The Road to Winter Page 10

  Tusker’s not happy. He swears under his breath and spits again. ‘I’m not dragging him,’ he says.

  ‘Me neither,’ says Jack.

  ‘I’ll lead him,’ Harry says. There’s a solidness about him that reminds me of Dad. He leans in and ties a rag around my head, covering my eyes.

  ‘Not too tight?’ he says. Then I feel the rope around my wrists again, but in front this time. There’s a gentle tug and we’re on our way.

  The first hour or so isn’t too bad. We’re still on the road. I can feel the even surface under my feet and we move at a good pace. No one is saying much, but every now and again Harry asks how I’m going. Tusker and Jack have either dropped back behind us or they’re out in front, maybe scouting for danger. I can’t hear their footsteps.

  Harry starts talking low, like he doesn’t want the others to hear. ‘How do you know this girl, this Kas?’ he asks.

  If he is anything like my dad, he’ll be able to tell when I’m lying, so I need to stick pretty close to the truth without giving too much away.

  ‘Her brother turned up on the coast a few days ago,’ I say. ‘He was being chased by Wilders.’

  ‘Her brother?’

  ‘Yeah. Tom. He’d done something to them back in Longley and they tracked him to the coast.’

  ‘I thought there was no one down there—on the coast, I mean.’

  ‘There’s not. It was quarantined early on.’

  ‘You got family?’

  ‘Had. All dead,’ I say. ‘Dad went first, then Mum. Got no brothers or sisters.’

  ‘And you’ve survived how long?’

  ‘I dunno. Maybe two years.’

  ‘That’s pretty right. We’ve been trying to keep track of time, but the seasons aren’t what they used to be. Long summers. Wild winters.’

  We’ve fallen into an easy conversation, but I know he’s still trying to suss me out.

  ‘The coast’s changed too,’ I say. ‘The king tides come right up and flood the rivers and swamps.’

  Harry goes quiet. Maybe he suspects I’m not telling him everything.

  ‘This fella, Tom,’ he says after a while, ‘where is he now?’

  ‘Down on the coast. He didn’t want to travel north again.’

  ‘So why are you so keen to find his sister?’

  I’m painting myself into a corner. I have to think fast.

  ‘He saved my life,’ I say. ‘Saved me from Ramage.’

  ‘So now you have to find his sister? Is she on the run from Ramage too?’

  ‘I guess so.’

  ‘Strange that Ramage would worry about a boy and not go after the girl.’

  I can tell he’s getting more and more suspicious. But just as I’m trying to work out what to say next, I hear a sharp whistle and Harry pulls me off the side of the road into the bush. He’s got his hand in my back and he’s pushing me down onto the ground.

  ‘Stay quiet,’ he says, urgent.

  I hear heavy, shuffling footsteps and the squeaking of wheels. Low voices. Harry breathing, close to my ear. We stay down as the voices gradually drop away.

  ‘Drifters,’ he says. ‘There’s still a few of them on the roads. Just men and boys. There were only five in that group. Looked half starved and edgy. There’s nothing we can do for them.’

  There’s shuffling in the bush behind us and I hear two heavy bodies drop to the ground. I recognise Tusker’s voice.

  ‘We’ll never get there pulling this kid blind,’ he snarls.

  ‘Nearly time to leave the road anyway,’ Harry says. ‘We’ll wait here till dark, then move on.’

  Harry takes off the blindfold and undoes the rope around my wrists. Tusker and Jack move off on their own, not quite out of hearing range. Harry passes me my backpack. I open it, pull out the last of the chicken and offer him a small piece.

  ‘Bloody hell, boyo,’ he says. ‘Chicken!’

  I’m working hard to keep him onside. I feel safer with him than the other two. The sun is low in the sky now so I know we won’t be resting for long.

  Harry sits with his back against a fallen log and stretches out his legs. It’s the first chance I’ve had to really look at him. I guess he must be about forty, but living rough can age a man quickly. He has a long face, a high forehead and thinning hair. His clothes are well looked after, no holes or split seams. When he eases his boots off I see his socks have been darned. He’s either a good sewer or he knows someone who is.

