Tomorrow 1 - When The War Began

by John Marsden

  There was a sudden sound from below, and looking down I saw Corrie’s red head as she started to climb the tree. I moved to the left to make room for her, and she swung up beside me a moment later.

  ‘I couldn’t sleep,’ she explained. ‘Too much to think about.’

  ‘I slept, but I don’t know how.’

  ‘Did you have awful dreams?’

  ‘I don’t know. I never remember my dreams.’

  ‘Not like that Theo what’s-his-name at school. Every morning in Home Group he’d tell us his full dreams from the night before, in detail. It was so boring.’

  ‘He’s just boring full stop.’

  ‘I wonder where they all are now,’ Corrie said. ‘I hope they are at the Showground. I hope they’re OK. It’s all I can think about. I keep remembering all the stories we read in History about World War Two and Kampuchea and stuff like that, and my brain just overloads on terror. And then I think about the way those soldiers were shooting at us, and the way they screamed when the mower blew up.’

  She picked unhappily at a piece of bark. ‘Ellie, I just can’t believe this is happening. Invasions only happen in other countries, and on TV. Even if we survive this I know I’ll never feel safe again.’

  ‘I was thinking about the games we used to play here.’

  ‘Yes. Yes. The tea parties. And dressing the dolls up. Remember when we put lipstick on them all?’

  ‘Then we lost interest.’

  ‘Mmm, it just faded away, didn’t it? We grew up, I guess. Other things came along, like boys.’

  ‘They seemed such innocent days. You know, when we got to high school and stuff, I used to look back and smile and think “God, was I ever innocent!” Santa Claus and tooth fairies and thinking that Mum stuck your paintings on the fridge because they were masterpieces. But I’ve learnt something now. Corrie, we were still innocent. Right up to yesterday. We didn’t believe in Santa Claus but we believed in other fantasies. You said it. You said the big one. We believed we were safe. That was the big fantasy. Now we know we’re not, and like you said, we’ll never feel safe again, and so it’s bye-bye innocence. It’s been nice knowing you, but you’re gone now.’

  We sat there, looking out across the paddocks to the dark fragment of road in the distance, lying across the countryside like a thin black snake. That’s where people would appear, if they came in search of us. But there was no movement, just the birds going about their unchanging routines.

  ‘Do you think they’ll come?’ Corrie asked presently.

  ‘Who? The soldiers? I don’t know, but there’s something Homer said ... about them not having the manpower to search the whole district. There’s a lot of truth in that, I think. See, my theory is that they’re using this valley as a corridor to the big towns and the cities. I reckon they’ve landed at Cobbler’s Bay, and their main interest in Wirrawee is to keep it quiet so they can get free access to the rest of the country. Cobbler’s Bay is such a great harbour, and remember, we couldn’t see it when we came out of Hell, because of the cloud cover. I bet it’s full of ships and there’s traffic pouring down the highway right now. But it’s not as though Wirrawee’s going to be a major target for anyone. We don’t have any secret missile bases or nuclear power plants. Or at least we didn’t, the last time I looked.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Corrie doubtfully. ‘You never know what Mrs Norris was getting up to in the Science Lab at school.’

  ‘You children come down from that tree right now!’ said a voice from below. We didn’t need to look to know who it was. ‘Great bloody sentries you are,’ Homer said, climbing to join us. ‘And I heard what you said about Mrs Norris, my favourite teacher. I’m going to tell her when we go back to school.’

  ‘Yeah, in twenty years.’

  ‘Wasn’t it Mrs Norris’s class when you went out the window and down the drainpipe?’ I asked.

  ‘It could have been,’ Homer admitted.

  ‘What?’ said Corrie, laughing.

  ‘Well it got a bit boring,’ Homer explained. ‘Even more boring than usual. So I thought I’d leave. The window was closer than the door, so when she turned to write on the whiteboard I went over the windowsill and down the drainpipe.’

  ‘And then Ms Maxwell came along,’ I chipped in.

  ‘And said, “What are you doing?”.’

  ‘Quite a fair question really,’ I said.

  ‘So I told her I was inspecting the plumbing,’ Homer finished, hanging his head as if he remembered the storm that followed. We were laughing so much we had trouble keeping our grip on the branches.

