Impersonator (Forager Impersonator - A Post Apocalyptic Trilogy Book 1) (19 page)

One thing still didn’t make sense. “Why, Brandy – why did they kill him?”

“Because if he ratted on us, the penalty for smuggling in and selling drugs is the death sentence,” he said without slowing his pace.

“You guys smuggle drugs into town? Where do you get them from?”

“We make them.”

Another piece of the jigsaw puzzle clicked into place. “The drugs are made in the lab, aren’t they? How many foragers are involved in this?”

“You’ve been to the lab?” He looked extremely alarmed.

“No. Con’s mentioned it a few times, that’s all.”

“Chelz, you’ve got to stay away from those guys, promise me! They’ll corrupt you, just like they did me.”

“No, they won’t. Besides, they always leave me behind to babysit Ryan when they go.”

“Who’s Ryan?”

“He’s Dan’s replacement. He’s cool, but...” my voice petered off when I suddenly realised that Con’s insistence he was an informer meant that his life was in deadly peril. I also understood what Con meant when he threatened something would happen to Ryan if he found out about the escape plan. ‘Taking matters into their own hands again’ meant they would murder him like Dan.

Loud voices nearby startled us. Looking towards the shelter, we spotted the supervisor and one of the cleaners headed for the bin, carrying a dozen bulging black garbage bags.

“Sorry, gotta go!” Brandon said. He darted over to the closest tree and used it to scale the wooden fence surrounding the property.

I slipped out behind the bin, astonishing the supervisor and his helper, and rushed back inside. I wanted to have this out with Con right now, so I needed to become my brother again. I figured if I told the others what I just told Brandon, their consciences would be similarly pricked. Maybe they would turn themselves into the Custodians or at the least, resign their jobs. If either of those scenarios came to pass, Ryan would be safe from my murderous teammates.

Con, Matt and Jack were scoffing down soy hotdogs and sipping beers at a table in a darkened corner of the Forager’s Club.

I slipped onto a vacant stool and studied them in the poor light. It was weird how you thought you knew someone and then found out you didn’t know them at all.

“Don’t say hello, then.” Con scowled.

“Hello.”

“You look like you saw a ghost,” Jack said.

“Pretty much did. I just bumped into Dan Smith’s mother at the market,” I said, speaking quietly.

All three of them squirmed on their stools.

“And?” Con prompted.

If I wanted to get the result I was after, I had to play my cards right. “Turns out we were wrong about him.”

“In what way?” Matt asked.

“He was arrested recently for shoplifting and for some reason the magistrate went easy on him and put him on probation instead of in prison. He had to meet a Custodian probationary officer at the Custodian HQ once a week.”

Jack sprayed a mouthful of beer on the table and fell off his stool, coughing and spluttering. Matt went an unnatural shade of white. Con just went still.

“Did you hear what I just said?” I gave Con a taste of his own medicine, starting him down.

“But you’re the one who told us he went to the Custodian HQ,” Jack said.

“Not to mention the great lengths you went to in recounting how uncomfortable he looked and kept glancing over his shoulder,” Matt added.

“Every person alive would have reached the same conclusion we did with that information,” Jack said. He looked to us as he spoke, seeking affirmation for their actions.

“If the stupid twit told us the truth instead of hiding it, this would not have happened,” Con said.

“Yeah, that’s right! Dumb jackass brought this on himself.” Jack thumped the table. I looked at him in surprise. This was not the Jack I thought I knew.

“All comes back to what I said before, doesn’t it lads,” Con said. He spoke slowly, as though he didn’t have a care in the world. “Dishonesty isn’t just telling lies, it’s what we omit to say as well. You getting me, Brandon? This is the penultimate example of what goes wrong when we’re dishonest with each other.”

“That’s it, Con? That’s your reaction?” I asked him, flabbergasted.

“Reaction to what?” he snapped.

“You just found out that you murdered an innocent man, and all you can say is that he should have been more open with us? You’re unbelievable!”

In a blur of movement, Con was off his stool and in my face, his hands around my throat. “You little punk! Maybe you didn’t push the wall down, but you’re the one who got him to stand under it!”

Matt and Jack sprang into action, trying to pry Con’s hands off my neck. I was barely aware of it, though, for my world was too busy collapsing. My brother was one of the pillars of my life, an example to me, someone to inspire me and comfort me. But now the pillar lay shattered in ruins.

My brother was a murderer.

I realised then that Con, Matt and Jack should be in prison, not planning a breakout. They should not be leading foragers and their families to a life of freedom and safety in Ballarat. For the three of them, it wouldn’t be freedom but escaping justice.

