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.”
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 fig
ht 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, rolling 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 h
air?”
“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.
Forager - the Complete Six Book Series (A Post Apocalyptic/Dystopian Series) Page 78