  ‘I’ve heard of people being out of their trees,’ Corrie said, ‘and you nearly are.’

  A familiar sound interrupted us. We stopped talking and craned our necks, searching the sky. ‘There it is,’ said Corrie, pointing. A jet screamed across the hills, so low that we could see the markings. ‘One of ours!’ Homer yelled excitedly. ‘We’re still in business!’ The jet lifted a little to clear the range and turned to the left, belting away into the distance towards Stratton. ‘Look!’ Corrie called. Three more jets, dark and ominous, were in hot pursuit. They were flying a little higher but following the same course. The noise was piercing, splitting the peaceful sky and land, like a long Velcro tear. Homer sank back to his position in the bole of the tree. ‘Three against one,’ he said. ‘I hope he makes it.’

  ‘He or she,’ I muttered, absent-mindedly.

  The long day wore on. When everyone was awake we had a late lunch and talked endlessly of Lee and Robyn, of where they might be, of what could have happened. After a while we realised we were going round in tired circles. Homer had been silent for ten minutes or so, and as our voices trailed off we found ourselves looking at him. Maybe that always happens when someone’s been quiet for a while. Maybe it happened because we were starting to recognise Homer’s leadership. He didn’t seem to notice, just began talking naturally, as though he had it all worked out.

  ‘How about this?’ he said. ‘You know how I feel about everyone sticking together. It might be nice for our feelings but it’s ultimately stupid. We’ve got to toughen up, and fast. Just because we like being together, that’s not important any more. You know what I’m saying? So, what I suggest is two of us go into Wirrawee to look for Lee and Robyn. If no one’s turned up by midnight say, they make their way to Lee’s place, and see if they’re holed up there, injured maybe.’

  ‘I thought you didn’t believe in friendship any more,’ Kevin said. ‘Seems a hell of a risk to go to Lee’s, if we’re so worried about saving ourselves.’

  Homer looked at him coldly and even Corrie rolled her eyes.

  ‘I’m not doing it just for friendship,’ Homer said. ‘It’s a calculated risk. Seven people are better than five, so we take a risk to try to build up our numbers to seven again.’

  ‘And we could end up with three.’

  ‘We could end up with none. Everything’s a risk from now on Kev. We’re not going to be safe anywhere, any time, until this thing is over. All we can do is to keep calculating the odds. And if it goes on long enough we’ll be caught. But if we do nothing we’ll get caught even sooner. The biggest risk is to take no risk. Or to take crazy risks. We’ve got to be somewhere between one and the other. Obviously whoever goes looking for Lee and Robyn has to be incredibly careful. But I’m sure they can work that out for themselves.’

  ‘So what do the other three do?’ Kevin asked. ‘Sit back here and eat and sleep? Shame there’s nothing on TV.’

  ‘No,’ said Homer. He leaned forward. ‘Here’s what I suggest. They load Corrie’s Toyota with everything useful they can find. Then they go to Kevin’s and do the same. And to my place and Ellie’s if there’s time. They pick up the Landrover at my place and fill it too. I’m talking food, clothes, petrol, rifles, tools, everything. By dawn we want to have two vehicles fuelled up, packed to their roofs, and ready to go.’

  ‘To go where?’ Kevin asked.

  ‘To Hell,’ Homer
answered.

  That was Homer’s genius. He combined action with thought, and he planned ahead. He sensed, I think, that inaction was our enemy. Anyone seeing us at that moment wouldn’t have thought that we were in the most desperate positions of our lives. We were all sitting up excitedly, faces flushed and eyes gleaming. We had things to do, positive definite things. It suddenly seemed so obvious that if we had a future, it would be in Hell. And we began to realise that there might still be a life for us.

  ‘We’ll make lists,’ Fi said. ‘We need pens and paper, Corrie.’

