The Codetalkers (The Rebelutionaries Series: Book 2) Page 4
Chapter 4
When written in Chinese, the word crisis is composed of two characters.
One represents danger and the other represents opportunity.
-John F. Kennedy
I woke to the sound of heavy machinery. I congregated with the other hostel residents and watched in disbelief as a dozer started tearing up the driveway outside the hostel.
“What’s going on?” I demanded.
“You were given notice to quit weeks ago girlie.”
“But I only moved in last night!” I protested. “And Crawley demanded a month’s rent in advance.”
I felt the other residents eyeing me with silent curiosity.
“Not my concern girlie. I’m just a contractor paid to do a job. And I won’t get paid unless I do it.”
I gasped as the bulldozer narrowly missed Pegasus. The elderly woman said something to the man in a foreign tongue. It sounded like Dutch. The old man made eye contact with me.
“We’ve parked our vehicles around in the disused alleyway. Your car will be safe there,” he said in heavily accented English.
“Is it true that you’ve all been given notice?”
The elderly woman nodded sadly.
“But where will you go?”
They both said nothing in response. The old man wrapped a supportive arm around his wife and silently steered her away.
After moving Pegasus, I opted to hide in my room and work on a couple of articles Frank had asked me to write. I toyed with the idea of setting up another bank account in my Inuit name and requesting Frank to make an advance payment into that account, but after thinking it through I dismissed the idea because I had insufficient id on me. I had enough problems without attracting the attention of the Australian authorities as well...
I had just finished the draft of the second article when someone tapped on my door. I opened it cautiously and found myself staring at the khaki uniform of an Australian Police officer.
“Outside!” he barked tersely.
I walked out of my room like a shell-shocked victim, wondering if things could get any worse than they already were...
Ω
“This is absolutely fascinating Zac. Layers of upright petrified trees...The closest thing to this in Western Australia is the Pinnacles Desert in Nambung National Park.”
“This is similar to another area here in Yellowstone called Specimen Ridge, actually.”
“Can we camp here the night so I can wake up and get some sunrise photos of this place?”
“Why not? We’ve made good time and we’re not in any hurry,” replied Zac.
Zac took his pack off and set about preparing the evening meal. Jake joined him.
The pot on the camping stove sent out an aroma of chicken and herbs.
“I know what the guidebook says about this area... but how do you think this was formed?” asked Jake as he stirred the food on the stove.
“Well whatever he thinks, it’s guaranteed to be different to your guidebook!” ragged Maya.
Zac and Jake laughed.
“Well... Popular theory says this was a forest, buried by volcanic ash, which weathered into clay then soil, then a new forest grew, and that forest was buried by ash - and the same thing happened over and over again and the upright stumps here are all that remain of those forests that were successively buried in-situ over millions of years... Except the popular theory doesn’t take into account recent, recorded scientific observations which offer a different explanation for formations like this.”
“Observations made where?”
“Well, all over the world. But Mt St Helens springs to mind, because it’s not far from here. Before the eruption in 1980, Spirit Lake at Mt St Helens was just a lake. Today, if you look at Spirit Lake, without knowing what it was like before the eruption, it looks like there was a forest growing there once and then the lake formed around the trees and killed them. But scientists eye-witnessed what really happened. And because we have photos of the area before and after 1980, we know there wasn’t a forest there before 1980.”
“So how did the forest of trees get into Spirit lake?” asked Maya.
“Well after the eruption, we observed thousands of logs get buried upright in layer after layer of sedimentary mud - and we know it took just five years - not millions, thousands or even hundreds of years, for that half-buried forest to form in the lake.”
“So you think these petrified trees here could be the end result of a mudflow following a catastrophic event like an earthquake or volcanic eruption too?” asked Jake.
“Well there are around 3000 earthquakes recorded in Yellowstone Park every year. And heaps of evidence of past volcanic activity - a black obsidian mountain... cooled basalt lava... the remains of a volcanic vent plugged with magma, and hydrothermal features like geysers, hot springs and mud pots... And since what happened at Mt St Helens was so well studied and recorded, I’d prefer to go with an explanation based on direct observations, eh?”
Ω
The senior police officer made deliberate eye contact with the assembled group.
“Listen. I understand how hard it is for you people, especially because you’ve all lived here for a long while. But you’ve been evicted, do you understand? This building is being demolished at the end of the week. And you’re all squatters.”
