“Aren't you being a little hypocritical? You know, considering you're a forager now too,” I replied.
“Had no choice – only job I could get. But you – you're smart and capable. You could've gotten any job you wanted.” He lifted the bar again and started his second set.
“I think you’re over estimating my abilities.” I wondered what he would say if he knew who I really was.
“No need to be so modest, Brandon,” he grunted.
“Huh. Say, you ever gonna tell me what happened at your last job?”
“Hey, I'm asking the questions here!” He laughed.
“What's this, an interrogation?”
“Curiosity.”
“Well that’s okay then.” I chuckled.
“So come on then, why'd you become a forager?”
“Wasn't interested in anything else.” I gave him the answer Brandon gave our parents when they asked why he became a forager.
“Why?”
“Because I knew I’d be free out in the ruins.” I helped him put the bar away again.
“Free from what?” he asked quietly as he sat up and turned to face me.
“You serious? From the suffocating rules and regulations they subject us to here,” I replied just as quietly. I realised I was standing on dangerous ground. If anyone heard me bagging the establishment and reported me to the Custodians, I could be charged with inciting rebellion.
“Such as?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow.
“I've got a twin sister who's every bit as capable as I am, yet she had to learn how to cook a pot roast and do cross stitch while I was learning algebra and calculus. Not to mention my father and me sitting at the table like lords while she, my mother, and younger sister served us, waiting for permission to speak!”
“Keep it down, someone might hear you!” He glanced around fearfully to see if anyone was paying attention. He turned back. “Look, I see where you’re coming from, but don’t you respect the Founders’ wisdom in restoring males and females to gender based roles? Don’t forget that our venerated ancestors – you know, the fools who nuked themselves to oblivion – granted equality to males and females in all walks of life. See where that got them.”
“And you think segregating the sexes and treating females as second class citizens is the solution to solving the Old World’s problems?”
“By itself, no. The Founders created a society based on an intricate model they envisioned, of which the segregation of the sexes plays an integral part. Surely the almost non-existent crime rate in Newhome validates their vision?” he said.
“That the real reason for the low crime rate, or is it due to several hundred Custodians forcing the Founders’ vision down everyone’s throat at gunpoint?”
“Be careful, Brandon, what you’re saying could be interpreted as sedition.” He looked alarmed.
“Can’t you see my point?” I asked. How could he not?
“I can see where you’re coming from. There are things here that concern me too.”
“Oh, this’ll be good.” I mocked him playfully.
He shifted closer to me. “The geneticists.”
“What about them?”
“They’re over there in that tower of theirs, the Genetics Laboratory, working twenty-four seven. Why do you think that is?” he whispered.
“They’re creating improved strains of genetically modified chickens, vegies and fruit, I guess.” And dissecting people like me to find out what makes us tick.
“Do you really think they work all day and night tweaking something they developed decades ago?”
“What do you think they’re doing, then?” I asked. I watched him intently, hoping he’d join the dots from the rumours and guess what they were really doing.
“I don’t know, and that scares me. What if they start tinkering with human DNA? You know, to improve the human race?” he said, eyes wide.
“That is a horrid thought,” I said. “Though isn’t that against the Founders’ law. They said the human genome must be kept pure at all costs.”
“That’s true. But every time I see that tower I can’t help but wonder.” He nodded thoughtfully to himself, and then abruptly clapped his hands and stood. “Anyways, enough conjecture – your turn.”
I removed three quarters of the weights from the bar and put them back on the rack beside us.
“Oh come on,” he ribbed.
“Sore back.” I reminded him as I lay on the bench and lifted the bar off the cradle. I’d never done this before, so I copied what he did the best I could. As expected, pain lanced through my back every time I lifted the bar, but to my delight, I had no trouble with the weight. All those hours doing push-ups had paid off.
“Ah, you’ve done this before, right?” Ryan asked. He was looking at me strangely again, like when he saw me using the hacksaw the wrong way.
“It’s been awhile.” My heart started racing. Was I doing it wrong? Was I giving the game away? I mentally kicked myself. I shouldn’t have come tonight!
“Doing weights is like riding a bike – you never forget how. Didn’t the instructor show you how to do it correctly?”
“What instructor?” I asked, petrified. He must have realised that something about me didn’t ring true. I was busted!
“Man, this gym has gone to pot! Can’t believe they let people in without showing them the proper technique. What is the instructor doing, anyway, watching TV in his office all day? Here, let me give you some pointers.”
“Point away.” I slipped the bar back into the cradle and let out a sigh of relief. He didn’t doubt my story.
I spent the next hour getting quality one-on-one coaching from a pro. I wasn’t the only one enjoying our workout, either. Ryan really came out of his shell, relishing our developing friendship. I just wished it was genuine, that he liked me for who I was – Chelsea – and not for who he thought I was.
Chapter Nineteen
The next day at work, we hit a street lined with townhouses that had most definitely seen better days. Windows on the ground floors were smashed in, spear-tipped iron fences were rusting apart, and creepers fought their way up the brickwork as they reached for the sky, sometimes obliterating the houses from view.
