Title: Old knives

Carefully she ground the knife, back and forth. Back and forth. She had had this knife for a long time; a very long time, indeed. The blade was now whisper thin and getting thinner all the time. The logo was worn almost smooth and it was only with difficulty and in the brightest of sunshine could you read the word 'Wiltshire' anymore. Sooner or later, probably sooner, she was going to have to venture into the Ruins again and replace it. But not today, not yet.

She tested the sharpness of the knife against one hardened, calloused thumb. Then, leaning forward she considered the animal in the snare. A 'Potter'. Something like a Potoroo gone wrong in The Fall. Male. Good, she hated it when she caught a female and found a joey in the pouch. Quickly, with the speed born of years of practice, she released the dead animal from the snare, gutted and skinned it, quartered it, wrapped it back in the skin and put it into the dilly bag. Tonight, she and Mah would eat well. Retrieving the snare, she wound it tight and tucked it into her waist pouch. She wouldn't set a snare here again for several weeks, the animals needed time to forget the screams of the dying.

She froze as she heard a growling snarl come from the bush behind her. Devils. Quickly she scattered the guts and offal about, knowing that it would distract them, giving her time to get away before they could follow. Genetically modified to resist the Cancer that had threatened to wipe them out, the Devil were reintroduced to the mainland last century. They had become an apex predator after The Fall. Then, The Fall had twisted the modification and had turned the Devils even more fearless and dangerous than the unmodified ancestors they were bred from. Even Warrigal, the Dingo, and the feral cats and dogs gave way before their aggression. Fortunately, the Devils' fondness for carrion made them easily distractible.

They also loved hunting rabbit, which was A Good Thing, as the Fall had burned away the Myxo too.

Loping down the track she distanced herself from the butchering site. Listening and watching while she jogged, she lifted her nose to scent the breeze. All her senses alert, she could feel no danger following her nor on the trail ahead. She filled her lungs with eucalypt scented air and smiled to herself as she ran. The gums had slowly recovered from the infernos that blasted the land after The Fall. The Peninsula had fared better than most areas, the fires not quite burning everything. The ground had not been sterilized and a few Old Man gums had survived, charred and stained black. Their sons and daughters had sprung up around their feet and were struggling to gain height. Fast growing wattles and tea trees filled the understory. The bush was healing itself. She even knew of two secret spots where grapes were growing wild, sweet and seedy, vineyards gone feral.

Wonga. The top of the tallest spot on the Peninsula. She had known it as Arthur's Seat. But Mah said it's real name was Wonga. She was happy enough with that name, it was a good name, she thought as she reached the top of the mountain. She stopped and crouching by the twisted remains of the sky chair and panting slightly, looked out over the Bay. In the far distance she could just see the blasted skeletons of the skyscrapers of the old city, their bases deep in rising sea water. The lowlands were now flooded, turning the Peninsula almost into an island; another few feet of water and it would become one. A trail of greasy smoke wafted over the high ground coming from Franga; the Maxers were out again. She frowned to herself. They didn't come up this way often, they were frightened of her and Mah, but she liked to keep an eye out for them. You could never tell with that lot.

She took a drink from her old plastic water bottle then stretched to work the kinks out. Not bad for an old woman who never run before The Fall, she thought to herself. She wasn't sure exactly how long ago The Fall had happened. Fear, fever and something bordering on insanity had stolen her memory of those first years. But since the time she had woken up from the fever in Mah's humpy she had started to count the days, then the months, and finally the years. Mah had laughed with her crazily when told it was more than eighty years since The Fall. Considering it had been her 65th birthday party on the night of The Fall (a wisp of a memory; cake, wine, a weekend away and dinner at the winery with a laughing blue-eyed man, children, grandchildren, then an eye searing flash, panic, then nothing), that would mean she must be at least 150 by now. And Mah had been much, much older. Sometimes Mah spoke of the place she had escaped from during the fires, a home for the elderly near the beach down the hill a-ways.

Shaking her curly head free of the thoughts, it didn't matter. She was here, she was still alive for some reason or other, while everyone she had ever known and loved or hated was long gone to ash. At times she had thought to end herself, but a residual faith denied her that final comfort.

The Fall had burned The Old right out of her and Mah. It had changed them like it had changed the Devil and so many other things. To look at her and Mah, they could be anywhere between 40 and 80, not shoving double centuries. But she speculated about the others like her and Mah. They knew there were some out there somewhere. People of The Old. And wondered if there was a meaning to it all. And how long she would go on. How long she could go on.

