Darkness Be My Friend (11 page)

"Run," I screamed at the others.

Sure the adults were a long way away, but a lucky long shot could do as much damage as a close-up easy one.

We grunted and sweated our way up the hill. The pack on my back felt like I'd grown a hunchback and it was made of lead. As we approached the crest I thought
of something and although it scared me to stop I knew I had to say it. I turned and faced them. I could only see the tops of their sweaty heads.

"When we get to the top," I gasped, "keep low, don't stand up, go over the top really fast."

I was proud of myself for thinking of that. And proud that I'd taken the risk of stopping to say it. In wars people get medals for less. But Homer just grunted, "What do you think we are, stupid?" and the three of them kept coming, like they were in some terrible cross-country race.

If I needed any incentive to keep going I got it then. An angry whistling noise, like a high-pitched turbo-charged cicada, whizzed past. And another, a little further away. It doesn't matter how tired you are, being shot at is very motivating. I turned and kept on grinding my way up the last little bit of the hill, making my legs pump like they had batteries. Homer and I arrived at the top together. I flung myself over the skyline but immediately turned around and crawled back so I could get a look at what was happening.

Kevin and Fi, gasping, desperate, eyes staring, came over the top and went past me. At the bottom of the hill the first adults were arriving. Four of them were already starting up the slope, but just as I got a look at them they stopped, and all at the same time, like they'd rehearsed it, they turned and began shouting at the people behind. I guessed what had happened. At least one of the people with rifles had kept firing after their friends went past. It was no wonder they'd stopped, but I was rapt. For once they'd got a taste of their own medicine.

I couldn't stay there watching. Already Fi was calling me. I got up again and ran on after them. They were rushing towards the scrub. I followed as fast as I could. The bush up there was just light timber, clumps of trees in places, lots of single trees, and tussocky yellow grass. There was some good pasture as well though, big green patches watered by springs.

Homer was leading now and he was taking us towards the only patch of thick bush. I wasn't sure that was such a good idea.

I yelled at them: "Stop! Wait!"

They weren't very keen to stop, but they did pause and look back, to see what I wanted. I caught up with them, but I was panting so hard, was so terribly frightened, that I could hardly speak.

"Wait," I said again. "If we go there, it's so obvious, that's where they'll look first."

I could see the doubt, the indecision, start to creep over their faces.

"But there's no cover anywhere else," Homer said.

"If we go in there, we're trapped."

"Well, where else then?"

"Get as far away from here as we can. They won't start a proper search straightaway. Before they do, let's make all the ground possible."

They didn't argue. There wasn't time for arguing. I took the lead again and ran through light bush, searching all the time for an idea, some hint of where to go or what to do. There was nothing obvious. It was such typical light scrub. Every hundred metres looked the same as every other hundred metres. I figured we had at least a minute, maybe two. But so what? Right now they'd be
calling up helicopters and soldiers. With the airstrip so close they'd be here in no time. They could surround this whole area in half an hour, probably less. It was no good us finding somewhere that would be safe for a few minutes. We had to find somewhere that would be safe for however long the search lasted ... a full day maybe, or two, or three.

We came to a fence and struggled over it. It was much the same kind of country, but with a small mob of horses grazing in among the trees. They looked up, startled and curious. They didn't run away like you'd expect. A couple even took a step towards us. I felt a wave of affection for them, a wave of longing to stop and rub their noses and let them nibble at my hand. Yet here we were, running like criminals through our own land, running from bullets, just so we could stay alive.

In a movie there would have been a secret cave that we could have dropped into. Or Sam and Colonel Finley would have arrived in a helicopter. Here it wasn't going to be so easy. But I was desperate. Whatever else happened I didn't want to be caught again. And that fierce fear made my mind work fast and frantically. A memory flashed into my mind, like a slide on a screen. It was something my Uncle Bob said years ago when Grandma decided to leave the farm and buy her house in Stratton. Uncle Bob, who's a builder, came down to look at the house she wanted. I followed him around as he checked it out. He kept looking up all the time. "What are you looking at, Uncle Bob?" I asked. He glanced at me. "People never look above their own line of sight," he said. "If the builder's done a snow job on
this place you can tell by looking up high. He'll be smart enough to have it looking OK at eye level."