  ‘You got kids, Harry?’ I ask.

  ‘Yep. A girl, Willow.’

  ‘She okay? Survived the virus, I mean?’

  He glances towards the others and says, ‘I had two. Another girl. Holly. She passed away early on.’

  When he turns back to me I can see the hurt just saying that brought to his face.

  ‘And I’m sorry about your mum and dad, son,’ Harry says, his voice softer. ‘It’s been tough all over. Families broken up and kids left on their own. Most have died, I reckon. You’ve done a bloody good job just to stay alive.’

  Then he says, ‘I know you’re probably not telling us everything, but it pays to play your cards close to your chest these days. Anyhow,’ he adds, ‘you’d best get some kip. We’ve got a long night ahead of us.’

  He picks his hat up and covers his face, and I know the conversation is over. I lie back into the bracken and close my eyes.

  It feels like I’ve only been asleep a couple of minutes when someone kicks my boot. I wake with a start and look up through the trees to the night sky. There’s a half-moon and it casts just enough light to see through the bush.

  ‘Come on, we’re moving,’ says Harry.

  Tusker and Jack are already ahead of us, two dark shapes weaving their way between the trees.

  ‘No blindfold now, son. Just try to keep up,’ Harry says before he turns his back and takes off. My pack has been left for me to carry so I lift it onto my back and follow.

  It’s pretty easy going, at first. We stay on the flat mostly, trying to avoid the mimosa bushes that tear at our skin. The forest is different from the southern side of the ridge, taller, with more manna gums and thinner undergrowth.

  I manage the pace, even though the pack is awkward to carry in the rougher terrain. I try to note landmarks along the way, rock outcrops on the ridge above or a particular fallen tree, but after a while I give up. I’d struggle to find my way back to the road.

  After two hours or so, the moon is higher and the forest has become thicker. The gullies are filled with fern trees too dense to get through, so we have to climb up and around each one as we come to them. I can hear the trickle of water hidden deep in the ferns. The ground is wetter, too, and I lose my footing a couple of times. Only Harry shows any concern, calling a couple of times to ask if I’m okay.

  The moon eventually drops behind us and the forest darkens again. We’ve moved higher. The air is cooler and low clouds scud just above the treetops. A light rain starts to fall, enough to wet my clothes through to the skin. The pack’s getting heavier and my boots struggle to grip the damp forest floor. Without the moonlight I trip more regularly and my clothes are caked in mud. I lose all track of time, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other.

  Ahead I hear Harry’s voice. ‘Not long now, son.’

  That encouragement is all I need to keep going until the sky starts to lighten and the misty rain eases. We’ve started to head downhill. Every now and again I get a glimpse of an open valley below and it spurs me on. Anything to be out of the trees, anything to lie down and rest.

  As the forest starts to thin and the valley draws closer I pick up the smell of smoke. I catch up to the other three, and they seem more relaxed now, striding out and talking among themselves.

  Harry drops back and we walk side by side for a few minutes.

  ‘We’ve been here two years,’ he says without looking at me, ‘keeping ourselves out of sight. There are fifteen of us. We grow most of what we need—wheat, barley, fodder for the cattl
e. The valley’s cut off by the range at the high end and there’s a narrow entrance where the river cuts through at the other. We hunt up in the high country for strays gone wild and there’s always plenty of rabbits.’

  When we drop below the tree line, the whole valley opens up in front of us. There are four houses and a cluster of outbuildings. Smoke drifts from the chimney of the nearest house and I can see people moving about between the sheds.

  Harry cups his hands in front of his mouth and blows long and slow, like the hooting of an owl. Two figures, one tall and one short, appear on the verandah of the house with the smoking chimney. The smaller one starts running towards us. Harry chuckles.

  As the figure draws closer I see it’s a girl, blonde-haired, maybe seven or eight years old. She gets within twenty metres and stops, looking at me, then at Harry.

  ‘It’s okay, Wils,’ he says. ‘He won’t hurt you.’

  The girl runs to Harry, and he scoops her up and throws her over his shoulder. She squeals and wraps her arms around his neck.

