Don't Look Back (Warders of Earth) (20 page)

Dad was bound to a metal chair that looked as if it was bolted to the ground. His hands were tied behind his back with thick rope and metal shackles encased his ankles to the chair legs. His jeans were ripped and blood seeped through near his right knee. Blood trickled down his forehead from an open wound and also from his nose, over his mouth and chin. Already one side of his face was swelling but he held his head defiantly as he stared back at the two uniformed men standing in front of him. One of the men slapped a thick cosh into the palm of his hand. Bile rose in my throat. I recognised his face as belonging to the stranger from the newspaper office. Gone were the slick suits, replaced by combat fatigues and flak jackets.

The patches on their arms revealed a capital ‘M’ with ‘N’ superimposed over the top.

The Mundos Novus.

Then it was true.

I squeezed my eyes shut wishing this were all a terrible dream.
Think.
I took another quick look around inside the building and spotted another man sitting in a chair over on the far side of the room.

Mr Andrews.

Em’s adoptive father.

Holy shit balls.

He was hunched over a desk, his gaze fixed on the screen of a tablet and apparently ignoring the interrogation.

It was also apparent, he was no prisoner.

One of the men spun towards the window.

Quickly, I ducked down out of sight. I waited, huddled against the hot wall of the building, my heart in my mouth, hardly daring to breathe, my hands clenched into fists.

Then someone laughed. There was no sound of footsteps rushing to the window. I was still safe.

My knees gave way. I squatted in the dirt on my haunches. My mind replayed the scene as I wiped sweaty hands over my cargo pants. What was Em’s dad doing there? How deep in dog shit was he?

He could be under some kind of duress; forced to work for them.

My head pounded.

There’d been no one else inside that building. It sure hadn’t looked as if a gun was being held to Mr Andrews’ head. He sure as hell, wasn’t making any objections to that arsehole beating the crap out of my dad.

I wanted to throw up. I didn’t know what to think. All I knew was I had to free Dad before they hurt him anymore. If I could create some kind of diversion, maybe I could get inside unseen
.
I remembered the crates being loaded.

Could they be readying to move out? And if so, where were they going?

And what, if anything, did this have to do with the pending meteorite strikes?

I straightened and snuck along the side of the building then came to a complete halt.

A soldier stepped out. A black balaclava covered his face. His legs were braced apart. One hand held an open blade to Em’s throat and the other clamped across her chest.

“Don’t move.”

Very slowly, I put my hands in the air.

Mr Andrews and his cohorts appeared behind the soldier.

We’d been made. Now what did we do?

“I should have known you wouldn’t be too far behind your father. Dear me, Emma,” Mr Andrews chided coldly. “Where is your gratitude? I fed you, clothed you. Gave you a home and you betray me.” He cast a narrow glance around the quiet countryside. “Bring them inside.”

“Dad? What’s going on? What are you doing here?” Em squeaked, her eyes bugging out of her head.

“Ask your friend here. She holds all the answers. Get a move on.” He stared up at the sky then back at me.
He knows what’s coming.
“We need to be in position before the first impact.”

The soldier holding Em released her. She staggered forward, landing in my arms. The guard gestured with his knife for us to move forward.

We moved.

We didn’t have any other choice.

At the doorway, I took a last look around. The sky was a brilliant blue. The fiery meteor shower competed in brightness with the sun; so much closer than the last time I’d looked that terror gripped my insides in a savage twist.

A hawk flew lazily overhead. Gum trees stood listless in the heat, no breeze rustled the leaves or rippled waves across the sea of grass stretching to the fence.

Rough hands pushed us inside. Em fell to her knees, covering her face in her hands and sobbed.

The door slammed shut.

“Tara. Emma. Oh no. I hoped you wouldn’t follow me,” wheezed Dad.

I rushed to him and flung myself down at his side. I burrowed my face against his chest, my arms clutching just like I used to do when I was a little girl. “Dad.”

“You have to get out of here, kiddo. You realise what’s going on, don’t you?”

Drawing back, I blinked away tears. “I’m not sure. How badly are you hurt?”

He coughed, wheezed and spat blood from his mouth. “Broken ribs I think, coupla broken fingers, teeth, one of my knees is shattered. My kidneys took a pounding and it’s getter harder to breathe. Think I’m bleeding internally.”

My heart stopped beating for a moment while I digested those horrifying words. I started working on the ropes binding his hands. It wasn’t easy. My trembling fingers slipped in his blood.

“Think, kiddo. They’re here for you and Dan.” Dad closed his eyes for a moment as he breathed through a wave of pain. When he opened them again, the defeat shining there almost sent me back to my knees. “We tried. Your mother and I, we tried so hard to keep you safe.”

“You did, Dad. You kept us safe.”

Em asked, her tremulous voice revealing she was at breaking point, “Please. What are you talking about, Mr Ferguson? I don’t understand. Why is my adoptive father doing this to us?”

“Good questions. But there’s no time to explain. Tara. You have to leave.”

“This is my fault, Dad.”

“No, never think that for a moment.” He grunted. Pain rippled over his face. Gathering himself, he mumbled through the blood dripping from his mouth. “Your mother and I knew what we were taking on all those years ago.” He took a deep breath that rattled in his throat in a way that terrified me.

This was my fault my dad was suffering.