Resuming her journey, down slope now, she wove her way through a gully towards this season's camp. Being careful to leave as little sign of her passing as possible she twisted around a large granite boulder and found herself in the hollow where Mah's humpy rested. A ramshackle shelter made of eucalyptus branches and bark leaned against a surviving stringy bark.

Mah had worked in an office all her life as a school administrator but said her half-caste Grandmother had been a 'Stolen' from upcountry way as a girl. Mah had been totally urban but had always read greedily about how her ancestors had survived. With memories of her Grans stories and what she had read she had put those survival skills into practice after The Fall.

'Cooee' Mozz called out softly. Sometimes Mah was asleep, and you didn't want to startle her awake. Not if you knew what was good for you.

'Watcha' Mozz.' Came Mah's gravelly voice from inside the humpy.

'Home is the hunter,' she responded. Mozz wasn't her real name, but it was as good as any other. Mah said she had buzzed around her like a mosquito after she had found her and nursed her out of the fever, so that's what Mah called her. Mozz. It had been so long since Mozz had heard her birth name she didn't really remember it any more. That was another person in a far-off time, dead and gone like everyone else. So, she answered to Mozz when Mah called her.

Mozz moved over to the smouldering campfire and squatted down. She threw a log into the firepit, poked it into life and then opened the dilly bag and pulled out the meat. Crouching over a flat rock she took out her knife and began to slice strips of the meat, alternating the meat with wild garlic leaves and threading them onto long skewers of lemon gum twigs to sear over the flames. She had always been an excellent cook.

With a groan, Mah came out of the humpy, crawling on her knee, dragging the other leg behind her.

'Where's my stick,' Mah crossly muttered, grasping about with a free hand until she located resting it by the humpy opening. Levering herself up on her good leg with the crutch she turned her body and face to Mozz. Mozz looked up and studied Mah, as she did every day, marvelling at the woman's survival. Mah had lost a foot to diabetes before The Fall. She had been wheelchair bound in the home and lord knows how she had escaped. Mah wouldn't say. But just as The Fall had burned The Old out of Mah, it had also scorched the diabetes from her body. It had also seared the vision from her eyes. But Mah still Saw with those sightless eyes. Nothing escaped her sight in the Now, or in the To Come.

Mah hop-hobbled over to the fire and not-watched Mozz with those dead white eyes of hers. She sniffed at the scent of scorching meat.

'Potter.' She commented. 'Good tucker.'

'Yep. A Harry.' Replied Mozz. 'No young 'un.'

'Good.' Said Mah.

'Enough for tomorrow too.' Said Mozz.

'No. Cook it all. Company's coming.'

Mozz glanced at Mah in surprize. 'Company? When? Who'd you See?'

'Maxers. Soon.' Mah chuckled. 'Cook it all, those kids are always hungry. Throw some of those spuds we dug up into the coals as well.'

Mozz snorted in disgust. 'I did not spend all morning hunting and trapping to feed a load of waste of space, wannabe road warriors who don't even who the hell that was!'

Mah laughed. 'Chill-lax Mozzie-girl. Maxer kids need our help. We'll be good neighbours. Everybody needs good neighbours!' she hummed a little tune from a long-forgotten TV show.

Mozz rolled her eyes and grumbled under her breath 'And THAT'S something I never wanted to remember,' but began to slice and skewer the rest of the meat. The meat smouldered and steamed. Mozz turned it to avoid it getting burnt. As she did so she heard the faint sound of trail bikes on the Wonga road above them.

'That'll be them. Go fetch 'em Mozzie-girl. There's Bad Things happening down there. I have Seen. These children have been brave to come.' Said Mah.

Mozz sighed. 'If I must. But watch the meat, don't let it burn,' picking up her knife, she got up and trotted up the track back to the top of the ridge.

Mozz slowed as she reached the Wonga, slipping behind burnt husks of trees and scrubby wattle to stay hidden. She peered out from the bush cover at the two young ferals on their trailbikes. Skinny and malnourished they were grubby children with greasy hair, bad skin, tribal tattoos and many ear, nose and lip piercings. A boy and girl, Moz thought, although they both had that androgynous look of young teens. Dressed in tattered cut-off jeans and scraps of badly tanned skins, neither looked older than 12 or 13. But Moz wasn't fooled by their youthful appearance, they carried nasty looking machetes strapped to their legs and she knew they would turn killer at the hint of an insult.