“I’m not a squatter!” I fumed. “I haven’t lived here a long while either. I only moved in last night. After I gave Mr Pearl-teeth here a month’s rent in advance!”
Their eyes flickered with amusement at my jibe. The two officers eyed me curiously.
“Do you have a receipt to prove the transaction?”
“No. He didn’t give me a receipt. But I’m telling the truth!”
“Well can you show any proof that you withdrew money to pay rent in advance?”
“I got out a lump sum in Kalgoorlie. Here’s the receipt.”
“This teller receipt indicates that she withdrew $2000. Can you explain that Mr Crawley?”
“That doesn’t prove anything. She could have spent the money on anything. Come to that, it could even be someone else’s receipt she’s picked up in the street. Look at it logically. Someone with $2K wouldn’t stay in a hostel earmarked for demolition, would they?”
“I rented a room in your dump of a hostel because my brother recommended it!” I said hotly. “Although I can’t for the life of me work out why.”
“Well the law’s on my side. And the law says you’re all squatters. The power goes off tonight. So does the water. And if you don’t move your belongings out within 48 hours, they’ll be reduced to rubble. And that’s a promise...”
“Hello?! This isn’t China. It’s Australia!” I bristled, with my hands on my hips. “Since when does the law support enforced evictions that breach the Tenancy Act?”
Crawley seemed taken aback by my assertiveness. Possibly because it was absent the night before due to my exhaustion.
“I saw the document he gave these people,” I continued, making eye contact with the police officers. “He’s only given them two week’s notice that he’s going to demolish the building they call their home. And he’s made no offer of relocation assistance to compensate them. Or offered to return their bonds.”
A rugged man who looked like he was of gypsy descent seemed intrigued by my fiery stance on their behalf. He whispered something to the small girl by his side.
“What are you? A social worker?” fumed Crawley.
“Never mind who I am. The point is you’ve ripped off these people. And me.”
The Sergeant cleared his throat.
“Listen everyone. What’s happening isn’t right. But the accommodation you’ve been living in is not good by Australian standards anyway. You’ll all be better off in the long run if you just pack up your belongings and leave peaceably. You included,” he said, eyeing me.
He turned and made eye contact with the rugged gypsy.
“What’s your name?”
“Pedro.”
“Can you read English?”
A silent nod of assent.
“Here’s the court order for your eviction,” he said solemnly. “Explain it to the others for me in their language so they understand, will you? Ring me on this mobile number if you don’t understand any part of the document, and I’ll explain it to you...”
They all slowly walked off. I refused to budge.
“I’ve got a good mind to expose your actions all over the front page of the West Australian!” I seethed.
“Are you threatening me?” bellowed Crawley.
“No. I’m making you a promise,” I replied calmly, turning on my heel and walking back towards my condemned room.
Ω
Charlie stooped down and picked up a heart-shaped locket off the floor. He prised it open with a hint of curiosity and whistled softly at its contents. Inside it was a diamond ring and a photo of a young woman cuddling a small child. Charlie snapped the locket shut again as Ryan walked in.
Ryan glanced casually at Charlie and immediately noticed what he was holding.
“Hey? Where’d you get that? That’s mine!” he growled deeply.
“Yeah right.”
“You better not have opened it! It’s personal!” yelled Ryan an octave higher.
Charlie looked up in mild surprise.
“It can’t be yours. Some woman staying over has obviously lost it. I’m gonna take it over to lost property.”
“No it’s mine! Give it back to me!” yelled Ryan in an even higher pitched voice, diving at Charlie and grabbing for the locket.
Charlie avoided the sloppy tackle and started laughing.
“Didn’t they teach you to fight at the Academy pup?”
Ryan charged at Charlie again and struck him with all his might with clenched fists. Charlie reeled under the unexpected blow but managed to stay on his feet. Ryan snatched the locket from Charlie and held it close to his heart.
“What did you do with the chain?” he yelled with flaring eyes.
Charlie forced himself to remain composed.
“Hey listen. I didn’t take it. I found it on the floor. Near my bed. While you were in the shower...”
“Where’s the chain?” repeated Ryan shrilly.
“I dunno,” replied Charlie looking under his bed. “Were you wearing it before your shower?”
Ryan sniffed up and nodded. Charlie tried not to show his confusion.
“You check your bedding. I’ll check the clothes you took off.”
Ryan frantically started tossing bedding around. Charlie watched him circumspectly as he carefully separated Ryan’s clothes.
