by John Marsden
‘Lee, I don’t know what a full-on war zone would be like – none of us do – but I can’t see how we could possibly get to a place like that. I mean, surely there’d be tanks and rocket launchers and all that stuff. If it was easy just to waltz through it all, the Kiwis would have done it.’
‘But they wouldn’t be expecting anyone to come from the other direction,’ said Robyn, who seemed to be agreeing with Lee.
‘I don’t see that we have any choice,’ Lee said. ‘The one thing we all agree on is that we’ve got no future here. The war’s not going to end in a hurry, and we’re running out of options fast. We’ve got to make something happen, not sit around and wait to be caught. Take the initiative, do something decisive, that’s what I reckon.’
I mentally cursed all those videos that Lee had watched over the years. Stallone had a lot to answer for.
‘But Lee, we can’t take on an army. All we’ve done so far has been sneaky stuff. We’ve been like rats in the dark, keeping ourselves invisible. That’s why we’ve been so successful – well, one reason, anyway,’ I added, not wanting to give up all the credit I thought we deserved. ‘We can’t go into a battle zone. We just aren’t prepared for that. They’d knock us over in thirty seconds.’
‘So what do you want us to do?’ he said angrily. ‘Sit on our bums and wait? Start making white flags that we can wave when they come for us?’
‘I don’t know what to do! Stop acting like there’s one right answer and all we have to do is find it and that’ll be the end of our problems! This isn’t a Maths test.’
That killed off the argument a bit. Homer and I told them about our discovery, and that got everyone excited. We agreed it would be too dangerous to start the generator in day time, but there was no hesitation about having a go that night. Lee went off to check it out. Robyn and Kevin still had an hour of sentry to do, and Fi wanted to show me an old lube pit that she’d found. She had the clever idea of turning it into a bolt hole by covering it with iron and parking a vehicle over the top. We sweated for a while doing that. It was quite fun, and the result was perfect. After we’d covered it with galvanised iron we scattered dirt over it, and a few bits of exhaust pipes, a broken windscreen, and an empty soft drink can. Then we pushed an old Commer delivery van over the top of that, and brushed away the tyre tracks so it looked like it had been sitting there for twenty years.
Homer and Lee had taken over as sentries by then, but we challenged the other two to a game of hide and seek. We made it easy for them by telling them which row of cars we’d be in, then we ran down there, slipped into the pit through a little hole we’d left open, and pulled the galvanised iron in place above us. It was a dark little cubby but dry, and we sat in there quite comfortably, giggling at our own cleverness. After five or six minutes we heard Kevin and Robyn searching; Robyn opened the back door of the Commer and we heard her say ‘Not here.’ We gave them a couple more minutes, then crawled out. They were already four cars further down the row. We were delighted. It wasn’t a place where we’d want to spend six months of our lives, but it was a good retreat for emergencies.
Helicopters continued to be our major problem, though. We got buzzed twice more that morning, then in the afternoon one of them returned, and went over the yard really carefully. Backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards, patient and relentless. The noise shook through me: there was no keeping it out. We were all in hiding but our problem was the Jackaroo. If they saw that they could call up ground troops and surround the place, then pick us off at their leisure.
The helicopter spent more than ten minutes scanning the yard. Then it tilted and turned and moved off to the north. It started inspecting a set of sheds that we could see about a k away. We had to assume that this meant we were safe; that we had survived again.
If only we could relax.
Just before five o’clock, a formation of jets screamed past, but there was no other action in the air.
When it got dark, Homer went off to the old house to fiddle with the generator. Despite the danger, we were all looking forward to having a go on the short wave. We didn’t know whether it would achieve anything, but it was probably worth the risk. We had an idea that any listening enemies might be able to trace us if we talked on it for too long. That was our biggest worry.
