Tomorrow 7 - The Other Side Of Dawn (31 page)

By the time I got to Simmons’ Reef I’d eaten the rest of the three bowls, dumped the aluminium cylinder, and was well and truly ravenous again.

At least I forgot my hunger for a while as I looked at Simmons’ Reef. It was a pretty town, running along the side of a range of hills, with lots of yellowing English trees and a couple of old churches poking their spires up in the foreground. The only thing that spoiled it was the big blocks of flats at the eastern
end, that
Mrs Samuels had told me about. But to me those flats didn’t look too ugly. I’d come a long way to have this view, and right now it was quite attractive.

I started moving closer. It would be a long time before darkness set in, and I couldn’t wait. I had a deep intense longing to see my mother, and I also had a terrible niggling uncertainty about the way Mrs Samuels spoke. The fear she left me with had haunted me for nearly a week now. Had something gone wrong with my mother? Had she been beaten, or tortured? Had she been injured, crippled,
brain
-damaged? The only consolations for me were that the reality of what was in Simmons’ Reef could hardly be worse than my imaginings, and that whatever I found, whatever had happened, couldn’t affect my love for my mum.

I followed a gully down from a bridge and then walked up the sandy bed of the river. There wasn’t much water, so it was quite easy. I realised as I got closer to the town that I could follow the river right in there, like a road. Although I was getting excited, and impatient, I had to check myself and say, ‘Come on, slow down, take care,
don’t
get caught now, when you’re so close’.

So at each bend I snuck into the bushes and moved forward gingerly, holding the branches apart and peering at the view, making sure there were no nasty surprises. I made good progress for a while. But just as I started getting confident I came to a grinding halt. A couple of fishermen were in the next stretch of water, casting their flies over a long deep pool.

I swore at them under my breath. This would happen. Teach me to get smug. I should know better, after all this time in the war. I waited for a while, hoping they’d move, but they looked quite happy, and then one of them caught a trout, so I figured they’d be there until dark at least. I withdrew along the river, still cursing, and climbed the bank.

I found myself in a park, in the outer reaches of the town. Nice park too, with a statue of a mother and daughter in the middle, and gardens radiating away like spokes of a wheel. Surprisingly the gardens still looked to be in good condition – someone had looked after them. The statue was kind of knocked around though. In the distance a few kids were using the playground stuff. Two of them were spinning on those whirligig things, and another was on the monkey bars.

I kept in the shadows of the trees and made my way along the banks of the river, close enough to see the heads of the fishermen below. I was planning to get back to the river but at the next bend it curved away from the direction I wanted. I could see the blocks of flats ahead, two or three kilometres, so I figured it’d be better to strike out directly for them.

It was the first time I’d been in the streets of a town since we’d hung out in Stratton. That seemed a long time ago. Simmons’ Reef wasn’t as big a town as Stratton, although it was a lot bigger than
Wirrawee
, but the main thing that struck me was how it was so undamaged. I guess there’d been no reason for the enemy to destroy it or New Zealand to bomb it. It certainly wasn’t a major military target. This was the way
Wirrawee
could still have looked if it wasn’t for the bad luck of being on the road from Cobbler’s Bay to the big city.

The only difference here between the old days and now was that the people in the streets were a different nationality. I had to remind myself to be alert. These old grandmothers watching the toddlers on the footpaths, the men talking in the front gardens among a haze of cigarette smoke, the children playing soccer in someone’s wide driveway were my enemies.

I didn’t know the rules for this town though. Each place seemed to have its own rules. From listening to people in Camp 23 I’d learned that in one town prisoners could stay in their old houses, in another everyone was sent to a prison camp in the Showground or the footie oval, in another they were sent right out of the district. There didn’t seem to be any logic to it. Maybe it depended on who was in charge of each area.

As there was no sign of my own people in the streets I assumed they were restricted to the end of town where the flats stood. So I couldn’t walk confidently out in the open, hoping I’d be taken for another factory worker. Just like it had been all the way through this war I had to skulk along, keep in hiding,
treat
every noise and movement as a threat to my life.