I was very impressed by this. And I think he said the same thing to Dad, because Dad said it to me a few months later when he was blocking up a possum hole.

I'd learnt from them, and when I played hide-and-seek I occasionally hid up a tree. Not once did anyone find me. In the end I gave up doing it, because it was so boring.

As I looked at the hard ground and the light scrub, the lack of undergrowth, the unvarying unyielding bush, and the grass mown short by the horses, I thought that Uncle Bob's words might give us our only hope. We were stumbling along now, getting slower and more tired.

I called back over my shoulder: "We'll have to get up trees and hide in the tops."

No one said anything and I thought maybe they hadn't heard. So I called again: "We'll have to climb trees."

This time Homer answered. "But if they see us up a tree ... then we're trapped."

His voice was rasping. I knew he was close to exhaustion. We all were.

In the distance I heard a burring whirring buzzing noise. It was all too familiar.

"The choppers are coming," I yelled.

I veered to my left, towards another clump of trees. I didn't even look back to check that they were following. I just assumed they were. As we came in under the first trees I had a glimpse of the blades of a helicopter in the distance. I ran to a tree that looked easy and had a good
crown as well. Thinking of the choppers I called to the others, "Pick one that's got lots of leaves on top."

I knew they'd heard because Fi took a look up and changed her mind about the tree she'd been running towards. She went to the next one instead.

I started to climb, but there weren't enough handholds; I gave up and, like Fi, ran to another. In front of me I could see Homer struggling with a difficult climb, Fi halfway up her new tree, and Kevin leaving one and trying a different one.

My second choice was better, but by that stage it didn't matter. I had to make it work. I had to get to the top, because I'd run out of alternatives. Never had my pack felt heavier, never had I felt wearier or more scared, but for fear of my life I climbed. The mottled white bark was cool to the touch, the light green leaves brushed my face, the branches supported my weight. I went up and up. There were three long reaches where I had to really stretch, but I stretched. If it had dislocated my shoulder I would have stretched.

The noise of the chopper was louder but I thought I could hear human cries away behind us. No longer was I looking to see how the others were going, no longer was I even thinking of them. All I wanted to do was get myself safe, get to the very top, hide in that comforting cubby of leaves. Fear makes you selfish. And then I was in there, feeling myself engulfed by the fresh light greenery, realising for the first time that my chest was crashing and heaving for breath. The noise of the chopper was a roar now, probably only a hundred metres or so away. I clung to the tree for dear life. I was grateful for the green and brown camouflage clothing that
nowadays we wore as a matter of course. Although the leaves were comfortingly thick, the branches were light, and with my pack on I was pretty heavy. I was scared the branches would break under me. I was scared the people in the helicopter would see me. I was scared the people on the ground would see me. I was sobbing, sort of half-trying to get my breath and half-crying all at the same time but not sure which was which. And I was choking down the sobs as much as I could, feeling that I would choke myself by doing it, that my lungs would burst, but knowing I had no choice.

Then the leaves around me were buffeted by a great wind, a tornado. The leaves went into a frenzy,'my hair was blown crazily around my head, my clothes billowed, and from the ground came a storm of dust and twigs. The roar of the chopper hammered at my ears. My eyes were shut tight; partly to keep out the dust, partly in terror. I was scared that the helicopter was going to take off my head, that it was so low it would decapitate me.

The tree calmed again. The blast of air faded, but I still could hardly hear. The roar of the helicopter had deafened me. I opened my eyes cautiously, relieved that my head was still on my shoulders. I glanced down, even more cautiously, to see something more terrifying than the helicopter. Directly below my tree someone was standing.

He was wearing a black cap and a khaki shirt. I couldn't see any more of him than that. It may have been a soldier's uniform; I couldn't be sure. Not that it mattered a lot. He was the enemy, that's what it came down to. If he was a soldier he may have been a more dangerous enemy than a farmer. But there wasn't much in it. If he had a gun he was deadly. If he didn't, he was still bigger than me and he could probably call up help in seconds.