Con sent Ryan and me into a townhouse while he, Matt and Jack went into the adjacent one. Apart from a brief nod when he arrived at the Recycling Works, Ryan had pretty much ignored me so far.
Great. Back to square one.
At any rate, we sorted through broken chairs and decaying sofas in the lounge-room overlooking the street as we searched for magazines and books.
I decided to break the ice. “Had a great time at gym.”
“Cool.” He didn’t even glance at me when he replied. Just how moody was this guy?
“Found muscles I didn’t even know I had, though.” I ached from head to foot when I woke this morning. Just like the morning after we moved into the shelter, except that had been worse.
“Now you’re using correct technique, that’ll pass pretty quickly. You have to keep going regularly, though,” he said.
“Works for me.” I looked up to see his reaction as I extracted a stack of magazines from a corner where they were wedged between the wall and a portable oil heater. Would he ask me to go with him again? Considering how inexperienced I was, probably not.
“Going again on Wednesday, if you wanna join me,” he said, watching me.
“Sure.” I had to fight to stop a smile breaking out – he wasn’t pushing me away! Whatever caused his dour mood this morning, it wasn’t me. Maybe because he just didn’t want to be a forager? Or was it something from his past he couldn’t shake? He was an enigma – that was for sure. Friendly and talkative one day but not the next. What I’d give to find out what happened at his previous place of employment, and why foraging was the only job he could get.
We didn’t talk much after that, just concentrated on collecting every piece of paper we could find. When I went upstairs to a small bedroom that ove
rlooked the backyard, I discovered a potential goldmine. Not paper, but a display cabinet chock full of commercially produced DVDs – all movies and TV series. A quick scan of the room with echolocation revealed another box hidden under the bed. Curious, I pulled it out, and then did a double take when I wiped off the inch-thick layer of dust off the top.
Every cover had a sexually suggestive or explicit image that left nothing to the imagination. I had to bite my lip to stop crying in horror as I shoved the box back under the bed. I clambered back to my feet, shaking from shock as I tried in vain to purge those pornographic images from my mind. I’d heard of pornography, of course, but never imagined it was that hideously disgusting and offensive! I could not conceive how anyone could look at such stuff, let alone create it.
No more looking at boxes of DVDs under beds for me.
Remembering Deacon’s demand that I smuggle in contraband to pay off Father’s debt, I turned back to the cabinet and searched through the DVDs for movies I had not seen in Newhome. Not surprisingly, there were quite a few. I fetched my worn, frayed backpack from where I dumped it at the front door, and with shaking hands, started to put two-dozen DVD cases into the bag. This was highly illegal of course, far worse than masquerading as my brother, but I was sure I would get away with it because no one ever checked our bags. This had to be the easiest way to make money. Providing I could work out who to sell them to, of course.
I was trying to stuff the last DVDs into the bag when I heard footsteps approaching from behind. I tried to go faster, but my hands were shaking too much.
“What are you doing?”
I dropped the backpack and staggered back, flushed with guilt. Jack was standing there, watching me from the doorway. I was so busted.
“I, ah–”
“You got rocks in your head, Brandon? What if Ryan sees you trying to smuggle this stuff back to town? If he’s an informer you’ll blow our entire operation! Besides, you know you’re supposed to clear it with Con beforehand.” He spoke softly so Ryan, who was in the adjacent room, couldn’t hear him.
“Right. Wasn’t thinking – I’ll put it back.” I let out a massive internal sigh of relief. I wasn’t in trouble for smuggling, just for doing it the wrong way. Sounded like these guys smuggled a lot stuff into town. Something I should have realised, considering the books my brother brought home from time to time.
“Hold up.” Jack grabbed my bag and flicked through the DVDs. “Impressive haul – some real classics in here – but no porn?”
“No thanks.”
“Never stopped you before, buddy. Don’t tell me you’re developing a conscience?” He lifted an eyebrow, eyes twinkling with mirth.
Never stopped me before? With a sickening feeling I realised I was seeing a side of my brother I’d never noticed before. He didn’t just smuggle ‘subversive’ books into town but pornographic DVDs and who knew what else. That led to another even more disturbing thought. Did he just smuggle them in and sell them, or did he look at them too? He used to have such a pure heart – mischievous – but pure. Why happened to cause him to undergo such a radical change? Did his foraging companions corrupt him? He was an impressionable seventeen year old when he started foraging, after all.
“Maturing tastes,” I finally whispered.
“More like regressing, you mean. You do know foragers and consciences don’t go together, right?” He smiled broadly and zipped up the bag. “Look, if you’re so strapped for cash that you need to smuggle this lot in now, I’ll go run it by Con and stick ‘em in the smuggling compartment. Just keep Ryan busy for ten minutes before you come down. It’s home time.”
“You’re the best, Jack.”
“Don’t you forget it.” He tramped down the stairs while I went to distract Ryan. Not that I needed to – he wasn’t an informer.
* * *
My heart leapt into my throat when we got back to the Recycling Works and found a squad of Custodians waiting for us beside their G-Wagon. I wondered what the odds were of them being here the very day I decided to risk smuggling something into town.
