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 saving. 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 hiking, 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 intently.
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. Calf 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. Urn, 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."
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 ab
out 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."
"Do you know the name of the container ship you sank?"
"No."
"Do you know its nationality?"
"No."
"Do you know what its cargo was?"
"No. Just empty containers we think."
"Is there any chance of you going back in there to have a look at a few things for me? If I give you a list of questions, things we need investigated?"
My blood boiled. "No! No way! We're not heavily into suicide. Over."
"All right, I quite understand. You've obviously done very well, and I congratulate you. Keep up the good work. Now, hang on a moment and I'll put you back to Laurie. Over."
"Wait!" I yelled. "Wait!" I tried to find the words. "What arc you going to ... I mean, can't you get us out of here?"
"Regrettably, no. We just don't have the resources. We're at full stretch as it is, as I'm sure you'd appreciate. You sound as though you're looking after yourselves very well, though. I'm sure things'll change in a few months, but until then we can't help you. Keep in touch with Laurie, and anything else you can do to help the war effort will be much appreciated, believe me."
I didn't say any more, and in a moment Laurie came back on and wound up the conversation. He said he'd keep listening at 8 pm, their time, every night, in case we needed to get in touch. And that was all anyone could do for us. We were on our own again. We'd had our hopes raised so much for that short time, then, just as suddenly, nothing.
There was silence in the room. No one seemed able to speak. We were all too depressed. I was way overdue for some sentry duty; so was Homer, but he looked too devastated to think about it. I went out to take over from Robyn, not because I'm a martyr but because I wanted to be on my own for a while, and going on sentry was as good a way as any to do it.
I found a possie on the top of a wrecked pantech that I reached by climbing a tree and dropping onto it. The light branches of the tree draped over the pantech and hid me well enough. The van looked like it had rolled: not only was it bent and crushed all along the passenger side but also the roof was creased and crumpled. Grass was growing in the roof; a little dirt was lodged there, probably from when it had rolled, and weeds were growing happily from it. I wasn't in a good position to alert the others' if enemy troops suddenly appeared, but I thought I'd worn- about that if and when it happened. I sat there hugging my knees, wondering what we should do next. Maybe hijack a jet and fly to New Zealand. I gazed at my arms and hands. They looked pretty rough. There were'scratches and scars everywhere. The knuckles on my left hand were swollen from where I'd been bashed into the rocks by the tidal wave at Cobbler's Bay. I tried to work out how long ago that was, but had to give up. It felt like weeks, but I knew it wasn't. Probably only a few days.
There was a scar on the right thumb that went way back to the time we'd got Lee out of Wirrawee, using a front-end loading truck. On the inside of the right arm was a long scar that I'd picked up blundering through the bush, the night of the Harvey's Heroes' massacre. I don't know how I hurt my arm; I was too upset at the time to notice, just a stick, I guess.
On the tip of my left elbow was a mosquito bite, on the back of the hand a bruise that I'd picked up when I'd tripped in the dark. My fingernails were a manicurist's nightmare, ripped, bitten, cut, torn. There wasn't one that was undamaged. I seemed to bleed easily around the fingernails these days. Maybe lack of vitamins, I don't know. I've never been much into skin care, but I'd had the usual collection of moisturisers and creams and lotions and I used them on special occasions, like going to socials. I didn't use them much on school days. I never had time anyway: I was too busy in the mornings. But what I would have done now for'my little line-up of jars and tubes! I'd love to have rubbed the soft white fragrant cream slowly into my skin, making it supple and smooth, bringing it back to life. Such a little luxury, but I longed for it.
Somehow Lee tracked me to the pantech. I don't know how. He must have had the nose of a border collie. But he saw me there and started climbing the tree to come up with me. He didn't say anything, just climbed slowly to the truck roof, then crawled along the deformed metal.
"Hello," I said.
"Hello."
"Looks like we're not going to New Zealand, hey."
"Looks that way."
"I was hoping so much..."
"I didn't know if it'd be good or bad. I never thought they'd pick us up anyway, and I don't know about walking out on my family."
"Yeah, that was what I was worried about. But there doesn't seem to be anything we can do for them. Not yet."
"You don't like me any more, do you?"
He'd caught me by surprise. I knew it was coming, but not like that.
"Yes, of course I like you."
"But not the way it was."
"No, I guess not."
"Why?"
"Dunno. It just happened."
"What, you mean that one minute you liked me and a millisecond later you didn't?"
"More or less, yeah."
"That doesn't sound very likely."
"I don't care what it sounds like, that's the way it was."
"Did Fi say anything against me?"
"Fi? No, why would she?"
"I don't know, but you're always talking to her and you take so much notice of what she says."
"I don't know about that, but she didn't say anything to put me off you. She's not a backstabber, not like me." I grinned, but Lee wasn't into laughs today.
"Is it something I said?"
"No, no, really. Nothing dramatic happened, I swear. Maybe we'd just seen enough of each other for a while. I mean, God, we're only young, we're not meant to be getting married, you know. At our age we're meant to have lots of romances."
"My father was seventeen when he was married."
"Well, whoopiedoo, I'm very happy for him, but I've got no plans yet, believe me."
"Are you having it off with Homer?"
I lifted my arm fast, to hit him, then changed my mind. But I don't know how I didn't push him straight off the roof. lie had such a hide, saving that. I know he was only saying it because he was upset, but that didn't make it all right. What a dickhead. It made me really-pleased that I'd dropped him, because at that moment I didn't care if I never saw him again, and I had no interest in continuing the conversation. So we sat there in silence for a couple of minutes.
He knew he'd gone too far—I mean, you didn't have to be a Nobel Prize winner to work that out.
I could feel him getting ready to apologise. There wasn't much else he could do. But I wasn't going to make it easy for him. He could stew for a while vet, as far as I was concerned. Eventually though, after he'd cleared his throat a couple of times, he managed to struggle through it, taking about five minutes.