Penny gazed up at the outstretched hand as if might be some strange creature. “I can't cry anymore,” she told him. She grasped his hand tightly and allowed him to pull her upright.
53
Going Home
“Unreal!” Taylor exclaimed when they reached the cliff formed like a wave to find the vehicles were not blackened wrecks. “How the hell is it possible they survived the heat?”
“What kind of damage are we looking at?” Cameron asked, as they stood beside the vehicles. They had checked the Bushmaster and ambulance and both engines started almost at once. They might not have to walk out after all.
“Not a lot apart from the blistered paintwork,” Taylor told him, looking at the Bushmaster. “The ambulance has a blown headlamp and a burst tire. I'm surprised the fuel tank didn't go up.”
Cameron had suggested to the Neville Combo as they stood outside the entrance to the caves, the tribe could accompany them out of the wilderness. It was obvious enough to both men they were not going to fit everyone in the vehicles. Still, Cameron carried on describing the Army camp as if it was indeed a workable proposition. There they would find ample medicines and all kinds of provisions.
Combo nodded his thanks. He had readily given the hospitality the guests had required. There was nothing from them that his people needed. There was nothing more to be said.
Cameron thought he saw pity in the old man's eyes, but he couldn't be sure. The old man would have had to decide to split the group. It wasn't much of a choice. Cameron knew Combo would never do that. But, he felt It was only right to make the offer anyway.
“That lot says we should stay with them,” Aunty told Cameron when they had left Combo and his group and returned to the vehicles. “They say they can show us other caves.”
“And eat what?” Taylor asked over his shoulder as he hunched down beside the ambulance. He leaned hard on the wheel brace one last time. Satisfied with his work, he stood up and slapped the ash and dirt from his hands. “Where are they going to collect their bush tucker from now? There's nothing left. Look around you!”
And they all stared at the burned countryside.
“There's food in the ground,” The old lady replied with both hands planted on her hips. “You have to know where to dig. On the other side of those hills where it was sheltered from them meteorites, you will still find fish in the river. There's no need to go hungry around here when you know where to go. We have had bushfires through here before today!”
“We are going back to base, Corporal. Right?” Kwong asked, turning to the corporal.
“If we have one anymore,” Cameron replied glumly. “We going to find out,” he added hastily when he saw the looks of dismay on the faces of his men.
“The elders say the meteorites are only the beginning of it,” Aunty Wanganeen said to the group.
“How do they know that?” Darren asked.
“Because of old stories.” She chuckled. “I'm too young to know all that stuff.”
“Maybe we should wait around a while,” Darren suggested.
“There was a pattern to the meteorites and earthquakes,” Michael replied. “But the last shower was two days ago. All that has stopped now. The pattern is broken. I think it's safe to conclude the worst is over for the time being. Anyway, it probably doesn't matter a lot whether we stay or go.”
“What do you mean?” Storm asked.
“I'm not certain yet of what we have in front of us yet. When I have a way to gather and sort data. I'd like to get back to Siding Spring—or whatever remains of it. There may be equipment that survived the fires I could use. From the news we saw on the TV at Auntie's house, it looked like Arnold's cottage was still standing. If what we see here is general everywhere now, we are in real trouble. But, our trucks have survived, and that means we must have hope.”
There were no shots fired on them as they exited the hills and nary a sign of life. The surface of the road was shattered, crushed, and blasted. In places, it had been melted into oblivion.
Once, they caught sight of a single vehicle traveling the main road in the distance. It was a half a mile from away and traveling fast over a damaged surface. Too fast. A half hour later they had caught up with it. It had been a farm truck before the driver ran over the rim of a crater and overturned. The fuel tank had ignited. By the time the group arrived smoke was rising from the twisted blackened remains of the vehicle. A child's stuffed toy and a plastic bottle of Cola two-thirds full lay on the road behind the wreckage. They moved on.
Clouds coiled and spun forming random twisters constantly threatening to extend to the ground. While the tornadoes remained a distance from the road, they were always in sight. On occasion, they saw them touch down, the tendrils briefly skipping across the plains only to withdraw up into the greater cloud mass. It was an uncertain sky that reached down to check the ground was still there.
Each bridge they arrived at was either ripped from the sides of the bank or lay smashed and twisted across the riverbed. Twice they had to travel more than thirty miles before they could cross over a stretch of shallow water to the other side. Along the way, they were able to siphon gas from parked vehicles as they passed through the remains of empty communities.
At sunset, they stopped to sleep. It was a serene evening with no noise or movement outside to cause them to stir from their rough beds. In the morning they resumed their journey.
There was little variation to be seen in the land they were driving through. Gray ash and the blackened remains of trees and structures stinking of death. They could have given in to despondency. But they didn't. By the time the Warrumbungles came into sight the landscape they passed through had begun to improve. Patches of green and stands of trees increased the closer they came Mount Woorat.
