Forager - the Complete Six Book Series (A Post Apocalyptic/Dystopian Series)

by Peter R Stone

  “Brandon?”

  “Seems okay to me,” I said, not having the foggiest idea what they were alluding to. Besides, there was something about the guy that appealed to me. I didn’t want to bag him.

  “‘Seems okay to me.’ You idiot.” Con gave me a clip over the ear. “The guy’s a Custodian informer if I ever saw one.”

  “Oh great,” Jack moaned.

  “You don’t think the Custodians bought our story about what happened last week? I thought our alibis were rock solid,” Matt said.

  What happened last week? Rock solid alibis? Were they talking about Dan Smith? It sure sounded like he was injured due to an error on their part and they were lying to cover it up. If that was the case, I guess it made sense for the Custodians to slip an informer into our midst to root out the truth.

  I’d give my right arm to know what happened to Dan. Maybe then I could figure out what upset my brother so much that he ran away. Not that it really mattered, since I was going to make my break for freedom the first chance I got today.

  “So what’s the plan?” Jack asked.

  “We get rid of him,” Con replied.

  “But don’t you think they’ll–” Matt began.

  “No, not like that – are you nuts?” Con glowered at Matt so fiercely he took a step back. “We freeze him out. Give him all the rubbish jobs. Make him work harder than the rest of us. If we have to speak to him, talk down to him like he’s trash. Then informer or no, he’ll quit in no time.”

  “Got you,” Matt and Jack chorused.

  “Brandon?”

  “What if you’re wrong about him?”

  Con stuck his podgy face in mine. “I’m not.”

  “You know...” Matt said slowly, thinking aloud.

  “What?” Con snapped.

  “Someone needs to watch him. Make sure he doesn’t spy on us when we’re...you know.”

  Con’s penetrating gaze bore holes through me again. “You reckon you can do that, Boy?”

  “Who you callin’ boy, Mister?” I shot back at him. Brandon hated it when people called him that.

  “Oh, pipe down. Can you sort it or not?”

  “Whatever.” One of Brandon’s favourite responses.

  “Okay, so grab some tools and get over there. Remember, he’s the enemy, so don’t go making friends with him. Got me?”

  “Yeah, yeah.” I went over to the toolbox and stared at it in dismay. What tools was I supposed to grab? I didn’t even know what I was looking at. Then I remembered Con giving Ryan a metal-framed saw with a fine-toothed blade, so I grabbed one just like it. After that, I fetched another stepladder and headed around the back of the house.

  The backyard was an overgrown shambles which included the rusting frame of a trampoline and swing-set overgrown by vegetation.

  I spotted Ryan immediately. He’d discarded his jacket and was studiously sawing through a plastic downpipe outside a small rectangular window. I staggered to a stop when I noticed his biceps rippling as he used the saw. His tight t-shirt also did wonders for his muscular torso. Blushing in embarrassment for entertaining such improper thoughts, I shook my head and approached him.

  “Thought I was working alone,” he growled.

  “Change of plans.”

  “Why don’t you work next door or something,” he said.

  “Con told me to help you.”

  “So help me by working next door.”

  “You got something against me personally?” I asked, lifting my head slightly so I could meet his gaze.

  He sent a glance in my direction but yet again averted his gaze the moment our eyes met. “Something against people in general.”

  His attitude confirmed my earlier appraisal. He wasn’t a happy guy, but what had put him in such a frame of mind? Problems with his family? At his last job? The latter was quite likely, considering he quit of his volition.

  I also concluded that as he was trying his darnedest to push me away, Con’s theory that he was a Custodian informer was way off the mark. If he was, he’d be making every possible effort to be everyone’s best friend. He wouldn’t be telling me to nick-off.

  “Well, that’s too bad,” I replied at last. “‘Cause foraging’s a team effort.”

  “Where exactly is the team then?”

  “I’m here, ain’t I?”

  “And the other three?”

  “Beats me.”

  “Great operation you guys run here.”

  “I just do what I’m told,” I said.

  “Humph.”

  Handsome guy, but what a grouch!

