Burning for Revenge (28 page)

The tractor was pinned by its rear and was now up on its hind legs, the engine racing and the front wheels spinning furiously. Above me the roof was sagging but had not fallen. I heard a wild whinny and spun around. The horses, all heads and legs and tails, were stampeding. I went down again, huddling into the smallest ball I could make. I think one of them might have actually leapt over me. The edge of a hoof struck me on my side, half its weight on me and half on the ground, a painful blow but at least only there for a second. It felt like someone had hit me in the ribs with an iron bar. Then Lee grabbed me and hauled me to my feet.

We ran. I was holding my side where the horse kicked me, and limping on my jarred knee. One glimpse back showed a terrible sight: a horse pinned under a beam, kicking and twisting. Then, with a roar and a gush of wind, half the roof fell on it. There was an instant wall of flames and I couldn't see any more.

If the men were fighting the fires they must have been doing it from the front. That made sense, because they wouldn't have known we were breaking out from the rear. They'd probably think we died in the flames. It wouldn't be until they found the burned-out tractor halfway through the wall that they'd figure out what had happened.

So we stumbled away into the night, without any opposition. We were both shivering and shaking like the temperature was five below zero. We climbed through a fence—that was the only time Lee let go of me—but we scratched ourselves bloody doing it. The cruel thing about this war was that after anything dangerous there were no adults to wrap blankets round us and give us hot cups of tea. There was nothing but more darkness, more danger, more fear.

Then Lee took me by the shoulder and we trekked across a ploughed field. In the next paddock there were sheep, and I was very pleased to see them, because I knew it meant we'd find water somewhere. I followed the lie of the land until we came to a small dam with stagnant greeny water. I wouldn't let Lee drink it, but we splashed it all over us, and it helped.

Looking back at the farm I saw four distinct towers of flame, like four fiery rockets each standing on a base waiting to take off. I've seen a few fires in my life but never one like that. Those guys would have their hands full for a while yet. I wondered why there were four towers. I was only responsible for three.

As we approached the road, across another ploughed paddock, two fire engines from Stratton rushed past, not using their sirens or red lights, but flat out nonetheless.

The walk back to Stratton took forever. I couldn't believe we weren't getting there. I mean, a dozen times I'd think, "We must be there, we must!" and I'd look up and we were still surrounded by farmland. Maybe we took smaller steps than normal, maybe we were just moving more slowly, maybe we'd lost our sense of time or direction, I don't know. I know the last couple of kilometres I was completely out of it: my head and legs were numb—except for my knee, which was killing me—and my side felt like it was on fire. Tears kept running down my face and after a while I gave up trying to wipe them away. Lee was good, I've got to say that for him. He kept talking, telling me there wasn't much further to go, and not to give up.

Once we got clear of the farm I wouldn't let him touch me again though.

When we got to the house Kevin was on sentry. He started to say: "Where the hell have you been?" but one look at me and the words died in his throat. He jumped down and ran into the house. I stopped and leaned against a wall, thinking, "It's all right now, I don't have to do anything. Fill be here in a moment." Then she was there and she took me inside, and in one way everything was OK: I was lying on a sofa and getting wiped down and they were trickling water into my mouth and tucking rugs around my feet. Homer was there too, but I didn't want him; it was only Fi I wanted. And she was fantastic. She sent Homer away quick smart and she found some burn cream and some stuff for my bruised ribs from deep inside one of Grandma's cupboards. She supported my head with a pillow and she stayed there holding my hand until I fell asleep.

But of course that wasn't enough. When I woke up the next morning, my ribs ached, my knee throbbed and the side of my face burned like I was too close to a radiator, but I knew I'd get over all of that.

The real hurt was somewhere in my stomach. People talk about heartache and broken hearts and all that stuff, but I don't think I feel things in my heart so much. More in my stomach. Right in the middle of it. And God I felt it that morning. It seemed to me that Lee had betrayed us in every way possible. I didn't know any details, but I didn't feel like there was much worth knowing. A relationship with a girl who had to be our enemy, a relationship that risked all our lives, a relationship that was a big ugly slag right in the faces of his friends.