With spirits lifting, they became animated in their conversation. It occurred to the travelers they were inordinately lucky, but they were under no illusion that their run of good luck was going to last forever. It was just a matter of time rather than chance.
Storm spotted the turnoff ahead and used the horn of the ambulance to alert the Bushmaster.
Cameron's reply over the radio was barely discernible but for a burst of static.
“Repeat that!” Darren yelled into the mic to no avail.
He worked the channel selector back and forward, but it did no good. All he could get from the corporal was an angry stream of garbled words. Then, finally, they caught a couple of sentences from Cameron.
“Why are you… Oh, for Chrissakes! Can't you work a radio?”
“Storm wants to try one of the local farms,” Darren repeated. “We are coming up to the turnoff.”
The radio crackled and all they could hear was a staccato of words that made no sense. Darren slapped the radio in frustration.
“I don't know if he heard us,” he said to Storm.
“Do you think the problem is with our radio or theirs?” Storm asked him.
“It's as likely to be whatever is above those clouds,” Darren finally replied. “Let's get ahead of the Bushmaster. They don't know where to go.”
Storm peered around the dash. “Where do I find the siren?”
Darren flicked a switch and sat back with a smile at the sound of the wail.
Storm planted the accelerator to the floor, and the ambulance howled past the troop carrier.
Darren looked into the side mirror and caught the startled expression of the corporal.
“We ought to check out the town first, don't you think?” He asked Storm.
“Yeah we could, but look at the roofs of the farm buildings over there,” Storm replied. “I don't see any holes or signs of a fire. Everyone's tired out. I'm tired too!”
“You know—when we first met—I was so grateful that you showed up,” Darren told him.
“It would have been lonely being by yourself all the time,” Storm said.
“I've often been by myself,” Darren told him. “It can be fun not having others around.”
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“How's that?” Storm asked.
“It frees you to do things people are afraid of trying,” Darren said.
“I guess,” Storm replied, not really seeing where Darren was going. “Like doing what, for example?”
“Ah—I moved into that cottage where you found me,” Darren told him. “I was living on the other side of town.”
“So you are not the keen gardener I thought you were,” Storm said with a chuckle.
“Nah, not so much interested in gardening,” Darren said. “I spend most of my free time surfing the Net. You know? Learning about things. About how things work, mostly.”
“You mean the car in the garage wasn't yours?” Storm asked, the realization hitting him all of a sudden.
“No,” Darren replied.
“You really didn't have a clue if it was running or not, did you?” Storm asked him.
“Not really,” Darren admitted. “But—you know. I thought the ambulance would be more useful than someone's panel van or whatever it turned out to be.”
“But I never got that chance to find out did I?” Storm asked and gave a forced laugh.
“No,” Darren said laughing. “That's true. You have to admit, though, I was right about the ambulance, wasn't I? It's served us well, what with it having a medical kit, and an extra bed, and the siren.”
“It was probably only some old panel van inside the garage after all,” Storm continued.
“Yee-aaahh,” Darren chuckled, pleased that Storm saw the humor of it all. “I was pretty worried you weren't going to take me with you. Ah—I wanted to be able to offer you something in return.”
Storm nodded his head. “You are one damn sharp customer, Darren.”
“Not so much,” Darren said. “It all comes down to laying out the honey if you want to have bees.”
Storm glanced at the man sitting across from him. He had no idea what laying honey out for bees meant. He decided it was best for the time being he didn't ask.
Nothing had changed. That was the first thought Storm had when they got out of the ambulance.
“Looks like the farm dogs ran off,” Storm said, gazing about him. He saw the front door to the kitchen stood ajar. The farmer's truck was still parked in same the spot it had been the last time he saw it.
Darren walked up the front steps and rapped on the doorframe.
“Don't bother,” Storm called out to him. “There's no one around.”
Darren glanced back at Storm who stood in the middle of the drive.
“Then, it’s ours,” he said.
Storm leaned against the back of the ambulance. He was waiting for Cameron to put down the laptop. He wanted to ask the corporal what they should be doing.
“What's the deal?” Matthew called out to Storm as he walked up. “Why did you want us to stop here?”
“I thought we might stay the night,” Storm said with a grin. He was relieved it was Matthew he was talking to and not Darren.
“You're not in a hurry to go into town, are you?” Matthew asked.
“Nah! Not really. I was working on and off for the farmer who lived here. I know the place pretty well. The house has plenty of bedrooms, and there's a cottage out the back with bunks for the Army boys. There's fresh water from the bore and even a diesel generator in the shed. I think old man Harris rigged a generator as a backup for the house. We are going to need to check on that.”
“Good thinking,” Matthew agreed.
The soldiers stood around the back of the truck smoking cigarettes. Cameron watched them. His men were beginning to look like they had a mutiny on their minds. He was doing his best to act languid and relaxed, but despair born of a nagging doubt was becoming difficult to shake off.
