgehammer, causing the physical aches and pains to diminish in comparison. My escape attempt failed. If not for the Skel, I’d be happily traipsing through the empty streets by now. Free from the town’s rules and regulations, free from living in fear for my life, free to choose my own destiny.
Now, before I could even consider another escape attempt, thanks to leaving my backpack behind, I had to replenish my collection of fruit and vegetable seeds. And they took me years to collect. That meant I would have to go to the market and buy them, which created new problems. If I bought the seeds tomorrow, I wouldn’t be able to go to work as a forager. If I went out as a forager, I wouldn’t be able to get the seeds. Of course, I could get the seeds on the weekend, when the foraging teams didn’t go out. Except I had no money with which to buy seeds, unless I was stupid enough to go out foraging again tomorrow. If I did, I would be able to collect Brandon’s pay, since he got paid every Friday. My life seemed so simple this morning – why did those Skel have to go and throw a wrench in my plans.
For now, though, I had to go back to Newhome, to oppression, my mother, and her endless tirade of criticism and condemnation. Not to mention the trouble I would be in the moment I stepped through the front door, since I had been absent all day and was wearing Brandon’s clothes. And if Mother caught sight of my bruises? I settled further back
into my seat, crushed, sore and too tired to contemplate returning to that life.
I wished Ryan knew what I’d given up to save him. I glanced at him, but then shrank back, uncertain and confused. He was looking at me, but not with appreciation for saving his life. His glance was wary, as though he couldn’t work out if I was a friend or an enemy. My face blanched with fear when I realised I may have given the game away that I was a mutant when I helped him dodge the bolt. I looked away quickly, heart thumping. I thought he’d thank me for saving him, not react like that.
I stared out the window, wishing I was already home so I could put this behind me. I wondered if I’d ever have the courage to attempt to escape again by impersonating my brother. Today was a disaster, with Con’s attitude, Matt trying to leave Ryan behind, the Skel, and the injuries.
“That was too close!” Jack said after we’d been driving for several minutes.
“Too close doesn’t even begin to cut it,” Matt replied.
“What the blazes are Skel doing in the northern suburbs anyway?” Con asked.
“No reason for them not to be. They’re nomads, right? The foragers we’ve bumped into from other towns said they raid all over Victoria,” Matt replied.
I had to bite my tongue to stop myself asking the question that immediately sprang to mind. There were foragers from other towns? Where were these towns and what were they like? Were they like Newhome? I recall Brandon mentioning there was a Japanese colony over near Inverloch, but surely that was too far away to send foragers to Melbourne?
“You want to tell us what happened, Thomas? How come you knew where they were?” Con asked. I looked up to see him staring at me in the rear view mirror, his beady, dark eyes like twin holes to the abyss.
Chapter Nine
“Hey, the kid just saved our butts. How ‘bout you cut him some slack?” Jack said.
“Answer me.” Con said.
“I was taking a dump–” I began.
“TMI!” Matt protested.
“–when these four Skel suddenly appeared next door and started planning their ambush. When they split up, I rushed back to the truck to warn you.”
“Is that right? Care to explain how one moment we heard a Skel screaming and the next you come running out of the house with his crossbow?” Con growled.
“I took a short cut through the house but bumped into a Skel. He tried to catch me, but I stabbed him in the back of the knee with a knife I found in the kitchen–”
“You did what?” Jack asked, eyes wide.
“Let him finish!” Matt snapped.
“After that he couldn’t catch me, so I grabbed his crossbow and ran outside. You saw the rest.”
“No, I don’t think they did,” Ryan muttered under his breath. He stole a glance at me, distrust, or was it disbelief, framing his handsome features. I was so glad the other three didn’t see my little ‘dodge-the-bolts’ sideshow. That would have taken some explaining. Thankfully, Ryan was keeping quiet about it. Maybe he figured no one would believe him even if he did share it. Maybe he was having trouble believing it himself.
“We’re gonna have to start calling you Ethan Jones the Second,” Jack said. At least he was impressed by my exploits. I could see why Brandon liked him so much – he was cool. Why he liked Con and Matt, I couldn’t fathom.
“You hurt, Brandon? You were limping when you came out of the house,” Matt asked.
“Nah, it’s nothing.”
“All the same, get that leg examined when we get back to base,” Con said.
“Seriously, I’m fine.”
Con clearly didn’t believe me, but he let it drop. Maybe it was a guy thing to hide the extent of your injuries. Brandon sure did. He came home from school once with his knee half scraped off, didn’t go to sickbay or anything, just put up with it like a little Aussie battler.
“So what do we do now – go home?” Jack asked.
“And why would we do that?” Con snapped.
“Uh, Skel?”
“The Skel are back where we left ’em. We’ll hit another suburb and get back to work. We have a quota to meet.”
“Party pooper,” Jack muttered.
“Excuse me?”
Jack acted all innocent like. “I didn’t say anything.”
“I heard somethin.’”
