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

by Peter R Stone

  “Yes. A fire broke out in our flat, in the girl’s room. Faulty wiring in the wall heater, they said. Mother and I suffered severe burns, and Father...” She took a deep breath before continuing. “He got the two of us out, but went back in one more time to try and put out the fire. He died from smoke inhalation.”

  I laid a hand on her forearm. “I’m so sorry.”

  She patted my hand and smiled sadly. “That’s okay. I’ve come to terms with it now.” All the same, a tear rolled down her left cheek.

  “How’s your mother now?” I asked, hoping I wasn’t prying too much.

  “She’s pretty much an invalid. Never leaves our room.”

  “So you look after her?”

  “Mostly. A nurse pops in once a week too.”

  “You’d think they’d give her better accommodation than this hole.”

  “They gave her the option of moving into an aged care facility, but she turned them down so she can stay with me.”

  “Sounds like an amazing woman.” Selflessness ran deep in their family. I was jealous.

  Sofia said she’d help us clean up when we got back to the fifth floor. I refused of course, but she fobbed me off with a laugh. Then came one of the worst experiences of my life. With Mother’s help – Karen wouldn’t budge from her spot in the corridor – we took eleven trolley loads of refuse to the large blue metal hopper in the yard. The mattresses, although light, were too large and unwieldy for one person to carry, so that was another three trips. After that, we scrubbed the place down with disinfectant – ceiling, walls, and floor.

  This marathon effort took several hours, but the end result was relatively encouraging. The room was still in a bad way, of course, with linoleum tiles peeling off the floor, dented and scraped walls stained black in places, but it was clean.

  Using hooks I found outside in the garbage, and a chair I dragged in from the corridor, I hung some bed sheets from the curtain rails to divide the room into three smaller living spaces. One as a bedroom for Brandon, one for us three women, and the larger one near the door to serve as the lounge-room. Not that we had any furniture to put in it.

  It turned out we shared a bathroom with the residents in the adjacent room. It had a shower, vanity and toilet, and was nowhere near as filthy. All the same, we still gave it a scrub down with disinfectant.

  When we were finished, Sofia took us to the supervisor. He opened the storeroom and gave us four ‘clean’ mattresses. In reality, they were tattered and stained, but were infinitely better than the soiled ones we threw out. He even gave us a hand taking them upstairs.

  Sofia also told us the good news that the shelter provided meals for the tenants. At seven every morning the cafeteria on the first floor served bread that had been discarded by the bakeries the evening before, as well as gruel, which was basically a weak porridge. Lunch was more bread and fruit considered unfit for sale in the market stalls. Dinner was normally bread and yoghurt, and occasionally pizza.

  “Oh, one thing I should mention,” Sofia said when she bade us goodbye after dinnertime. We were sitting on the floor with our backs to the wall in our brand new lounge-room. “Don’t go barefoot in the shower. You’ll get athlete’s foot.”

  “What’s that?” Karen asked.

  “It’s a skin disease that makes your feet itch like mad. Very contagious and takes ages to get rid of.”

  “Ew – I’m never bathing again,” Karen wailed.

  “Just wear thongs when you’re in there. You can pick them up cheap at the market,” Sofia said.

  “Need money for that,” Karen grumbled.

  “Oh. Sorry.”

  “We don’t need your sympathy!” Mother snapped.

  “There’s no need to be rude, Mother!” I said.

  “You’re right. Sorry, Sofia. It’s been one of those days.” An apology from my mother – that had to be a first.

  “That’s okay,” Sofia replied.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I barely got a wink of sleep that night. Not only was the mattress uncomfortable because I could feel every spring, but it also had a most unpleasant odour. I hoped it would fade with time. I was so glad we brought our own sheets and doonas. Karen sobbed until she fell asleep, which didn’t help. Mother ignored her, turning her back to us. I tried to comfort Karen by running my hand through her hair, but she just pushed me away.

