John Marsden - Burning for Revenge (The Tomorrow Series #5)

Chapter One

The summer storms are the wildest. Maybe thats because theyre so unexpected. But they can really rip a place apart. Its like the sky saves it all up, then lets it go in one huge blast. The air shakes. Theres nothing soft or gentle about the rain: it pours down, a huge heavy torrent that wets you to the skin in half a minute. The thunders so close and loud you feel it all around you, like a landslide or an avalanche. And sometimes theres hail.

Before the war, I found summer storms exciting. I enjoyed the noise and the violence and the out-of-control wildness, even though I knew thered be problems afterwards. Trees blown down or struck by lightning, fresh-shorn sheep getting dangerously cold, creeks flooding.

Occasionally the problems came during the storms. One time I had to go out in massive rain to move a small mob of ewes, because a falling tree brought down their fence and the rams were getting horny. I started moving the mob but Millie, the dog, got a bit excited and when one sheep went the wrong way she chased it straight into the creek. The creek was running at a million ks an hour, about to break its banks. The water was just beginning to lap over on both sides. The ewe and the dog, both paddling like mad, got swept away. I ran along the bank, trying to find a spot where I could jump in and pull them out. To be honest, I didnt think they had much hope. But a kilometre down the paddock they were washed up on a gravel spit. The ewe staggered out, half-drowned. Millie staggered out, half-drowned too. She didnt hesitate. She went straight after that sheep again, chasing it back to the mob.

Poor sheep. There are times when I feel quite sorry for sheep.

Another time we were out at the Mackenzies when a big storm hit. We got home to find a sheet of galvanised iron had come loose on the shearing shed. It was flapping in the wind with a sound Ive never forgotten. Like it wanted to beat itself to death a frantic, desperate, wild noise. When I got up on the ladder, I could see the iron tearing centimetre by centimetre: solid indestructible metal being ripped apart by the wind. It was quite scary trying to hammer down this crazed, thrashing thing in the dark.

Here, in this place Ive learned to call home, a summer storm is dramatic. In the Bible it says Hell is a place of heat and fire. This is officially called Hell thats the name on the maps and it does get hot in summer. But when a storm drops on top of us, its hypothermia country and the temperature can fall fifteen degrees in half an hour.

Of course if life had gone the way it was meant I wouldnt be sitting in a little tent in Hell, watching the fabric stretch and pull, watching the rain chuck a tantrum against the fly, listening to the screech of another branch ripping and falling, and trying to keep writing this record of our lives.

I would have been sitting in our snug cabin in New Zealand, eating pizza and reading Pride and Prejudice or The Horses Mouth for the fourth time. Better still, I would have been back at my real home, checking the water troughs in the paddocks or yabbying in a dam or cutting the poor breeders out of a mob of cattle, to send to market.

Well none of those things would happen for a while yet. They might never happen again. I just had to accept that, but it didnt stop me playing the old useless game of if only.

If only our country hadnt been invaded.

If only we could have carried on the way we used to, watching other peoples wars on television.

If only wed been better prepared, and thought more about this stuff.

Then later, when wed got ourselves out of the battle zone, if only we hadnt agreed to come back and continue the fight, to help the Kiwi soldiers in their failed attempt at the airbase.

Well, we didnt really have much choice about coming back Colonel Finley put so much pressure on us.

And we put pressure on ourselves.

That was another if only. I suppose we would have felt guilty if we hadnt come back. Besides, we had such high hopes of meeting up with our parents again. If only we could have all been as lucky as Fi. She at least got to see her parents for half an hour.

I was still burning about Colonel Finley. The helicopter he was meant to send. The helicopter hed promised us. The way he more or less abandoned us after his Kiwi troops went missing. The way that when we called up and asked for the chopper, suddenly they were too busy. For a dozen crack New Zealand troops we knew thered have been no problem. But for us, there was a major problem.

The joke was that wed achieved more with our rough-and-ready tactics, our homemade bombs and make-it-up-as-you-go approach than just about any professional soldiers could have done. We thought so anyway, and when we were in New Zealand enough people were ready to tell us that. Only now that we were back here, trapped in lonely wild Hell, they seemed happy to forget us.

If only the chopper had turned up and whisked us back to safety. I wanted it to be like a taxi: just dial the number. Where are you going? How many passengers? What name? Well have it there in no time, love, no worries.

It was hard not to be bitter. We felt like Colonel Finley had dumped us. We talked about it non-stop for a week, till we got sick of it as a topic for conversation, and agreed not to talk about it any more. That was the only way we could stop it poisoning us.

After wed finished our week or so of sulking we started getting restless. Lee was the worst. Since he found out about the death of his parents he was burning for action. When I say action I dont necessarily mean revenge, although he sure was keen on that. But I think he could have been distracted from thoughts of revenge if thered been other things to think about, other things to do.

There was nothing. Wed built a few odds and ends in Hell the chook shed mainly but we couldnt build anything else because it was too dangerous. There was such a risk of being seen from the air or even from the top of Tailors Stitch, the ridge that wound far above us, the west wall of our hideout. Lee didnt seem interested in reading the few books wed brought, he didnt have his precious music with him and he wasnt in the mood for talking. All he had were his thoughts. He sat alone for hours every day and wouldnt even tell me what he was thinking.

Homer and Kevin werent any better. One afternoon they spent four hours trying to hit a tree trunk with pebbles. They sat on the bank of the creek and chucked stones at the tree until they ran out of ammo, then they went over and picked up the pebbles and started again. By the end of the afternoon Homer had hit it six times and Kevin three. Fair enough, it was fifty metres away, but I thought they could have done better. I thought I could have done better. That wasnt what bothered me though. It was their mood. They seemed so flat, so uninterested. I nearly suggested going out and attacking the enemy again, just to get them motivated.

As it happened I didnt need to suggest that. Almost at the same moment as I thought it well, less than half an hour later Lee suddenly turned to me and said: Im leaving here, going to Wirrawee or somewhere. Cobblers Bay maybe. Stratton even. Im not going to spend the rest of the war sitting around waiting to be rescued. I want to do as much damage as I can.

My breath went. I knew I couldnt stop him. In some ways I didnt want to stop him. In other ways I did. I was deeply in like with Lee. Maybe even love. I wasnt sure about that. Sometimes it definitely felt like love. Other times I didnt want anything to do with him. When it came to Lee, I felt the full range of emotions, from wild passion to revulsion. On the average I think I was in like with him.

But it wasnt just Lee that I wasnt sure about; it was everything. Maybe its just a teenage thing, not being sure about stuff. I wasnt sure if there was a God, if there was life after death. I wasnt sure if Id ever see my parents again, if Lee and I should have made love, if wed been acting the right way since the invasion, if the sun would rise in the morning or set at night. I wasnt sure if I liked eggs hard-boiled or soft.