  Our lists took nearly an hour to compile. They included all kinds of things, such as where the keys to petrol tanks were kept, how to find a foot pump for car tyres, what grade oil to put in the Landrover, and which of my teddies I wanted to have – Alvin. For food we went mainly for rice, noodles, cans, plus tea, coffee, jams, Vegemite, biscuits and cheese. Kevin looked a bit depressed when he realised what a vegetarian he was about to become. But there were sure to be heaps of eggs, in kitchens and chook sheds. Clothing was just all the obvious stuff, but with an emphasis on warmth, in case the weather broke or we were in the bush for a long time – and with an emphasis on dull colours, too, that would camouflage successfully. But it was the extras that took the time. A lot of the stuff was still in the Landrover from our five days in Hell, but it would need to be checked. And we kept thinking of new things, or things that needed topping up. Soap, dishwashing brushes and liquid, shampoo, toothpaste and toothbrushes, firestarters, pens, paper, maps of the district, compasses, books to read, transistor radio – in case a station came back on the air – and batteries, torches, insect repellent, first-aid kits, razors, tampons, packs of cards, chess set, matches, candles, sun cream, binoculars, Kevin’s guitar, toilet paper, alarm clock, cameras and film, family photos. Homer didn’t comment on the family photos but when that encouraged other family treasures being added to the list he spoke up.

  ‘We can’t take things like that,’ he said, when Corrie nominated her mother’s diaries.

  ‘Why not? They’re so important to her. She’s always said that if the house was burning they’d be the first things she’d save.’

  ‘Corrie, this isn’t a picnic we’re going on. We’ve got to start thinking of ourselves as guerillas. We’re already taking teddy bears and guitars. I think that’s enough.’

  ‘If we can take family photos we can take my mother’s diaries,’ Corrie said obstinately.

  ‘That’s exactly what’ll end up happening,’ Homer said. ‘You’ll say, “Well if the photos can go, the diaries can”, and then someone else’ll say, “Well if her diaries can go then my father’s football trophies can go”, and before we know it we’ll need a couple of trailers.’

  It was just one of many arguments we seemed to have that afternoon. We were tired and nervous and scared for Lee and Robyn and our families. That particular fight was resolved by Fi, who made one of those suggestions that immediately seem so obvious you wonder why it took so long for anyone to think of it.

  ‘Why don’t you pack up all the valuables in the house,’ she said to Corrie. ‘Your mother’s jewellery and everything. Then hide them somewhere. Bury them in the vegetable garden.’

  It was such a good idea that I hoped there would be time later for me to do the same thing.

  Meanwhile Kevin kept trying to sneak extra things onto the list, the most important of which seemed to be condoms. As fast as he wrote them down Corrie crossed them off, till the paper had as many erasures as items. But when we came to firearms he got serious. ‘We’ve got a couple of rifles and a shotgun. One rifle’s only a .22 but the other’s a .222. The shotgun’s a beauty, a twelve-gauge. Plenty of ammo for the rifles, not so much for the shotgun. Unless Dad got some more while we were away, which I doubt. He was talking about it, but I don’t think he was going into town except for Commem Day, when the sports store’d be shut.’

  Between the rest of us we had only a .22 hornet and a .410. My father had a .303, but ammunition for it had become so expensive that I didn’t think he still had any.

  I was in the middle of explaining to the others where we kept our ammo. I’d already figured out I’d be one of the people going to town. Suddenly we heard a distant disturbing noise. It sounded like a plane, but louder and rougher, and it was getting closer very quickly. ‘It’s a helicopter,’ Corrie said, looking scared. We ran for the windows. ‘Get away from the bloody windows,’ Homer yelled, then to me, ‘We forgot to have a sentry.’ He rattled out a string of orders. ‘Kevin, go to the sitting room; Fi, the bathroom; Corrie, your bedroom; Ellie the sunroom. Look carefully out of the windows to see if there’s anyone coming by road or across the paddocks. Report to me in the office. I’ll be getting the .22.’

  We did what he said. He’d chosen four rooms that together gave us a 360 degree view of the countryside. I scuttled across the floor of the sunroom like a big startled cockroach, then stood behind the curtains, wrapped myself in them and peeped out. I couldn’t see the helicopter but I could hear it, loud and coarse and threatening. I scrutinised the countryside carefully but could see nothing. Then something did move into my view. It was the little corgi, Flip, waddling across the courtyard. I felt sick. They would have to see her from the air, and what would they make of that? A healthy dog wandering happily around a house that was meant to have been deserted for a week? Should I call her, I wondered, in case they haven’t seen her yet? But if she responded too enthusiastically to my call it might make them even more suspicious. I made a decision, to do nothing, and at that moment the helicopter itself came swooping around to my side of the house. It was a great big ugly dark thing, like a powerful wasp, buzzing and staring and hungry to kill. I shrank back into the curtains, afraid to look into the faces of the people in the machine. I felt that they could see through the walls of the house. I squatted, then retreated along the wall of the room, around the next wall, fled through the door and down to the office, where the others were waiting.

