The sound of approaching footsteps ended the conversation. Con looked around, startled, eyes wide in fright. I knew it was Matt, but I copied Con’s reaction to hide my advanced hearing.
Matt walked around the truck. “There you are.”
“Find out something?” Con demanded gruffly.
“Custodians are up there with the boss and the eastern suburbs metals foraging team,” he replied.
“And?”
“Jones is gone.”
“Gone? Gone where – home, to the toilet, to the afterlife?” Con snapped.
“Gone as in disappeared while foraging. One minute he was with them, the next he wasn’t. They searched high and low, but nada,” Matt said.
“What do they think happened?” I asked, concerned.
“They’ve got no idea. They were in the middle of debating whether it could have been Skel or him going AWOL when they saw me. When they asked why I was loitering there, I told them of the Skel attack on us today. Now they’re thinking Skel must have grabbed Jones in a revenge attack.”
Con relaxed visibly. “So they’re not here for us. Man, that’s a relief.”
More riddles. What were these guys up to? I wish my brother still confided in me like he used to. Since he met these guys, he closed up like a clam.
The office doors opened and five grim-faced Custodians tramped down the steps with an apologetic Trajan Barclay on their heels.
“Time to be somewhere else,” Con said hurriedly. He and Matt immediately rushed off to help the other two unload the truck.
The Custodian sergeant, a tall, ugly man with a pock marked face, caught sight of me and paused. Panicking, I put my head down, my pulse soaring. In my mind, I saw him stride across the yard and bail me up, having seen right through my disguise.
The sound of an engine roaring to life snapped me out of my fearful reverie. I looked up in time to see the G-Wagon speed out of the yard. The tension fled out of me and I gasped for breath. I hadn’t realised I’d been holding it.
I turned to hurry off after my companions, but paused when the boss called out to me.
“Brandon, wait up.” Trajan Barclay hurried over to me, his face still pale after the grilling he’d no doubt received from the Custodians.
Seemed I wasn’t out of the danger zone yet. “Yes, Sir?”
“Hear you raised the alarm today and saved your team,” he said when he reached me.
Figuring he may recognise I wasn’t Brandon if I met his gaze, I kept my head down and pretended to watch my foot as I drew lines in the dirt with my sneaker. “Just did what I could, Sir.”
“Just don’t go doing a Jones on me, okay? I warned him not to fight them, that he’d just got lucky, but he wouldn’t listen. You encounter Skel, Brandon, you run. You got me?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“I’m down two foragers in a week. First Dan Smith’s crushed to death by a collapsing wall, now Ethan Jones has vanished, probably thanks to Skel. I don’t want to be down a third. You understand what I’m saying?”
“I got you, Sir.”
“Good. Carry on, then.”
The boss walked back to the office, but I remained there, rooted to the spot. Dan Smith was killed when a wall fell on him? What a terrible way to go. A shudder wracked my frame. No wonder no one wanted to be a forager.
With a flash of revelation, I realised Dan’s death must be the reason Brandon ran away from home and work. He probably saw it happen, in all its horror, and it must have shaken him up something chronic. Maybe he was afraid it could happen to him and couldn’t face going back to work because of it.
Another, more insidious thought snaked its way past my mental defences, causing the blood to drain from my face. What if Dan died because one of the others made a careless mistake? What if it had been Brandon? If so, that would explain everything.
I wished I knew the truth and where my brother was. Letting out a long sigh, I joined the others in unloading the truck.
Chapter Ten
I dragged my feet all the way home, every step a nail in the coffin of the doomed attempt to escape this horrid town. Ever-lengthening, oppressive shadows from ten-storey apartment blocks cast the streets into gloom, adding to my miserable frame of mind.
I wondered if I could ask my father to delay his plans to marry me off. I doubted I would consider trying to escape if I had a husband, even if it was a prearranged. I wondered if Brandon might come home today. If he did, and he gave Father money for his room and board, maybe that would make him back off his plans. I was not something to be disposed of like a commodity as my Father saw fit.
In spite of delaying my arrival home as long as I could, I was soon confronted by our front door. It was dinted and scratched, the brown paint flaking off to reveal the original blue colour beneath. I strained my ears, trying to ascertain if my mother and sister were in the kitchen, but I couldn’t hear anything.
I considered going for another walk and coming back later, but then I’d arrive after Father got back, and that was a confrontation I wanted to avoid.
Sucking in a deep breath, I opened the door and slipped quietly into the lounge-room, which was lost in semi-darkness as the lights were off.
“Brandon?” Mother asked. She sprang off the sofa like a jack-in-the-box and flicked on the light. What was she doing, sitting in the gloom like that?
“No, it’s...me.” My voice wavered as I spoke. So much for hoping I could sneak in without being seen.
“Where the dickens have you been all day – and what are you doing dressed like that! Are you bereft of your senses? Running around without a chaperone, and dressed like a boy what’s more! Did you stop and think what effect your disappearance would have on me? Your sister and I searched everywhere we could think of, trying to find where you’d gone. I even considered reporting your disappearance to the Custodians, only refraining from doing so because of our history with them. You had me so worried I haven’t been able to eat, not to mention causing this terrible headache!” She stomped over to me, features contorted in a barely controlled fury.