Darkness would fall in three hours, and his men were keen to be on the road before then. Boyd's crushed fingers certainly needed urgent medical attention. The man's hand could be saved once they reached the base. But what were they going to find when they reached Gwabegar?
“Well?” Cameron asked Matthew. “What did you lot decide to do?”
“Storm wants to stay here the night,” Matthew told him.
“Well, if you lot want to stay that's your choice,” Cameron told him. “We're carrying on to Gwabegar.” He looked sharply at Matthew to make sure his meaning was understood. Once the Bushmaster left so did the protection they could offer the civvies.
Matthew nodded his head. “Look like they want to stay,” he replied.
Michael and the others had already piled their belongings beside the fence.
“Is that everything you want from the truck?” Cameron asked, casting his eye over the group.
“I think so,” Michael replied.
“How long will you be here for?” Cameron asked. “Any idea?”
“A day or two, maybe longer,” Michael told him. “The house is comfortable enough and it’s relatively undamaged. I'll be traveling to Siding Spring, first chance I get,” Michael told him.
The idea was not appealing, but he needed to see what could be salvaged.
“Okay.” Cameron stretched out his hand. “You take care, Sir.”
“You too,” Michael said, shaking Cameron's hand warmly. “I hope we see you again.”
Cameron looked startled at the thought. “We could be back. All depends... You got the radio in the ambulance. So—ah—if you need us, I mean.”
Michael smiled. “Thank you.”
As he watched the soldiers jump onto the Bushmaster it occurred to Michael the two groups might be the only survivors in the region. Judging by the corporal's face, Cameron had come to the same conclusion.
54
Finders Keepers
Darren was wasting no time. He took the first opportunity he had to look through the house. He was standing in the large living room before a magnificent hardwood table. It would have cost the farmer a fortune. Darren knew very little about furniture, but he could tell an antique when he saw one.
It would have come from an old homestead. The kind of table found in the homes of wealthy land-owning family. There were plenty of homes like that in the state of Victoria. He had checked them out on the internet long before this day. A table like this would have been used to entertain guests.
Darren noticed a cabinet jutted out from the wall in one corner of the room. It looked odd. As if it might have been dislodged by something or someone moving past. Taking a closer look he saw the cabinet was not damaged or built poorly. Some had moved it to get at something behind it. He gripped the sides of the cabinet and pulled. To his surprise, it swung smoothly out and as it did, a light switched on to illuminate a hidden room behind it.
He was staring at three rifles mounted in the rack on the wall. He stepped into the tiny room, no larger than a walk-in wardrobe, and reached for the largest weapon. It was too heavy in his hands and he placed it back in its bracket. He turned his attention to the drawers below. The top was only partially closed. Someone must have been in a hurry to leave.
He found it was packed tight with ammunition cartons. There were a lot of them. All neatly ordered according to the caliber. He stuck his head around the corner to check he really was alone. Satisfied that he was, he opened the second drawer. When he saw what was inside, he stepped back and gave a low whistle.
He ran his hand down the weapons and felt a tingle go through him. It was as if the thing was alive. It was a work of art. He could see that straight away. And—it felt good in the palm of his hand. It was heavier than he expected, but then he'd never held a handgun before.
It smelled faintly of oil, and there was an acrid quality to it that told him the gun had been fired at least once before. He turned it over and found the release. The magazine fell with a clatter to the bare floorboards at his feet. He quickly picked it up, taking another look around the corner before he set it on the shelf.
He found the carton with the correct caliber and inserted the rounds one by one until he had filled the magazine. Everything dropped into place very s
moothly. Even the sound of the mechanism was marvelous.
Nice.
He turned and aimed the weapon at an imaginary target. He realized once more how good the gun felt in his hand. He imagined if there was a mirror on the wall he would be able to just how damn good it did look in his hand. He tucked the gun snugly into the small of his back and turned, twisting this way and that. Satisfied the weapon would stay in his jeans, he pulled his shirt over the bump and closed the drawer.
It gave him a sense of solidness and the certainty of being armed. He was a man able to make things happen. It was the first time he could remember feeling that way. He made a resolution there and then. From now on he was going to take whatever he desired. Life was to be lived. You only get one chance. He smiled at the thought.
The cabinet swung smoothly back into place. He pressed the sides to make sure the thing was closed, not wanting any of the others to know about it. There was no advantage for him in having others knowing he had a real weapon.
His mind raced with so many possibilities it made him a little lightheaded. As he walked back to the kitchen to find something to eat he whistled an old tune that he used to enjoy before the chaos, and he realized he was truly happy.
Storm found Darren leaning against the sink attempting to open a can of beans with a bent and rusty opener.
“So—where are we sleeping tonight?” Darren asked.
“Take your pick. There are four bedrooms in the house including two doubles. Then there are the bunks in the farmhands' cottage.”
“We could flip coins,” Darren suggested.
They heard big diesel engine roar outside as Taylor backed the Bushmaster up the drive.
Jubilee Year Page 27