She watched them silently for a minute or two assessing their state of mind. They seemed agitated, but not aggressively so. Jumpy and slightly fearful. They sat on their rat-bikes and revved the engines somewhat impatiently. The exhaust smelled of moonshine and whale oil.

Mozz stepped out from behind the bush and quietly said, 'You two come to see the Mah?'

The two Maxers jumped and twitched around to face her, hands reaching for their machetes.

Mozz raised both hands up consolingly, 'Relax kids, nothing to fear here. Just old Mozz and Mah.'

The younger one, with dark blond hair, a girl, Mozz thought, sneered at her. 'Not 'fraid of YOU, Wrinkly.' Her stance and shifty eyes denied her comment, she was deathly afraid and trying not to show it. Mozz pursed her lips at the insult.

The second feral put a hand onto the girls arm to settle her, he looked at Mozz and spoke.

'Needs ta' be seeing Mah.' He grinned winningly at her showing a mouthful of chipped and broken yellow teeth.

'She knows. She Saw you both already, ' Said Mozz briefly. The boys' smile faded.

The girl glared at Mozz, hoping that by looking her fiercest she could hide her fear. 'Take us ta' 'er then,' she demanded.

Mozz looked over both of them calmly. 'Manners, children. Manners. What are your names? We always like to know with whom we are conversing.'

The girl swore under her breath, muttering about curse naming. Again, the boy calmed the girl with a touch. Looking at Mozz he said, 'I be Twig. She be Beffie. You Ol'er Mozz?'

Nodding curtly, she replied, 'Yes, I'm Older Mozz.' Mozz disliked the prefix, but the feral clans liked to make the distinction. She looked the two ragged children up and down, then gestured to them. 'Leave the bikes here and follow me.'

Mozz turned to go, ignoring the cry of protest from Beffie. As she moved into the cover of the bush she heard Twig telling Beffie to shove it, walk on and follow Mozz or else he'd belt her one. Mozz grinned to herself when she heard Beffie's colourful reply to Twig and his chances of succeeding in that threat. Mozz decided she liked Beffie.

Twig and Beffie followed behind, crashing and thumping through the bush. Mozz rolled her eyes to heaven, these two were not wood-wise. Pushing the scrabbly wattles aside Mozz led the two Maxer kids down the hidden pathway into the gully where Mah sat by the fire waiting.

'Mah, here they are,' Mozz greeted the woman.

Mah looked up from the fire where she was minding the meal. She turned her sightless eyes to the two scruffy teens and smiled a welcome. 'Hello young 'uns. Been a while since any of your tribe been to visit me. Twig is it? And Beffie?'

Beffie gave a small gasp, and Twig paled. 'How'd ya' know that?' he demanded.

Smiling up at them Mah said, 'I Saw you both in The Now when you spoke to Mozz. Don't worry young Beffie, there's no curse naming here. Nor bone pointing or death singing. Come, sit.' Mah patted a flat stone next to her.

Beffie did not look reassured, but hesitantly came and sat down cross-legged on the proffered stone.

'You too, Twig.' Commanded Mah, patting the stone on her other side. 'Let me get to know you both a bit.' Twig joined them.

'Ol'er Mah, - ' Twig began to speak, but Mah interrupted him.

'Wait, young Twig. Let us eat something first, eh? Food first, then questions and requests after. That's how it's done.' Mah beamed sightlessly at both the children. Twig glanced nervously over to Beffie who just shrugged. Food was food and you never passed up a chance to eat when you could nowadays.

'Dish up, will you please Mozz?' directed Mah. Mozz nodded back to her and proceeded to place scorched small potatoes and skewers of meat on the sheets of Stringy-bark bark that did as plates for them. She handed around the servings to the group and they all dug in.

Mozz watched both feral children carefully as they ate. Twig and Beffie scoffed down the food as if they hadn't eaten for days, which they probably hadn't. She glanced over questioningly to Mah, who looked back with her blank eyes and nodded. Mozz took the two extra meat skewers left over and dug the last few potatoes out of the coals and scooped the extra onto Twig and Beffies' bark plates. Both children looked at her with surprise and astonishment at the largesse.

