Smith - Wilder Country

CONTENTS

For those we lost along the way:

Tom, Leonie and Adam

The morning air is cold but the storm from last night has cleared and the wind is feathering the peak at the river mouth. Rowdy waits patiently on the lookout platform while I change into my wetsuit and pull my board out from its hiding place in the tea trees.

Before long, Im duck-diving under the waves as they hit the inside bar, the freezing water finding the holes in the stitching and my bare skin underneath. When I reach clear water, I catch my breath and ease into a steady rhythm, paddling towards the peak. The winter storms have shifted the sand and itll take me a while to get used to how the wave is breaking. When I get close, I sit up on my board and take stock. The peak is further along the beach than Ive seen it before, almost in line with the platform, but provided the channel is still shallow enough, the wave should break all the way through to the river mouth.

Sitting out here, its hard not to remember what it was like before the virus: surfing with my mates, the beach dotted with swimmers and walkers, the lifesavers flags flapping yellow and red in the offshore breeze. On the other side of the dunes the car park would be overflowing on a day like this, the road choked with cars and caravans and the town buzzing with holidaymakers. Across the river and up the hill, Mum would be out in the garden, weeding or pruning, and Dad would be in the shed stripping back an old table, the smell of dust and linseed oil hanging in the air.

But when I look now, I can see all the way back up the river to the road bridge and the ruins on the main street, the shells of burnt-out shops and abandoned cars. Its hard to keep track of time when youre on your own but thereve been three winters since the virus spread beyond the cities, reaching us and forcing the town into quarantine. Thats when Dad died. And two winters ago, I lost Mum. Everyone else in town was either killed by the virus or took their chances heading north, leaving me and Rowdy to fend for ourselves.

We did okay, hunting and fishing and staying out of sight.

Then Rose came.

Everything changed the day she appeared on the beach, scared, injured and pregnant, an escaped Siley on the run from Ramage and the Wilders. Taking her in and hiding her unleashed a shit storm. First there was the journey north to find her sister, Kas, then the escape back to the coast with Willow in tow, and finally, on the worst night of my life, Rose dying as Hope was born.

The swell is a little unsettled and I need to be careful not to get too far inside the peak. Dad always said the best way of starting a surf was to take off on the biggest wave you could get. Opening your account, he called it. So I ease over the top of the first four waves, each one breaking a little further out, until Im in perfect position for the next one. I barely have to paddle into the take off, just a couple of deep strokes and the rest is muscle memory. Im a little slow to my feet, but I balance myself and feel the beautiful rush of the drop down the face.

As usual, I lose all sense of time in the water and before I realise it the suns above the ridge and there are new storm heads building in the west. Kas and Willow will be awake and wondering when Ill be back. So I take one last wave, riding it all the way to the beach, where Rowdy paces up and down the sand, chasing seagulls hell never catch. He brushes past my leg as we make our way back up the dune to the platform.

The winter has almost passed and Kas, Willow and I have welcomed the return of some warmth to the air. Its been a winter of storms, with huge fronts coming straight up from the south, smashing into the coast. Theres damage all over Angowriebig trees uprooted, roofs blown off and the river flooding right up into town on the king tides.

In a strange way the harsh weathers kept us safe. Weve been isolated for months; the road north is blocked and theres snow on the ridges. As long as Ive been alive it hasnt snowed this close to the coast, but the weathers so cocked up now, everything feels like its never happened before. We figure the Wilders were forced back to Longley to sit out the winter, but with the warmer days, theyll be out on the hunt again soon.

Its been a tough time for all three of us, but Kas has been the worst affected. Roses death hangs over everything she does. She stays in her room for days at a time, refusing food and snapping at Willow and me when we try to cheer her up. Shes a different person now. Id hoped when we got back to Angowrie shed gradually work her way through her grief. But every time Ive tried to comfort her, to hold her or even touch her, Ive felt her resistance. No matter what we talk about, she always ends up back at Rays place that night, Rose dying, Ramage arriving to claim his child and us running from the Wilders. She hardly mentions Hopeits too hard, on top of all her grief, to think what might have happened to the baby.

Ive spent the winter worrying about Ray. Hes used to being on his own but hes so isolated out there in the Addiscot Valley. Its only a couple of hours away on foot but hes too old to travel far and I know the storms will have tested him. Hell be struggling to get out and work his garden, not that much wouldve grown in the cold months. Before the weather got really bad, I thought if we went out to visit him Kas could at least see where Rose was buried, but she kept putting it off, always finding excuses.

The first few weeks after Rose died were the hardest. The full force of winter hadnt arrived yet and we had to be extra cautious moving around Angowrie, not knowing if the Wilders stayed south of the main range. I didnt believe theyd leave us alone. Theyd figure we had food supplies hidden somewhere and Ramage still wanted to take Kas back to Longley. As far as he was concerned, she was a Siley and his property.

Back then, I wasnt prepared to risk trapping along the fences. Its what theyd be expecting, that wed return to a place we knew we could get food. As long as we stayed in town, kept out of sight, lit a fire only on moonless nights and got by as best we could, I thought wed be safe. So we relied on what food we could pick off the reef, mostly pippies and mussels exposed at low tide.

Rowdy rushes ahead once we get close to home. By the time Im through the back door hes lapping water from his bowl in the corner. Kas and Willow sit at the kitchen table peeling hard-boiled eggs.

Willow looks up and smiles. How was the surf?

I cup my cold hands on the side of her face and she reels away. A bit chilly, I say.

Kas forces a smile then goes back to the eggs. This is what shes like now, only half with us, hardly joining in, as though it would be some sort of crime.

With Kas off in her own world, Willows become my shadow. Shes always watching me, asking a million questions about rabbits and hunting and living off the land.

I decided last night that we should start trapping again and shes excited to get going.

After breakfast she sits on the back porch watching me oil the traps. The wind has turned and another storm is threatening. She pulls her favourite woollen coat tight around her shoulders. We needed to find some clothes for her when we got back from Rays, so I went through all the houses in the area. Eventually, I found a heap of kids clothes in a place at the top of Parker Street. She had a great time trying them on, parading up and down the hallway. Even Kas managed a smile.

Show me how to do that, she says, coming and kneeling next to me on the grass.

I work the traps jaws open and shut while she drips oil into the spring. I look up and see the concentration on her face, everything focused on what shes doing, as though this is a skill shell need to hang onto.