Another thought occurred to me, sending cold, clammy strands of fear coiling up the back of my neck, and my vision to fade to black. If I didn’t report these guys and my brother to the Custodians, I was an accomplice to murder. That made me almost as bad as them. And it got worse. Although I knew I should report them, I couldn’t do it, because I needed them to co-ordinate and lead the breakout that would get my family out of our nightmare existence. More, I knew the penalty for murder was life imprisonment or execution by lethal injection, and I couldn’t face that happening to my brother.

“Brandon - Brandon!”

The darkness that blotted out my vision receded sufficiently for me to realise Jack had managed to prise Con’s hands away from my throat. Matt was struggling to hold him back, who still looked set to kill me.

I remembered I was supposed to be masquerading as my brother, and wasn’t acting true to his character. He knew he was guilty of murder, and that was why he was in such a mess. He couldn’t reconcile his actions with his conscience. It had never occurred to him that he’d feel so guilty, so condemned, after committing the act.

Trying to emulate Brandon when he was apologetic, I looked up at Con sheepishly. “Sorry, Con. I don’t know what came over me. I’m just struggling to cope with what Mrs. Smith told me.”

“Hypocritical little prat!” Con spoke with such animosity that he sprayed spittle all over my face.

“Go easy on him, Con, he’s just rattled, that’s all. We all are.” Jack said. I looked at him, wanting to appreciate him coming to my defence, but I no longer saw him as cute, adorable Jack, but as Jack the murderer. Oh, how I hated this! Why did I have to bump into Dan’s mother? The weight of this knowledge was too much to bear.

“I said I’m sorry!”

“Word’s don’t cut it, boy!”

Jack turned me around and bundled me towards the door. “Go on, git. Give him some space. He’ll settle down soon, like he always does.”

I nodded and stumbled for the door, lost, afraid, and wracked with guilt.

* * *

I was still lost in a morass of conflicting emotions when I got back to the shelter an hour later.

Seeing Ryan waiting for me when the elevator’s doors pinged open to the fifth floor didn’t help. The concern on his face just amplified the guilt I felt because I was helping four murderers evade justice by escaping town.

Ryan pushed off the wall when I shuffled towards him. “You okay, Brandon?”

“I’m fine.”

“Those guys attack you again? You look terrible.”

“No. And I told you, I’m fine.”

“Don’t look fine.”

“I had a fight with Con.”

“What about? Not me, I hope.”

An almost overwhelming urge came over me to tell him everything. Maybe if he were to shoulder this terrible burden with me, it wouldn’t be so heavy. Besides, I was curious to know what advice he would give. Would he tell me to dob them in to the Custodians, or to continue with my plans to escape?

“No, about something stupid we did a while ago.” I said.

“Hey, did your sister give you my message?”

“Haven’t seen her since this morning.” I stared up into his brown eyes, almost melting at the mix of concern and determination shining through them.

“Well, that explains it.” He gave a weak laugh.

I wished he’d leave. I needed to be alone with my thoughts.

“Those guys who attacked you on Friday, who are they?” he asked.

“I told you to stay out of this.”

“Who do they work for?”  He leaned against the wall beside me.

“Why, so you can take matters in your own hands? Ryan, these people are dangerous! If you go after them you’re gonna get hurt. Not to mention what they’ll do to my family in retaliation. If something were to happen to my sisters or mother because you got involved, I would never forgive you.”

“Brandon, will you just listen to me?”

“No!”

“I just want to find out who they are and what kind of operation they’re running. I’m not going to go up against them, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

“You’ll tell the Custodians, yeah? Not happening.”

“You are so stubborn!”

“So you keep telling me.”

He sighed and his shoulders sagged in defeat. He glanced up the corridor towards our door. “Your sister in? I was kind of, you know, hoping to see her.”

“Which one?” No doubt he was referring to Karen. With her beautiful face, full figure and curls. None of which I had.

“You have to ask?”

“Karen fifteen, Ryan.”

“You serious? I thought she was seventeen. She’s a real stunner, you know. Probably turns all the guys’ heads at the Solidarity Festivals.”

My spirits sank. Some secret, inner part of me was hoping he would say me.

“But I wasn’t referring to her,” he continued, surprising me. “I meant Chelsea.”

“Chelsea, why?”

“I don’t know, she's kinda cool – I guess. I like how outspoken she is. And she's pretty.” He shuffled his feet awkwardly. My heart skipped a beat as an emotion I never felt before swept through me. He actually liked me – and for me, what’s more. I felt special, even desirable. Sadly, his perception of me was completely wrong. If he knew I was an accomplice to murder who refused to come clean because of how it would affect me personally, he’d change his opinion of me pretty quick smart. He’d be shocked, even appalled.

“She’s my virtually-identical twin sister, mate. You saying I’m pretty?” I asked.

“What? No! I mean–”

“Ryan, you’d better stop before you dig yourself into an even deeper hole,” I said, smirking.

“Right.” He laughed.

