Forager - the Complete Trilogy (A Post Apocalyptic/Dystopian Trilogy)

by Peter R Stone

  "What is it?" David asked.

  "Is a building on fire?" I wondered.

  "I can make out Skel voices – lots of them," Madison said as she joined me in staring at the flickering light.

  "Should we check it out?" David asked.

  "Nah, let's stick with the plan and find out what's causing that smoke," I replied.

  And so ignoring whatever commotion was happening further up Police Road, we crept silently across the road and into the market gardens on the other side. They were eerily quiet and empty with the absence of the slaves and their Skel overseers barking orders and insults at them. We threaded our way through the walking spaces that separated rows of vegetables, heading southeast.

  "Hey," David, whispered, bringing us to a halt. He was holding a carrot which he'd plucked from the rows of carrots beside us. "Let's load up on some of these, gotta be better than eating berries and those blasted quandong."

  "Forget the carrots – let’s go for potatoes!" Shorty moved to a different row.

  "Unless we can find a way to cook 'em, you can forget the potatoes," Nanako whispered back.

  "Why?" Shorty asked.

  "Raw potatoes can cause food poisoning," she explained.

  "Then we gotta find a way to cook 'em," Shorty whispered desperately. I can't hack this diet we're on, if I get any thinner, I'm gonna disappear."

  I picked up the potato and was pleasantly surprised to see that by using flash sonar, I could easily detect any green. "Don’t worry guys, Madison and I can tell if the potatoes are green or not, so lighten up. Shorty – you’re having potato tonight..."

  "Yahoo!"

  "However, let’s leave it for now and grab them on our way back," I said, almost salivating in anticipation of some wholesome vegies instead of the bush tucker we'd lived on over the past couple of weeks. Shorty was right – we'd all lost weight. "Now, let’s get our minds back on the job."

  It took us about forty minutes to pass through the market gardens and re-enter suburbia proper; street after street lined with partially ruined houses. Before long, we found ourselves in a long street with houses on the north side and factories and warehouses on the south.

  But before we could go on, we had to hide amongst bushes that had reclaimed the nature strip. Three Skel armed with clubs and an old rifle had exited a warehouse across the road. We remained hidden for a full ten minutes until they'd disappeared from view.

  When they were gone, we hurried across the road and clambered over the remains of a six-foot high wooden fence, which deposited us into the yard of a large industrial complex. The yard was filled with shipping containers, wooden and plastic cartons, wooden pallets, and the rusting wrecks of trucks, cars, and forklifts. We could see light coming from warehouses and factories to our right, but the object of our attention was a lone warehouse with cracked concrete-slab walls to our left, set far back from the road. Wisps of smoke still trailed from the chimney.

  We threaded our way quietly between rows of cartons and containers, until the warehouse walls rose up before us.

  "Shoot me dead, but what is that smell?" Shorty buried his nose in his sleeve in disgust.

  "I’ve got a bad feeling about this," Leigh said as he tried to block out the smell too.

  And they weren’t kidding about the smell; it was putrid. Worse than anything I’d ever smelt before.

  "What on earth is this place?" Nanako asked as we cautiously approached the side door of the warehouse.

  "The smell – it’s decaying organic matter," David said when we reached the door.

  Leigh was standing several paces back from the rest of us, eyes wide with fright.

  "Should we draw straws to see who gets to go in?" David asked, his voice shaking.

  "I will go." Madison strode boldly to the door and reached out to open it.

  "So will I," I added with more confidence than I felt.

  "Me too, then," Nanako said, her pretty button-nose screwed up from the horrid stench.

  I had to help Madison get the door open since it was stuck in the doorframe, and then Madison and I slipped inside with Nanako bringing up the rear.

  It was pitch black inside, so I let rip with flash sonar, and immediately wished I hadn’t. I was met with a grisly scene that completely defied description, a scene so horrific and unsettling that I turned and bolted straight back outside and promptly threw up. I kept throwing up until my stomach was utterly empty. And even then, I dry heaved several more times until I was left panting for breath.