That wasn’t so difficult. My real problems started when I got to the eastern end of the town. It was obvious the prisoners were kept here. Mrs Samuels was right. A high-wire fence had been put up around the whole area, and the only gate was guarded by a couple of women soldiers with rifles. Inside I could see people who looked more familiar to me, doing the same kind of stuff the people outside were doing, but doing it in a much more restricted and unattractive area.

It seemed it should be easy enough to get in, compared to the other stuff I’d done during the war, but the more I looked at the situation the more I realised the problems.

I waited and watched for an hour and in all that time not a single person came in or out. That was bad enough. But when someone did eventually arrive and go through it was a careful and complicated business. A minibus pulled up with a dozen prisoners on board, and two soldiers. One of the guards from the gate got on the bus and did a head count, then looked at some papers she was given. I was too far away to see, but I think they were probably security passes or identification cards. I didn’t have anything like that.

The only good news was the approach of darkness. It couldn’t come fast enough for me. I was in such a state of exhaustion and excitement that I was in danger of losing my commonsense: I was so tempted to run straight at the gate and crash through, ignoring the fact that I would have been shot down in the first dozen steps.

It seemed weird. After all, these buildings were a prison, more or less, and here I was trying to break in. Break into a prison. ‘Good one, Ellie,’ I thought. ‘Trust you to do everything backwards.’

Staying in the shadows I went for a tour of the complex. I couldn’t do a complete circumference because on the other side there was no cover: a newer suburb stretched away down the hill. There was no obvious way into the high-rises from any point.

It was too frustrating. I couldn’t believe it was so difficult. I felt more impatient with every passing minute.

I slouched against a tree, angrily, watching the suburban houses in their neat lines facing each other across their neat streets. I would just have to wait for full darkness. Somehow I’d have to ignore the terrible hunger that was making my stomach feel like an echo chamber. I could hear the rumblings and
gurglings
, all too loud in the still evening air.

And it wasn’t just food I was hungry for.

Then below me, in the streets, something funny happened. A woman came running out of the front door of a house. She was calling, not just calling: shouting. I suppose there would have been a dozen people in the street, doing the usual sort of stuff people do in the early evening, walking, talking,
playing
. For a moment every single one of them stopped, like they’d been frosted. Then they ran towards the woman. It was like a dance: it could have been choreographed. The woman stood in the middle of the road, waving her arms and talking nineteen to the dozen. I watched, puzzled. Behind me a bell started ringing, an urgent irritating noise. More doors opened, and more people started coming out into the street. Then, behind me, in the blocks of flats, there was sudden chaos. I heard people yelling, screaming. I strained to hear what they were saying, but I couldn’t make it out. I moved quickly back into the trees. I didn’t know what was happening but I didn’t like it. I ran around to the other side to see what was going on there. People sprinted out of the flats, towards the sentries at the gates. The sentries
unslung
their rifles and dropped to their knees, aiming at the crowd. The people stopped suddenly, and gathered in a group, facing the soldiers. They were shouting and at last I could make out the words:

‘The war’s over, you bloody idiots,’ was the first thing I heard.

My skin got goose bumps everywhere. I took a few more steps forward. Had I got it right? Had I heard correctly? The words I’d been waiting to hear, all this time? In the distance a siren wailed, like an angry
bunyip
. The sentries hadn’t moved, and when a man stepped forward to talk to them, one of them fired a shot. She aimed to miss, I’m sure – she could have shot him easily if she’d wanted – but it was a frightening moment. Everyone backed up fast.

The sirens sounded closer and suddenly they were right on top of us, screaming so loudly I put my hands over my ears. Three police cars thumped to a stop, one by one, in front of the gates. A dozen or so soldiers piled out of them, and formed a line across the brow of the hill, dropping to one knee and aiming their rifles, the same as the sentries.

As they did that an officer, who’d been in the front seat of the first car, walked forward.
He halted about ten metres short of the gate and held up his hand for silence. He got it.

