Tomorrow 3 - The Third Day, The Frost Read online

  ‘Yes,’ she said at last, still not looking at us, ‘I think I would like cover, thank you.’

  I didn’t say anything, just walked back to the sheep, trying to keep my face controlled. I didn’t like this situation. I also don’t like being surprised by peo­ple, especially Robyn, whom I thought I’d figured out a long time ago.

  I also like getting my own way.

  ‘What do you think of these guns?’ I asked Fi, looking for support.

  ‘I think they’re right,’ she said. ‘Robyn’d be a sitting duck otherwise. If she got shot we’d never forgive ourselves.’

  I gave up then. I still thought that it was stupid: that if we ever got involved in a shooting war we’d be massacred. But I’d been outvoted.

  We waited about forty minutes and then heard the unmistakeable low rasping buzz of a convoy. ‘Oh God,’ I thought, ‘here we go.’ It was still a long way off but it got louder quite quickly. At one stage I almost convinced myself that it wasn’t a convoy at all but a low-flying aircraft. Sound does funny things at night.

  ‘We’re mad,’ I said to Fi.

  She gave her little nervous smile.

  ‘Do you think anyone’ll ever know about the things we do?’ I asked her.

  ‘I know what you mean,’ she said. ‘It’d be awful if they didn’t. I want my parents to know I’ve tried really hard to help and to do brave things. I’d hate it if they didn’t know that.’

  I felt better that she understood, that she felt the same way.

  We were on a fairly straight stretch of road so we could see the lights of the trucks quite a way off. But these ones surprised me because they were using parking lights. It was a while later that I realised it was a good sign; they must be getting more nervous about air attacks. Up until then we’d seen a lot of convoys with dimmed headlights but never one on parkers only. It meant also that they travelled slowly, which was good news for the sheep.

  Kevin at one end of the mob of sheep, and I at the other, were the only people left on the road now. We shook the sheep up and got them onto the bitumen as much as we were able. They weren’t all that keen but we had them spread out enough to take up lots of space. At the last moment we slipped into the trees and joined the other four. We heard the brakes of the first truck come on and saw the little parking lights come to a halt. Other trucks quickly stopped behind it, as far back as we could see. It was a big convoy. I saw Robyn sneak forward, followed by Homer and Lee with their guns. I felt sick. I heard truck doors slam, footsteps, voices yelling at the sheep. We fig­ured on having a bit of time, as these guys probably wouldn’t have a lot of experience with sheep, plus the sheep only understood English. And the soldiers wouldn’t want to leave them wandering all over the road, where they’d be a hazard to other convoys.

  A bright spotlight suddenly came on, and swung around towards us. They might have been nervous of planes but they weren’t fools either. They’d obviously weighed up the odds and decided the spotlight was worth the risk. Fi and I silently went to ground. I couldn’t see Kevin, who was somewhere behind us, but I assumed he was eating dirt, too. I lay there, my heart thudding madly. The sheep were bleating hys­terically up on the road, and starting to move away from the soldiers. I could hear the sharp trotters start to accelerate again, tap-dancing on the bitumen. We’d had a cattle stampede, ages ago; seemed that now we were having a sheep stampede. I giggled, and saw Fi’s right eye peep at me, startled. That startled me, then: I hadn’t thought I’d giggled so loudly. I started worrying that the soldiers had heard.

  The spotlight continued to search. It was so bright that it seemed to burn the air, to burn the branches and leaves. A small bird erupted out of a nest to my right and flew away in a wild panicky ungraceful rush. I could see by a reflection in the sky that there was another spotlight scanning the other side of the road.

  Then the shooting started. I nearly lifted off the ground with sheer fright. I’m amazed my hair didn’t turn white; it felt funny, all frizzy. Shots were being fired at a regular rate, one after another, on both sides of the road. At first they were away to our left but we could tell they were gradually moving closer. I began to realise what was happening: the soldiers, suspicious, were firing methodically into the bush, just to discourage anyone who might be lurking, waiting to attack. I pressed myself down even lower, feeling the cold earth on my lips and forehead. A bullet blasted across my head with horrifying speed and force, rushing away into the darkness. I hoped there weren’t too many koalas out there. I was worried sick about Homer and Lee and Robyn but there was nothing we could do, and so far I hadn’t heard the shouts of discovery you’d expect if they’d been spotted. I didn’t dare move.

