Impersonator (Forager Impersonator - A Post Apocalyptic Trilogy Book 1) (5 page)

The man looked at Brandon’s young, eager face and sighed. “Smoke detector.”

“Never seen a smoke detector like that,” Brandon said. “They’re normally round.”

“It’s a new model,” the man said.

“Really?” Brandon pulled me back a step and spoke quietly. “He’s lying. I had a look in his toolbox. One of those devices was in two pieces, and I saw what was inside it. It had two round components with wire mesh on top. Like something I saw in a library book.”

“So – so what?” I whispered

“They’re ultrasonic detectors, and they’re putting them up all over town.” He grabbed my hands. “Sis, we gotta be real, real careful. The Custodians are trying real hard to catch people like us. You don’t ever echolocate, do you?”

I shook my head. “You know I don’t, Brandy. Not since we were five.”

He squeezed my hands and beamed at me. “Just making sure.”

It suddenly felt like my world was contracting like a fisherman drawing in his nets. And my brother and I were the fish.

Ryan suddenly cleared his throat and gave me a pointed look. I snapped back to the present.

Right – I was supposed to be working. I grabbed the saw and began to hack away at the downpipe, the fine metal teeth making short work of the century-old plastic.

As I worked, I considered announcing a ‘toilet break’ as this was the perfect moment to make my escape, but the sound of footsteps coming up the driveway put paid to that idea.

“Everything shipshape here?” Con asked when he joined us, his voice monotone.

“All good,” I replied, turning to face him. He was looking at me, still sceptical of my story that I was sick last week.

“Hill?” he asked.

“Like he said.” He flicked his head in my direction.

“Don’t let me catch you two slacking off.” With that, he was gone.

So much for this being the perfect opportunity to escape, it wasn’t going to work if Con was watching us. But no matter, for I guessed I had the rest of the day to escape. Furthermore, it was intoxicating standing this close to Ryan. Something drew me inexorably towards him. Perhaps it was his air of self-confidence tarnished with the deep inner pain he was trying to hide?

At any rate, this was the first time in my life I had an opportunity to spend time with a guy one-on-one without the danger of getting arrested or being accused of behaviour unbefitting a single woman. Why did the Founders insist on forced segregation of males and females to maintain sexual purity? Surely people were more than capable of exercising restraint and self-control?

I realised I wanted to talk to Ryan and find out more about him, but as a girl, couldn’t do so without his permission. Suddenly it dawned on me yet again that those suffocating rules no longer applied, since I was masquerading as Brandon.

“You worked in an automotive factory before this?” I asked.

“Yeah, so?” he replied.

“How long were you there?” I paused in my dismal attempt at sawing through the downpipe. I’d made very little progress and my right arm was starting to ache.

“Too long.”

“What was it like?”

Ryan had almost cut through the top of his pipe.

“What is this, question and answer time?”

“No need to get all defensive, I’m just curious about what it’s like to work in a factory. I signed up for foraging as soon as I left school a year ago, so it’s all I know.” This was Brandon’s past, of course. I resumed my assault on the pipe.

He looked at me and frowned. “What on earth are you doing? You don’t hold a hacksaw like that.”

“Is that right? How would you hold it, then?”

“Here, let me show you.” He reached out to my hand. “Put your fingers like this and your thumb here.”

I felt a thrill chase up my arm from where he touched me and held my breath in an attempt to slow my racing heart. His hands were strong, but not calloused like my brother’s were.

Shaking my head to focus my thoughts on the job, I went back to sawing the pipe using the technique he showed me. It made quite a difference.

He signed. “And you don’t saw the top of the pipe first.”

I realised then that he’d already cut through the bottom of his pipe, just above where it jutted out of the concrete.

“Right.” I moved the stepladder aside and got stuck into the bottom of the pipe instead.

“You’ve been doing this for a year?” His expression was one of pure scepticism.

“That’s right.” I put on an air of indignation.

“Could have fooled me.” He rolled his eyes and went back to work.

“I can only do what I’m taught.”

“Ever heard of common sense?”

I wanted to tell him that I could darn socks faster than my mother, design and make a full-length dress of superior quality to those in the shops. That I could bake a mean shepherd’s pie and oven baked chicken roast, not to mention dozens of other recipes. Of course, that would be kind of giving the game away.

After what seemed like forever, which included pulling out plastic pipes from inside the bathroom, kitchen and laundry walls, Jack popped around to tell us it was lunchtime. The three of us picked up the pipes we had liberated so far and carted them out to the truck.

“That’s all you two have done? Hill, you’re flippin’ useless,” Con spat when he saw the results of our endeavours.

Ryan didn’t reply.

“It’s my fault, Con,” I said. “Ryan did twice as much as me.”