It was love and loyalty that had kept us together all this time. It held us together through experiences that would have destroyed most groups. I suspected not many adult groups—maybe none—would have survived the way we had. Seemed like adults let their egos get in the way too much. Of course we've got egos too, but when it came to the crunch we listened to each other and took each other seriously. We didn't often shout anyone down or tell them to shut up. But here was Lee saying that a bit of sex with some slut was more important to him than nearly a year of the most powerful experiences of our lives.

In particular, I felt that Lee had spat right in my face. First spat and then slapped me. I could almost feel the sting where his open hand had left its mark. I don't think I've ever felt more rejected. I didn't know if I could ever trust anyone again.

I was scared about something else too. I try not to be scared but I think I'm really more scared about emotional stuff than physical stuff. What I was scared of now as I lay on the couch, with my face and arm and leg throbbing and burning, was that Lee might try to blame me for what had happened. That he'd say: "Well, you wouldn't let me touch you, so that's why I went off with her."

Would he do that? Would he sink so low? I didn't know any more. I felt kind of guilty sometimes, when he tried to crack onto me and I wasn't in the mood,
wasn't ready for it. It didn't happen every day, but he'd been angry each time. I know they taught us at school that girls shouldn't feel under pressure from guys, and guys won't die if they don't get what they want, but in real life it's not that easy.

The funny thing was that in the old days I wasn't exactly backwards in coming forwards. I don't think Steve would have complained. I don't know what had changed, or why it had. Oh, the war of course, that was our excuse for everything. But maybe it was only vanity. If I could have a long hot shower and some new clothes, if I could put on some of that moisturiser stuff from the Body Shop, I know I would have felt better about myself.

But it was inside too. Just like I didn't feel too gorgeous on the outside, I didn't feel too gorgeous on the inside. That terrible party in New Zealand: the further I got away from it the worse it became. It should be the other way round.

There was something else I was scared of, and that was how I could explain to Lee why I was following him. I don't know why I always end up putting myself in the wrong—after all, I hadn't done anything wrong—but I thought it would look awfully bad. It had never crossed my mind that he was meeting a girl. I wasn't spying on his love life; I was trying to make sure he wasn't risking our survival by taking on an enemy army single-handedly.

Maybe it would have been better if he had.

It was a few hours before I saw him. He came into the room so quietly that I didn't know he was there. I'd had my eyes shut for a minute and when I opened them again he was standing next to me. We just looked at each other for quite a long time. I'm pretty sure neither of us blinked.

"Are you OK?" he asked.

I didn't say anything.

He sat on the end of the couch. I pulled my legs away, just a reflex, to give him more room, but he noticed and I could tell he thought I'd done it deliberately. He stood again. His head was down. He didn't seem to know where to begin, and I wasn't going to help him. With the room so dark I couldn't see his face very well. Eventually he cleared his throat and said: "I didn't mean this to happen."

"How'd you meet her?" I knew there was no expression in my voice. I didn't do it deliberately, but I knew my voice sounded dead.

After a while he shrugged.

"By a fluke. I saved her life." He grinned, very briefly, like he realised straight away that he shouldn't be grinning.

"Excuse me?"

"I saved her life. I was in a paddock picking mushrooms. You remember, ages ago, I was bringing in mushrooms every night?"

I didn't say anything.

"Well, it was a really hot night. I was out there, half looking for mushrooms, half sitting around thinking. And I heard a scream. A serious kind of scream, where you know it's big trouble. I didn't even think about the war. I just bolted over there. I got to the top of this hill and there was a dam and I could see someone splashing around wildly, on the far side. So I ran on down there."

He seemed like he was happy to stop the story there, but I sure wasn't.

After a while, when he hadn't said anything, I said: "Well?"