  The firing continued for several minutes. They must have had tonnes of ammo. They certainly weren’t taking risks. Then suddenly I heard a truck engine cough into life. Then another, then another. They merged into a loud purring and I heard the heavy clunks of gears engaging. The convoy was on the move.

  I wasn’t though. I lay there, waiting for the night to become silent and clear again. But before it did, Homer and Lee arrived, two big dark clumsy figures crashing through the scrub in front of me. Fi and I hauled ourselves up, shaking off twigs and leaves and dirt.

  ‘What happened?’ I begged them.

  Kevin arrived, behind me.

  ‘What the hell happened?’ he echoed.

  ‘They were just so paranoid,’ Homer said. Both he and Lee looked wild-eyed with excitement. ‘We couldn’t do anything. Once they started popping off bullets we hid behind trees and hoped to God they wouldn’t come looking for us.’

  ‘Did they see you?’ Kevin asked.

  ‘No, no, they were just being cautious.’

  ‘Where’s Robyn?’

  ‘I don’t know. Up on the road I hope. We didn’t dare look out from behind our trees. I don’t think she was caught or we would have heard. But I don’t know if she managed to get the timer on. It would have been hard.’

  We ploughed our way up to the road. There was no sign of Robyn, no sheep either. I was starting to panic. Then I saw a pair of white eyes, and the gleam of white teeth, coming towards us. It proved to be not a wolf, but Robyn.

  We engulfed her with questions and emotion.

  ‘Wait! Stop!’ she said. ‘Let’s walk and talk. We can’t waste time.’ We hurried along behind her, like a gaggle of geese. The first thing we saw was the paddock where they’d put the sheep. Both Homer and I stopped in disgust.

  ‘We can’t leave them in there!’ Homer exploded.

  ‘We haven’t got time,’ Lee said.

  ‘We’ll have to make time,’ I said. ‘These sheep helped us a lot tonight. We owe them.’

  Homer and I ran to the gate and opened it. I realised we’d have to fake it, so the sheep looked like they’d escaped by themselves.

  I called out to Lee: ‘See if you can knock the fence down somewhere. Make it look like the sheep did it themselves.’

  Grumbling, he went off to do it. Homer and I ran into the paddock and exhausted ourselves rounding the stupid animals up again. The paddock was very small, with no feed at all, and thirty starving tuki­dales in it already, to go with the merino crosses we’d been droving. We ran them out of the gate so fast that it’s a wonder they didn’t smother themselves. A few did go down but they got themselves up again. We let them spread out along the sides of the road and graze where they wanted. The road was much wider here and with the sheep off the bitumen I hoped the con­voys would let them stay there. Whatever, there was no more we could do for them. At least they’d have full bellies for their next adventure.

  We ran off after Robyn and Fi, who were further up the road, talking.

  ‘So what happened?’ I asked Robyn, panting.

  She was grinning. I got the impression she’d enjoyed herself, despite the danger.

  ‘It was insane.’

  ‘OK, OK, I believe you; but what happened?’

  ‘Well, they stopped and I picked one right away,
a semi with a container on the back. It was only a short one, about six or seven metres long I’d say, but the long ones were all diesels, I think. I just went straight to it in the shadows before people started getting out of their trucks, and I got in from underneath, like we’d said. It wasn’t hard finding the lead, but just after I’d cut it the security guys came past. That’s when things got serious. There was nothing to do except crouch there and pray. But they were more interested in the bush than what might be happening in the trucks. The outside, not the inside.’

  ‘Makes sense,’ I said. ‘They’d be thinking of guerilla attacks, not of one person putting a timer on a distributor lead.’

  The others had joined us at this stage and we were walking along fast, hoping to find a broken-down truck. But although the convoy had been travelling slowly we knew we’d have a long way to go.

