Ellie's Heroes

by Technomad

Chapter 5

Homer and I rode toward Wirrawee on our dirt bikes, as it got darker. The rain that was falling suited us perfectly; we had a good excuse to wear our rain cloaks, which disguised us very well. As long as we kept our hoods up and our heads down, we looked enough like enemy soldiers to pass, at least at first glance. And we weren't wearing enemy uniforms; that's a one-way ticket to a firing squad. Not that we didn't already have those, but with our false I.D.s, we at least had a chance of being taken as normal POWs upon capture. Under our cloaks, we had shoulder bags that let us carry cargo without interfering with our riding or, if necessary, shooting.

We knew Wirrawee more than well enough to know where a good place to stash the bikes was, and we left them there, in a clump of trees near the cemetery. By this time, it was nearly full dark and the rain was coming down hard. The streets were nearly deserted, and fairly dark; the RNZAF had hit the power station that fed Wirrawee a few times, and the street lights were either off, or dim.

Instead of sneaking around like a couple of gunpowder plotters, we walked down the sidewalk as though we had every right to be there. A couple of times, we were seen…but the patrols paid us no mind whatsoever. They were expecting to see their own soldiers, so when they saw us, in cloaks almost exactly like what their lot wore, they wrote us off as their own. That suited me just fine. We had pistols, and I had a compact, suppressed submachinegun, but I was not at all keen on a firefight. Homer might have been…the mad fool…but for this little trip, I'd very firmly kept the submachinegun in my own possession. Homer was a great guy, but giving him a loaded submachinegun struck me as just begging for disasters.

Our first stop was the Wirrawee Library. As I'd thought, nobody had bothered it; it was closed and locked, but that was no problem. The building was by no means a burglar-proof masterpiece, and once we were sure we were unobserved, Homer opened the door with one quick application of his size-12 lockpick…the one at the end of his leg. One thing I like about men is their muscle; life would be much harder for us women without having guys around to take on the heavier chores.

Once inside, we were able to use our pocket torches; the curtains were drawn. It was dusty and musty, since no-one had been inside since just before the invasion, and the roof had leaked here and there. I knew my way about better than Homer (no big surprise there; the big tosser only ever read a book when he was sure there were smutty bits in it) so I knew where to go.

Sure enough, I found a couple of books about the city of Monmouth and the surrounding area. That gave me an idea, and I went and looked in the maps. To my delight, I found a couple of large-scale, detailed maps of the City of Monmouth, which I promptly put into my carry bag, along with the books.

Meanwhile, Homer was keeping a watch on the outside, through a small gap in the curtains. At one point, he murmured: "Torches off, Ellie," and I flicked mine off, just as I heard a sound that chilled my blood. Outside, the rhythmic crunch of enemy soldiers' boots in the gravel sounded very loud indeed. Nearly as loud as my heart beating. Homer and I looked at each other, eyes wide, as the soldiers went on past. If they'd looked closely at the building, we'd have been busted; the door showed signs of our forced entry. However, either they weren't too observant, thanks to that blessed rain and darkness, or they wrote off the damage we'd done as having been done by their own lot.

When they were gone, I let go of the breath I hadn't been consciously holding, and took my hand off the butt of that submachinegun. If they'd come in, the only thing for us to have done would have been to fight, and fight hard. They'd have been silhouetted against the slightly-brighter light outside, which would give us something to aim for. Of course, although the submachinegun was equipped with a sound-suppressor, our pistols weren't…and the sounds of shooting would have probably attracted more attention of the sort we did not want.

We crept on out, leaving the door closed behind us. Even though the poor library had been neglected, I hoped that someone'd be along to repair things. I just hate to see things go to waste. When I see waste, it's like I have my Dad beside me, telling me about how much money's down the drain, how much work went into whatever's been thrown away, and on and on. At the time I got those lectures, I rolled my eyes in impatience…but by that time, I'd have given anything (yes, even that) to have Dad there to lecture me again. I wondered, sometimes, what he'd think of all I'd done since the invasion. Part of him would be horrified…but I knew that part of him would be absolutely puffed-up with pride.

Back on the streets, the rain was coming down, hard and steady. With the street lights in such bad shape, finding a place to confer out of the light was no problem at all. Homer and I stopped in an overgrown front garden for a few minutes, to plan out what to do next.

"Let's see what's up at the chemist's," I suggested. "We need things from there." Homer nodded. No doubt he was thinking about condoms…but so was I. It had been a while since Lee and I had last made love, and I was thinking that would be a very nice thing to do. I didn't expect to find real important drugs at the chemist's shop…if for no other reason, the invaders would have sequestered those to keep their own soldiers' sticky fingers off of them…but condoms, aspirins, and other over-the-counter remedies might well still be there.

The walk to the chemist's took about twenty minutes, and for a while, I could almost forget about the invasion. Homer, miraculously, wasn't clowning around at all, and we walked in companionable silence. I would never want to be Homer's girlfriend…Fi is more than welcome to him; I know him all too well…but it was nice just being out for a walk with a strong, attractive guy. Even the rain couldn't dampen my good mood. I welcomed it, if only because it made encounters with enemy soldiers less likely.

Homer liked it too. "This lot'll do the crops a lot of good," he commented at one point. He looked at me, and I wondered if the wet on his face was all from the rain. "I guess I'm a real rural, aren't I? When we were in Kiwiland, I kept thinking about how nice their farms and stations looked, and thinking about how I might run them if I were given one."