“What are we going to do?” I pulled the rope from Dad’s left hand and hurried to his other side. A few minutes and I had the ropes off him.

Dad moved his legs in a feeble movement, making the chains on his feet rattle. “I need to be rid of all this crap.”

Anger ripped white hot and hard through me. If I had a gun, I would have used it.

I leapt to my feet and paced the barracks. The only window was too small to climb through and it was certain, a guard would be stationed outside the only door. I looked over to find Em cleaning the blood from Dad’s face. My heart contracted. How far could he run when he’d been beaten by that ape?

Our eyes met. His steady gaze, the love I saw shining there for me, shredded me deep inside. I knew what he intended to ask me to do, but how could I leave him? Fear clawed at my throat, as rabid as a wild dog.

“Okay Dad?” I scanned the grey hue of his face, wondering how much time he had left. I sensed if he didn’t reach medical help soon, it might be too late.

“I’ve had better days,” he managed. “Clever friend you’ve got here, Tara.”

“Huh?” Consumed with fears for Dad, I’d paid no attention to Em. Now I saw she was bent over Dad’s legs, apparently having put her tears on hold. “What are you doing?”

“Picking the lock,” she said quietly. “There. I’ve got it.” Metal scraped against metal, there was a clicking noise and Em looked up. Her mouth wobbled. “My adoptive mother taught me and she gave me my own set of lock picks for my last birthday.”

She quickly replaced the picks into her pack and turned her face away.

What kind of mother or adoptive mother teaches her daughter how to pick locks? Had she suspected her husband was involved in terrorist activities and wanted to give her some survival skills?

I pulled the shackles off my father’s ankles and gently rubbed his legs to help with the circulation. When I lifted his trouser hem, I sucked back my rage at the mottling skin that was revealed.

Dad bent down and took hold of both my hands in his. His clasp was weak, his fingers ice cold.

I began to shake my head. “No, Dad. Please. We can all make it.”

He just looked at me, his chest rising and falling deeply as he tried to fill his airways. “I’m done for…This is where I make my stand.”

So this was it.

This was what I’d subconsciously dreaded ever since I’d seen the abandoned bike and the gaping hole in the fence.

The light of battle blazed in his eyes.

“I’m not leaving without you. This is my fault we’re in this mess. You wouldn’t be here, if I hadn’t involved you. If I had listened and stayed at home.” Words poured from me. Dry sobs racked my body causing me to shudder where I stood.

He released my hands to pull me into a hug I wanted to last for eternity.

Then he let me go.

I’d never felt so alone in my life.

“Listen, kiddo. This is not your fault. You didn’t start this and I didn’t raise kids that hide in the dark, cover their eyes and don’t step up to the mark. Whatever happens, I’ll always be proud of you. Both of you and please tell my boy that too.” He spoke slowly, each sentence an effort that I saw cost him dearly.

“Help me to stand, kiddo.”

Slipping my arms around him, I eased him carefully onto his feet.

He stood there swaying, sucking in the pain of his broken body. My heart swelled with the love and pride I felt for him.

“Gotta move quick.” He took a deep wheezing breath, as if bracing himself, rolled his shoulders and winked. “Got surprise on our side…it’ll be a piece of cake. I’ll rush them. Keep them busy. Head straight for the fence…Don’t look back. Keep going.”

He grabbed my shoulders with shaking hands and whispered close to my ear, “No regrets, kiddo. Everything we did, your Mum and I, every part we played, even our divorce, it was all done to keep you and your brother safe. You have an important role to play in our world’s future.”

He paused, his eyes wet. “Remember, my baby girl…no matter what happens, no matter who you are, your mother and I always loved you. You’re ours, our own little girl who’s grown into a woman we’re both so proud of and we wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.”

Straightening, he held me at arms’ length, gave me a little shake. “Now stop those tears. Pull yourself together, kiddo. We knew it would come down to this moment. You have to be strong and step up…I need you to do this for me.”

I scrubbed my face with grimy hands, gulped and nodded. Inside, I was dying. With burning eyes, I stared at my father, imprinting his face on my memory and in my heart.

I’ll never forget.

Never.

“I’m ready, Dad,” I said. “I won’t forget.”

Em touched my arm. “What’s really going on, Tara? Who are you?”

“Not now, Em.”

I helped Dad shuffle to the door, one arm held tightly against his stomach. I heard the hitch in his breathing, knew he was battling intense pain, but not one groan or protest did he make – not my dad. He listened for a few moments, shrugged out of my hold, then wrenched the door open.

A guard stood with his back to the building. He pivoted at the noise, his hand reaching for his side-arm, but he was too slow.

I did’t know where he found the strength but Dad’s arm snaked around the guard’s throat, crushing against the bloke’s windpipe. Then Dad released him to slam his fist into the guard’s left kidney. The soldier dropped to the ground.

His breathing coming in short, frantic gasps, Dad leant heavily against the wall, his face as grey as old bones. He waved us forward in the direction of the gate. “Go, kiddo. Don’t look back.”

Shouts and yells erupted.

Doors slammed.

I grabbed Em’s hand and ran. My feet pounded over the ground but the sound was muffled by the furious cracking of my heart. I saw nothing in front of me, only Dad’s face. Hear nothing but the words he’d whispered. I could smell his spicy aftershave, feel the imprint of his arms surrounding me, protecting me.