At half past ten we got ready for the big experiment. We had the notebook with the frequencies. All we could work out from it was that we probably needed to be in the VHF 30 to 300 MHz frequency. That seemed to be where all the big operators were: the police and the airports and the ambulance. We weren’t expecting to have a nice friendly chat with Constable Jones at the local cop shop, but we were hoping to reach New Zealand, and we had to hope that they used a similar range of frequencies to us.
I didn’t know what VHF 30 to 300 MHz meant, but it was easy enough to see on the dial where those figures were. We used a candle for light and turned the tuner to 300. Lee and Robyn were on sentry but Lee was just outside the back door and Robyn outside the window of the room, so they could listen in to whatever happened. Kevin was standing by at the generator and Homer was operating the radio itself. We were ready.
‘OK, fire her up,’ Homer called. Kevin gave the cord a pull. It was a pull-start Honda generator, and it started on the third try. Pretty impressive. What we hadn’t counted on – and what we should have checked before we started – was that half the lights in the house slowly started coming on too.
‘Turn it off! Turn it off!’ Lee shouted at Kevin.
A moment later we were back in silence and darkness.
Robyn jumped in through the window. ‘If there was anyone on the road they would have seen that,’ she said.
‘Head for the lube pit,’ Homer ordered.
We ran like hares straight for it, and squeezed in one by one, leaving only Robyn outside, ready to follow if she saw anything.
With exaggerated caution we decided to wait in there a full hour. Homer was raging. ‘I can’t believe we didn’t check those bloody switches,’ he kept saying. He made me feel guilty, though I don’t know why it should have been my job.
Finally I said: ‘It’s done, Homer. Shut up about it.’
We sat in the dark, sweating to think of some enemy patrol about to descend on us. But after a while I think we all dozed off. I know I did, and apparently Homer did, too. I’d been going on nervous energy for many hours and it suddenly seemed to run out. And the others decided to let us sleep. We were meant to have gone on sentry duty at 5 am but they split it up between them and let us sleep till dawn. Sure it was a cramped uncomfortable sleep but it was better than nothing, and it was a lot better than sentry.
I crawled out of the hole at about seven and found the others sitting around drinking tea that they’d boiled on a little fire in a sheltered corner of the junkyard. Although they’d put the fire out and buried it, the billy was still hot enough to make me a cuppa.
‘You should have woken me,’ I said, but without much conviction.
‘We were going to, then Lee figured out about the time difference,’ Robyn said.
‘The time difference?’ I asked, still not functioning above twenty per cent.
‘If we’d tried to call New Zealand at midnight, it’d be about two o’clock their time and they’d all be asleep,’ Lee explained.
‘Oh yes.’
I drank my tea.
‘So what are we going to do?’ I asked, when my mind was starting to rev up properly.
‘Try again, and do it about now,’ Robyn said. ‘We can’t leave it much later. Today’s the most likely day for them to come looking for us. So we should go into hiding pretty soon.’
She went to wake Homer while I threw out the tea leaves and followed the others to the house. Although Lee swore he’d checked that the lights were off this time I couldn’t help but double check, which must have annoyed him out of his mind. Still, he was tactful enough not to say anything. I was so flat and tired I could hardly move. I
was thinking about those action war movies Lee liked, where the hero goes from a martial arts fight to a ski chase to a gun battle to a wrestle with piranhas, and all that time he never seems to slow down or need a rest.
Every time we did anything dangerous I took ages to recover – not because of the physical effort, which sometimes wasn’t much, but I think because of the emotional backlash. The episode at the river – I call it an ‘episode’ because it helps me not to think of it as killing or murder – overwhelmed my mind so much that it left me an emotional paraplegic for a long time.
So checking the light switches was about the most energetic thing I did. For once I was content to take a back seat. Homer came in looking shocking and rubbing his eyes, shivering in the cold of the early morning. But he was desperately keen to make the transmission and no one else seemed to mind, so we took up the positions we’d been in the night before. I found myself shivering too: from the cold, from the risk we were taking, but most of all from the exciting feeling that we might be about to talk to a friendly adult again – a rare opportunity in our lives.