  Sofia turned up before seven and took us to the cafeteria. We lined up for bowls of gruel and bread, and sat at a plastic table that was bent in the middle and rocked on uneven legs.

  The watery gruel tasted every bit as disgusting as I feared, but I still ate it.

  “What is this slop?” Karen said. She pushed her bowl away.

  “Boiled oats,” Sofia said.

  “Well, it’s revolting! There’s more water than oats.”

  “Goes further that way.”

  Karen tried a bread roll and pulled another face. “This is so stale it’s like chewing on cardboard.”

  “Some of the residents buy their own food. When they have money, that is,” Sofia said. She’d already downed a bowl of gruel and two bread rolls. I noticed her looking at my sister’s gruel. Mother hadn’t touched hers either.

  “You gonna eat that, Mother?” I asked.

  She shook her head, so I pushed her bowl to Sofia, and it was quickly consumed. I realised that with her mother an invalid and her father passed away, Sofia had no source of income. No wonder she was malnourished. There was something fundamentally wrong with the way the town treated those down on their luck.

  After breakfast, my mother and sister retreated to our room to lament our change in fortune.

  “Guess I’d better show you where the Laundromat is,” Sofia said, rising from the table.

  “It’s not coin operated, is it?”

  “Nope, just a room full of washing machines and dryers. Only half of them work, though.”

  “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” I followed her to the Laundromat around the side of the building, which was only accessible from the yard.

  As expected, the room was long, with battered white washing machines on the floor and dryers above. All front loaders. Some machines were missing doors, others had been kicked so violently that the doors would no longer close. Others looked as if they’d been attacked with a sledgehammer.

  “Well, now you’ve seen it,” she said.

  “Anything else you can show me? I’m in no hurry to head back upstairs.”

  “There’s a garden out back.”

  “Lead on.”

  We headed for the door but I quickly grabbed Sofia’s arm to stop her when the last two people in the world I ever wanted to see again entered the Laundromat.

  “Chelsea Thomas.” Deacon said. After studying my birthmark for just long enough to make me feel self-conscious, he flashed a sleazy grin that made my skin crawl.

  “I heard about you two.” I mentally warned myself to be very careful. I could not let on that I’d already met them, nor antagonise them so they’d hurt either one of us.

  “Only good things, I trust?” With Wells massive bulk seeming to fill the narrow space behind him, Deacon came closer and ran his eyes up and down my figure, and then did the same to Sofia.

  I pulled her behind me and lifted my chin defiantly, trying to hide the terror I felt being trapped in here with them. “I’m sorry, but I have to ask you to leave. As unmarried women, it is inappropriate for you to talk to us.”

  His grin vanished. “There’s no need to be rude, Chelsea. We saw the note on your front door and decided to pop over and see your new home. Have to say, you’ve come down a bit in the world, haven’t you?”

  “We wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t robbed my brother. We got evicted because we couldn’t pay the rent!” Guess I stuffed up with that note. It was for Brandon, not these bloodsuckers. Still, wouldn’t have made any difference. They would have found us anyway.

  “Commiserations for your eviction, but you’ve been misinformed, de
ar girl. We did not rob your brother. He made the payment of his own volition.” He paused and became all smiles again. “Speaking of your brother, is he here? We’d like a word.”

  “He’s gone out.”

  “Is that so?”

  “You think he’d stay here by choice?”

  “When he comes home, be a good girl and tell him we dropped by. Okay?”

  “I’m not doing you no favours.”

  “Wells, would you have a word with the young lady? She seems a tad uncooperative.” Deacon stepped sideways to make room for his brutish accomplice.

  “Fine, I’ll tell him!” I conceded quickly, having no desire to be on the receiving end of Wells’ fists again.

  “Good girl.” Deacon beamed his patronising grin. They turned to go. “Until next time.”

  Once they were out of view, my strength vanished and I sagged back against a washing machine. I hid my shaking hands in the folds of my dress.

  “Are you okay? Who are those men?” Sofia asked as she squatted beside me and laid a comforting hand on my forearm.