  "What is it – what did you see?" Nanako asked in concern as she followed me outside

  Madison came running out of the warehouse now, and she proceeded to throw up too, though not as violently as I had.

  "What’s in there, Jones?" David asked.

  "Man, I ain’t never seen Jones spooked like this before. What did you see, mate?" Shorty demanded.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I wiped my mouth, stood, and concentrated on breathing in fresh air for a few moments.

  "It’s a cross between an abattoir and a charnel house," Madison said from where she stood over near the door.

  "A what and a what?" Shorty glanced from Madison to me and back again.

  My eyes bloodshot and my mind revolting against the images the flash sonar had illuminated, I explained to the others what I’d seen. "It’s a slaughter house, where the Skel strip the bones out of the corpses of humans, sheep and dogs for their suits of armour. After that they burn the bodies in a massive furnace. That’s what the smoke’s from."

  "Ewwww." Shorty stepped back.

  Nanako came over and massaged my back, trying to knead away muscles knotted with tension from vomiting.

  "These Skel, they're not just barbaric; they're evil beyond comprehension!" I said emotionally. "I mean, we've all seen their suits of armour, and we knew where the bones came from, but to see the process up close, it's just so utterly despicable! How can such a culture exist? How did people devolve into such monsters with absolutely no regard or respect for the dead. It's incomprehensible!"

  Apart from Nanako, who kept trying to work the knots out of my back, the others just stood there, too shocked to talk. Even Madison was at a loss for words, her face drawn and pale.

  I had to get the horrific images burned into my retina out of my mind, so I turned to Nanako and used flash sonar to stare at her lovely round face, so full of care and concern, and let that image slowly weaken the intensity of the others. But it was a temporary measure, and I knew it. Every time I closed my eyes, every time I blinked, those images were conjured back into my mind. I shuddered to think what my nightmares would be like next time I fell asleep.

  "Let's get away from here, shall we?" David suggested softly.

  "Why don't we check out those warehouses?" I pointed to the row of buildings on the other side of the yard. Pale light was flickered from the windows set high in the walls of one, while the rest were dark and lifeless.

  We left the horrific charnel house behind and hurried across the cluttered yard and cautiously approached the buildings. There were a dozen of them, arranged in a large rectangle. There was no warehouse in the southeast corner of the rectangle, just a driveway that led into a big internal car park, which, when we entered it, gave us quite a surprise. It was filled with over two dozen battered old trucks that were just visible in the moonlight.

  The smell of resin also permeated the whole area.

  "Woah!" David exclaimed, "who would've thought the Skel had this many vehicles?"

  "I wonder how many of 'em actually run?" I walked over to the closest truck and examined it with knowing eyes.

  "Look over there," Madison said, pointing to a pile of oil drums stacked against a wall. She walked over to one and after knocking on it and sniffing it, turned back to us. "Full of petrol."

  "Where on earth are the Skel getting petrol from?" Leigh asked.

  "My guess’d be the Rangers since Hamamachi still uses petrol," Nanako said.

  "The resin
smell is coming from over here," Madison said as she left the drums and made her way over to the largest of the warehouses on our right. It was the one that had weak light shining from its windows.

  "Okay, let’s check it out, and the rest of the buildings too. I want to know exactly what the Skel get up to," I said.

  "Doors are chained and padlocked," Madison said, hefting the chain in her hands.

  "Allow me?" I asked as I pulled out my lock picks. While Madison watched me closely, I had the padlock open and the chain off the door in a jiffy.

  I pulled the rickety door open – the glass panel had been replaced by wood – and slipped carefully inside with the others on my heels. The smell of resin was ten times stronger here, so much so that it made me a little giddy. It wasn’t an unpleasant smell, though, I kinda liked it.

  I had an inkling of what I’d find in there, but after the shock I’d received when I entered the charnel house; my heart was thumping loudly in fearful anticipation.

  We entered a foyer that led into a couple of offices. The ceramic tiled floor was worn thin by the passage of many booted feet. Paint was hanging in strips from the walls, and the internal windows were all shattered.