  ‘Who’s that, Daddy?’

  ‘Just a stray we picked up,’ Harry says, smiling.

  The girl drops to the ground and circles me warily. She looks healthy, well fed. Her skin is clear and her hair is tied with a ribbon. Like her father’s, her clothes are well cared for.

  ‘Hello,’ I say and she laughs.

  ‘He talks funny. Why does he talk funny?’

  ‘Finn’s been on his own for a while. Come on,’ Harry says, ‘I’m hungry.’

  He leads us down the hill. Tusker and Jack have already disappeared into one of the other houses. The girl darts in and out of her father’s legs, looking at me every now and again, still uncertain.

  ‘What’s your name?’ I ask, which makes her laugh again.

  But when Harry gives her a stern look, she says, ‘My name’s Willow, and I’m eight.’

  ‘My name’s Finn,’ I say, ‘and I’m sixteen—I think.’

  People have begun to appear out the front of the first house, crowding onto the verandah. Jack and Tusker stand with their arms folded across their chests. I count another eight people, adults and children. At least two of them are girls, and there’s a woman at the front drying her hands on the side of her jeans.

  She’s the first to talk and her voice reminds me of Mum’s.

  ‘Well, well,’ she says. ‘Look what the cat dragged in.’

  She walks around me, checking me from every angle.

  ‘You certain about him?’ she says to Harry.

  ‘He’s got no signs of the virus, Stell. He’s made of pretty tough stuff, I reckon. Been on his own for two winters down on the coast. It didn’t seem right to leave him out there, not with Ramage on the hunt.’

  Tusker and Jack must have told the others what had happened.

  ‘He needs a haircut and a good wash,’ the woman says, with a small smile. ‘Scrawny bugger. What have you got to say for yourself, young man?’

  I don’t know what to say. I’m embarrassed with everyone looking at me and I’m afraid they’ll laugh when they hear my voice. I look at the ground and run my hand back through my hair.

  ‘All right, everyone,’ Harry says. ‘Go easy on the boy. No need to interrogate him just yet. We need a good feed. Let’s get inside. The rest of you, back to work. We’ll have a meeting tonight.’

  They all head off towards the other houses, though a couple of the younger ones look back over their shoulders, checking me out. Willow stands next to me, looking up.

  ‘You’re tall,’ she says.

  ‘You’re short,’ I say.

  ‘We got porridge,’ she says and skips to the door.

  I look back at Harry. The woman is hugging him, her feet almost lifting off the ground in her effort to get her arms around his neck. He winks at me and says, ‘Hungry, Finn?’

  Inside, the house is warm and dry. It has that lived-in feel that family homes have, with cushions on a long couch, photos on the walls and something I haven’t seen in years—Lego strewn across the lounge room floor.

  There’s a wood stove in the kitchen with a bubbling pot on top. Stella spoons porridge into two bowls and the steam rises to her face. Harry nods towards a chair at the kitchen table and I sit down. Willow sits next to me.

  ‘Do they call you Thin cos you’re so skinny?’ she asks.

  ‘It’s not Thin, it’s Finn.’ I laugh, drawing out the F.

  The porridge is hot and sweet. I can taste milk in it. Mine’s half gone before I realise no one else has started.

  ‘We say grace here, Finn,’ Stella says.

  I put my spoon down quietly. Harry places his hand in Stella’s and reaches across to hold mine. Next to me, Willow completes the circle.

  ‘Lord,’ says Harry, ‘bless this food and those who share it. Guide us in these troubled times and keep us safe from privation. Amen.’

  ‘Amen,’ I say.

  ‘We think it’s important that we hold to our faith, especially now,’ Stella says.

  I can only nod. I think about the church people in Angowrie when the virus hit. They tried to help the sick, but they just got the disease themselves and died.

  By the time I’m finished my porridge I’m so tired I can hardly hold the spoon. The long night has caught up with me and I’m thinking of sleep.

  ‘There’s a bed through that door there,’ Harry says, pointing behind me. ‘And the washroom is out the back. There’ll only be cold water at such short notice, but Stella won’t let you get between clean sheets without you having a good wash first. Once you’ve rested we’ll work out what we’re going to do with you. There’s plenty of work to be done on the farm.’