Homer opening up this way, particularly to a girl, was something I'd never thought I'd see. Not wanting to spoil the moment, I just said: "Yeah, I know what you mean. The terrain was different. I'm not sure whether our methods would work well there, but I'd love to spend some time there and really compare things. They might have a few tricks we could use." I giggled. "Remember that one cockie we met…the one with the crazy black-and-white dog? What was his name…oh, yeah, Wal!"

"Yeah, that was it! His best mate was a character, too! I never thought I'd see a cockie hippie, but Mr. Windgrass managed to be one!" Homer chuckled low in his throat. "I did like what he did with those Clydesdales. Not that I'd ever give up my tractor…but the horses do tear up the ground less."

We'd become so interested in talking shop that we almost missed an enemy patrol. Luckily, the other side had no idea we were even in the vicinity, and were huddled on someone's front porch, passing a cigarette around. We heard them talking to each other just in time, and shut up quickly, walking on past as though we were in friendly territory. The others didn't say much to us; I think they were just glad that we weren't their sergeant. It was a good job for them that I wasn't their sergeant; I'd have had them up on a fizzer for bludging the way they were. As it was, I was glad to see them being a bunch of idle scroungers.

At the chemist's shop, we had to be careful. It was in the high street area, and the street lights were on there more than in the residential areas. More than once, we had to casually wander down an alley as an enemy patrol drove past. I took note of the vehicles they used; they'd lifted whatever they could find, which told me that the enemy's logistics weren't all they could be. We'd heard, while in New Zealand, that our little expedition to Cobbler's Bay had ended up rendering the harbour facilities all but unusable.

Finally, we saw our chance. Somebody had already been at the back door of the chemist's, and whoever had been tasked to repair it had done a crap job. My dad would have had an eppy if he'd seen such poor work done on our station, and whatever jackaroo did it would have been out of a job. Me, I was delighted. We fiddled the cheap lock they'd put on, and were in.

Sure enough, the real important drugs were all gone. There were still bottles of aspirin and the like, though, and we loaded up on those, as well as band-aids, tampons, basic first-aid supplies, mercurochrome, and other things we needed. We had supplies already, but could always use more. Depriving the enemy of anything they could use was also a good idea, particularly if they weren't well-found for such things.

Homer found the condom display, and looted it very efficiently, stuffing them into his bag as fast as he could. I smiled to myself. Even in the middle of a war, teenage guys were teenage guys. When he was done there, he took the stuff I couldn't fit into my own bag, and we managed to strip that chemist's shop of anything useful.

Once we were done (we'd had to stop and freeze once, as an enemy patrol went by outside; luckily, the street lights from outside gave us enough light to see by, so we hadn't been using our torches) we waited our opportunity and slipped out the back. I wondered what Dad and Mum would have said, to see their little girl acting like an experienced burglar and thief.

Carefully keeping to shadowy areas without looking like we were sneaking about, we headed on out of town. I did not want to get into a gunfight. Ideally, I wanted the other side to have no notion that we were within miles of Wirrawee. For once, Homer agreed with me on that subject. Although I wanted desperately to run and run until we got to where our bikes were stashed, I forced myself to walk along sedately, acting as much as possible like a normal person out for an evening's walk.

At one point, we were lit up by a vehicle's headlights, and froze; I grabbed for my submachinegun instinctively, before I realized that it was just a passing truck, and they were paying no attention to us. From the back, I heard snatches of drunken song, and figured that they were out on leave and partying it up. I had a pang for a second, thinking about poor Chris.

Finally, we got to the cemetery. Just as we passed in under the trees, we heard a siren going off in the town, and could see lights going on and trucks roaring up and down the streets. "Oh, bugger, the fat's in the fire," Homer muttered. "We'd best lay low here in the graveyard until things quiet down."

I had to agree with him. The dirt bikes weren't the quietest form of transportation ever invented, and if the alarm had gone up about us, they'd likely spot us speeding out of town. The invaders seemed to be a bit superstitous about cemeteries, though, so hiding in this one would be about as good a plan as any until they calmed down.

We moved on in deep, under the sheltering yew trees. It was actually pretty peaceful there, I thought. My family had been buried here since we came to Australia, and I felt close to my departed kin when I came to that place. It was like they were around me, protecting me.

Just as I was relaxing, I heard Homer gasp. "Oh, Ellie…I wish we hadn't come here!" That startled me; Homer was always up for anything, particularly devilment. So far that evening, he had struck me as having a fine time. I went over to see what was upsetting him so.

He pointed to a metal grave marker. It was the sort of cheap thing that the funeral homes use before someone gets a real stone. I'd seen those before, and this was on a fairly fresh grave. That was par for the course. I leaned closer to see what was on the marker.

CORRIE MACKENZIE

All of a sudden I felt sick and shaky. My best friend, my best mate in all the world…and there she lay, dead. I'd never get to talk with her, never carry out all the plans we'd had together, never let her be an aunt to my kids or be an aunt to hers. I hadn't even told her goodbye when I saw her last, at the hospital. I felt a gigantic bubble of grief building up inside of me, and I drew in my breath for a howl of anguish.

Homer saved me. He clapped his hand over my mouth and held it until I had calmed down at least enough to stay quiet. I felt my legs giving way under me, and I started weeping passionately, and Homer…Homer Yannos, the poster boy for Insensitive Men…not only didn't make even a little fun of me, but held me and murmured soothingly, telling me that it was all right to cry, that it was okay, that he was sad too.

When I finally stopped crying, I stumbled over to a nearby bench and sat down, feeling like a puppet whose strings had been cut. As I sat there, I felt my grief being replaced. Instead of grief, I felt such hatred as I'd never have been able to imagine, before the war.

END Chapter 05