  Ryan suddenly stopped sawing and turned towards me. “You going to work or are you leaving it all for me?”

  I glanced at the saw in my hand. “Okay, I’m on it!”

  I looked at how Ryan set up his stepladder, and observed the way he sawed the top of the downpipe. I set up my ladder in the same fashion and got stuck into the adjacent pipe.

  Curiosity getting the better of me, I looked through the small rectangular window behind the pipe, wondering what it was like inside the house. Unfortunately, it was too dark to make out much of anything. I was about to turn away when it occurred to me that I wasn’t in Newhome and that it was therefore safe to echolocate.

  And so, feeling extremely self-conscious and glancing at Ryan to make sure he wasn’t watching me, I sang out a series of short notes – almost like pulses – in the ultrasonic range above what dogs can hear. The darkened room immediately lit up as bright as day, though in an almost ethereal manner. Colours were washed out, but every object was clearly defined, right down to its shape and texture. Some objects even became semi-transparent, like the plastic buckets on the floor. The room was a laundry, with a battered old washing machine beside a filthy tub half-filled with leaves, dirt and disintegrating plastic pegs. Behind that was a cupboard and a rusty old clothes-dryer. The porcelain tiles lay loose on the floor.

  The ability to echolocate was awesome, so why on earth did the Custodians consider it such a threat? Surely the ways in which it could be put to practical use were many and varied. Foragers could use it to spot items in darkened houses, doctors could use it to see inside patients rather than waiting for the results of x-rays or ultrasounds, security forces could use it to detect dissidents taking advantage of the darkness of night.

  I wished I could use it in Newhome without the fear of Custodians dragging me away to the Genetics Laboratory.

  That brought back a memory of when Brandon and I were eleven. He had been playing outside, but suddenly came bursting in through the front door.

  “Son, how many times must I ask you not to leave the door open!” Mother said. She was sitting with Karen on the big sofa, teaching her how to darn a sock. I was on her other side, crocheting a new doily for the kettle.

  “Sorry!” Brandon said. He skipped over to me, grabbed my hand, and pulled me over to the lounge-room window, which he opened. “Look outside,” he whispered.

  A workman in one-piece overalls was standing on an adjustable ladder, affixing a rectangular plastic device to walkway ceiling between our flat and the adjacent one. I saw that he had already fitted another one several flats further down.

  “What are you doing, Mister?” Brandon called out.

  “Me job.”

  “What’s that thing you’re putting up?” my brother asked.

  The man looked at Brandon’s young, eager face and sighed. “Smoke detector.”

  “Never seen a smoke detector like that,” Brandon said. “They’re normally round.”

  “It’s a new model,” the man said.

  “Really?” Brandon pulled me back a step and spoke quietly. “He’s lying. I had a look in his toolbox. One of those devices was in two pieces, and I saw what was inside it. It had two round components with wire mesh on top. Like something I saw in a library book.”

  “So – so what?” I whispered

  “They’re ultrasonic detectors, and they’re putting them up all over town.” He grabbed
my hands. “Sis, we gotta be real, real careful. The Custodians are trying real hard to catch people like us. You don’t ever echolocate, do you?”

  I shook my head. “You know I don’t, Brandy. Not since we were five.”

  He squeezed my hands and beamed at me. “Just making sure.”

  It suddenly felt like my world was contracting like a fisherman drawing in his nets. And my brother and I were the fish.

  Ryan suddenly cleared his throat and gave me a pointed look. I snapped back to the present.

  Right – I was supposed to be working. I grabbed the saw and began to hack away at the downpipe, the fine metal teeth making short work of the century-old plastic.

  As I worked, I considered announcing a ‘toilet break’ as this was the perfect moment to make my escape, but the sound of footsteps coming up the driveway put paid to that idea.

  “Everything shipshape here?” Con asked when he joined us, his voice monotone.

  “All good,” I replied, turning to face him. He was looking at me, still sceptical of my story that I was sick last week.

  “Hill?” he asked.

  “Like he said.” He flicked his head in my direction.