'Eat,' Mozz commanded. They didn't need to be told twice and ignoring the searing heat of the spuds proceeded to cram them into their mouths.

Mah smiled with contentment at the sounds of satisfied munching and stared blindly up into the treetops. She waited until the sounds ceased and heard the two kids burp. Then she spoke.

'You've got trouble down in Franga, haven't you? I Saw sickness and a woman in pain. A child that cries. An Old bound tightly who cannot help and burns with fever.' Said Mah gently.

Beffie looked at Mah in astonishment. Twigs' jaw hung open.

'ow kin ya' know that?' asked Beffie. 'How?'

'I See.' Said Mah simply.

Twig shook his head in disbelief. 'It's Fern, Beffie's sis. She's took bad. Babby come too soon.'

'She can't feed babby, but it won't suck from old Mags.' Said Beffie. 'Dun let 'er die, Ol'er Mah, or the babby, please!'

Mozz considered. Maxer's bred early and young. They didn't live long, 25 or 30 was old to them. A lucky few lived past 40, most were dead before then. All had children not long after puberty. No doubt young Beffie here would be pregnant in a year or two. The Fall had made the likelihood of mutations high, but mankind being what it was, that didn't stop the fornicating. Without birth control girls fell pregnant often, but 3 out of 4 pregnancies resulted in spontaneous miscarriage of a deformed foetus. This caused a heavy toll among the young women. Usually the tribes celebrated and cherished a healthy, live birth. And the mother who birthed such a child.

'It's been awhile since one of your mob came to ask me for help.' commented Mah.

Twig and Beffie exchanged worried glances.

'I Saw you had an Old one,' she continued. 'Is he the one who has helped you instead of me? Why have you bound him?'

Twig looked away. Beffie bit her lip and nodded a yes. 'But he's got the fever, now.'

'You know I cannot help you if you hold an Old bound. This is the Law we agreed on after The Fall. Us Olds would help the Maxers, but only if left in peace and free. You cannot bind an Old.' Said Mah sternly.

'Jake's says The Law was only with youse two, not with Loozie!' burst out Beffie.

Twig nodded in agreement. 'Tha's right, innit? Jake said Ol'er Loozie weren't part of the 'greement.'

Mozz looked grim. 'The Law is The Law. For all The Olds. Your Jake is wrong, he should know this, every leader is taught this by the last leader before taking on the Tribe. Stoner Leader wasn't it? Didn't Stoner pass on The Law to your Jake?'

'Jake kilt Stoner.' Beffie said morosely. 'He wanted ever so bad to be Leader, couldna' wait for Stoner to decide who were next. Just kilt him and said he was Leader now.'

'When was this? And when did Jake bind this Older Loozie? asked Mah, her white eyes glinting.

Twig counted on his fingers. 'Jake kilt Stoner 3 season ago. He ketched Loozie jus' before that?' He looked to Beffie for confirmation and she nodded in agreement.

Beffie spoke, 'Jake don' care 'bout nothin or nobody else. Said he didden care if Fern and the babby should die. I think it's 'cause Fern were Stoner's lady and it his babby. Jake said Ol'er Loozie bein' sick didden matter – Ol'er Loozie was our Old and hadda fix 'er and if he couldn' she would die. An' iffen she died, Loozie would die next. Says he don want no weak ones and no useless Olds in the tribe!' She shook her head angrily.

'Ol'er Loozie is real sick, Mah, he can't help,' put in Twig. 'We run, we run here to youse. Only youse kin help.'

'Jake's gonna' be ever so pissed at us,' Beffie said defiantly.

'I see.' Said Mah. Grunting and levering up with her stick, she rose. 'You two, sleep by the fire here tonight.'

'Bu… will you help Ol'er Mah? Please?' Pleaded Beffie.

Mah stopped by the opening at the humpy and turned and looked at her. 'In the morning, young Beffie. I need to See tonight.' With that she crouched and disappeared into the bark shelter.

Twig and Beffie looked over at Mozz.

Mozz shrugged. 'In the morning, then,' she said. With the simple expedient of tossing the bark plates into the fire she 'did' the dishes. The fire sparked brightly showing the worried faces of the two youngsters.

'You two bring a swag?' she asked. Twig nodded. 'Well, fetch it and camp out here by the fire like Mah said.'

