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‘He or she,’ I muttered, absent-mindedly.
The long day wore on. When everyone was awake we had a late lunch and talked endlessly of Lee and Robyn, of where they might be, of what could have happened. After a while we realised we were going round in tired circles. Homer had been silent for ten minutes or so, and as our voices trailed off we found ourselves looking at him. Maybe that always happens when someone’s been quiet for a while. Maybe it happened because we were starting to recognise Homer’s leadership. He didn’t seem to notice, just began talking naturally, as though he had it all worked out.
‘How about this?’ he said. ‘You know how I feel about everyone sticking together. It might be nice for our feelings but it’s ultimately stupid. We’ve got to toughen up, and fast. Just because we like being together, that’s not important any more. You know what I’m saying? So, what I suggest is two of us go into Wirrawee to look for Lee and Robyn. If no one’s turned up by midnight say, they make their way to Lee’s place, and see if they’re holed up there, injured maybe.’
‘I thought you didn’t believe in friendship any more,’ Kevin said. ‘Seems a hell of a risk to go to Lee’s, if we’re so worried about saving ourselves.’
Homer looked at him coldly and even Corrie rolled her eyes.
‘I’m not doing it just for friendship,’ Homer said. ‘It’s a calculated risk. Seven people are better than five, so we take a risk to try to build up our numbers to seven again.’
‘And we could end up with three.’
‘We could end up with none. Everything’s a risk from now on Kev. We’re not going to be safe anywhere, any time, until this thing is over. All we can do is to keep calculating the odds. And if it goes on long enough we’ll be caught. But if we do nothing we’ll get caught even sooner. The biggest risk is to take no risk. Or to take crazy risks. We’ve got to be somewhere between one and the other. Obviously whoever goes looking for Lee and Robyn has to be incredibly careful. But I’m sure they can work that out for themselves.’
‘So what do the other three do?’ Kevin asked. ‘Sit back here and eat and sleep? Shame there’s nothing on TV.’
‘No,’ said Homer. He leaned forward. ‘Here’s what I suggest. They load Corrie’s Toyota with everything useful they can find. Then they go to Kevin’s and do the same. And to my place and Ellie’s if there’s time. They pick up the Landrover at my place and fill it too. I’m talking food, clothes, petrol, rifles, tools, everything. By dawn we want to have two vehicles fuelled up, packed to their roofs, and ready to go.’
‘To go where?’ Kevin asked.
‘To Hell,’ Homer answered.
That was Homer’s genius. He combined action with thought, and he pla
‘We’ll make lists,’ Fi said. ‘We need pens and paper, Corrie.’
Our lists took nearly an hour to compile. They included all kinds of things, such as where the keys to petrol tanks were kept, how to find a foot pump for car tyres, what grade oil to put in the Landrover, and which of my teddies I wanted to have – Alvin. For food we went mainly for rice, noodles, cans, plus tea, coffee, jams, Vegemite, biscuits and cheese. Kevin looked a bit depressed when he realised what a vegetarian he was about to become. But there were sure to be heaps of eggs, in kitchens and chook sheds. Clothing was just all the obvious stuff, but with an emphasis on warmth, in case the weather broke or we were in the bush for a long time – and with an emphasis on dull colours, too, that would camouflage successfully. But it was the extras that took the time. A lot of the stuff was still in the Landrover from our five days in Hell, but it would need to be checked. And we kept thinking of new things, or things that needed topping up. Soap, dishwashing brushes and liquid, shampoo, toothpaste and toothbrushes, firestarters, pens, paper, maps of the district, compasses, books to read, transistor radio – in case a station came back on the air – and batteries, torches, insect repellent, first-aid kits, razors, tampons, packs of cards, chess set, matches, candles, sun cream, binoculars, Kevin’s guitar, toilet paper, alarm clock, cameras and film, family photos. Homer didn’t comment on the family photos but when that encouraged other family treasures being added to the list he spoke up.
‘We can’t take things like that,’ he said, when Corrie nominated her mother’s diaries.
‘Why not? They’re so important to her. She’s always said that if the house was burning they’d be the first things she’d save.’
‘Corrie, this isn’t a picnic we’re going on. We’ve got to start thinking of ourselves as guerillas. We’re already taking teddy bears and guitars. I think that’s enough.’
‘If we can take family photos we can take my mother’s diaries,’ Corrie said obstinately.
‘That’s exactly what’ll end up happening,’ Homer said. ‘You’ll say, “Well if the photos can go, the diaries can”, and then someone else’ll say, “Well if her diaries can go then my father’s football trophies can go”, and before we know it we’ll need a couple of trailers.’
It was just one of many arguments we seemed to have that afternoon. We were tired and nervous and scared for Lee and Robyn and our families. That particular fight was resolved by Fi, who made one of those suggestions that immediately seem so obvious you wonder why it took so long for anyone to think of it.
‘Why don’t you pack up all the valuables in the house,’ she said to Corrie. ‘Your mother’s jewellery and everything. Then hide them somewhere. Bury them in the vegetable garden.’
It was such a good idea that I hoped there would be time later for me to do the same thing.
Meanwhile Kevin kept trying to sneak extra things onto the list, the most important of which seemed to be condoms. As fast as he wrote them down Corrie crossed them off, till the paper had as many erasures as items. But when we came to firearms he got serious. ‘We’ve got a couple of rifles and a shotgun. One rifle’s only a .22 but the other’s a .222. The shotgun’s a beauty, a twelve-gauge. Plenty of ammo for the rifles, not so much for the shotgun. Unless Dad got some more while we were away, which I doubt. He was talking about it, but I don’t think he was going into town except for Commem Day, when the sports store’d be shut.’
Between the rest of us we had only a .22 hornet and a .410. My father had a .303, but ammunition for it had become so expensive that I didn’t think he still had any.
I was in the middle of explaining to the others where we kept our ammo. I’d already figured out I’d be one of the people going to town. Suddenly we heard a distant disturbing noise. It sounded like a plane, but louder and rougher, and it was getting closer very quickly. ‘It’s a helicopter,’ Corrie said, looking scared. We ran for the windows. ‘Get away from the bloody windows,’ Homer yelled, then to me, ‘We forgot to have a sentry.’ He rattled out a string of orders. ‘Kevin, go to the sitting room; Fi, the bathroom; Corrie, your bedroom; Ellie the sunroom. Look carefully out of the windows to see if there’s anyone coming by road or across the paddocks. Report to me in the office. I’ll be getting the .22.’
We did what he said. He’d chosen four rooms that together gave us a 360 degree view of the countryside. I scuttled across the floor of the sunroom like a big startled cockroach, then stood behind the curtains, wrapped myself in them and peeped out. I couldn’t see the helicopter but I could hear it, loud and coarse and threatening. I scrutinised the countryside carefully but could see nothing. Then something did move into my view. It was the little corgi, Flip, waddling across the courtyard. I felt sick. They would have to see her from the air, and what would they make of that? A healthy dog wandering happily around a house that was meant to have been deserted for a week? Should I call her, I wondered, in case they haven’t seen her yet? But if she responded too enthusiastically to my call it might make them even more suspicious. I made a decision, to do nothing, and at that moment the helicopter itself came swooping around to my side of the house. It was a great big ugly dark thing, like a powerful wasp, buzzing and staring and hungry to kill. I shrank back into the curtains, afraid to look into the faces of the people in the machine. I felt that they could see through the walls of the house. I squatted, then retreated along the wall of the room, around the next wall, fled through the door and down to the office, where the others were waiting.