  “Don’t let me catch you two slacking off.” With that, he was gone.

  So much for this being the perfect opportunity to escape, it wasn’t going to work if Con was watching us. But no matter, for I guessed I had the rest of the day to escape. Furthermore, it was intoxicating standing this close to Ryan. Something drew me inexorably towards him. Perhaps it was his air of self-confidence tarnished with the deep inner pain he was trying to hide?

  At any rate, this was the first time in my life I had an opportunity to spend time with a guy one-on-one without the danger of getting arrested or being accused of behaviour unbefitting a single woman. Why did the Founders insist on forced segregation of males and females to maintain sexual purity? Surely people were more than capable of exercising restraint and self-control?

  I realised I wanted to talk to Ryan and find out more about him, but as a girl, couldn’t do so without his permission. Suddenly it dawned on me yet again that those suffocating rules no longer applied, since I was masquerading as Brandon.

  “You worked in an automotive factory before this?” I asked.

  “Yeah, so?” he replied.

  “How long were you there?” I paused in my dismal attempt at sawing through the downpipe. I’d made very little progress and my right arm was starting to ache.

  “Too long.”

  “What was it like?”

  Ryan had almost cut through the top of his pipe.

  “What is this, question and answer time?”

  “No need to get all defensive, I’m just curious about what it’s like to work in a factory. I signed up for foraging as soon as I left school a year ago, so it’s all I know.” This was Brandon’s past, of course. I resumed my assault on the pipe.

  He looked at me and frowned. “What on earth are you doing? You don’t hold a hacksaw like that.”

  Chapter Seven

  “Is that right? How would you hold it, then?”

  “Here, let me show you.” He reached out to my hand. “Put your fingers like this and your thumb here.”

  I felt a thrill chase up my arm from where he touched me and held my breath in an attempt to slow my racing heart. His hands were strong, but not calloused like my brother’s were.

  Shaking my head to focus my thoughts on the job, I went back to sawing the pipe using the technique he showed me. It made quite a difference.

  He signed. “And you don’t saw the top of the pipe first.”

  I realised then that he’d already cut through the bottom of his pipe, just above where it jutted out of the concrete.

  “Right.” I moved the stepladder aside and got stuck into the bottom of the pipe instead.

  “You’ve been doing this for a year?” His expression was one of pure scepticism.

  “That’s right.” I put on an air of indignation.

  “Could have fooled me.” He rolled his eyes and went back to work.

  “I can only do what I’m taught.”

  “Ever heard of common sense?”

  I wanted to tell him that I could darn socks faster than my mother, design and make a full-length dress of superior quality to those in the shops. That I could bake a mean shepherd’s pie and oven baked chicken roast, not to mention dozens of other recipes. Of course, that would be kind of giving the game away.

  After what seemed like forever, which included pulling out plastic pipes from inside the bathroom, kitchen and laundry walls, Jack popped around to tell us it was lunchtime. The three of us picked up the pipes we had liberated so far and carted them out to the truck.

  “That’s all you two have done? Hill, you’re flippin’ useless,” Con spat when he saw the results of our endeavours.

  Ryan didn’t reply.

  “It’s my fault, Con,” I said. “Ryan did twice as much as me.”

  “How’s that possible?” He came closer, his beady eyes squinting. I so hated the way he invaded my personal space when he spoke to me. Was it a conscious act on his part to intimidate others, or something that came naturally? The guy was so creepy he made my skin crawl.

  “Hmm, maybe it’s something to do with me not eating for six days ‘cause I was puking my guts out?” I shot back. Not the sort of thing I would have said to a guy, but my brother was full of lip.

  “Pick up your game, Brandon Thomas. I have no time or patience for a fifth wheel,” Con snarled. Then he whispered in my ear. “Stick up for him again and I’ll bust your chops.”

  I noticed Ryan looking at me with a strange expression, as though no one had ever stood up for him before. What on earth happened to him at that factory?