  ‘Then they started firing,’ Robyn continued. ‘That was awful. I thought they’d spotted you guys. I turned to stone. I’d thought I was the one in the dan­gerous spot, then it seemed like you were. I couldn’t seem to think or function at all. But I noticed there was no excitement: no one calling out or running like you’d expect if they were suspicious. Then one of the soldiers doing the shooting walked past me firing into the bush, and I realised it wasn’t aimed at any­one: they were just playing it safe. I hoped you guys hadn’t copped an accidental bullet. But I unparalysed myself and got back to work. It was really hard because my hands were so wet and sweaty. I couldn’t get a proper grip. The wires wouldn’t do what I wanted, then I dropped the pliers. But I’m pretty sure I got it right. Then I taped the timer way down and tried to make my move. That’s when my real prob­lems started – people were coming back to their trucks and security guys were still wandering around. The truck started and revved up and I still couldn’t get off. I thought, “Better flatten myself,” and I did. I waited till the truck had gone over me then rolled off the road full speed. I was terrified then. The trucks travel so close together. You should have seen me roll. Still, I survived. Bruises, scratches, scars for life, that’s about all.’

  ‘How sure are you that you got it on right?’ Homer asked.

  ‘She must have, or the truck wouldn’t have started again,’ Lee said.

  ‘Yeah, true. If the timer works OK it’ll definitely stop it,’ Kevin confirmed. ‘The problem then will be if they find the timer. At this time of night, and after being held up already, I don’t think they’ll have the patience to make the whole convoy wait while they look for a reason for one truck breaking down. They sounded tired enough when they were chasing the sheep.’

  ‘I thought you were a long way back in the bush,’ I said.

  ‘No, no, I was really close,’ he said, but I wasn’t sure of that.

  ‘If they find the timer we’ll walk straight into an ambush,’ Lee said quietly and calmly.

  We all slowed down and looked at each other in shock. We’d reached that stage of exhaustion where we were overlooking obvious things.

  ‘But we haven’t got time to sneak along in the bush,’ Fi said. ‘It’ll be light soon.’

  ‘We have to,’ Homer said. ‘Don’t forget, this raid is a chance in a million. If anything goes wrong we can call it off, no harm done, no need to feel bad. It’s much too big for us, anyway. I think we should put our own safety higher than going on with this.’

  I was really staggered. I’m sure Homer wasn’t scared. His voice was steady and strong. I think he’d just weighed the risks and made a scientific judgement. For hot-headed Homer this was very cool. Something about it pleased me a lot, though, and not only the fact that it slightly increased my chances of staying alive. I think it was the hope that maybe Homer no longer felt a great macho need to prove himself by leaping wildly into action at every opportunity.

  I had strong memories of other amateur soldiers we’d worked with, the adults of Harvey’s so-called Heroes, being shot down like skittles as we’d watched helplessly from the bush. They’d been walking towards a disabled enemy vehicle too, taking it for granted that it had been deserted.

  So we went bush, we quit talking, we threaded our way through the trees, tripping over roots and rocks, getting bashed in the face by stray branches. Oh, it was hard. ‘Won’t life ever be easy again?’ I begged myself. At about 4.45 in the morning we saw the dull gleam of the stationary container truck, reflecting a little moonlight as it sat at the side of the road.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I wondered as I looked at it whether I was looking at my own coffin. It was a horrible feeling, to think that I’d be locking myself into that big metal box. We’d crept up on it very gingerly, but everything seemed normal. I know if I were a driver whose truck broke down at that hour of the night I wouldn’t want to hang around trying to fix it. I’d leave it to the mechanics.

  Kevin took the timer off, wired the lead together again, then pulled the positive wire off the coil. He assured us that they’d think that had caused the breakdown. But he did something to the fuel line as well: ran some water through it, I think. He said they’d have to call a tow truck for that. I took his word for it. I’m good on basic mechanics but I’m not into the deeper mysteries of engines.

  We got the container open by swinging one bolt to the right and the other to the left. I’d been thinking – hoping – it might be locked but really that was the eas­iest part of the whole operation. You could open it from the inside too, which was another thing I’d been wondering about. I didn’t want to end up like a possum in a trap.