Seeing the hope in his eyes reminded me he was hoping to see her. “Give me a sec, I’ll see if she’s in.”

I popped into our room and closed the door, wondering what excuse I could use to explain my own absence.

“Finally decided to grace us with your presence, did you, Daughter?” Mother asked. She was still on that lousy chair, a pair of knitting needles flying in practised fingers. Would it hurt her to swallow her pride and use one of the chairs Ryan repaired?

“Just dropping by to see if you’re okay.”

“We’re doing just fine, can’t you tell?” Mother said.

I nodded. “Right. I’ll be back later, then.” I slipped back into the corridor.

The hopeful expression faded from Ryan’s face when he saw I was alone.

“Sorry, she’s off somewhere with Sofia, one of the residents here,” I said.

“That’s a shame. Hey, feel like pumping some iron?”

“Sounds good. Let’s go.”

As we left the shelter, I noticed Ryan holding his stomach.

“You okay?”

“Stomach’s felt better. May be coming down with something,” he said.

“Don’t go giving it to me.” Actually, Brandon and I had never been sick, not even a sniffle. But that wasn’t something to broadcast, as it could be related to our mutation.

“Actually, on second thoughts, better skip gym and go lie down.” He grimaced in pain.

“Okay. Need to see a doctor?”

“See one every day,” he said.

“You do?”

“My father’s a doctor.”

“Really? Nice for some.”

“Yes and no,” he said, and took his leave. I went back home to change so I could look for Sofia.

Ryan didn’t turn up to work on Monday, having called in sick. I wasn’t overly surprised, considering what he was like the night before. The poor guy was probably at home puking his guts out.

As a result, I got to accompany the others for the whole day. Lucky me.

“Right,” Con said after we drove through the town gates. “Thanks to that informer’s absence–”

“He’s not–”

“Oh shut it, Brandon! Good grief, you’re like a broken record!” he snapped.

“Sorry.” I really had to let the matter drop, I couldn’t afford to get Con offside preceding the escape attempt.

“As I was saying.” A dirty look in my direction. “Since Ryan’s not here, we’ve got one whole day – maybe more – to prepare for the breakout without worrying he’ll see or hear something damning.”

“Into the city, then?” Matt asked.

“You got it.” Con floored the accelerator as soon as we were out of sight of Newhome, the trucking bucking over the cracked asphalt road.

I gulped but said nothing. Brandon had filled my dreams with nightmares of the horrors he saw in Melbourne’s CBD – the Central Business District – also known simply as ‘the city.’

As the city wasn’t far from Newhome, it wasn’t long before we were driving through streets lined with buildings towering high above us. There was little conformity in the structures. ‘Modern’ buildings sat side by side with more antique designs with narrow alleyways nestled between them. Often as not, the ground floors were retail stores while the levels above them were hotels or private accommodation. Tram tracks ran down the middle of larger thoroughfares, sometimes occupied by the rusting wrecks of the trams themselves.

Thanks to the nuclear bomb that hit the southeastern suburbs, shattered glass from windows facing southeast covered much of the roads and sidewalks. It was like looking at streets made of quartz that glittered in the sunlight. Nature was busily reclaiming the deserted streets too. Trees and bushes grew wild, claiming every square meter of exposed soil. Wild grass sprouted from every crack in the asphalt and concrete, while creepers attacked the sides of buildings, climbing many stories high in some instances.

We reached Flinders Street and drove east, following tram tracks while dodging abandoned cars and trucks. We passed an old, green copper domed railway station on our right that had a faded yellow facade and large clock. The archway entrance beneath the clock gave the impression of an ugly, yawning mouth, the shattered windows akin to broken teeth. I shuddered at the sight of the station’s darkened interior, so ominous, so uninviting.

Then I jolted, thoroughly sickened by what I saw next. Several bodies, including two Skel, were nailed to the wall beneath the station’s upper windows, arms spread wide as though they had been crucified. They must have been there for some time, for they were in advanced stages of decay, if not skeletons.

I recalled Brandon telling me that there were things – people – in the city that made the Skel seem friendly. No one had ever seen them, but corpses like these were nailed outside the five entrances to the City Loop underground subway and rail system. The message was clear. Stay out of the subway or end up like them.

It was assumed that the City Loop denizens only came out at night. For our sake, I hoped so. Actually, there was one forager who may have seen them. Brandon told me of a rumour that Ethan Jones went into the subway once when curiosity got the better of him. What he saw no one knew, for he never spoke of the experience afterwards. I suppressed another shudder. What were we doing in the city anyway? Surely there were safer places to go?

Leaving the station behind, we passed Federation Square, a large, open-air square surrounded by buildings on three sides and paved with ochre-coloured sandstone blocks. The walls of some buildings in the square had the appearance of earth-coloured patchwork quilts. The steel struts of a large atrium looked strangely out of place with most of the glass panels missing.