Twig rustled off through the bush back to the bikes to fetch their bedrolls. Mozz looked at Beffie with sympathy. 'Don't worry child. Mah needs to See and then Think on what she Sees. She said to stay the night, that means she'll do what she can.' Beffie looked dubious but nodded her head.

When Twig returned Mozz helped the pair arrange their swags by the fire, showed them where the pit latrine was located and watched them bed down. Once they were settled she snagged her old woollen blanket from just inside the humpy door, wrapped it around herself, placed her knife within easy reach and settled down to sleep in her usual position guarding the entrance of the humpy opening.

By the dying embers of the fire she could see the two young Maxers and listened to the soft murmur of their conversation. Twig was reassuring Beffie and cuddled close to her. Mozz smiled to herself to hear them. Those two were a sweet couple under all the dirt, tattoos and piercings. Just a couple of young kids still. Faint memories stirred in Mozz's head.

Mozz wrapped the blanket around her shoulders tighter, shutting out the thoughts. From inside the humpy she could faintly hear Mah quietly chanting herself into a Dreamtime Trance to bring on Seeing of The Now and The To Come.

…..

Mozz woke with a start to raucous laugher of a nearby kookaburra. The sun rose in the east, burning green and gold. Mozz watched it come up. She had sat most of the night outside the humpy, dozing now and then, watching and listening to Mah chant. She didn't seem to sleep much anymore but felt rested all the same after a night under the stars. It had been late when Mah had stopped singing in the Now and Then.

Mozz glanced over at the two sleeping feral children that were curled up together to keep warm. A rare tender look crossed her face. Thoughts of her own long dead children flickered through her head again. She shook head angrily to shake off the tears threatening to start. No good crying. Not anymore.

Mozz heard Mah beginning to rustle about in the humpy. She stood up and stretched the kinks out of her back. Then after folding up the old army blanket she reached over and tossed a log onto the smouldering fire.

Mah stuck her head out of the humpy and grunted, 'Them kids up yet?'

'Not yet,' confirmed Mozz.

Mah tossed Mozz a small canvas sack. 'Make up some damper then, the smell o' food will wake them quick smart.'

Mozz looked at Mah sourly. 'You know that's the last bit of wattle flour left. No more until next season.'

Mah just grinned at Mozz and nodded. 'Yep.'

True to Mah's prediction, the smell of baking damper woke Twig and Beffie. Both tweens stretched and gaped, then one after the other disappeared to the 'necessary'. As each returned Mozz handed them a steaming hot roll of the bush bread. As with last night's meal, they made short work of the food. When they had finished both looked over anxiously at Mozz who shrugged back at them.

Beffie spoke up first, 'Ol'er Mah…' she began.

Mah interrupted her. 'Seeing the Now is easiest, young Beffie. Last night I Saw your sister Fern and the baby. Both live still.' Beffie gave a gasping sigh of relief.

'But,' continued Mah, 'Seeing the To Come is not so easy. There are many different branches and twists and turns. What we do, what others do as a result changes the To Come. I Saw many turns, but the clearest follows a dangerous path and Death stalks your tribe. It comes on the breath of a Wind.'

Mah continued speaking with a voice of prophesy, 'Twig must pull down the Wrong and restore the Right and the Tribe will be saved from the Wind. Beffie must cure the mother and the child will save Twig from the Knife of the Vengeful.' Mah turned her sightless eyes to Mozz and spoke directly to her, 'You, Dearest, must release the Older and restore the Lost and regain the World.'

Twig and Beffie both looked confused. Mozz sympathised with them. When Mah talked Dream Speak it seldom seemed to make sense at the time of the telling.

'Well that's all a bit cryptic, Mah.' Grumbled Mozz.

Mah shrugged. 'I See what I See. It doesn't come with a manual.' She reached behind her into the humpy and pulled out an old canvas backpack and handed it to Mozz. 'All I know is that you must go, Mozz, help the Older. And Twig and Beffie must return and make things right in the Tribe. The Wind is coming, and all there will die if they do not.'

Beffie scowled. 'We comes to ya' fer help and alls we gets is mumbo-jumbo!' She angrily got up and began to roll up her bedroll. 'C'mon Twig. We're outa here.'

'Beffie!' barked Mah. Beffie jumped and looked back over to the old woman. 'Here, come here.' Ordered Mah.