“How’s that possible?” He came closer, his beady eyes squinting. I so hated the way he invaded my personal space when he spoke to me. Was it a conscious act on his part to intimidate others, or something that came naturally? The guy was so creepy he made my skin crawl.

“Hmm, maybe it’s something to do with me not eating for six days ‘cause I was puking my guts out?” I shot back. Not the sort of thing I would have said to a guy, but my brother was full of lip.

“Pick up your game, Brandon Thomas. I have no time or patience for a fifth wheel,” Con snarled. Then he whispered in my ear. “Stick up for him again and I’ll bust your chops.”

I noticed Ryan looking at me with a strange expression, as though no one had ever stood up for him before. What on earth happened to him at that factory?

Everyone fetched their backpacks. Con, Matt and Jack turned their backs on Ryan and deliberately sat on the curb a good ten meters down the road from where he was sitting. If he was upset by their very obvious snub, I couldn’t tell, since he wore that wounded, bitter expression all the time.

As I had only a few slices of bread and dried fruit to sustain me when I escaped, I sat on the curb near Ryan and sipped from a water bottle.

“You’re not eating?” he asked.

“Didn’t have time to grab something this morning.”

He scooted closer to me. “That’s no good. Considering how sick you’ve been and the strenuous nature of this job. Here, have a sandwich.”

“What? No, I can’t!”

He pushed the sandwich into my hands anyway. “Yes, you can.”

“But–”

“Eat it!”

“Okay! And – thanks, mate.” The sandwich was chicken, lettuce and mayonnaise. I couldn’t remember the last time I had meat, so I ate slowly, savouring every bite.

“Something wrong?” Ryan asked. He sounded hurt.

“No! It’s fantastic.” I saw Con and Matt staring daggers at me. I sighed with deep regret, and decided it was time to end my dalliance with Ryan and make my escape.

“Really?” He didn’t look convinced at all.

“It’s just that–”

“Just what?” he snapped.

“It’s the first time I’ve had chicken in ages.”

The wounded expression on his face was replaced by surprise, and then revelation when he realised what I was telling him – my family couldn’t afford chicken. 

I finished the sandwich, skulled more water, grabbed my backpack, and stood. “Toilet break.”

He shrugged but didn’t look at me.

I made a b-line for the house adjacent to the one we had been working in. It was a two-storey brick-and-mortar affair. The external blinds hung off their frames in tatters. A tree in the front yard had thrust a branch through a top floor window, dislodging a host of roofing tiles as it continued to push skyward.

I pushed open the cracked wooden door and threaded my way quickly through the house, using echolocation to see in the gloom.

As I went, the enormity of what I was doing hit me. This was it! The moment I’d been anticipating for years had arrived – I was escaping Newhome and the oppressive atmosphere and tyrannical rules that treated girls and women as second-class citizens. No longer would I have to watch my step or what I said, nor worry my mutation would be discovered. Of course, I’d have to keep my wits about me as I passed through the ruins lest I run into Skel, but with my sensitive hearing and ability to use flash sonar, I figured I’d be safe.

I had no idea how long it would take to find an abandoned farm near a water source. But I figured if I stayed on a major road as I left the city, I’d have plenty of suitable venues from which to choose.

Passing through the kitchen, I saw a selection of stainless steel knives in a plastic bench top display. Anticipating their usefulness, I put two smaller ones in my backpack, and threaded the longest one in my belt. Not much of a weapon, but it would have to do.

That done, I popped out the back door. An in ground swimming pool that had seen far better days dominated the back yard. Ceramic tiles lining the edge were cracked or missing, and branches, leaves, dirt and brackish sludge covered the bottom. This would have been a nice place once. I wondered if the Founders were on the ball with their claim that the old world had too many freedoms – freedoms that contributed to the global nuclear war that almost wiped humanity off the map. I couldn’t comprehend how people could be so stupid as to destroy their own world.

I started to pick my way carefully around the pool when I heard hushed, guttural voices coming from the adjacent property – the house Ryan and I worked in only moments ago. Curious, I moved as quietly as I could to the intervening dilapidated fence. Crouching down, I looked through a gap between two sagging wooden planks and then slapped my hand over my mouth to stop myself squealing in terror.

Three Skel – massive, hulking brutes that looked more like skeletal zombies than people – stood behind the house, examining our stepladders and hacksaws. I had heard many tales about these barbarians, including some from my mother who used them as bogeymen to scare my brother and me when we wouldn’t behave.

All the same, nothing prepared me for the reality of their horrific appearance. Like apparitions from my worst nightmares, they were decked head to foot in suits of armour made entirely of bones. Human bones, for the most part, including modified human skulls that served as helmets. One helmet was even adorned with twisting cow horns, giving the impression the Skel was a devil escaped from the depths of hell.

I noticed how wires held the bones together, while smaller bones and resin filled the gaps. The Skel all carried menacing black crossbows. Two also had metal clubs, and the third a baseball bat.