  ‘Well?’ Homer asked.

  ‘No soldiers,’ I said, ‘but Flip’s out there, wandering around. They must have seen her from the helicopter.’

  ‘That might be enough to make them suspicious,’ Homer said. ‘They’d be trained to notice anything out of the ordinary.’ He swore. ‘We’ve got a lot to learn, assuming we even come out of this. How many soldiers in the chopper?’

  He got various answers: ‘Hard to say’, ‘Maybe three’, ‘I didn’t see’, ‘Three or four, maybe more sitting up the back’.

  ‘If they do land they’ll probably spread out.’ Homer was thinking aloud. ‘A .22 won’t be much use. The Toyota’s still up at the shearing shed. I can’t believe we’ve been so stupid. It’d be no use trying for that. Go back to the same rooms, and see what they’re doing. And try to count the number of soldiers. But don’t give them the slightest chance to see you.’

  I ran back to the sunroom but the helicopter was not in sight. Its ugly angry sound seemed to fill my head though, to fill the house. It was in every room. I hurried back to the office. ‘It’s on the west side,’ Kevin said. ‘Just hovering there, not landing.’

  ‘Look guys,’ Homer said. ‘If it lands I think we’ve only got two options. We can sneak out on the opposite side to where it’s landed, and use the trees to try to get away into the bush. The bikes are no use and the Toyota’s out of reach. So we’d be on foot and relying on our brains and our fitness. The second option would be to surrender.’

  There was a grim and frightened silence. We had only one option really, as Homer knew.

  ‘I don’t want to be a dead hero,’ I said. ‘I think we’d have to take our chances and surrender.’

  ‘I agree,’ Homer said quickly, as though anxious to get in before someone disagreed.

  The only one likely to disagree was Kevin. The four of us looked at him. He hesitated, then swallowed and nodded: ‘All right.’

  ‘Let’s go back to the sitting room,’ Homer said. ‘We’ll see if it’s still
there.’

  We ran down the corridor, then Kevin eased himself into the room and sidled to the window. ‘Still there,’ he reported. ‘Not doing anything, just watching. No, wait ... it’s on the move ... coming down a little ...’ Fi gave a cry. I glanced at her. She’d been very quiet all afternoon. She looked like she was about to pass out. I grabbed her hand, and she squeezed mine so hard I thought maybe I’d be the one to pass out Kevin kept up his commentary. ‘They’re staring right at me,’ he said. ‘But I can’t believe they could see me.’

  ‘Don’t move,’ Homer said. ‘It’s movement that’s the giveaway.’

  ‘I know,’ Kevin complained. ‘What do you think, I’m going to start tap dancing?’

  For another two minutes we all stood like mannequins in a shop window. The room seemed to grow darker and darker. When Kevin did speak again it was in a whisper, as though there were soldiers in the corridor.

  ‘It’s moving ... can’t tell ... sideways a little, up a bit, up some more. Maybe going over the house, to have a look at the other side.’

  ‘This’ll be the big move, one way or the other,’ Homer said. ‘They won’t hang round much longer.’ Fi gripped my hand even tighter, something I wouldn’t have thought possible. It was worse than carrying a lot of plastic shopping bags loaded with dog food. Kevin kept talking as though he hadn’t heard Homer. ‘Still going sideways ... up a bit more ... no, backing off a bit. Come on, back off beautiful. Yes, backing off now, and accelerating too. Oh yes. Make like a hockey player sweetheart; get the puck out of here. Yes! Yes! Fly away, fly away home.’ He turned to us with a casual shrug. ‘See! All I had to do was use my charm.’ Corrie picked up the nearest object and threw it at him, as the helicopter began to sound more like a distant chain saw. The object was a little statue of Mary, which luckily for Corrie, Kevin caught. Fi burst into tears. Homer gave a shaky smile, then swung into action again.