As he talked, Homer had been nervously scanning the road. Now he stood. ‘I’m really spooked about that helicopter. Let’s get out right now, and save the looting till tonight. I’ll meet you at the shearing shed. We’ll have to take all the bikes. We need them.’
He picked up the rifle and glanced at Corrie, raising his thick brown eyebrows. She hesitated, then murmured ‘You do it’. She came with us as Homer went off alone, to the trees at the end of the house paddock, where the cow was standing restlessly. The shot came a few minutes later, as we jogged up to the shearers’ quarters. Corrie wiped her eyes with her left hand. The other one was holding Kevin’s hand. I patted her back, feeling inadequate. I knew how she felt. You do get attached to your milkers. I’d seen Dad shoot working dogs that were too old, kangaroos that were trapped in fences and too weak to get up, sheep that were a glut on the market. I knew Millie’s days were numbered. But we’d never shot a milker.
‘I hope Mum and Dad don’t mind us doing these things,’ Corrie sniffed.
‘They’d have minded if you’d broken that statue,’ I said, trying to cheer her up.
‘Lucky I play first base,’ Kevin said.
We got to the shearers’ quarters, where Homer joined us a couple of minutes later. He was just in time. It was maybe ninety seconds after that when a black jet, fast and lethal, came in low from the west. It sounded like every dentist’s drill I’d ever heard, magnified a thousand times. We watched from the little windows of a shearer’s bedroom, too fascinated and afraid to move. There was something sinister about it, something diabolical. It flew with a sense of purpose, deliberate and cold-blooded. As it crossed the road it seemed to pause a little, give a slight shudder. From under each wing flew two little darts, two horrible black things that grew as they approached us. They were coming terribly fast. Corrie gave a cry that I’ll never forget, like a wounded bird. One rocket hit the house, and one was all it took. The house came apart in slow motion. It seemed to hang there in the air, as though it were the kit of a house, a Lego set, about to be assembled. Then a huge orange flower began to bloom within the house. It grew very quickly, until there was no more room for it and it had to push the pieces of house out of the way, to give it room to flower. And suddenly everything exploded. Bricks, wood, galvanised iron, glass, furniture, the sharp orange petals of the flower, all erupting in every direction, till the house was spread all over the paddock, hanging from trees, clinging to fences, lying on the ground. Where the house had stood was now black: no flames, just smoke rising slowly from the foundations. The noise of it rolled across the paddocks like thunder, echoing away into the hills. Bits of debris rattled on the shearers’ roof like hail. I couldn’t believe how long they kept falling, and after that, after the rattling of the heavy fragments was starting to fade, how long the soft snowflakes took to float down: the pieces of paper, the bits of material, the fragments of fibro, gently and peacefully scattering across the countryside.
The second rocket slammed into the hillside behind the house. I’m not sure if it was meant for the shearing sheds or not. It didn’t miss us by much. It hit the hill so hard the whole range seemed to quiver; there was a pause, then the explosion, and a moment later a whole section of the hill just fell away.
The jet turned steeply and did a circuit above the river paddock, so they could watch and enjoy the show I suppose. Then it turned again and accelerated into the distance, back to its foul lair.
Corrie was on the floor, hiccupping, and thrashing around like a fish on a line. Her pupils had rolled back so far into her head that you couldn’t see them any more. Nothing would calm her. We became frightened. Homer ran and got a bucket of water. We splashed some in her face. It seemed to calm her a bit. I picked up the whole bucket and tipped the water over her head. She stopped hiccupping and just sobbed, her head on her knees, her hands clasped around her ankles, water dripping off her. We dried her and hugged her, but it was hours before she calmed enough even to look at us. We just had to stay there and wait, hoping the planes would not come back, hoping they would not send soldiers in trucks. Corrie would not move, and we could not move until she did.
Chapter Ten
With the coming of night Corrie seemed to regather some reason, to be able to understand and to whisper back to us. Her voice was lifeless though, and when we got her up and walking she moved like an old lady. We had her wrapped in blankets from the shearers’ beds and we knew that we would never get her on a bike. So at dusk Homer and Kevin took the Toyota and drove to Kevin’s, bringing back the Ford and the Toyota. Homer still thought it important to leave the Toyota at Corrie’s, to make it look as though we hadn’t used it. He was hoping that they’d think we were blown up in the house. ‘After all, they may not even be sure that anyone was here,’ he argued. ‘They may have just seen a movement in the house, or Flip might have made them suspicious.’
Homer had an ability to put himself into the minds of the soldiers, to think their thoughts and to see through their eyes. Imagination, I suppose it’s called.
I went looking for Flip, but there was no trace of her. If she’d survived the explosion she was probably still running. ‘Be at Stratton by now,’ I thought. Still I’d promised Kevin I’d look, while he was getting the Ford.
The two boys came back at about ten. We’d been nervous while they were away; we’d come to depend on each other so much already. But at last the cars came lurching slowly up the driveway, dodging around pieces of wreckage. It was easy to tell that Homer was driving the Toyota. He wasn’t much of a driver.
We had another argument then though, when Homer said that we had to go through with the original plans, including separating into two groups. Corrie had been bad enough when the boys had gone to get the cars. But now, at the thought of Homer and me going into Wirrawee, into what she feared was dangerous territory, she sobbed and clung to me and pleaded with Homer. But he wouldn’t back down.
‘We can’t just crawl under the bed and stay there till this is over,’ he said to her. ‘We’ve made a lot of mistakes today, and we’ve paid a hell of a price. But we’ll learn. And we’ve got to get Lee and Robyn back. You want them back, don’t you?’
That was the only argument that seemed to work, a little. While she was thinking about it, Kevin got her into the Ford. Then he and Fi hopped in either side of her; we said quick goodbyes and mounted our bikes, for the ride to Wirrawee.
I can’t pretend I was keen to go. But I knew we were the right ones to do it. And I wanted to spend more time with this new Homer, this interesting and clever boy whom I’d known but not known for so many years. Since our trip to Hell I’d been getting quite interested in Lee, but a few hours away from him, and in Homer’s company instead, were making a difference.
I remember going to the meatworks once with Dad for some reason, and while he talked business with the manager I watched the animals being driven up the ramp to the killing floor. What I’d never forgotten was the sight of two steers half way up the ramp, just a couple of minutes away from death, but one still trying to mount the other. I know it’s a crude comparison, but that’s a bit the way we were. ‘In the midst of death we are in life.’ We were in the middle of a desperate struggle to stay alive, but here was I, still thinking about boys and love.