Impersonator (Forager Impersonator - A Post Apocalyptic Trilogy Book 1) (7 page)

I dragged my feet all the way home, every step a nail in the coffin of the doomed attempt to escape this horrid town. Ever-lengthening, oppressive shadows from ten-storey apartment blocks cast the streets into gloom, adding to my miserable frame of mind.

I wondered if I could ask my father to delay his plans to marry me off. I doubted I would consider trying to escape if I had a husband, even if it was a prearranged. I wondered if Brandon might come home today. If he did, and he gave Father money for his room and board, maybe that would make him back off his plans. I was not something to be disposed of like a commodity as my Father saw fit.

In spite of delaying my arrival home as long as I could, I was soon confronted by our front door. It was dinted and scratched, the brown paint flaking off to reveal the original blue colour beneath. I strained my ears, trying to ascertain if my mother and sister were in the kitchen, but I couldn’t hear anything.

I considered going for another walk and coming back later, but then I’d arrive after Father got back, and that was a confrontation I wanted to avoid.

Sucking in a deep breath, I opened the door and slipped quietly into the lounge-room, which was lost in semi-darkness as the lights were off.

“Brandon?” Mother asked. She sprang off the sofa like a jack-in-the-box and flicked on the light. What was she doing, sitting in the gloom like that?

“No, it’s...me.” My voice wavered as I spoke. So much for hoping I could sneak in without being seen.

“Where the dickens have you been all day – and what are you doing dressed like that! Are you bereft of your senses? Running around without a chaperone, and dressed like a boy what’s more! Did you stop and think what effect your disappearance would have on me? Your sister and I searched everywhere we could think of, trying to find where you’d gone. I even considered reporting your disappearance to the Custodians, only refraining from doing so because of our history with them. You had me so worried I haven’t been able to eat, not to mention causing this terrible headache!” She stomped over to me, features contorted in a barely controlled fury.

I contemplated telling her the truth, for about a millisecond, but decided to go for safe instead. “I was looking for Brandon.”

“Dressed like that? Oh, of all the stupid things to go and do! What if you’d been caught? Did you think of that? They’d have brought you before the magistrate and he would have thrown you into prison for what, three years? Eldest Daughter, did you stop and think about the effect that would have had on our reputation? You would have disgraced our family name! The neighbours would have spoken behind our backs and the stallholders would have treated me like a leper. It would have destroyed your chance at marriage, and damaged your sister’s prospects for a reputable husband! How could I look anyone in the eye if she had to marry someone below her station because you were in prison! I know you can be foolish, but this – this takes the cake!”

“So it all comes down to how my dishonour could have affected you?” I know I should’ve gone for the olive branch, but I’d had enough of her selfishness.

“Excuse me?” She was quivering with rage. Major warning sign to back off. I ignored it.

“Did it even occur to you that I could have been in trouble? Or were you too wrapped up worrying about how my disappearance could affect you personally?”

“How dare you! You know how distressing it’s been for me this past week with your brother running away and skipping work. How could you add to my woes by doing the same, not to mention flaunting the law and our customs without a second thought! Everyone will think I did a lousy job in raising you!”

The kitchen door opened and my sister came out, wondering what all the shouting was about. She took one look at me and her mouth dropped open. For once in her life, she was speechless. Maybe this day hadn’t been a complete waste after all.

Mother suddenly grabbed me and forced me towards the bedroom. “Get out of those clothes and clean yourself up – you’re filthy! What have you been doing, rolling in the dirt? And hurry up about it, your father’s due home any minute. Last thing I need is him badgering me for letting you carry on like this.”

“Mother, why is she dressed like that? Where’s she been all day?” Karen demanded as I did my absolute best not to limp as I brushed past her.

Not wanting to hear Mother’s answer, I disappeared into my bedroom and closed the door. Of course, with my hearing, that made no difference. I still heard every disparaging word she said to my sister as she launched into an attack on my character.

I looked at our bedroom and exhaled, depressed. I was supposed to be halfway to the country by now, not back in this house, this room, this prison.

