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The last twenty or so words were heavily underlined, everything from ‘go bush’ onwards.
We looked at each other for a moment, then had a big hug. We both cried a bit, then ran outside to show the others.
I think I must have run out of tears after that day, because I haven’t cried again since.
When we left the Mackenzies’ we moved cautiously. For the first time we acted like people in a war, like soldiers, like guerillas. Corrie said to us, ‘I’ve always laughed at Dad for being so cautious. The way he carries his spirit level everywhere. But his big motto is “Time spent in reco
We had another bike, Corrie’s, so we worked out a way of travelling that we thought was a compromise between speed and safety. We fixed a landmark – the first one was the old Church of Christ – and the first pair, Robyn and Lee, were to ride to it and stop. If it was safe they’d go back and drop a tea towel on the road, two hundred metres before the church. The next pair would set out five minutes after Robyn and Lee and the last three five minutes later. We agreed on total silence, and we left Kevin’s old corgi, Flip, chained up at the Mackenzies’. Our fear was making us think.
For all that, the trip to Robyn’s was uneventful. Slow, but uneventful. We found her house in the same condition as the others, empty, smelling bad, cobwebs already. It made me wonder how quickly houses would fall apart if people weren’t there to look after them. They’d always seemed so solid, so permanent. That poem Mum was always quoting, ‘Look on my works ye mighty and despair’. That was all I could remember, but it was the first time I started to understand the truth of it.
It was 1.30 in the morning. We went up to the hill behind Robyn’s house and looked at Wirrawee. Suddenly I was very tired. The town was in darkness, no street lights even. There must have been some power though, because there were quite strong lights at the Showground – the floodlights they used for the trotting track – and a couple of buildings in the centre of town were lit. As we sat there we talked softly about our next move. There was no question that we had to try to reach Fi’s house, and Lee’s. Not because we expected to find anyone, but because five of us had seen our homes, had seen the emptiness, had been given a chance to understand, and it was only fair that the last two should get the same right.
A truck drove slowly out of the Showground and to one of the lit buildings, in Barker Street I think. We stopped talking and watched. It was the first sign of human life, other than our own, that we’d seen since the planes.
Then Homer made an unpopular suggestion. ‘I think we should split up.’
There was a whispered howl of protest, if you can have that. It was different to Kevin and Corrie offering to go on their own before. They just hadn’t wanted to drag us away from Homer’s. But now Homer wouldn’t give in.
‘We need to be out of town before dawn. A long way out of town. And we’re ru
He’d talked us into silence. We knew he was right, except for the Maths part maybe.
‘So what are you suggesting?’ Kevin asked.
‘I’ll go with Fi. I’ve always wanted to see inside one of those rich houses on the hill. This is my big chance.’ Fi aimed a tired kick at him which he allowed to hit his shin. ‘Maybe if Robyn and Lee go to Lee’s, what do you think? And you other three take a closer look at the Showground. All those lights ... maybe that’s their base. Or it could be where they’re keeping people even.’
We digested all this, then Robyn said, ‘Yes, it’s the best way. How about anyone not wearing dark clothes come back to the house and help yourselves to some? And we meet back here on the hill at, say, three o’clock?’
‘What if someone’s missing?’ Fi asked quietly. It was a terrible thought. After a silence Fi answered her own question. ‘How about we wait till 3.30 if anyone’s not back. Then move out fast, but come back tomorrow night – I mean tonight. And if you’re the ones missing and you get back late, lie low for the day.’
‘Yes,’ said Homer. ‘That’s all we can do.’
Kevin and Corrie and I didn’t need any darker clothing, so we were ready to go. We stood and hugged everyone and wished them luck. A minute later, when I looked back, I could no longer see them. We picked our way down the hill towards Warrigle Street, climbed through the Mathers’ front fence and crept along the side of the road, keeping very close to the treeline. Kevin was leading. I just hoped he didn’t come across any creepie-crawlies. It wouldn’t be a good time for him to start yelling and screaming.
Although the Showground was on the edge of town, it was the opposite side to the edge we were on, so we had quite a walk ahead. But we could move fairly quickly, because we were well away from the main streets. Not that Wirrawee’s got many main streets. I was glad that we were moving: it was the only thing keeping me sane. It was so hard concentrating on walking and watching and keeping quiet at the same time. Sometimes I forgot and made a noise, then the other two would turn and look angrily at me. I’d shrug, spread my arms, roll my eyes. I still couldn’t comprehend that this might be a matter of life and death, that this was the most serious thing I’d ever been involved in. Of course I knew it; I just couldn’t keep remembering it every single second. My mind wasn’t that well disciplined. And besides, Kevin and Corrie weren’t as quiet as they thought they were.
It was hard being so dark, too. Hard not to trip over stones, or tread on noisy sticks or, on one occasion, bump into a garbage can.
We got into Racecourse Road, and felt a little safer, as there are so few houses along there. Passing Mrs Alexander’s I stopped for a moment to sniff at the big old roses that grew along her front fence. I loved her garden. She had a party there every year, a Christmas party. It had only been a few weeks since I’d been standing under one of her apple trees, holding a plate of biscuits and telling Steve I didn’t want to go with him any more. Now it felt like it’d happened five years ago. It had been a hard thing to do, and Steve being so nice about it made me feel worse. Maybe that’s why he was so nice about it. Or was I just being cynical?
I wondered where Steve was now, and Mrs Alexander, and the Mathers and Mum and Dad and everybody. Could we really have been attacked, invaded? I couldn’t imagine how they would have felt, how they would have reacted. They must have been so shocked, so stu
I stumbled along, thinking of Mum and Dad. Our lives had always been so unaffected by the outside world. Oh, we’d watched the News on TV and felt bad when they showed pictures of wars and famines and floods. Occasionally I’d tried to imagine being in the places of those people, but I couldn’t. Imagination has its limits. But the only real impact the outside world had on us was in wool and cattle prices. A couple of countries would sign an agriculture treaty thousands of k’s away, on another continent, and a year later we’d have to lay off a worker.