He sighed. "She'd snuck out of the house and gone for a swim. And there was a big deep dark section and it was a lot colder than she'd expected. She got a cramp.

"I didn't know you were such a swim star."

"Oh I can swim. I'm just not as good as you or Homer. I'm OK over a short distance."

"So she fell into your arms and violins started playing?"

He shrugged again. "Did I mention she was naked?"

"No, you didn't actually."

"Oh. Well she was."

He was so nervous it would have been funny in a different situation. But I was furiously and bitterly jealous. I didn't want to hear any more about the meeting at the dam. I pushed on.

"Then you met her again?"

"Yep."

"And again and again?"

"I really liked her, Ellie. I knew it was wrong, I knew it was dangerous, I knew I was cheating on you, even if we haven't been so ... you know, lately, but I couldn't stop myself. I couldn't stop seeing her."

"So what happened tonight? Last night, I mean."

"You probably know more about that than I do."

"She sold you out?"

"I don't know. What did happen out there? Where did you come from? The first I knew anything was going on, I heard this crackling noise and I said, 'What's that?' and she just bolted out the door and I went and looked and there's this bloody truck on fire coming straight at me. Then I heard shooting so I ducked back inside. The truck came rolling in and I thought, 'I've made a bad move here.' But I realised the place was going to go up like a volcano. I thought I'd better at least get the horses out."

"When did you see me?"

"When you were coming across that walkway thing. To be honest, I thought you were Robyn for a second. I totally freaked. Then I saw it was you. I freaked just as much. But I had to keep working on the horses, so I concentrated on them."

I knew what happened after that. I went back to the other question.

"So do you think she sold you out?"

He hunched right over, his hands under his armpits. I realised he didn't want to answer. But that itself was an answer. After a while he did actually say: "I hope not. But she sure got out of there fast."

He looked at me and I realised how much it was hurting him. That was when I was at my most jealous of her, I think, and at mv most angry. He'd been incredibly stupid, but she had no right to treat him like that, not after all he'd been through. If she'd walked into the room right then I would have ripped her apart.

"What's her name?" I asked.

"Reni."

"I wasn't following you to spy on you," I said. He looked relieved, like he'd wanted to ask, but hadn't been game.

"I thought you were running your own private war," I said. "I was scared you were attacking them on your own."

He didn't say anything. I think he wanted to hear more, but that was all I was going to give him.

"But I still don't understand," he said. "I mean, were there soldiers outside that barn, or what?"

"Four guys with guns."

He nodded. "She did seem nervous," he admitted. "And the way she bolted..." To himself he muttered, "One day I'll find her again. I'll find out what happened."

Now I could have ripped him apart. Would he never learn? Somehow though, I bit my tongue. I don't even know why. Sooner or later someone'd have to tell him to stop being so stupid, so selfish, so suicidal. I just didn't want to be the someone.

"How much did you tell her about us?"

"Nothing. She assumed I was like those street kids. I never told her any different. I didn't want her to connect me with the jail break for instance. Or the Wirrawee Airfield. I thought that'd strain the friendship a bit."

He tried to say it lightly but I'd never seen him so unhappy, not even when he was talking about his parents.

"It's the not knowing, that's the worst thing."

I didn't comment. I didn't touch him either. I think he wanted me to, but I couldn't. I didn't know if I'd ever touch him again.

After a long time he said: "Would it help if I said I was sorry?"

"No."

After an even longer time I said: "Can you go now? I want to get some sleep."

He got up and went out. He hadn't looked at me for ages, and that was fine by me.

There's only five of us, so how can relationships get so complicated? Homer and Fi, Lee and me, and Kevin on his own, now that Corrie's gone. That's how it should have been. That's how it looked at one stage. But life never seems to go according to plan. As I lay on the couch I ended up feeling more sorry for Lee than I did for myself. Later that day I backtracked and decided he didn't deserve any sympathy. The argument raged backwards and forwards inside me. "On the one hand," I'd say to myself, "we weren't actually on together at this exact time in our lives."