Getting Brandon’s clothes off turned into an exercise in pain. Every extension of my arm, each twist of my torso, sent waves of agony searing through my stomach and back. When I finally stripped off the tank top, my hands flew to my mouth in shock. An ugly black and blue bruise dominated the right side of my stomach, and the one on my back looked even worse. I wriggled out of the jeans and examined my left thigh. It was marred by a large yellow and purple bruise.

I unwound the cloth that bound my breasts flat, put on a bra, and was struggling to slip a camisole over my shoulders when the door burst open and Karen charged in.

She saw the bruises and her mouth opened and shut like a fish out of water.

“Please, don’t tell her,” I pleaded.

“Mother!” she called at the top of her voice.

“Oh, thank you very much.” I gave her my best death spare and tugged the camisole down to my hips, a cry of pain escaping my lips.

Mother rushed into the room. “What?”

“She’s got these massive black bruises on her back and stomach. And look, there’s one on her leg too!” Karen tripped over her words in her haste to get the words out.

“Show me!” Mother demanded.

Having no interest in receiving another grilling, I grabbed my beige dress and pulled it on, face contorted in pain at the effort.

“I said show–” Mother began, but stopped when we heard the front door open. “Oh great, your father’s home. Quickly, wash your hands, face, and put up your hair. We’ll come back to this later, young lady.”

I bit the insides of my cheeks as I pulled out the scrunchie. I tried to twist my hair into a bun, but lifting my hands was agony, so I abandoned the attempt.

“Can you?” I asked Karen.

“Tell me what happened.”

“I...I can’t.”

“Did someone attack you?” She came closer.

I had to give her some kind of answer, it seemed. “I tripped and fell on some rocks, that’s all. Now please, my hair?”

“You think I’m stupid, Elder Sister?”

“What?”

“You fell on rocks that bruised your stomach, back and leg at the same time?”

“Not at the same time–”

“Why don’t you ever trust me?” She crossed her arms and glared at me.

“I do.” And I did. I trusted her to go and blab everything I told her to Mother.

“No, you don’t. You’ve never let me into your world, you or Brandon, with your private jokes and ability to read each other’s lips.”

We couldn’t read lips, we just whispered below everyone else’s hearing range.

“Younger Sister, we don’t have time for this now. Father’s home.”

“How convenient.”

“Please – my hair?”

She relented and twirled my hair around and into a neat bun with nimble fingers. That done, I rushed towards the bathroom.

But then I froze, puzzled. I could hear Father talking to someone in the lounge-room. Which was weird, because Mother was in the kitchen, preparing his dinner.

“Mother, who is Father talking to?” I asked.

“What are you talking about?” she snapped. I’d forgotten she couldn’t hear him. “Hurry and get your face washed, for goodness sake!”

I heard the phone clink back into its cradle as I popped into the bathroom, and my bewilderment magnified tenfold. Father talked to someone on the phone? He never did that. Not ever.

Shaking my head, I thoroughly washed my face and hands. Going to the kitchen, Mother gave me a plate of roast vegies to serve Father.

However, when I entered the lounge-dining room, I almost dropped the plate in shock. Father was limping across the room, grimacing with each step. He also laboured to breathe, and his face was pale and pinched. In fact, he looked just like I felt, it you were to magnify it by a factor of ten.

But that wasn’t what nearly caused me to drop his dinner. It was his eyes – they were vacant, lifeless, as though someone had sucked out his very soul and left nothing but an empty shell behind.

“What’s wrong, Father? You don’t look well.” I asked, concerned.

He didn’t reply, just kept giving me that blank stare.

“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”

He looked at me, and I saw a momentary flicker of life, but then I heard the unmistakable sound of several pairs of boots tramping down the walkway outside, heading in our direction. Custodians – a whole squad of them.
Please tell me they’re not coming here
, I begged.

As if in response to my plea, they stopped directly outside our door. There was a loud thumping. Custodians never simply knocked.

Mother rushed into the lounge-dining room. “Is that our door?”