Sullenly Beffie returned to Mah. Mah reached up and pawed the air seeking Beffie's hand. Beffie reluctantly grasped Mah's searching hand.

'Your sister Fern will be all right, Child.' Reassured Mah in a gentler tone. 'She is worn out and tired from the birth and sad from the loss of her man. Here,' and Mah handed her a small packet of powdered and dried meat preserved in herbs, 'Soak a small handful of this in hot water, make her drink it three times a day until it is gone. Wash her with water steeped in rosemary and eucalyptus. Keep her warm. She will recover.'

'And the babby?' asked Beffie plaintively.

Mah smiled gently, 'Find the nanny-goat. There's one caught in the vines down near the old Winery.'

Beffie looked at Mah considering, then reached forward and gave her a swift hug. 'Ta' muchly Ol'er Mah!'

'Go well, Brave Child,' murmured Mah into Beffie's ear.

Twig looked askance at the older women, unsure how to proceed, then blurted out, 'Jack 'll kill us all.'

'I haven't Seen your Death yet, young Twig. Go, you'll figure it out.' Mah directed.

Mozz sighed 'We'd best get going then.' She checked her knife was in its' sheath and tucked it into her the side of her old boot, hidden. Grabbing her sleeping blanket, she stuffed that into the backpack, noting as she did that Mozz had packed it with her old water flask, some dried possum meat, a variety of bush remedies' and a few long out of date pharmaceuticals.

Leaning down she briefly touched Mah's shoulder. 'Stay safe Older Mah.'

Mah patted Mozz's hand, 'Mind how you go, Dear One. That Jake is a bad 'un. Come back to me soon. I Know you will.'

….

Mozz looked askance at the dirty trail bikes. Twig had suggested she ride pillion behind him.

'No,' she said determinedly. 'I don't think I will take you up on the offer, Twig. But thank you.'

'ow you 'specting to keep up wif' us then?' asked Beffie.

'Oh, I think I can give you a good run for your money. And I do mean run. It's only 30k or so.' She replied.

Beffie scowled.

'Never mind,' said Mozz, 'I'll race you both down the hill to the old winery.' And with that she set off on a quick jog trot cross country through the bushes, fast leaving the two on their trail bikes behind.

'Sheet'. Swore Twig and he gunned the motor sending out a suffocating blech of tarry black smoke.

Mozz ran down the hill, dodging trees and leaping wombat holes. She fairly flew down the hill. Behind her she could hear the rasping engine noise as the two bikers tried to catch her. In this broken scrubland she had the advantage. She could weave around and through obstacles where the trail bikes had to take more care. Plus, she knew the fastest way down the hill and the feral children did not. They had to resort to taking the old road for most of the way.

Taking every short-cut she knew, she turned into the old winery drive a good 5 minutes ahead of the bikers. Stopping to catch breath she took a deep drink of her water bottle. She scanned the area and heard a faint bleating coming from the twisted overgrown vineyard. Mozz peered into the tangle and saw a young nanny goat tangled in the vines. She turned at Twig and Beffie's hallooing as they bounced down the road way to join her.

Twig grinned at her a he skidded to a stop in front of her in a cloud of dust. 'Not bad for an Old 'un.' He approved.

'Cheeky,' Mozz responded with a smile. She nodded her head in the direction of the goat, 'there's your pillion passenger.'

'Sweet,' said Beffie. She swung off her bike and walked over to the mass of vines. She pushed aside some canes and peered in.

'Careful there,' warned Mozz, 'she looks pretty vicious. I can't see her kid anywhere. Dingo must have got it and she ran in here to escape it.'

It took them an hour or more to work out how to rescue the goat while avoiding it's biting teeth and slashing hooves. But eventually the nanny was securely trussed up and slung over the back of Twig's seat.

'You're going to have to keep her pretty trussed up while you milk her. At least until she tames down a bit.' Mozz said to Beffie. Beffie looked askance at the goat. It didn't look friendly nor likely to be so anytime soon.

'But before we go on, we need a plan of action, something to keep that Jack from killing us all as soon as he sees us,' continued Mozz. 'I've got an idea,' and she proceeded to tell them.

'Good 'un.' Twig nodded back at her. 'That'll work right good I reckon.' Beffie agreed.

'Right then, off we go. You two take it easy on those bikes. Shake that goat up too much and you'll end up with cheese, not milk.'

'No fear.' Responded Twig with a grin.

