‘It’s time to get real,’ Tobe said, his rifle already raised, serious and shit-scary yet again. ‘Once we’re out there, we’re completely in the open.’
He waved to encompass the vast emptiness. I stared at it, reluctant to go any further, jumping at every shadow.
‘Keep your eyes open and your mouth shut and move like shit off a shovel.’
I nodded pathetically. ‘Okay. But what about the dogs?’
Tobe’s face crinkled. ‘Shit, I forgot.’ He called their names. Red howled, Blue barked. ‘Come on!’
We rested in the shade, waiting for them to conquer the maze-like innards of the wall. After a while they appeared, darting out of a gap between two piles. They trotted over, happy and curious.
‘Shall we?’
We set off, almost running, dust trailing behind us. We kept our rifles up. The tree line in the distance seemed to grow no closer. Occasionally, Tobe would look down the sight on his rifle.
‘Bill, mate, check this shit out,’ he said at some point.
He wavered from the straight line we had been holding, hooking left. I shot him an ugly look, hating every minute out there. I was panicked—we were so exposed, so small. Reluctantly, I followed Tobe. Red and Blue ran with me, loving the exercise.
I saw what was drawing Tobe in, and I shut my mouth—a squat black thing was sitting ahead of me, one of the blurry shapes that were the only break in the monotony.
Tobe was walking around it, nudging it with his boot as if trying to rouse it from its sleep. In one hand he held a length of metal he had found. He climbed on top of the thing, started pounding on it. Dull thunder split the quiet air.
‘Oi! What are you doing?’
He didn’t hear me, just kept whaling away. I started walking around the thing. I had no idea what it was; it was an enormous tangle of black metal and piping, with fractured steel plates peeling away. It was vaguely square, maybe nine feet high, fifteen feet long.
I rounded the thing. ‘Tobe!’ I screamed, loud enough to make him stop whatever he was doing.
He threw the length of metal away and jumped down to meet me. ‘Yeah, I already saw it. That’s why I was trying to get inside—thought we might find some goodies.’
‘Shit.’
‘Shit is right.’
Painted on what I assumed was its bonnet, in letters bold and white, the dreaded initials: CRP. I sagged. Creeps… Tobe started to circle it, taking wide steps, trying to get its measure. I watched, wanting him to give up his quest, wanting him to lead the way home.
But I said nothing.
He wrenched a length of metal off it, turned it over in his hands, dropped it to the ground, rubbed his palms together. Soot and flecks of rust flew. He pulled his pouch from his pocket, rolled some bush tobacco, pulled his lighter from a different pocket, lit up.
‘What do you reckon?’ I asked.
‘Well, it’s obviously a transport of some kind. Probably big enough for a dozen or so Creeps.’
‘Tobe, I don’t really care what it is. What do we do? That’s what I’m worried about—I’m not that keen on heading into the Borough if it’s crawling with these pigs.’
He looked at me, a familiar expression on his face, equal parts scorn, condescension and pity. He picked up the length of metal he had dropped, started swinging it around, and smashed it into the transport. Dust, ash, and more soot and rust flew through the air.
He hit the transport a last time.
‘As I was saying, it’s obviously some kind of transport. It’s too fucked-up, though—I can’t tell whether it was only a troop carrier, or something a little more confrontational. But look…’ He once again swung the length of metal. More dull-metal thunder rang out. ‘…there’s nobody home. Probably hasn’t been for a while.’
‘So what happened?’
‘How should I know? Maybe it ran over a mine or an IED. Shit, maybe it was hit with a bazooka.’
I couldn’t help laughing.
‘I’m serious, mate. There are that many abandoned ammo dumps out here in the wasteland…’ Tobe threw the length of metal away. ‘But we should still get a bloody wriggle on.’
I wanted to turn back and head for home, more than I had ever wanted anything. Everyone knew that the Creeps were sore losers. But—his dead stare boring into me—I once again bent under Tobe’s will.
The last few hundred feet of the bare-earth plain seemed to stretch on forever. We moved fast. With every step, I expected a shot to ring out and for one of us to crumple to the ground. I cursed the dust that trailed after us, cursed the heavy footprints we left behind. With gritted teeth, I braced myself for the crack, for the shock, for the spray of red blood on brown dirt.
Nothing happened.
‘Come on, Bill.’
I picked up my pace, pulled up next to Tobe. The withered bush slowly grew closer. I choked on my panic, stumbled, but managed to find my feet. Tobe scanned the tree line with his rifle.
‘Thank fuck for that,’ Tobe muttered as we made it to the tree line and started pushing through.
I nodded, too knackered to speak.
‘You want a rest?’
I shook my head, a straight-out lie. Of course I wanted a rest—I wanted this horror story to be done; I wanted to be home, looking after my own piece of dirt. But I knew I was asking too much—if we had to keep going, the sooner we set off, the sooner we could be on our way back.
‘No worries.’
It was cooler in the shade of the trees, but not by much. They were all dead or dying, grey and parched. I slung my rifle over my shoulder, fear slowly draining away. Tobe did the same. We took out our canteens, drank deep. Red and Blue dropped their happy-dog joy. They lay flat, ears back and hackles up, readying themselves. I looked around at waist-high scrub that stretched as far as I could see. There were no landmarks, nothing to catch the eye, nothing but dying trees and fallen branches.
I didn’t want to go out like a dickhead, walking around in circles, dying of thirst.
‘Tobe?’
‘She’s right,’ he said, taking his compass from his pocket.
Of course, ready for anything.
‘Right, west is over yonder,’ he said, waving forward.
We tramped on, weaving past the dying trees. Red and Blue kept pace with us, treading softly. Apart from the creak of wood and the low moan of the wind, the only sounds were the labour of our breath and the crack of undergrowth beneath our feet. Tobe occasionally pulled out his compass and checked our direction, correcting our course if necessary. The sun fought through the skeletal canopy; the world was both bright and dark, a patchwork of burning light and gloomy shadows.
After a while—my sense of time dulled by the monotony of the land—I realised what was missing.
‘Tobe?’
He stopped and looked at me. ‘Don’t you understand eyes open and mouths shut?’
‘Who’s going to hear us out here?’
‘You never know.’
Paranoid bastard.
‘Look, mate, you might think you’re the ultimate bushman, but even you miss things.’
His face was defiant, a little scornful. ‘Go on then…’
‘Where are all the flies? Tell me that. It’s hotter than hell, but I haven’t seen any since we left the wall.’
‘So?’ he said, scratching his chin.
‘You don’t think it’s weird?’
‘No, I don’t. They probably just found some other poor bastards to bother. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is getting to the Borough before it’s dark.’
‘Okay, keep your pants on.’
We heard them before we saw them—I knew my question hadn’t been so stupid. It started as a faint buzz, like a small flag in a strong wind. Tobe took up his rifle, flicked off the safety. Somewhat reluctantly, I did the same. The buzz grew louder with every step we took.