“Just clearing me throat.”
“Well, keep it to yourself next time.”
Con drove west for another twenty minutes, putting as much distance between the Skel and us as he could without crossing into the foraging area of the western suburbs’ teams. He eventually settled for a picturesque street with median strip and opposing nature strips overgrown by native gumtrees.
I had to bite the insides of my cheeks to stop myself crying out when I climbed out of the truck, such was the pain in my leg. I massaged it gently, trying to restore some flexibility.
We couldn’t cut down any more downpipes, thanks to leaving our tools behind, so Con sent us searching houses and backyards for hard plastic chairs, tables and stools.
“You two do that side of the road, we’ll do this one,” Con said as we climbed from the truck. He handed us a couple of machetes from the toolbox. “Think you’ll need these for this street.”
Searching every darkened window and shadow with echolocation for hidden Skel, I followed Ryan down the first driveway. He bashed down a rickety wooden gate and we entered a backyard buried in waist-high wild grass and even taller blackberry bushes. We used the machetes to hack a path through the vegetation to get to the back of the house. There we spotted a pile of plastic garden chairs stacked haphazardly on the patio beside a matching table with two broken legs.
I kept glancing at him, hoping he’d talk to me, hoping he’d saying anything, but he remained as mute as a fish. I tried to respect his unspoken request to refrain from talking, but the silence ate away at me until I couldn’t take it any longer.
“You okay?” I finally asked. I was trying to separate a pile of plastic chairs so I could carry them in several loads. I didn’t get very far, though. I tried to push and pull the chairs apart, but it felt like someone was plunging knives through my torso.
“I...” Ryan snapped off a table leg but didn’t look at me.
“Yes?”
“I didn’t want this stupid job. Scavenging for junk, close encounters with Skel, jerks like your teammates.” He flung the table away from him. It hit the other stack of chairs, snapping off legs and sending up a cloud of dust. I could feel the anger radiating from him.
I took a step back. “Then why–”
“It’s the only job I could get!” He still wouldn’t look at me. I recalled what he said earlier, that he’d left the automotive factory for personal reasons, that he didn’t get the sack. I wondered if he was being honest, though. If he had been given the flick and word of his sacking spread to the other factories, that could explain why no one would employ him. And everyone knew that foraging was considered the dregs when it came to career choices, due to its inherent risks.
I was about to ask him something else, but he held up his hands, stalling me. “Just back off and give me some space. Like I told you before, I prefer working alone.”
Hurt, I did as he asked. For a moment I entertained the idea that his personal issues were the only ones bothering him, but then I recalled the doubt in his eyes after I saved him from the crossbow bolts. No, something else was bugging him.
I wish this day would hurry up and end!
And then I remembered my father’s plan to marry me off as soon as possible. Then I wished the day would never end. Pregnant, barefoot, and in the kitchen at eighteen, and married to some git I’d never met before, was not the future I’d signed up for. There had to be another way.
Sadly, the day did come to an end, and we drove back to Newhome. As soon as we got back to the Recycling Works, we knew something was wrong. A Custodian G-Wagon was parked ominously outside the office doors. The mere sight of it caused Con, Matt and Jack to fidget
nervously and exchange worried glances.
Con backed the truck up to the warehouse and we jumped out. Well, they jumped out and I climbed out like an old woman, holding my breath and biting my tongue to keep from crying out.
“Hill, Jack, unload the truck,” he barked. “Matt, see if you can find out why they’re here. Report the Skel attack while you’re at it.”
Jack and Matt bounded off like dutiful hounds obeying their master. Ryan trudged after them with a scowl marring his tanned face.
Once they were out of earshot, Con grabbed me by the collar and pulled me behind the truck, where we were out of sight of the office. He stuck his face in mine.
“What were you doing, you stupid little idiot?” he whispered harshly.
“What?” I so wished he wouldn’t invade my personal space like that.
“We had a perfect, justifiable opportunity to leave that stinking informer behind and get him out of our hair, and you blew it!”
“I don’t know about you, Con, but I want to be able to look myself in the mirror when I get home tonight,” I replied.
“What the blazes are you blabbing about? Do I have to remind you what happens if they find out what we're doing out there? Hello – the death penalty sound familiar?”
I faked a cough to hide my stunned reaction as my mind span in circles trying to work out what he was talking about. What were they doing in the ruins that warranted the death penalty should it be discovered? Whatever it was, my brother was obviously up to his eyeballs in it. A pang of worry wormed its way through me – what had Brandon gotten himself into? I knew he wasn’t a poster boy for the Founders’ ideal society, but I couldn’t see him doing something illegal. Well, not that illegal.
“Well?” Con hissed.
“Ryan’s not an informer,” I said.
“And you know this how?”
“‘Cause I figured informers would pump you for information, and Ryan’s spent the whole day telling me to rack off because he prefers to work alone.”
Impersonator (Forager Impersonator - A Post Apocalyptic Trilogy Book 1) Page 6