…

It was late afternoon when the trio arrived at the feral's campground on the high ground outskirts of what had been Frankston, now called 'Franga' by the Maxers. The fires had miraculously skirted a sporting ground and the Maxers had claimed it as their territory. It was a raggle-taggle affair of beaten up old caravans, dusty tents and shaky lean-to's. Around the campground was a defensive wall of sorts made up of boulders, dead trees and rusty barbed wire. A pair of sentries posted at the top of a look-out peered out at them.

Twig and Beffie were riding their trail bikes side by side at a quick jogging place. Between them both jogged Mozz, her hands held in front of her loosely tied with a rope, and around her neck was another rope carefully being held by Beffie.

They stopped just outside the perimeter of the campground and Beffie gave Mozz's neck rope a bit of a tug for dramatic effect. 'OY!' she called out. 'You lot! Tell Jake Leader we's come back!'

A skanky looking teen stared at them from atop the makeshift wall.

'Beffie? That you? An' Twigs?' he called. 'Jake ain't half pissed at you two!'

'Yeah, well we come to make it right. Brought him a bit of a pressie here.' Beffie the rope another tug. Mozz growled gently under her breath, 'Careful, not so realistic.'

'Wait 'ere, I'll get 'im fer you and hopes you won't be sorry fer it!' The lookout disappeared behind the wall.

Impatiently they waited on Jake. The trail bike's engines softly ticked and tinged as they cooled down. The nanny goat bleated miserably now and again, not happy at all at her fate. Mozz stood impassively trying to convince herself that this was a good idea.

A makeshift gate at the front of the wall scraped open. A stringy young man in his late teens sauntered out. He wore no shirt, just a badly tanned possum skin about his hips. A broken nose and battered face gave evidence of many fights. His head was shaved bald revealing a kaleidoscope of tattoos on his skull that blended and joined the ink displayed across his chest. He grinned evilly at them, revealing a set of broken and battered teeth. Mozz felt an ice block of fear in her stomach. This was one nasty piece of work.

'Well, well, looky-looky 'ere at what's come a slinkin' back. Bugger me.' Jake snarled.

'Wotcha' Jake.' Said Twig flatly earning a glare from Jake.

Jake swivelled his head to look at Beffie. 'Beffie, me little luv. Ya' shouldna' run like that. Poor ol' Fern's been greivin' somethin' fierce.'

He smiled again, nothing friendly in it. 'Where's me sister, where's me little Beffie' he whined in imitation. Then, quick as anything he flashed out and struck her a back handed blow across her face.

Twig froze, seething inside but making no move. Jack looked at him and grinned, assessing.

Beffie's head rocked back, but she did not fall. 'Jake.' Said Beffie impassively. 'Sorry Jake.' She spat some blood then gave the rope a tug. 'Kin we come back in? We ketched you this Ol'er here.'

Jake's attention turned to Mozz. 'A pressie! Youse brung me a pressie!' Jake pushed his face up close into Mozz's and whispered into her face. 'An Ol'er! Which Ol'er be you?'

Mozz stopped breathing, Jake's breath was something foul. 'Mozz.' She choked out.

Jake flung his head back and roared with laughter. 'Mozz! You brought me the Mozzie! Sweet lil' Beffie and Twiggy boy done good!'

'The Law,' gasped Mozz. 'You cannot…'

Jake stuck his face once more into Mozz's and sneered, 'Bugger the Law. And bugger you Ol'ers.'

The nanny goat bleated miserably behind Twig. Jake peered around in amazement at it. 'Woz this 'ere fer? Brung me dinner as well, eh?'

'For Fern! Milk fer Fern's babby. Please Jake!' insisted Beffie.

Jake considered. He knew he couldn't afford to lose the child or the woman. Normal children were rare and there were too few breeders left as it was. He looked at Mozz once more, an evil smile creasing his misshapen face. 'Well, I reckon I kin be gen'rous jus' this once Beffie girl. I kin eat that goat anytime. After all, ya' brung me the Moz…' he leered at Beffie '…an' mebbe you kin show me jus' how grateful-like you are. Later.'

Beffie shuddered. Twig gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. But Jake didn't notice as he grabbed the rope leash from Beffie's hands and gave it a fierce tug. Mozz staggered and almost lost balance.