I didn’t move, just kept looking at Father. Were the Custodians here for me? Or was it something to do with him?

“Oh, shall I get it?” Mother asked as she marched impatiently to the door and swung it open. Upon seeing five Custodians in full armour, she fell back in alarm.

I jolted when I saw that the leader was the tall, pock marked sergeant I saw at the Recycling Works this afternoon. His pitiless eyes swept the room and paused on me.

The dinner plate slipped from my fingers and shattered on the floor. Father’s roast vegies went flying in all directions

They were here for me.

To my surprise and heartfelt relief, the Custodian turned his piercing gaze to my mother. “My name is Sergeant King. I have a search warrant for these premises.”

“To search for what?” Father asked, suddenly coming to life as he rose stiffly from his chair.

“We have received an anonymous tipoff that there is contraband on these premises.” The sergeant and his men stormed into the apartment. So they weren’t here for me. But for what, then? The contraband books Brandon occasionally brought back with him from the ruins? If so, they were wasting their time because he never kept them here for long. He wasn’t that dumb. So what were they searching for? And who dobbed us into the Custodians anyway?

The sergeant remained near the door while his four men spread out. One attacked the buffet-and-hutch, pulling out all the plates, cups, and other crockery, and none too gently. Wringing her hands together, Mother stepped hesitantly towards him as one, then two more of her precious plates cracked or shattered.

One Custodian went to the television cabinet. He yanked out the drawers, tipped them upside down, and searched the DVDs. The other two Custodians went to the sofa. They pulled off the cushions, unzipped the covers, and flung them aside when they didn’t find anything incriminating.

Having ascertained that no contraband was in the lounge-dining room, one went to the kitchen, another to the bathroom, and the other two to the bedrooms. I followed them at a distance, my hands shaking; scarcely able to comprehend this was happening. The Custodians proceeded to tear those rooms apart with ruthless dedication. Cupboards and drawers were opened and their contents scattered on the floor, clothes were removed and pockets checked, books were examined, and finally, the beds as well. Pillows and doonas were pulled from covers, sheets were stripped off mattresses, and the mattresses themselves tipped off the beds. It was fortunate I removed the note I hid there this morning. That would have been hard to explain.

“Got something, Sir!” shouted the Custodian who had just tipped over Father’s mattress.

Sergeant King stormed into the men’s bedroom.

“If you wouldn’t mind stepping in here, Mr. Thomas?” he bellowed.

My father limped into the room. I followed a step behind, and my hands flew to my mouth when I saw the plastic packet with a dozen white pills nestled between two of the wooden slats of the bed. Drugs.

“Who sleeps here?” the sergeant demanded.

“I do,” Father admitted softly.

“And there?” the sergeant pointed to Brandon’s bed, although I couldn’t see any contraband there.

“My son – but he’s got nothing to do with it. The pills are mine.”

“Isn’t your son Brandon a forager?”

“Yes, but what of it?” Father became even more animated. “The pills are mine.”

“Where did you get them?”

“I...I didn’t see his face. It was dark, and over quickly. I haven’t been coping very well lately. The pills help.”

I gaped at him, along with my mother and sister. My father was taking drugs?

I knew he’d been struggling since the accident and that he came home from prison a broken man, a shadow of whom he was before, even though he had been exonerated. It pained me to see him like that, but I guess I didn’t realise just how low he was feeling. For that, I felt guilty. I had – we had – let him down.

But surely there were other ways of dealing with his condition than taking drugs! He could have opened up to us, to Brandon and me if not Mother. We would have spared no effort to help him get back on his feet. Doctors also offered medications, and there were psychologists and counsellors trained to help people like that. He probably would not have had to pay for it either, considering he’d been a victim throughout the whole affair.

On the other hand, I couldn’t quite believe it. I had never seen Father ‘high’ on drugs, nor desperate to get a fix. The only question mark was the nights he came home late. He could have taken the drugs then and we would not have been any the wiser.