Kevin pulled the cord, the generator started first go, the lights didn’t come on, but, when the output reached 240 volts and Homer threw the switch, things lit up all around the room. The computer made a birrrkkking noise, the video recorder flashed zeros, the printer went baddup baddup, and several radios emitted static that sounded like rain on the roof. Robyn and I went around quickly pulling plugs out, until the only thing left functioning was the short-wave transmitter. Homer was intent on its dial, slowly turning the tuning knob. The main sound was static, but occasionally we heard foreign voices mixed in with it: nothing but unintelligible mutters constantly interrupted by crackling noises. Some of the bursts of static were so loud and unexpected that they sounded aggressive: they made me jump.
After ten minutes of watching Homer spinning the knob backwards and forwards, Robyn asked: ‘How long are we going to risk doing this?’
Without looking up, Homer said: ‘Ask Lee how it looks outside.’
I went out the back window and found Lee, who was keeping watch from the top of the water tank where he was almost completely hidden by ivy.
‘How’s it looking?’ I asked.
‘Nothing to see. What’s happening with the radio?’
‘Just static.’
‘Let’s give it another fifteen minutes,’ Homer said, when I reported back.
‘That’s nearly half an hour all together,’ Robyn said. ‘That’s a long time if they have tracking equipment zeroing in on us.’
No one seemed willing to make a decision. We stood watching Homer as he continued to try, with his head on one side, listening intendy.
At twenty-one minutes we hit something, a couple of words in English. Homer frantically backtracked, trying to bring the voice into focus. It took him a couple of goes, crossing backwards and forwards above the voice, then suddenly he had it quite clearly. We all leaned forward.
‘... but a foxskin has to be perfect,’ a man said. ‘Prices are that low, it’s not worth your trouble. There’s too many of the buggers. Over.’
We couldn’t hear the reply, but after a few moments of static Homer made his move. He pressed the transmission button and said, ‘Hello. Can you hear me?’ He said it three times, then released the button again.
The reply was immediate. The man said, ‘Hang on, Hank. I missed the last bit. There’s a gatecrasher around. Mate, get off the air would you? Learn some manners.’
I whispered to Homer, ‘Say “mayday”.’
I knew it was a powerful word to use. And it sure was. Homer said it three times. Suddenly we had an ally.
‘Hank, I’ve got a mayday. Call you tomorrow. Go ahead, mayday. What’s your problem?’
‘Are you in New Zealand?’ Homer asked.
‘10-4, over.’
We were all leaning forward, crowding around the microphone, as though we were trying to get inside the transmitter.
Homer started. ‘There’s six of us, trapped in the Cobbler’s Bay area, near Stratton. We’ve managed to stay free since the invasion but it’s getting really hard. We’re hoping to get some help to get out of here, before they catch us. It’s pretty hot for us at the moment. Um, over.’
The man’s voice came back straight away, quiet but confident. ‘OK, got all that. First thing, don’t give any more details about your location. You don’t know who might be listening. Second thing, don’t stay on the air long. You can be traced. Now mate, as you can imagine, you’re not the first Aussies to call for help. All I can do is record your details and pass them on to the military. I’ve got to tell you, I don’t think there’s much we can do for you. That’s been the story with the others I’ve talked to. But if you call me back in two hours, by then I’ll have had a wee chat to military intelligence and I’ll tell you what they say. Over.’
‘Where are you?’ Homer asked.
‘South Island. Thirty-six k’s out of Christchurch. Now are there any details you want to tell me about yourselves? But be careful, ay. Over.’
‘We’re just a bunch of teenagers,’ Homer said. ‘We’ve done the best we can but I don’t know how much longer we can keep going.’
Homer sounded tired and defeated, almost like he was going to cry. I was shocked. I didn’t think Homer would ever sound like that. Robyn grabbed the microphone.