As I watched, a fourth joined the others from the direction of the street. He made almost no noise as he walked, confirming the tales I’d heard that they excelled in stealth.

“Well?” demanded the largest Skel, the one with the baseball bat.

“Scavengers from Newhome, just like we figured. Blighters are lounging on the curb without a care in the world. One in front of this house, the other three on the far side of the truck.”

Every second word spoken by the Skel was accompanied by a profanity so foul that my face burned with embarrassment simply from hearing them talk.

“Let’s give ‘em something to care about, then,” the leader growled.

“You only mentioned four, Weasel. Where’s the fifth? They always run in teams of five,” the one with cow horns asked.

“Didn’t see ‘im.”

“Right, let’s do this, but keep ya eyes peeled in case there’s another one having a dump somewhere,” the leader said. “Crank, circle around to the left. Weasel, Jingles, go right and get close to the truck. Wait five and then drive them away from the truck and into me and Crank. And remember, we want ’em alive. Shoot to wound if they run. Now go!”

I dropped onto my belly in the tall grass as Weasel and Jingles moved quickly but quietly through a gap in the fence not far from my position. With a speed and stealth I wouldn’t have thought possible for men encased in bone armour, they went past me and disappeared into the back yard of the neighbouring house.

Clambering back onto my knees, I peered through the gap in the fence in time to see Crank rush off in the other direction while the leader stole furtively into the house.

I remained there, frozen in place, frantically debating what to do. The wise thing to do was run, to get as far away as I could, never once looking back. What could I possibly do against such armoured monstrosities anyway? The most I could hope to achieve was warn the others of the impending danger, which could quite likely result in me getting captured along with them. Besides, I was here to escape, not play the hero. Not to get dragged off by those brutes to be their slave.

Yet even as I debated this, I couldn’t get the image of Ryan’s face out of my mind. I didn’t know what his story was apart from the telltale signs he’d been deeply hurt. And in spite of that, he shared his lunch with me, an act of kindness that took me by surprise. Then there was the matter of Con, Matt and Jack – my brother’s best friends.

I couldn’t disregard the fact that they deserved better than getting rounded up like cattle to be driven away to the slaughter. I realised I already knew what I had to do, regardless of what it would cost me – I had to warn them. No, that wasn’t enough – I had to save them. And only then, should the opportunity avail itself, make my dash for freedom.

Time was of the essence, so I dropped my backpack and forced my way through a gap in the fence. Grabbing a steel leg that had fallen off the trampoline, I darted as quietly as I could into the house, following the Skel leader.

Using echolocation to illuminate the gloomy interior, I crept through the laundry and kitchen, and into the dining room. The Skel was in the lounge-room – I could hear him breathing as soon as I entered the house.

Watching carefully where I put each foot, I skirted around decaying chunks of plaster and disintegrating insulation bats fallen from the ceiling, wooden chairs with fraying upholstery, and shattered crockery fallen out of a buffet-and-hutch that had tipped over.

Entering the lounge-room, I spotted the Skel immediately – he was standing at the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the street. His loaded crossbow rested against the wall beside the front door, and he gripped the baseball bat with experienced hands.

I picked my way across the floor until I stood directly behind him, only to quail in fear when I realised he towered over me by at least a foot. What was I thinking? What could I do against a massive brute encased in bone and resin?

Glancing at the steel bar in my hands, I realised my intention of using it to knock him out was wishful thinking. It would just bounce of his skull helmet after which I would be at his mercy.

Laying the bar quietly on the floor, I pulled the long kitchen knife out of my belt, a sick feeling invading my stomach. As I had never hurt anyone before, what I was about to do went against every fibre of my being. Even though I was only going to give him a taste of what he planned to give my companions.

I considered knifing him in the back, but flash sonar revealed the futility of that action. Not only were there no gaps in the armour, but the bones themselves had been hardened with resin. Which meant they were probably impervious to knife thrusts. A feeling of hopelessness threatened to overwhelm me. I was almost out of time. Desperate to find a chink in his armour, I took a step back and gave him another once over with flash sonar.

To my surprise, I found two weaknesses. There were no bones covering his neck or the back of his knees. Unfortunately, he was too tall to stab in the neck, and at any rate, I refused to kill him. That left only one other choice – I had to go for his knees.

Afraid I would hear cries of terror from my companions at any moment, I gripped the long knife firmly and slashed it as hard as I could across the back of his right knee. The blade cut deep, severing tendons and muscles. The Skel bellowed in agony and reared back.

I sprang away from him immediately, but was still too slow. With a speed that belied belief, he whirled around, swinging his baseball bat with murderous intent. Luckily for me, his knee gave wave as he turned, eliciting an even louder cry of pain as he collapsed to the floor with a crunch of bones.