  “It’s a long story.”

  She sat cross-legged and smoothed out her ankle length dress. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  I looked at the concern in her badly scared face, and knew I couldn’t disappoint her. After all, she’d told me her family history, it was only appropriate I did the same, ugly as it was.

  “It all started nine months ago. My father was coming home one night with a bottle of wine when he bumped into a Custodian patrol. In the dark, one of the Custodians mistook the bottle for a gun and shot him. But when they realised their mistake, the Custodians arrested my father, claiming he really did have a gun. There was a trial and he was given the mandatory twenty-five year jail term. He was sent to a prison hospital the next day, and a month later, sent to work in a prison factory.”

  “That’s terrible!” Sofia looked aghast.

  “That’s our wonderful law enforcers in action for you. Anyways, three months later, a Custodian who was in the patrol that night came forward and testified that my father was innocent and had been setup to hide the shooter’s mistake. My father was released from prison the next day and given a substantial payout to compensate him for the shooting and prison time.”

  “What happened to the Custodians? Please don’t tell me they let them off?” Sofia asked.

  “The one who shot my father was imprisoned and the three conspirators court martialled. The fifth one, the one who came forward to confess what really happened, was demoted and given an official warning for not coming forward sooner.”

  “Where is your father now? He didn’t come here with you, right?”

  I sighed as I dredged up more painful memories. “He was a broken man when he got out of prison. After getting shot, falsely accused, and then imprisoned, it was all too much for him. I think he was also mistreated in prison, but I don’t know for sure ‘cause he never spoke about it. At any rate, turns out he started taking drugs and became a gambling addict. He lost all of our money, didn’t pay the rent for two months and ran up a huge gambling debt. To top it off, the Custodians found out about his drug habit and tossed him back in prison last Thursday.”

  “That’s why you got evicted?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What have those two guys got to do with all this?” she asked.

  “They bailed up my brother on Friday and made him hand over his wage, saying he’s responsible for Father’s gambling debt now.”

  “What? Can’t you report them? Gambling’s illegal, after all.” Sofia looked as frustrated as I felt.

  “We could, but as they explained to my brother, they are not the sort of people you want as enemies.”

  “So you’re stuck in this predicament?”

  “Seems that way.” At least until my brother or I could find a way to make thirty-thousand dollars.

  “Where is your brother, by the way? He hasn’t been here yet, has he?”

  “Not yet, but he’ll turn up. At least, he’d better, or I’ll make sure those two thugs are the least of his worries.” I made a menacing face and she laughed.

  I realised I could report him missing, but I was sure he was all right. Brandon was a survivor. Besides, if I told the Custodians he was missing, they would quickly realise I had been impersonating him at work.

  * * *

  I went to work on Monday. Foremost on my mind was the debt that hung over us, and Deacon telling me to smuggle in contraband to pay it off.

  In the end, I had no opportunities to look for illicit items to smuggle into town because Con kept the five of us together to gut an old shopping complex of every hard plastic item we could get our hands on.

  I rushed out the gate when we got back after five, anxious to get to the shelter to check on my family. Hearing Ryan hurrying after me caused me to falter.

  “Hey Brandon, wait up!” he called.

  “What’s up?” I asked, surprised. He’d barely spoken a word to me today. But with the other three – okay, primarily Con and Matt – heaping insults on him all day, I guess I should’ve expected that.

  He joined me, a series of conflicting emotions passing across his handsome face as he studied me. I still felt guilty every time I was alone with him. It was hard getting used to.

  “Wanna hang out tonight?” he asked. He looked cautiously hopeful.

  My heart leapt into my throat and I almost choked. He wanted to get together with me in the evening? I wanted to say yes more than anything in the world, but it was so inappropriate, and would surely increase my chance of discovery. “Love to, but the family’s expecting me for dinner.”

  “Meet up after dinner then. At the gym.”

  “The gym?”

  “To work out.” He looked puzzled, for I obviously should have realised that.