“What’s with these frequent random spot checks? You’d think they don’t trust us or something,” Matt said.
“Yeah, what’s that about?” Jack replied.
“I know right? Us being model citizens and all. Since when have they ever found us bringing contraband into town?” Matt pouted with mock indignation.
“Why never, of course,” Jack said. “Since we don’t do it.”
Although this little performance was done tongue-in-cheek, it was clearly for Ryan’s sake. When were they going to realise he wasn’t what they thought he was?
“Okay you lot, grab your bags and line up beside the truck,” Con said when he parked beside the G-Wagon.
So this was an inspection. I was so lucky Jack spotted me stuffing those DVDs into my bag. All the same, a fearful thought exploded into my mind. What if the Custodians found the contraband anyway? I’d be in prison before I could say, ‘Bob’s my uncle,’ and then who’d look after my mother and sister?
I followed the others and stood with them in front of the truck as a cold wind whistled through the yard, penetrating my clothes and making me shiver.
While three Custodians went over the truck behind us with a fine tooth comb, the sergeant and one other accosted us.
I did a double take when I realised it was Sergeant King, the arrogant scumbag who arrested my father. He shouted something at us, but I missed it because I was straining my ears listening to the Custodians searching the truck behind us. From what I could tell, one was in the cab, sliding the seats back and forth so he could look beneath them. Another was in the tray, sorting through the books, magazines and paper we’d brought back with us. The third was under the truck, tapping on the chassis looking for hidden compartments. It took a herculean effort not to turn around and watch them apprehensively.
Just where did Jack hide the DVDs?
All of a sudden, Sergeant King was in my face. “Hard of hearing, Brandon Thomas? Or have you got something to hide. I said to dump the contents of your bag on the ground in front of you!”
Risking a fleeting look at his pock marked face, I unzipped my backpack, turned it over and shook it. My water bottle, an overripe banana, and an unused sanitary pad still in its wrapper fell out. Shoot! I’d forgotten that was in there. Jack gasped in surprise.
“And what, pray tell, is this?” King asked, picking up the pad by the corner of the packet.
My face burned red – no, beetroot, I suspect – in embarrassment. How could I have been so stupid! “This is my sister’s backpack, Sir.”
“Really.” He scoffed.
“I lost mine when the Skel ambushed us last week.”
“That’s true, Sir, he did,” Ryan said.
King swung angrily towards my new friend. “Did I ask for your opinion?”
“No, I just–”
“Then butt out!”
Undaunted, Ryan stared daggers at the Custodian.
King returned his frightening countenance back to me. “This is not a woman’s bag.”
“Hey, maybe Brandon’s an hermaphrodite,” Matt muttered just loud enough for all to hear.
Con sniggered.
“An hermaphro what?” Jack asked.
“Hermaphrodite,” Matt replied. “A person containing both male and female reproductive organs. Like Brandon, perhaps...”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Matt,” I said, playing along. “Any hermaphrodites conceived in Newhome would be terminated before birth. All part of Newhome’s commitment to keeping the human genome pure. Isn’t that right, Sergeant?” Powered by an unexpected flash of anger and false sense of bravado, I looked up, daring the sergeant to contradict me. My comment did bring a question to mind, though. Why weren’t my brother and I identified as mutants and aborted when my mother had her routine ultrasound?
“Watch your tongue, Thomas. Criticism of the Founders’ principles will not be tolerated. Not even in jest. Now
– the bag. You say it’s your sister’s?” King growled.
“It was my bag, Sir, but I gave it to her when I got a new one. She never took it outside, just used it to put stuff in.” Sweat was breaking out on my brow. I probably shouldn’t have mouthed off about the town’s practice of aborting babies with mutations and defects. Lucky they didn’t consider birthmarks cause for termination or I wouldn’t even be having this conversation.
The sergeant didn’t reply. Instead, he gave the bag a thorough examination, checking for a false bottom and opening all the pockets. Finally, he looked at me. “You think I haven’t figured out where your father got those drugs from?”
From my peripheral vision, I saw all my companions turn to stare at me, shocked by this information so callously thrown out by King. Information that should be confidential.
I gulped and forced myself to answer, even though my voice wavered. “Don’t know where he got them from, Sir – I detest drugs.” And that was true – I didn’t give them to him. Brandon, on the other hand, may have.
“I’ve got my eye on you, Thomas,” King said. And then, to my profound relief, he left me and checked the next bag in line.
“Truck’s clean, Sir,” one of the Custodians behind us announced a moment later.
“You are dismissed,” King snapped, having found no contraband in our bags. He appeared irritated. I think he expected to catch me in the act of smuggling drugs. He gave me a dark look, and the five of them got in the G-Wagon and drove off.
I took a deep breath and let the air out slowly, becoming aware I was the focus of my companions’ attention.
And then Con was in my face. “Your father got busted doing drugs?”
“Yeah.”
“When?”
“Last Thursday.”
“And you neglected to tell me?”
“It’s none of your business!” I wished he would take a couple of steps back. I couldn’t stand it when he stood so close.
Forager - the Complete Six Book Series (A Post Apocalyptic/Dystopian Series) Page 84