Paul Collins - Earthborn The

They followed the map north and were glad the landscape finally leveled out east of Melbourne. They had some miles of climbing to do now, but it marked, at least in their minds, the real beginning of their trip. They were no longer in family territory.

The sun made an appearance, dispelling any fears that it might rain, despite the dark clouds overhead.

"You could easily get lost out here," Zocky said. Her quick smile indicated it was only a thought and not to be taken seriously.

"Not if we follow the map." Elab's voice was firm. "We know Melbourne's over there," he said, pointing west. "Basically all we need do now is go forward."

"And we keep going until there's nowhere else to go," Lars said.

"That's what you volunteered for," Elab reminded him. He scanned the others for further comment.

No one responded.

As they set off, Elab fell into silent melancholy, wondering why he had volunteered for this expedition.

If the Skyborn renegades had fled Colony, there was no telling where they had gone. Why, if they'd had enough fuel and supplies, they could have left the continent altogether.

What then? No one had the desire to cross a sea in the kind offlimsy ships their present level of technology could produce. It was going to be bad enough rafting white waters if the Yarra was overflowing.

Elab had pulled in the flanking scouts and brought Devan up from the rear; in this terrain it would be easy to lose contact with one another. They followed long forgotten roads where possible and left them only when they deviated from their chosen course. Quite often they came upon the same road some hours later after having hacked through a mile of bushland. It made Elab wish fervently that they'd had street directories as well.

It was well into late afternoon when Lars, who had gone on ahead, came crashing back through the dense bracken. It was so sudden that Zocky and Elab instinctively strung their bows and reached for their arrows.

"There's a settlement down there!"

"So there's a settlement," Harry said, sighing heavily. "Ohmistars, Lars, you almost gave us heart failure, rushing back like that."

Lars straightened up. "So why don't you lead the way, Harry?"

Harry shrugged. "Will if you like. But don't expect me to get all excited about finding a family. Bound to be heaps about."

"Not like this one," Lars said. He gestured back the way he'd come. "Go see for yourself."

The settlement was a haphazard affair of tiny shacks built into the slope. Their corrugated iron roofs

were specked with rust against the yellow clay background. There were about eight of the dwellings, varying in size, mostly made from rough-hewn wood and bark. There was little sign of agriculture and nothing to indicate human presence.

"Don't see anything too odd about it," Harry said. He sought confirmation from the others. "Can't see anyone. That's not too strange."

"They're not hiding," Lars said somberly. He pointed to the left of the largest building.

Harry's right eye twitched as it normally did when he was nervous. He wrinkled his nose. The air was laden with a smell he couldn't place. And deathly quiet as though nature itself had fled. He wished Lars would stop his game and tell them what he'd seen.

Zocky was the first to respond. "Bodies?" Her skin goose-pimpled.

"There're a dozen of them," Devan said uneasily. He moved forward like an automaton. "Everyone's been killed."

"Maybe not everyone," Elab warned. He alone remained calm. "Keep it down. Whoever did this might still be around." He pushed Devan to the left and Harry to the right. They responded sluggishly to his command, then slowly took up their battle positions. Zocky nodded in reply to Elab's silent order to tail them.

Elab and Lars moved down the slope. The hair on Elab's arms and head bristled. He had the distinct and unpleasant feeling that he was walking to his death.

Using the guard's key, Welkin unlocked the gate of Bruick's fortress from outside. Fortunately for Patrick, he hesitated a split second before thrusting his knife toward the three emerging figures. Patrick spun back and bumped into Mira, who seemed to be supporting the third figure.

"Gillian?" cried Welkin. She had on oilskins identical to the sentries and looked deathly pale. Even with poor visibility Welkin could see the bruises on her face and caked blood around her lips. "What have they done to you?"

"There's nay time for talk," Patrick said urgently. He'd recognized the Skyborn immediately. But already a dog was yapping intermittently above the thrumming downpour.

Welkin stepped forward and took over from Mira. Gillian collapsed against him as he supported her full weight. He bent down and lifted her with both arms. He nodded for Patrick and Mira to get going.

They paused and locked the gate behind them. The jabbers would no doubt have a spare key, but it should hold them for a bit. No one moved about much in the rain unless he absolutely had to.

Patrick spent precious moments locating their weapons while the rain increased in force.

It was little comfort to Welkin that the rain had lost some of its toxicity over the years. The Skyborn had estimated that it would take at least fifty years from the time of the global war for the water tobecome pure again—at the present time it was only just drinkable.

By the time they had traveled a mile from the Stockade, the rain had dwindled to a light shower.

Gillian's aching limbs tortured her. The pain was almost unbearable, but she knew they could not stop.

They needed to get across the bridge farther north. That's where Sarah's family usually posted its outlying sentries.

They reached the Kerry River by first light the next morning. To Gillian's surprise the old railway tracks were still intact. It seemed that no one had attempted to sabotage the ancient bridge, probably because all sides needed to have access to it. Still, the way things were going, it was hard to predict who would do what anymore.

They crossed the tracks in the slackening drizzle. The rusted rails and sleepers were slippery, and Welkin reminded them not to look down. The Kerry River rumbled beneath them. Rocks like jagged teeth appeared stark against the white waters as they fled the Dan-denongs.

Patrick and Mira argued that they should live off the land for however long it took Bruick and his party to come back this way.

"I've been trying to live off the land for the last two days," Welkin said wearily. "There's not much sustenance to be had."

"The devil take the food," Mira spat. "We'll ambush him and get plenty of supplies!"

"That's ridiculous," Welkin said. He looked at Mira inquiringly. "You're serious, aren't you?"

Mira nodded tersely.

"I can't go on indefinitely without a rest," Gillian said. She was already staggering and was only too well aware that she was shifting more weight on to Welkin. She felt the world was spiraling in crazy circles.

"Patrick, maybe we should wait alone?" Mira said. She clutched at his arm. "Hit and run. The Stockaders would never catch us."

Patrick shook his head. "Welkin's right. There's nay telling when Bruick'll come back this way." He shook his head dispiritedly. "Our chance will come again, lass."

Mira pulled her hand back and glared at the three of them. Welkin suspected that the poor woman had been emotionally disturbed by something that had happened to her.

"So be it, then." She swung around, but before leading off she said, "I'll be back for him. Make no doubt about that."

The four left the tracks as soon as they reached firm ground. They were totally exhausted by the time they made it back and rested for two days before facing the Committee. Gillian felt ashamed at having failed in her mission to kill Bruick.