  The inside was a metal cave. It looked much big­ger than from the outside. Our footsteps echoed as we tiptoed nervously along its full length. But of course there was nothing to see. It was the same at one end as it was at the other.

  ‘Come on,’ I said to the others, knowing Homer was just opening his mouth to say the same thing, and determined to beat him to it. I never wanted to let Homer think he was our lord and master. ‘Time to do some hard yakka.’

  It was hard yakka, too. Our dump of fertiliser and diesel was about two k’s away. We’d calculated the time and speed of the convoy fairly well but I was still whingeing about it. I’d only have been happy if the truck had pulled up neatly next to our pile, had backed up to it even. Homer told Kevin he shouldn’t have wrecked the fuel supply, because then I could have driven the truck to the dump and driven it back to the breakdown point after we’d loaded it. Of course there was no way. Those things were too hard to reverse, and in that narrow road, with no good places to turn a semi around, I might have had to drive it right down to Cobbler’s Bay to find a place to manoeuvre. That wouldn’t have looked so good to the soldiers.

  So it was back to the wheelbarrows, back to another trundle through the cold night air, heavy arms struggling to hold up heavy handles, heavy legs wobbling as we tried to keep our balance. We stuck to the road now, listening for convoys and patrols, but knowing that dawn was another enemy for us to beat. But there were no convoys, and there seemed to be no patrols at all in this area.

  The hardest part was getting the bags and the drums up into the actual container. I’ve got to admit, Homer was good there too. He might be just a big lump of bone and muscle but he did a good job with the sacks. Fi especially had no chance of getting her bags up high enough, and Homer did all of hers. I know he had the strength, but I don’t know where he got the energy.

  Then suddenly, too fast for my liking, we were ready. I stood on the road behind the truck looking at the others, trying to cope with my flood of feelings. I felt like you do when you realise a polypipe’s about to come apart at the join. What do you do first? Try to jam it back on? Rush to the valve? Rush to the pump? It was like that in my head. I’d half thought we might have a mushy farewell scene with everyone kissing and hugging and making speeches. I should have known it wouldn’t be like that. In fact what happened was that Kevin handed me the fuse and detonator, and we gave the others our boots, socks and heavy clothes, and the contents of our pockets, so we could swim the bay ea
sily. Then we stood and looked at each other feeling a bit embarrassed, then Homer said, ‘Oh well, see you guys at the creek,’ which was the meeting place we’d arranged, and Kevin said, ‘Yeah, see you,’ and I winked at Fi and waved to Robyn and in we went and shut the huge doors behind us.

  As soon as we were in that darkness I wanted to rush out again and throw myself around all of them like an emotional boa constrictor but no matter what happened I was going to be as cool as Homer.

  It was quite black in there. I held up my hand about five centimetres from my face and could see only the faintest gleam of pale skin. Outside I’d just had evidence that there was still light in the world, with the smudging of grey along the horizon, but in here I could hardly believe it. It was scary in a way that nothing else had been before. This was a totally new kind of venture for us. The other times were kind of local, us doing what we could do in our own neigh­bourhood, using petrol and gas, stuff that we used every day of our lives. Now it was war and we were soldiers. Anfo, detonators, fuses, trying to infiltrate a harbour and blow up shipping: this wasn’t small time. This was a major act of sabotage that we were attempting. This was the Battle of Cobbler’s Bay, seri­ous war, real war, the kind of thing that should only be attempted by hundreds of soldiers with uniforms and guns, people who’d been training for years.

  ‘Homer,’ I said, suddenly terrified that he’d disap­peared and I was all alone in the world. ‘Homer, where are you?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, I’m here.’ I heard him move towards me and I felt out in front of my face. My fingers found his face: I was touching the rough skin of his chin. He put his arms around me and I gratefully accepted his big wide hug. Being hugged by Homer felt funny; he didn’t do it often and you could feel his awkwardness when he did. He was all sharp angles, not relaxed or comfortable, but it was nice to feel some closeness with him again. I admired him a lot these days, though I didn’t ever let him know that.