“Malcolm Thomas, you are under arrest on the charge of possessing contraband Elatyon drugs and will accompany us to Custodian Headquarters,” the sergeant said. He clipped handcuffs on my father as he spoke.

My father nodded and limped after the sergeant, the other Custodians filing out behind him.

“What happens now?” I said when they got the door. I knew the penalty for smuggling drugs into town or supplying them was the death sentence. I wasn’t so sure when it came to individual usage.

“He will be brought before the magistrate tomorrow,” Sergeant King said, barely pausing in his long legged stride.

With that, they were gone, leaving my mother, sister and me standing in the midst of a flat torn to pieces. We were stunned into immobility by the revelation that our lives had just been destroyed with even greater finality than the flat.

“Now what do we do?” Karen asked. She sat wild-eyed amidst the crockery, napkins and tablecloths the Custodians had strewn all over the floor. “If Father goes to prison and Brandon doesn’t go back to work, who’s going to provide for us? Where will we get money for food, water and electricity?”

Tragically, Karen had a point, thanks to the Founders’ absurd ruling that women were not permitted to work.

“He’s been taking drugs?” Mother said, finally finding her voice. “The fool’s been wasting all his money – the money we needed for food and necessities – so he could get high instead of facing his problems? How could he be so selfish? Couldn’t he see what he was putting me through these past months? Going to market at closing time to buy the dregs left over at closeout prices, buying food past its expiry-date? And still barely having enough money to do even that!”

“That’s a little harsh, Mother. He’s been through a meat grinder lately,–” I began.

“Harsh? I’ll tell you harsh. It’s getting criticised by him day after day for serving ‘slops’ for dinner because I had no money to buy anything better, when all along he spent that money on drugs! It’s hearing other mothers mocking me under their breath because they see me turn up to market when the stallholders have started packing up. It’s–”

“This isn’t all about you, Mother!” I snapped.

“Then who is it about – that loser I’ve put up with for twenty years?”

“If you’d actually given him some emotional support instead of criticising everything he ever did, maybe he wouldn’t have stooped so low that he thought drugs were the only way out!”

“Don’t try to put that on me, Daughter. Look around you. This is all his doing. And you think I let him down?”

“We all failed him, Mother. None of us helped him when he got out of prison.”

“Rubbish. He chose to react like that, getting drunk, moping around the house – taking drugs! He could have snapped out of it and pulled himself together at any moment. He just chose not to.”

There was a knock at the open door followed by a man clearing his throat. Putting our argument on hold, we were surprised to see the building supervisor hovering in the doorway.

“Am I interrupting something?” he asked. He was a short, stick-thin man with greying hair. He was looking around the room with his mouth open in dismay. He expected his tenants to keep their properties in better condition.

“Sorry, Mr. Hinchcliffe. My husband is not home at the moment,” Mother said warily.

“I know. I just witnessed Custodians whisking him away in handcuffs.” He stared at my mother in disdain. “Which brings me to a most unfortunate topic, one I’ve been putting off. But considering this scandal, I now have no choice but to inform you that unless you pay your outstanding rent in full, I will have you evicted from this flat within twenty-four hours.” In witnessing our horrified expressions, the supervisor looked most pleased with himself. He was enjoying this.

“What outstanding rent?” Mother asked.

“The eight weeks back rent you owe.”

“Eight weeks? But how is that possible – hasn’t my husband been paying you?” She reached out a hand to the dining room table to steady herself.

“Obviously not. Now, if you don’t mind, I will be on my way. Remember, twenty-four hours.” The arrogant little man turned to leave.

“Mr. Hinchcliffe, you can’t give us twenty-four hours notice. You have to give us three warnings!” Mother said as she hurried towards the door, her countenance framed with determination and building rage.

“I already gave three warnings to Malcolm. Didn’t he tell you?” The supervisor said.

Mother looked at me, dumbfounded. I could read her mind. First drugs, now this? What had Father been doing?

“How much do we have to pay to avoid eviction?” I asked, before he could get away.