  Seeing nothing of value here, we passed through the offices and into the warehouse behind, but met another shocking scene, though thankfully, nothing like what I’d seen in the charnel house.

  The building was wide and deep, and was filled with dozens of shoddily assembled wooden work benches on which lay several suits of Skel bone armour in various stages of assembly and coated with resin to make them bulletproof.

  Pallet-racks also ran the length of the warehouse walls, and on the pallets were bones – hundreds and hundreds of them. Some pallets only skulls, others rib cages, others leg or arm bones, all meticulously sorted into types. Most of the bones were human, but some pallets had dog or sheep bones. And unlike the bones on the workbenches, the ones on the pallets hadn't been treated with resin yet.

  And that wasn’t all. We quickly realised we weren’t alone in here. Straw mats and hessian bags were laid out on the floor between the rows of workbenches, and on these mats were slaves. Most were asleep, but some tossed and turned, trying to find a way to get comfortable on a rough mat on a concrete floor.

  And the slaves, never in my life had I seen people in such wretched straits. Thanks to the presence of oil lamps hanging throughout the warehouse, we could all see the slaves. And with the exception of Madison, we all gasped in shock now that we could see them up close.

  "The poor blighters," David said, his voice choking up.

  "Oh my goodness, look at the poor things, oh, this is terrible!" Nanako exclaimed, heartbroken.

  Most of the slaves were gaunt, their skin pallid, bruised, and often covered with sores. For the most part, their lank hair was matted and infested with lice. Some were clearly ill, and the rest malnourished. Their clothes were worn and shabby, and covered with sewn-on patches.

  I was unnerved and wished there was something – anything – we could do for these poor souls, but there wasn't, and I knew it.

  "Come on, we'd better go," I whispered. But I'd taken only a couple of steps when a voice stopped me in my tracks.

  "Who are you people?"

  I turned and saw a slave close to us sitting on a hessian mat, staring at us with big, bloodshot eyes. His red hair was filthy, and his hands stained with dirt. He must've been one of the market gardeners.

  I stood there, unable to move or reply, my eyes looking anywhere but at him. Nanako took a step forward to stand beside me, but the others edged slowly towards the door. I mean, how were we gonna answer that question?

  The guy pushed himself to his feet, the motion disturbing several of the others. "You here to rescue us?" His voice was tinged with hope.

  I glanced at him, but couldn't maintain eye contact; I felt so wretched that we couldn't help them.

  "You not, are you?" he said as he took a step towards us. I couldn't help but notice the irons around his bony ankles and the short chain between them. "So what are you here for, then?" he demanded gruffly, disturbing several more of the slaves, who lifted their heads to stare at us. "You're not Skel. You're not slaves, and you don't look like Rangers."

  "We're, um, from Newhome," I said quietly.

  "That walled-up town over in Melbourne?" he asked as he continued to shuffle towards me, his chains preventing him from taking normal steps.

  "Ah, yeah."

  A tall skinny, girl who'd been lying next to the guy rose and hobbled towards us too. Her hair was also red, and her pale, dirt smudged face was covered with freckles.

  "So why are ya here then? Skulking around and gawking at us like some zoo exhibits, and then sneaking off again?" she demanded angrily.

  "What do we tell 'em?" I whispered to Nanako.

  "How 'bout the truth?" she suggested.

  "Well?" the girl demanded. I had no idea how old she and the guy were – in their late thirties if I had to guess.

  "We're, ah, here on a mission," I said. I couldn't divulge too much in case the slaves were to run to the Skel in the morning and tell 'em what we said.

  More hope kindled in the guy's gray eyes. "So the brass in Newhome are aware of what's going on here?"

  "Not exactly," I answered slowly.

  "Then what exactly?" the girl asked curtly.

  "We're here on our own."

  "How does that work?" the guy asked.

  "We're exiles – fugitives who escaped Newhome. But the town's under siege by a combined force of Skel and Rangers and we're trying to save the town."

  "How do you think you're gonna manage that?" the girl demanded.