'Come in lil' chickies, come in!' Jake commanded making clucking noises. Turning he strode back into the compound dragging Mozz behind him. Beffie and Twig followed, walking the trail bikes in. Jake strutted back into camp, calling out to all the other Maxers to come see 'the special Prezzie what Mozz and Twig had brought him'. Strolling through the centre of the campground he stopped at a large dusty clearing – the footy oval – and exhibited Mozz to an excited gathering of feral Maxers.

'Looky here, looky-look at wha' I got!' Jake crowed. He gave Mozz's leash another tug, forcing her down onto her knees in the dirt, her head bowed. Jake grasped the hair at the back of her neck and viciously yanked down, so she had to raise her head. Eyes swimming with pain she looked back at the crowd of ferals. Many were jeering at her, spitting and raising their fists, but just as many drew back fearfully when she caught their eye.

'Told youse, told youse all. Ain't nuthin' special 'bout an Ol'er. No fear here.' He gave Mozz a violent shove, so she sprawled in the dirt. Jack spat at her.

'Looky-look Ol'er Mozz. You see all me mates here?' Jake spread an arm out to encompass a crowd. 'You Ol'ers are gone, we's the Now. Dun need ya', dun wan' ya' abouts no more.' He kicked a bit of dirt into Mozz's face. 'Ya's lived too long. An ifen ya's wan' ta keep livin', ya does as I says.'

Looking to two of his henchmen standing close by, he ordered, 'Take 'er ta' the cage wid that mad Ol'er Loozie.' Then, turning to Beffie and Twig he looked them both up and down, menacingly. 'Beffie, go see ta yer sister. Stop that babby sqwacking or I'll do it for ya.'

He threw an arm around Twigs shoulder and gave him a heavy squeeze, saying, 'An Twigs? dun go far, we needs a little chat. I needs a lil' drink ta' think on what ta' do with youse. A little reward, like.'

Releasing Twigs and puffing out his chest, he raised his arms and strode back through the crowd of ferals who cheered him on.

'Prat.' Muttered Twig. But quietly so none heard. He turned to help Beffie with the goat. Keeping his eyes down he said softly, 'Ya' okay?'

'Yah' whispered Beffie through a split lip. She jerked her head in the direction of Mozz being manhandled and lead off by the two cronies. 'Hope she is too.'

….

Mozz was roughly dragged to her feet, her backpack ripped off. One of the goons opened the pack and poked and prodded through it. Finding nothing of interest to him in it he tossed it back to her. He gave her a quick pat down but didn't bother checking her boots. Each man then grabbed an arm and frogmarched her through the camp.

As she was half dragged, half pulled through the camp Mozz darted her eyes around, taking note of the sorry state of the people living there. Filth and despair reigned here. She wondered how any of them managed to have survive this long in such conditions.

They dragged her to the far end of the dusty oval, where in full sun, a cage sat. It was constructed of old iron piping held together with wire and rope. A makeshift door of bars was padlocked with a chain. One of the thugs released her arm and dug about in a dilly bag tied to his waist for a key and opened the lock. The second thug untied her hands and took the rope off from around her neck. The pair of them flung her into the cage and locked the door behind her.

Mozz fell heavily into the dirt.

'There ya' go luv,' chortled the first, ''ave a lovely little chat with crazy Ol'er Loozie there.' And they strode off laughing.

Mozz sat up and looked around the cage. It was securely put together, despite its ramshackle look. No shade in the burning sun. Mozz was glad it was nearly sunset. A bucket made of stringy bark filled with scummy water sat in one corner. In the other corner sat a duplicate bucket, covered with a piece of bark and emitting a noxious odour. And there, in the furthest corner, sat something that looked like it might be a man covered in a filthy blanket.

Struggling to her feet, Mozz staggered over to the creature and crouched down beside him. Gently she pulled off the blanket and reached over and turned the man's bearded face toward her. He groaned and opened a pair of bleary blue eyes to stare at her in shock and recognition.

'Jean?' he croaked. 'I have waited so long for you.' His eyes rolled back in his head and he passed out.

Mozz rocked back on her heels. At the sound of her One True Name, a cascading waterfall of memories rushed through her head. Tears sprang in Mozz's eyes as she looked at the man laid on the ground.

In disbelief she reached out to him and spoke his name.

'Lucien?'

…..

Okay - I have been working on this one for a few weeks and I admit it came from nowhere sane and is quite bizarre. Let me know if I should continue... Wild