I contemplated telling her the truth, for about a millisecond, but decided to go for safe instead. “I was looking for Brandon.”
“Dressed like that? Oh, of all the stupid things to go and do! What if you’d been caught? Did you think of that? They’d have brought you before the magistrate and he would have thrown you into prison for what, three years? Eldest Daughter, did you stop and think about the effect that would have had on our reputation? You would have disgraced our family name! The neighbours would have spoken behind our backs and the stallholders would have treated me like a leper. It would have destroyed your chance at marriage, and damaged your sister’s prospects for a reputable husband! How could I look anyone in the eye if she had to marry someone below her station because you were in prison! I know you can be foolish, but this – this takes the cake!”
“So it all comes down to how my dishonour could have affected you?” I know I should’ve gone for the olive branch, but I’d had enough of her selfishness.
“Excuse me?” She was quivering with rage. Major warning sign to back off. I ignored it.
“Did it even occur to you that I could have been in trouble? Or were you too wrapped up worrying about how my disappearance could affect you personally?”
“How dare you! You know how distressing it’s been for me this past week with your brother running away and skipping work. How could you add to my woes by doing the same, not to mention flaunting the law and our customs without a second thought! Everyone will think I did a lousy job in raising you!”
The kitchen door opened and my sister came out, wondering what all the shouting was about. She took one look at me and her mouth dropped open. For once in her life, she was speechless. Maybe this day hadn’t been a complete waste after all.
Mother suddenly grabbed me and forced me towards the bedroom. “Get out of those clothes and clean yourself up – you’re filthy! What have you been doing, roll
ing in the dirt? And hurry up about it, your father’s due home any minute. Last thing I need is him badgering me for letting you carry on like this.”
“Mother, why is she dressed like that? Where’s she been all day?” Karen demanded as I did my absolute best not to limp as I brushed past her.
Not wanting to hear Mother’s answer, I disappeared into my bedroom and closed the door. Of course, with my hearing, that made no difference. I still heard every disparaging word she said to my sister as she launched into an attack on my character.
I looked at our bedroom and exhaled, depressed. I was supposed to be halfway to the country by now, not back in this house, this room, this prison.
Getting Brandon’s clothes off turned into an exercise in pain. Every extension of my arm, each twist of my torso, sent waves of agony searing through my stomach and back. When I finally stripped off the tank top, my hands flew to my mouth in shock. An ugly black and blue bruise dominated the right side of my stomach, and the one on my back looked even worse. I wriggled out of the jeans and examined my left thigh. It was marred by a large yellow and purple bruise.
I unwound the cloth that bound my breasts flat, put on a bra, and was struggling to slip a camisole over my shoulders when the door burst open and Karen charged in.
She saw the bruises and her mouth opened and shut like a fish out of water.
“Please, don’t tell her,” I pleaded.
“Mother!” she called at the top of her voice.
“Oh, thank you very much.” I gave her my best death spare and tugged the camisole down to my hips, a cry of pain escaping my lips.
Mother rushed into the room. “What?”
“She’s got these massive black bruises on her back and stomach. And look, there’s one on her leg too!” Karen tripped over her words in her haste to get the words out.
“Show me!” Mother demanded.
Having no interest in receiving another grilling, I grabbed my beige dress and pulled it on, face contorted in pain at the effort.
“I said show–” Mother began, but stopped when we heard the front door open. “Oh great, your father’s home. Quickly, wash your hands, face, and put up your hair. We’ll come back to this later, young lady.”
I bit the insides of my cheeks as I pulled out the scrunchie. I tried to twist my hair into a bun, but lifting my hands was agony, so I abandoned the attempt.
“Can you?” I asked Karen.
“Tell me what happened.”
“I...I can’t.”
“Did someone attack you?” She came closer.
I had to give her some kind of answer, it seemed. “I tripped and fell on some rocks, that’s all. Now please, my hair?”
“You think I’m stupid, Elder Sister?”
“What?”
“You fell on rocks that bruised your stomach, back and leg at the same time?”
“Not at the same time–”
“Why don’t you ever trust me?” She crossed her arms and glared at me.
“I do.” And I did. I trusted her to go and blab everything I told her to Mother.
“No, you don’t. You’ve never let me into your world, you or Brandon, with your private jokes and ability to read each other’s lips.”
We couldn’t read lips, we just whispered below everyone else’s hearing range.
“Younger Sister, we don’t have time for this now. Father’s home.”
“How convenient.”
“Please – my hair?”
She relented and twirled my hair around and into a neat bun with nimble fingers. That done, I rushed towards the bathroom.
But then I froze, puzzled. I could hear Father talking to someone in the lounge-room. Which was weird, because Mother was in the kitchen, preparing his dinner.
“Mother, who is Father talking to?” I asked.
“What are you talking about?” she snapped. I’d forgotten she couldn’t hear him. “Hurry and get your face washed, for goodness sake!”
I heard the phone clink back into its cradle as I popped into the bathroom, and my bewilderment magnified tenfold. Father talked to someone on the phone? He never did that. Not ever.