  "Considering there's what, six of you?" the guy asked.

  I glanced unsurely at Nanako, and back at Madison. "Sorry, I can't divulge that."

  "When you've finished this mission, whatever it is, you just gonna up and go, right? And forget you ever saw us?" the guy said bluntly.

  "No!" said another, much older woman, her thin, greying hair cut short. "You gotta take us with you! You gotta get us out of here!"

  Chapter Fifteen

  "I'm sorry..." I began, wishing we'd run as soon as the redheaded guy had started talking.

  "You have to!" the woman said, standing to her feet. She wasn't much taller than Nanako.

  "Jones," I heard Madison whisper from behind me. "Let’s go. We cannot achieve anything by talking to these people."

  "How many of us can you fit in your vehicle?" the woman asked, her voice bordering on panic.

  "Look, sorry, we don't have a vehicle," I said apologetically.

  "Then how did you get here?" demanded the redhead guy.

  "We walked..."

  "Bull!" This from the girl.

  "Look, as I told you, we're fugitives." I raised my hands. "Please, I'm sorry, but we've got nothing – nothing that can help you. We've got no vehicle, no food, no weapons other than these bows and arrows, and we're on our own. We don't even know where to go when we're finished here."

  "But..." blustered the older woman.

  "Okay, we get the picture. You can't help us," said the redhead, raising his voice. His chin dropped to his chest for a moment, and then he looked back up at me. "However, maybe I can help you."

  "Oh?" I wondered what the catch was.

  "How much of this place have you seen? Have you found what you're looking for?"

  "We just got here," I replied. "And no, we've seen nothing but this warehouse and that place across the yard."

  "In that case come with me and I'll show you what's in the other warehouses. I trust you've got some way of breakin' and entering, since you got in here?" He shuffled over to us.

  I looked at the chains on his legs, and I so wanted to remove them, but the shackles on his ankles were closed with pins, so my lock picks wouldn't be of any help.

  "You guys get back to sleep. I'll be back soon," he said, and then upon reaching us, held out a calloused hand. "Jack."

  I shoo
k his hand gently, painfully aware of how bony it was. "Ethan."

  "Wish I'd met ya in more pleasant circumstances, Ethan. But come, let me show you what's next door." He led us slowly out of the resin-factory to the next warehouse along.

  I had the padlock off in a jiffy, and we stepped into a darkened warehouse, since no slaves slept here. I pulled out my torch and swept it back and forth, causing a low, long whistle to erupt from David.

  "It's a munitions dump," I said as I ran my eyes over pile after pile of old artillery shells, mortar shells, crates of gunpowder, and a plethora of items such as pressure cookers with which the Skel made their homemade bombs.

  "Exactly." Jack nodded.

  "Hey, how come there ain't no guards?" Shorty asked after we left the building and I locked it back up again. I couldn't leave any signs that we'd been here.

  "Don't need 'em," Jack said. "They lock us in at night and that's that."

  "Do you ever try to escape?" David asked.

  "Like this? How far do ya think we'd get?" Jack glanced down at his shackled ankles.

  "The Skel are animals," I lamented.

  "Worse. No animals do this to their own kind," Jack said, and then took us to the next warehouse.

  I picked the lock and removed the padlock, but Jack reached out a hand to stay me before I opened the door.

  "How much you know about the origins of the Skel?"

  "Nothing," I replied. "Even what we thought we knew was wrong."

  "Then open the door and learn," he said.

  I pulled open the door so that we could all go in, and though I was using the torch, I'd already seen pretty much everything by echolocating before the others had a chance to register what was before us.

  "Shoot me dead!" Shorty exclaimed.

  "Good grief," David practically drawled.

  "Do they work?" Leigh asked.

  This warehouse was filled with dozens, no hundreds, of immaculately preserved motorcycles – Harleys for the most part – parked in perfectly straight rows. With shiny chrome and glistening engines, their bodies were brightly polished. The tires were painted with thick black paint, but echolocation revealed that they were perishing, riddled with cracks and dry rot.