‘Obviously you have heard some news,’ he said. He had a pleasant voice, heavily accented, but he spoke excellent English. ‘I don’t know how, considering that radios are illegal. The fact is we don’t know yet if the announcement is correct. Until we do know, my troops will confine you to this area. As of now, all exit passes are cancelled, all work parties suspended, and all privileges withdrawn. I’m sure you will understand the need for these precautions. I am now instructing my troops to shoot without warning anyone found outside this fence.’

It was as soon as I heard those words that I got my great idea. The only light came from the buildings and the police cars, and I thought it was dim enough for me to have a chance. As the crowd inside the fence, subdued by the officer’s speech, but still talking excitedly, started to fade back towards the high-rises, I came out from the shadows.

‘Excuse me, sir,’ I said to the officer.

‘Yes, what is it?’

‘I heard what you said about shooting people found outside the fence. I got out just before you arrived. I think I’d rather go back in now. I think I’m safer in there.’

I said it with all the confidence I could muster, staring him straight in the eye, but at the same time trying to look like a contrite naughty little girl.
Trying almost to make a joke out of it.

‘Very sensible of you,’ he said. ‘How did you get out anyway?’

‘It was total chaos when the news came through,’ I said. ‘The sentries didn’t know what to do. But I was the only one.’

‘You’d better be,’ he said.
‘All right.
Hurry up.’

Ignoring me as I walked towards the gate he began giving the troops the big speech, in their own language, I suppose about how they had to kill us if we put a foot wrong.

As I approached the gate I heard very clearly, above the hubbub of chattering voices,
a woman say
clearly: ‘My God, it’s Ellie Linton.’

Everyone seemed to go quiet at once. I realised straightaway the danger it put me in. The last thing I wanted was to attract this kind of attention.

The two sentries at the gate had their backs to me. I assumed the soldiers behind me were listening obediently to their officer. So I took the risk and put my finger to my lips, to tell them to ignore me. It seemed like a long time before they got the idea. It seemed like five minutes. It was probably ten seconds. But all I could think about was how cruel it would be if I got this close to my mother, only to be arrested and dragged away.
Ripped out of her arms, almost.

At last some bright guy got the idea and started talking loudly again. I kept walking at an even pace, counting the steps as I got closer and closer to the gate. My back felt like I was being
microwaved
. I was only a couple of metres from the sentries.

Then I heard the
officers
voice: ‘Just a moment, young lady.’

I panicked. I was too close to turn back now. The sentries, startled by the
officers
voice, were turning. I accelerated and ran straight through them. The sentries yelled out something, the officer yelled out something else. Ahead of me the crowd separated. Behind me I heard the sound of rifles being cocked. That’s one sound you can never mistake. Doesn’t matter how much noise there is around you, the sound of a rifle being cocked penetrates right through your bones. To my right, the crowd threw themselves to the ground; to my left the rest went down equally fast. It was almost funny. Like a crop of wheat hit by a gale. I went to ground too, but unlike the others I kept rolling. I heard someone yell, to the officer I guess, ‘Don’t shoot, the war’s over’, then after a pause, he added, equally loudly: ‘It’d be murder if you shot anyone now.’

I was still rolling, kicking up dust. I fetched up against a concrete block, hitting it hard. It was a doorstep. I was
up,
twisting and scrambling through the door before my conscious mind even understood what it was. I found myself in a long dark corridor, cool, but smelling of a million different smells, most of them unpleasant. I didn’t know what to do so I kept going. My footsteps echoed in the long concrete tunnel. At the end was a stairway, so I aimed for that. There was a lot of yelling outside, but as I started up the steps the noise from outside was cut off completely, as though a wall had come between us. I just kept running. I didn’t even know if I was in the right building, but something kept me going. Up, up, up and despite my exhaustion and hunger and my bullet wound and my bad knee I didn’t feel any pain at all. I got to the third floor and at last started to think again. On a board at the end of each corridor was a long list of names. I guessed they were the names of the people living on that floor. I scanned down the list. There were so many changes – names crossed out and written over the top of other names – but I knew our family name would jump out at me pretty strongly, if it was there. It wasn’t. I headed up to the next floor.