Shaking my head, I thoroughly washed my face and hands. Going to the kitchen, Mother gave me a plate of roast vegies to serve Father.
However, when I entered the lounge-dining room, I almost dropped the plate in shock. Father was limping across the room, grimacing with each step. He also laboured to breathe, and his face was pale and pinched. In fact, he looked just like I felt, it you were to magnify it by a factor of ten.
But that wasn’t what nearly caused me to drop his dinner. It was his eyes – they were vacant, lifeless, as though someone had sucked out his very soul and left nothing but an empty shell behind.
“What’s wrong, Father? You don’t look well.” I asked, concerned.
He didn’t reply, just kept giving me that blank stare.
“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”
He looked at me, and I saw a momentary flicker of life, but then I heard the unmistakable sound of several pairs of boots tramping down the walkway outside, heading in our direction. Custodians – a whole squad of them. Please tell me they’re not coming here, I begged.
As if in response to my plea, they stopped directly outside our door. There was a loud thumping. Custodians never simply knocked.
Mother rushed into the lounge-dining room. “Is that our door?”
I didn’t move, just kept looking at Father. Were the Custodians here for me? Or was it something to do with him?
“Oh, shall I get it?” Mother asked as she marched impatiently to the door and swung it open. Upon seeing five Custodians in full armour, she fell back in alarm.
I jolted when I saw that the leader was the tall, pock marked sergeant I saw at the Recycling Works this afternoon. His pitiless eyes swept the room and paused on me.
The dinner plate slipped from my fingers and shattered on the floor. Father’s roast vegies went flying in all directions
They were here for me.
Chapter Eleven
To my surprise and heartfelt relief, the Custodian turned his piercing gaze to my mother. “My name is Sergeant King. I have a search warrant for these premises.”
“To search for what?” Father asked, suddenly coming to life as he rose stiffly from his chair.
“We have received an anonymous tipoff that there is contraband on these premises.” The sergeant and his men stormed into the apartment. So they weren’t here for me. But for what, then? The contraband books Brandon occasionally brought back with him from the ruins? If so, they were wasting their time because he never kept them here for long. He wasn’t that dumb. So what were they searching for? And who dobbed us into the Custodians anyway?
The sergeant remained near the door while his four men spread out. One attacked the buffet-and-hutch, pulling out all the plates, cups, and other crockery, and none too gently. Wringing her hands together, Mother stepped hesitantly towards him as one, then two more of her precious plates cracked or shattered.
One Custodian went to the television cabinet. He yanked out the drawers, tipped them upside down, and searched the DVDs. The other two Custodians went to the sofa. They pulled off the cushions, unzipped the covers, and flung them aside when they didn’t find anything incriminating.
Having ascertained that no contraband was in the lounge-dining room, one went to the kitchen, another to the bathroom, and the other two to the bedrooms. I followed them at a distance, my hands shaking; scarcely able to comprehend this was happening. The Custodians proceeded to tear those rooms apart with ruthless dedication. Cupboards and drawers were opened and their contents scattered on the floor, clothes were removed and pockets checked, books were examined, and finally, the beds as well. Pillows and doonas were pulled from covers, sheets were stripped off mattresses, and the mattresses themselves tipped off the beds. It was fortunate I removed the note I hid there this morning. That would have been hard t
o explain.
“Got something, Sir!” shouted the Custodian who had just tipped over Father’s mattress.
Sergeant King stormed into the men’s bedroom.
“If you wouldn’t mind stepping in here, Mr. Thomas?” he bellowed.
My father limped into the room. I followed a step behind, and my hands flew to my mouth when I saw the plastic packet with a dozen white pills nestled between two of the wooden slats of the bed. Drugs.
“Who sleeps here?” the sergeant demanded.
“I do,” Father admitted softly.
“And there?” the sergeant pointed to Brandon’s bed, although I couldn’t see any contraband there.
“My son – but he’s got nothing to do with it. The pills are mine.”
“Isn’t your son Brandon a forager?”
“Yes, but what of it?” Father became even more animated. “The pills are mine.”
“Where did you get them?”
“I...I didn’t see his face. It was dark, and over quickly. I haven’t been coping very well lately. The pills help.”
I gaped at him, along with my mother and sister. My father was taking drugs?
I knew he’d been struggling since the accident and that he came home from prison a broken man, a shadow of whom he was before, even though he had been exonerated. It pained me to see him like that, but I guess I didn’t realise just how low he was feeling. For that, I felt guilty. I had – we had – let him down.
But surely there were other ways of dealing with his condition than taking drugs! He could have opened up to us, to Brandon and me if not Mother. We would have spared no effort to help him get back on his feet. Doctors also offered medications, and there were psychologists and counsellors trained to help people like that. He probably would not have had to pay for it either, considering he’d been a victim throughout the whole affair.
On the other hand, I couldn’t quite believe it. I had never seen Father ‘high’ on drugs, nor desperate to get a fix. The only question mark was the nights he came home late. He could have taken the drugs then and we would not have been any the wiser.
Impersonator (Forager Impersonator - A Post Apocalyptic Trilogy Book 1) Page 7