“Sixteen-hundred-and-twenty, but as I’m not an unreasonable man, a thousand-and-eighty will give you another month’s grace. You have twenty-four hours.” That said, he strutted down the walkway like the chicken that ruled the roost.

“This just keeps getting better and better! What else has that man hidden from us?” Mother righted an upturned dining chair and sat heavily upon it. I’d never seen her so weary.

“What’s going on?” Karen asked. I’m not sure she understood everything the supervisor said. She was too shocked by the virtual destruction of our flat and belongings.

“Do we have any money, stashed away somewhere, for emergencies like this?” I asked hesitantly.

“Your Father already used it.”

“What happens if we get evicted? Where can we go?” I asked.

“Nowhere!” I could hear her heart rate accelerate. She was beginning to panic. “Grandfather passed away, Grandmother’s in the home with Alzheimer’s, and Nanna lives in a one bedroom flat with her sister. Not to mention she hasn’t spoken to us for a decade.” And we had no friends thanks to Father’s gradual withdrawal from the world and Mother’s acerbic tongue.

Pushing herself off the chair, she grabbed me by the shoulders. “Eldest Daughter, the time for misplaced loyalties is over. Stop covering for your brother and tell me where he is. You saw him today, didn’t you, when you went out looking for him? I’m sure he has enough to cover this debt.”

“I have no idea where he is.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Seriously, I don’t.” Which was the truth. He gave me no indication of where he was going when he walked out on us last Thursday.

“Oh, this is ridiculous! He must be staying with one of his friends. You know, those four simpletons who pop in here to see him from time to time. What are their names?”

“Con, Jack, Matt and Dan,” Karen said. She had a slightly dreamy look on her face when she mentioned Jack. She liked him, which was a pathetically pointless exercise since we had no input on who we would marry.

“He’s not with them–” I began.

“And how would you know?” Mother barked.

“Because I spoke with them today. Well, not Dan. He passed away last week. In an accident.”

“What? How’s that possible? I thought you went looking for Brandon today?”

“Actually, no,” I said quietly.

“Then where did you go?”

I held up my hand. “I, ah...”

“Answer me!” She took a step towards me.

I searched her face, seeing brown eyes the mirror image of my own. I saw her desperation as she frantically tried to hold herself and her world together, a world that was rapidly slipping through her fingers. Karen, meanwhile, looked both bewildered and alarmed. More vulnerable than I had seen her before.

At that moment, I realised that in spite of how badly they treated me, I didn’t want to see them suffering like this. They were my family. And if we got evicted tomorrow, what they were going through now would seem a picnic compared to how they would feel then.

There was a way I could help them, although it was the last thing I wanted to do. I could continue impersonating my brother and go back to the Recycling Works. Not just tomorrow to get paid and buy seeds so I could try to escape again, but for as long as was necessary so I could provide for my mother and sister.

That meant I would continue risking discovery masquerading as my brother, cop more of Con’s destructive, condescending attitude, and risk bumping into more Skel. There was one plus – I’d get to see Ryan again. However, that might not be such a good thing, considering the way he reacted when I saved his life and his desire to be left alone.

“Come on, answer me! Where were you today?” Mother asked again.

“I impersonated Brandon and went to work as a forager. That’s why I know his friends don’t know where he is. They thought I was him and were angry I hadn’t been to work since last Thursday.”

“You did what? Have you lost your mind?” My mother’s eyes nearly popped out of her head.

“Tomorrow’s payday, Mother. If I masquerade as Brandon again tomorrow, I’ll bring back a week’s wages – from the days he worked last week, plus the day’s I’ve worked. That may get the supervisor off our backs.”

“Daughter, that’s a man’s world out there! You could be injured, killed, caught by Skel, and who knows what else! There’s no way I would let you do that. I can scarcely believe that you did it today and got away with it!”

From there we argued back and forth for an hour. I kept pointing out that we had no other choice, with Father going to prison and Brandon missing. Mother kept bringing up the same points over and over again. The dangers to my person, dangers of being caught, and how that would disgrace the family – or rather, her.