  Everyone fetched their backpacks. Con, Matt and Jack turned their backs on Ryan and deliberately sat on the curb a good ten meters down the road from where he was sitting. If he was upset by their very obvious snub, I couldn’t tell, since he wore that wounded, bitter expression all the time.

  As I had only a few slices of bread and dried fruit to sustain me when I escaped, I sat on the curb near Ryan and sipped from a water bottle.

  “You’re not eating?” he asked.

  “Didn’t have time to grab something this morning.”

  He scooted closer to me. “That’s no good. Considering how sick you’ve been and the strenuous nature of this job. Here, have a sandwich.”

  “What? No, I can’t!”

  He pushed the sandwich into my hands anyway. “Yes, you can.”

  “But–”

  “Eat it!”

  “Okay! And – thanks, mate.” The sandwich was chicken, lettuce and mayonnaise. I couldn’t remember the last time I had meat, so I ate slowly, savouring every bite.

  “Something wrong?” Ryan asked. He sounded hurt.

  “No! It’s fantastic.” I saw Con and Matt staring daggers at me. I sighed with deep regret, and decided it was time to end my dalliance with Ryan and make my escape.

  “Really?” He didn’t look convinced at all.

  “It’s just that–”

  “Just what?” he snapped.

  “It’s the first time I’ve had chicken in ages.”

  The wounded expression on his face was replaced by surprise, and then revelation when he realised what I was telling him – my family couldn’t afford chicken.

  I finished the sandwich, skulled more water, grabbed my backpack, and stood. “Toilet break.”

  He shrugged but didn’t look at me.

  I made a b-line for the house adjacent to the one we had been working in. It was a two-storey brick-and-mortar affair. The external blinds hung off their frames in tatters. A tree in the front yard had thrust a branch through a top floor window, dislodging a host of roofing tiles as it continued to push skyward.

  I pushed open the cracked wooden door and threaded my way quickly through the house, using echolocation to see in the gloom.

  As I went, t
he enormity of what I was doing hit me. This was it! The moment I’d been anticipating for years had arrived – I was escaping Newhome and the oppressive atmosphere and tyrannical rules that treated girls and women as second-class citizens. No longer would I have to watch my step or what I said, nor worry my mutation would be discovered. Of course, I’d have to keep my wits about me as I passed through the ruins lest I run into Skel, but with my sensitive hearing and ability to use flash sonar, I figured I’d be safe.

  I had no idea how long it would take to find an abandoned farm near a water source. But I figured if I stayed on a major road as I left the city, I’d have plenty of suitable venues from which to choose.

  Passing through the kitchen, I saw a selection of stainless steel knives in a plastic bench top display. Anticipating their usefulness, I put two smaller ones in my backpack, and threaded the longest one in my belt. Not much of a weapon, but it would have to do.

  That done, I popped out the back door. An in ground swimming pool that had seen far better days dominated the back yard. Ceramic tiles lining the edge were cracked or missing, and branches, leaves, dirt and brackish sludge covered the bottom. This would have been a nice place once. I wondered if the Founders were on the ball with their claim that the old world had too many freedoms – freedoms that contributed to the global nuclear war that almost wiped humanity off the map. I couldn’t comprehend how people could be so stupid as to destroy their own world.

  I started to pick my way carefully around the pool when I heard hushed, guttural voices coming from the adjacent property – the house Ryan and I worked in only moments ago. Curious, I moved as quietly as I could to the intervening dilapidated fence. Crouching down, I looked through a gap between two sagging wooden planks and then slapped my hand over my mouth to stop myself squealing in terror.

  Three Skel – massive, hulking brutes that looked more like skeletal zombies than people – stood behind the house, examining our stepladders and hacksaws. I had heard many tales about these barbarians, including some from my mother who used them as bogeymen to scare my brother and me when we wouldn’t behave.

  All the same, nothing prepared me for the reality of their horrific appearance. Like apparitions from my worst nightmares, they were decked head to foot in suits of armour made entirely of bones. Human bones, for the most part, including modified human skulls that served as helmets. One helmet was even adorned with twisting cow horns, giving the impression the Skel was a devil escaped from the depths of hell.