  I’m too tired to argue that I didn’t come with Harry to be put to work on his farm. I need to find Kas and get back to Rose.

  ‘There’ll be a community meeting tonight where everyone has a vote,’ he says. ‘We’re a collective here. Others will have their say, too.’

  The washroom has a concrete floor and there is a trough with cold water and a bucket. I strip off, tip a bucket of water over my head and use some soap that’s as hard as wax to wash myself. My legs and arms are covered with scratches, but I scrub myself clean and dab the cuts dry.

  The kitchen is empty when I walk back through. The porridge bowls are stacked on the bench, and the shelves are lined with jars of dried flowers and herbs. I close my eyes and breathe in the smell of people, the smell of a home.

  Harry wasn’t joking: there are clean sheets on the bed. I feel a bit guilty, but I slide in and my head barely hits the pillow before I’m asleep.

  The day is almost over when I wake. There are fresh clothes hanging on the end of the bed. They’re a bit big for me, but at least they’re dry.

  Outside, the sun has dropped below the ridge to the west and the whole valley is in shadow. There are three figures walking up to the house, tools carried across their shoulders. They’re too far away to make out, but I guess one of them is Harry from his height and the way he walks. As they draw closer the other two peel off towards the sheds. Harry leans his tools, a hoe and an axe, on the side of the verandah and comes inside. ‘We’d best be getting ready for that meeting, son,’ he says.

  The meeting takes place in a communal hall lit by spirit lamps. There’s an inner circle of six chairs and an outer one of ten. Half-a-dozen figures are already sitting in the inner circle. It takes a while for my eyes to adjust to the light, but slowly I make out five men and a woman, ranging in age from about fifteen to forty.

  Harry sits in the inner circle. Stella guides me to a chair behind him then sits down next to Harry. Eventually the chairs fill—each person seems to have their own place, but it’s too dark to see everyone properly.

  Harry is the first to speak.

  ‘May the Lord guide and direct us in our decisions tonight,’ he says, ‘and in His mercy help us to do what is right for our community.’

  This is followed by a muffled ‘Amen’ from the others.

 
Harry leans forward in his chair and sits his palms flat on his thighs. He gets straight to the point.

  ‘As you know, Jack Wilson, Peter Tusker and myself have spent the last couple of days in the forest. We travelled as far as the coast road at Pinchgut Junction, where we came across the boy, Finn. Stand up, lad,’ he says.

  I get to my feet and small conversations break out around the circle.

  ‘Righto, righto,’ Harry says. ‘The lad says he’s been living rough in the bush down by the coast and that he’s on the run from Ramage and his men. He tells us he’s looking for someone. A girl.’

  Everyone laughs and I hear a deep voice call out, ‘Aren’t we all, aren’t we all.’

  Harry waves his hand and they fall silent. ‘Anyways,’ he says, ‘we brought him back here because we can always do with an extra hand on the farm, if he chooses to stay. If he’s survived on his own for this long, he must be pretty tough. And a good hunter. So,’ he says, more seriously, ‘we need to decide whether we welcome the boy into our community or let him go.’

  This isn’t what I was expecting.

  Tusker is sitting in the inner circle, opposite Harry and Stella, and he waits for quiet before he speaks. The low light makes his scar look sinister, curling up his lip on one side. His eyes move around the group.

  ‘It wasn’t my idea to bring him back here,’ he says. ‘The boy’s story doesn’t add up. He says he’s running from Ramage, but he’s heading north. Says he’s been living rough, but he doesn’t look like he has. How do we know he ain’t with Ramage, finding out where we are and leading him back here? I say we keep him here, under lock and key if we have to. The community comes first. We can’t take risks.’

  Harry’s voice rises again. ‘Finn says he had a run-in with Ramage before he left the coast. Says he nearly killed him. Knocked him off his trailbike. That’s why he’s being chased.’

  ‘Sounds like bullshit to me. Just another story he’s making up,’ Tusker says.