  It was so tempting but I didn’t know anything about the gym and doing weights apart from what Brandon taught me. I had to find an excuse that wouldn’t hurt his feelings. “Thanks for the offer, and under normal circumstances I’d say yes, but I’m still pretty much a walking bruise thanks to a certain Skel using me for batting practice.”

  “So set the weights lower.” His expression suddenly clouded over. He looked hurt. He had reached out to me, and there I was fobbing him off.

  “Okay already! You twisted my arm.” I laughed merrily. I didn’t know who let him down so badly in the past, but I wasn’t going to disappoint him too.

  The uncertainty and doubt left his eyes. “Great. See you at the gym at seven.”

  “I’ll be there,” I said. He flashed me a quick grin and jogged off. I watched him go and mentally kicked myself. What had I gotten myself into this time?

  Chapter Eighteen

  On the way home, I dropped by the market and spent ten of our sixty dollars buying food I reckoned my mother and sister would eat. Mother told me off for “squandering what little money we had left” but ate it anyway. I just pigged out on stale bread and a couple of overripe bananas left over from lunch.

  I got to the gym just after seven. It occupied the entire the second floor of the Metallurgy Club, but was open to all men.

  “Beginning to think you weren’t going show,” Brandon said. He detached from the shadows beside the door, looking relieved.

  He wore track pants and a stop, and carried a bag over his shoulder. I breathed a sigh of relief that I had the sense to change into Brandon’s tracksuit.

  “Hey, I’m a man of my word,” I said. A statement I found amusing on a number of levels.

  Ryan led me upstairs and I had to bite my tongue to stop gasping in shock at the sight of two dozen guys working out in shorts and tank tops. I know I was masquerading as a guy, but seeing so many in such a state of undress sent my heart racing. This was so improper! Never in my life did I imagine stepping foot in a place like this. Ashamed, I quickly averted my eyes, but then felt even more guilty because I realised I didn’t want to.

  “Hey Brandon, long time no see.” I turned
to see a handsome, balding guy with legs and arms the size of tree trunks. He gave me a lazy wave as I followed Ryan to a line of exercise bikes.

  “Hey, mate,” I said. I had no idea who he was.

  “Lost a bit of weight.” He was eyeing me with a knowing eye

  “Got sick,” I replied.

  “More weights. More protein drinks,” he called after us.

  “I’m here, ain’t I?” I called back.

  “You’re the man,” he said, laughing.

  “Ain’t I just.”

  Ryan and I warmed up on the bikes and then headed to a bench with a bar across it, labelled a ‘bench press.’

  “Focus on upper body today?” he asked. He dropped his bag and stripped off to tank top and shorts, revealing, a physique far more impressive than my brother’s was. He obviously spent a lot of time working out. His biceps were so large I wouldn’t be able to encircle them with both hands. His shoulders were just as impressive, his quads were massive, and each knee the width of both of mine put together.

  “Brandon?”

  “Sorry, run that by me again?” Embarrassed, I quickly looked away and fixed my eyes on the bench press. The bench press was safe, looking at it didn’t elevate my pulse or cause me to blush. I liked the bench press.

  “Okay we do upper body today?”

  “Works for me.” I had no idea what he was asking.

  He loaded up the bar with additional weights, lay down, and glanced up at me.

  “Can you spot for me?”

  A frantic look around revealed other guys working together on bench presses, with one standing behind the other and helping guide the bar back to the guide rails.

  “Sure, but I’ve got a sore back, remember?”

  “You’ll be fine,” he said.

  I stood behind the bench press and he proceeded to lift the bar.

  “What did your parents think of you becoming a forager?” he asked between exertions.

  “My father supported it, but my mother said I had a death wish.”

  “You know it's got the highest mortality rate of any profession in Newhome, right? A dozen fatal accidents, murders and kidnappings from Skel, and disappearances a year?” he said. He reached the end of his set and was trying to get the bar back into its cradle. I grabbed it and helped guide it home.