My life depended on his intelligence. If he looked up and saw me I was finished. If he didn't I might survive a little longer. In my desperation I began to measure the drop from the tree. If I moved about a metre I would get a clear drop to the ground. And if I made myself fall a little to the left instead of dropping like a stone I would land on top of him. What would that do to me? I didn't know. Probably not kill me, but I might break a lot of bones. What would it do to him? I didn't know that either, but I felt it would do him a lot of damage. In cold blood I made the decision: if he sees me I'll drop onto him. Anything would be better than being caught again. Anything would be better than being killed without putting up some sort of fight.

But would I be able to do it if the moment came? Would I really be able to do it? To throw myself out of a fifteen-metre-high tree? Could I overcome all my instincts and do such a frightening thing?

I was shuddering with the fear of all this but at the same time crazily telling myself to think about something else. Why? For the stupid reason that I was convinced he would feel telepathic thoughts from me if I
kept thinking about him. That my thoughts were so powerful there was no way he could stand there and not get energy waves through his brain that would cause his head to turn, cause him slowly to tilt his head back and look up through the branches, up through the leaves, right into my eyes.

And perhaps that might have happened too, except he was suddenly distracted. A woman, wearing a yellow T-shirt and black jeans, came across the clearing to the man. I got a better view of her face. She was sweating heavily and looked scared. She was talking loudly, pointing behind her, her broad flushed face like a mirror of mine, as far as the fear went, anyway. The man came forward a few steps. He was wearing grey jeans, but I don't think it was a uniform. He said something in a low voice. I realised he too was puffing and sweating, his shirt wet across the back. But she went on talking, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one to the dozen. They started to move away a little further.

I had the feeling that maybe they were giving up already. I clung to that hope. But if that was their plan, it didn't last long. Almost at the same time I heard another man yelling something. The two of them stopped and looked across to their left. Then they turned to face the newcomer.

I had a good view of him, too. And I felt really scared. Because I knew at my first glance that now we were dealing with the professionals.

This guy was about thirty, smooth-faced, sharp-eyed, and in an officer's uniform. He was carrying two rifles and he gave one to the other man. It was an ugly black thing with a short barrel and a big magazine. He lifted
his arm to point through the trees ahead, in the direction we'd been going. The big sweat patch under his arm was the only sign that he was stressed. The man and the woman slunk away in the direction he'd pointed. It was pretty obvious they'd been given their orders.

The officer staved where he was, though. He wiped his forehead with his sweaty arm, then pulled out a cigarette from a crumpled pack in his breast pocket. He lit it with a match from one of those little books of matches that tear off and are always so hard to light. He sure had trouble. It took him three or four goes.

While he was doing it I took a quick glance at the other trees. There was no movement, no sign of Fi or the boys. I hadn't expected any, of course, but it was still a relief. I felt a huge responsibility for them. This climbing trees had been my idea: if it went wrong my life, which was in enough trouble already, would be wrecked forever. And I don't mean because I would die. I mean because my friends would die and I would have caused it.

The smoke from the cigarette curled up around my tree.

Smoke curls up around the old gum tree trunk,
Silver moon makes the wet leaves glisten.

How many times had I sung that at Wirrawee Primary? The little wisps of smoke stole past me now, and the smell of tobacco replaced all the familiar bush smells. It was quite a pleasant smell. Under other circumstances I might have enjoyed it.

I blinked as a sniff of smoke got in my eye. I had to
be careful not to let it get up mv nose in case it made me sneeze. What a disaster that would be. I looked down again at the man. He was squatting now, his back against the tree. How many times had I seen my father in the same position? How alike all these people were under their different clothes and different skins. But this man did something I'd never seen my father do. If I lived to be a hundred and fifty I'd never see my father do this. The man idly put the burning end of his cigarette to a piece of bark and watched casually as a stream of white smoke came from the bark.