‘When you talk to the military,’ she said, ‘tell them we’re the ones who blew up Cobbler’s Bay. Over.’
‘Cobbler’s Bay, OK. I’ll tell them. Anything else? Over.’
‘No,’ Robyn said. ‘I guess that’s all. We’ll call you back in two hours. Over and out.’
‘Good luck, kids,’ the man said. ‘Take care over there. We’re with you a hundred per cent, you know that. Over and out.’
Chapter Twenty
The two hours took forever. All of us had been through the same emotions, I think. We’d started pinning a lot on our call to New Zealand, though we didn’t know exactly how they could help us. It had been so exciting when the man responded to our mayday. But it hadn’t taken him long to curdle our little cup of hope. Our reactions after that were about what you’d expect. We wandered off in different directions – the four of us not on sentry, that is – no one wanting to talk to anyone else. The thing was, now I couldn’t see any hope at all. What could we do? Where could we go? The only option was to return to Hell, but I couldn’t stomach that idea at the moment. I thought I’d go mad in that claustrophobic cauldron of rocks and trees. I never wanted to see it again. I wanted to see escalators and traffic lights and skyscrapers and crowded crowded streets. I wanted to mix with millions of people, in the world’s biggest city. I was sick of our lifestyle and the five people I had to share it with.
I landed in the room with the electronics gear fifteen minutes before we were due to call back. I thought it was getting dangerous. Anything in the bright daylight scared me now. We should not be out in the light. I told Homer to keep it quick if we did manage to re-establish the contact. But Homer just got offended and said he’d worked that out for himself, he wasn’t stupid. I sighed and sat there, gazing at my watch, then going out every couple of minutes and looking anxiously at the road. Robyn and Fi were our sentries but they couldn’t bear to get too far away, which meant in fact that they were practically in the room with us.
With two minutes to go Kevin got the generator running and as soon as the output reached 240 again he rushed in to listen. Homer had left the transmitter on the right frequency and he began to broadcast. To our relief, and excitement, he got an answer almost straight away. There was more static this time, but we could hear the man quite clearly.
‘OK, I’m receiving you,’ he said. ‘I’ve got someone here who wants to talk to you. Whatever you people did at this Cobbler’s Bay seems to have stirred up some interest. I got the quickest response from the military that I’ve ever had. Stand by now.’
Almost immediately another voice came on. Quiet
but crisp and forceful. I have to admit he did put me off a bit by managing to sound like Major Harvey. Maybe anyone with military training sounds like that.
‘I’m Lieutenant-Colonel Finley from New Zealand Army Intelligence. We’re aware of recent damage to enemy installations at Cobbler’s Bay and we understand you’re claiming responsibility. I’d like whatever information you have, but bear in mind that enemy intelligence might be monitoring this conversation. So is there anything you can tell me? Over.’
Homer took a deep breath, sat up straighter and began.
‘We’ve been free since the invasion,’ he said carefully. ‘I won’t say how many of us there are, or who we are, or give our ages. But it’s true that we were able to get into Cobbler’s Bay and do a lot of damage. We used nearly two tonnes of anfo and sank a container ship. The explosion also damaged two cranes, blew a helicopter out of the sky, and set fire to the wharf. This is the fourth attack we’ve done since the invasion, but we’re now on the run and we need help. We’re getting hemmed in and we haven’t got much future. We need to get out, and we want to know if you can help us. Over.’
Colonel Finley came on again straight away.
‘What is your assessment of the present operating capacity of Cobbler’s Bay? Over.’
Homer struggled for words. Finally, all he could say was, ‘What do you mean?’
‘Is the wharf still able to function? If so, to what extent? Over.’
Homer looked at us helplessly. I grabbed the microphone. ‘We can’t tell that. We’re not experts. It looks a mess, that’s all we can say. Most of the wharf was destroyed, so it’ll be very hard for them to load or unload till they rebuild that. Over.’