I was most surprised when Con turned the truck off Flinders Street and into a claustrophobically narrow alleyway named Hosier Lane.

We drove slowly down the alleyway and my mouth dropped open in sheer amazement. The buildings on both sides of the lane were covered with the most stunningly beautiful, colourful street art. And what was just as amazing, it had clearly been restored, because it could not have survived a century of wind, rain and dirt and still look so vibrant, as though it had been painted yesterday.

There were words painted with a 3D effect, an elephant decked out with a golden crown and jewels, a skull, a wooden ship about to be grappled by a green and purple giant octopus, hideous monsters wrestling with oriental serpentine dragons, even lifelike busts of people painted on the windows behind inch-thick iron security grills.

Con parked the truck and we tumbled out into the street. I went over to the closest wall and ran my fingers over the street art. As I suspected, the images were free of dust and dirt. I glanced at my teammates, wondering who restored them, but immediately rejected the idea that it could be them.

“You calmed down a bit, buddy?” Jack asked.

I nodded.

“Con was about to throttle you yesterday, you know that?”

“Got that impression.”

“Be more careful, eh? You don’t want him offside.”

“I know.”

“Fair enough.”

“I wonder who restores all this street art?” I mused aloud.

“Duh - the Loopers. Scary thought, isn’t it. For a hundred years they’ve been crucifying anyone stupid enough to enter the subway, but at the same time, keep maintaining the street art.” Jack paused and looked at me quizzically. “Say, why are you asking me stuff you already know?”

I gave him a deadpan expression. “I wasn’t asking you, Doofus, I was talking to myself. Besides, we don’t know they’re the ones doing it, do we? No one’s ever seen them.”

Jack shrugged. “True enough. Still, the cans of enamel paint we leave outside the lab every now as peace offerings disappear pretty quick.”

“Hey, jerks! You coming or what?” Con bellowed. 

We joined the other three, who were standing in front of a reinforced steel door leading into what used to be a bar or nightclub.

“Remember the password?” Con asked Matt.

Matt nodded and knocked a complex beat on the steel door.

The door swung open and a balding forager I’d seen once or twice stuck his head out. He was holding a double-barrelled shotgun, which was aimed at our heads.

“You’re not rostered on today.” He glared at us menacingly.

So this was the lab? Where they made the Elatyon drugs they smuggled back to Newhome. If I only had a bomb, I’d set it and blow it sky high.

“Come to grab some ordnance,” Con snapped back. “For the breakout.”

“Right. Carry on, then.”

The door swung open and we traipsed inside in single file. Stairs led both up and down, but to our right, double doors opened into a clean but currently unoccupied bar. It had a similar layout and atmosphere to the Foragers’ Club back home, so no points for working out who set the place up.

Going by the sounds floating down the stairs, the lab must be on the next floor up. I wondered who established it. It could not have been done without at least one person having the knowledge or experience of a pharmacist. The next question was why they stuck it all the way out here, right in the midst of Looper territory, but I guessed that in itself was the answer. From what I heard about the Custodians, they rarely ventured from Newhome, and when they did, they absolutely never came to the city. No doubt thanks to the horror stories propagated by the foragers. Stories which until now I listened to with a pinch of salt. Now, after seeing those bodies strung up outside the station, I realised they weren’t exaggerating at all.

Downstairs was a basement stacked with plastic containers and bottles of chemicals, as well as steel cabinets filled with guns and knives of all shapes and sizes, even C4 explosives. Seemed the foragers had been busy, collecting them and bringing them here. I thought it was dangerous to keep explosives beneath a drugs laboratory, but figured they knew what they were doing.

My companions grabbed a couple of bags and went through the handguns and boxes of ammunition. Feeling conspicuous standing still beside them, I let rip with echolocation to watch exactly how they checked the guns to make sure they still worked, and then did the same.

An hour later, we carted the bags upstairs, laden with two dozen handguns and ammo, and blocks of C4 explosives and detonators. They hid a couple of guns and the explosives in the secret compartment in the door of the truck. The rest would go to the secret cache we were building just outside of town. The explosives would be used to create the distraction on the night we escaped.

“Next stop, blankets and backpacks,” Con said once we were back in the truck.

“Have you decided upon the day?” I asked.

“Friday next week,” Con replied. “That gives us plenty of time to get everything ready.”

That news should have excited me, but all I felt was conflicting emotions. Relief to get my family away from this place, and overwhelming guilt for helping four murderers escape justice. Why did life have to be so complicated? Why couldn’t things just be black and white?

“How many foragers have come onboard now?” Jack asked.

“Twenty-four,” Matt said. “And about seventy relatives, mostly immediate family members. They won’t all turn up on the night, though.”