“Is this what you’re looking for? It was stuck between your singlet and your T-shirt.”
Ryan took the chain from Charlie and examined it tenderly.
“It’s broken,” he whispered, putting the chain and locket into his pocket and carefully zipping it up.
Ryan tore outside and scaled up the cherry tree. Charlie stood at the base of the tree looking up. John approached Charlie.
“Strike out with the pup?” he asked softly.
“I’ve tried everything I can think of to break through his shell,” complained Charlie under his breath.
“Patience Charlie,” replied John empathetically.
Ω
Darkness. Maya stared at the looming shadows around her. She rolled over closer to Zac and propped herself up on her side in her sleeping bag.
“Are you still awake Zac?”
“Ah ha.”
“Hey Zac, I know it’s Jake’s field trip, but I still don’t get it. How come these petrified trees are upright if they didn’t grow here?”
“Well, again we can use observations made at Mt St Helens to understand that. We know that the heat from the eruption back at Mt St Helens melted nearby snowfields and glaciers. And as molten rock hit the water it created steam which also caused localized rainfall. And all that melted snow and ice and the extra rain resulted in a flood which caused a massive mudflow. In fact 625 square kilometres of forest trees were wiped out by all that flowing mud and water. Scientists observed that some of those flattened forest trees floated along on the mudflow, but they recorded that other forest trees travelled upright - because their root balls absorbed water and sank and that tipped the log into upright position.”
“Upright like trees grow. I get it.”
There was a rustling behind Zac. Jake rolled closer to join the conversation.
“And after the eruption and the flood, there was an earthquake,” continued Zac. “That triggered a landslide that dumped half a cubic kilometre of debris into Spirit Lake. The landslide also created waves that were 260 metres high and dumped more logs in the lake. Five years after the eruption - in 1985 - scientists estimated there were at least 15 000 partially buried upright logs in Spirit Lake. And scientists know how they got there because they saw it happen and recorded it...”
“...and since they observed it happen at Mt St Helens it could happen anywhere,” interrupted Jake.
He sounded intrigued.
“Ah ha.”
“Especially here... since Mt St Helens is pretty close to here, so some of the same species grow here...” continued Jake. “I mean scientists witnessed it happen near here just thirty years ago, so it could have easily have happened right here in this very spot too... any time in the past... There just wasn’t anyone around to see it happen... Except for the bears.”
Zac chuckled.
“Do you think there are still any bears around in this area?” asked Jake, propping himself up in his bag.
“I guess there are a few.”
“Black bears or brown bears?” persisted Jake.
“Well... probably black bears,” admitted Zac.
“What difference does it make?” asked Maya. “You run either way!”
“No you don’t!” countered Jake. “You’re supposed to keep eye contact with them and back away slowly. So they know they’re dominant. Unless you’re too close to them.”
“What do you do if you’re too close to them?”
“Well... if you encounter a brown bear or Grizzly close up it’s best to play dead... Curl up in a ball and protect all your vital bits... show you’re not a threat... and stay like that even if the brown bear tries to chew your pack or knock you around a bit... But not if it’s a black bear...”
“What if it’s a black bear?”
“You’ve got to be aggressive.”
“How do you know all this stuff about bears?”
“I read it in my guidebook.”
Maya sat up abruptly and inched closer to Zac.
“Please don’t tell me his guidebook’s right.”
“Okay,” yawned Zac.
Silence.
“So his guidebook’s right?” shrieked Maya.
Zac stretched noisily.
“Black bears are less likely to attack you in the first place but if they do it’s likely that they’re hungry, so playing dead won’t help... And they can out-climb, out-swim and out-run you... so the best strategy is to make out you’re the dominant critter... you know... blow a whistle, roar threateningly, wave your coat... and generally make out that you’re too much trouble to be on the dinner menu.”
Maya wriggled over to her pack and started rummaging around in it.
“Looking for something?” asked Zac casually.
“Ammunition.”
“Huh?”
“Here it is...” she said holding up two cans.
Zac peered at them in the semi-darkness.
“Canned rice-cream?”
“Ah ha. If I see a black bear I’ll open the cans and then throw them at him. Aggressively.”
Maya placed the cans of rice-cream into her sleeping bag and settled herself down again. Zac restrained his amusement.
Silence.
Jake sat up and started looking in his own pack.
“There isn’t any rice-cream in my pack. Do you reckon black bears like ca
nned peaches?”
Zac stifled his laughter.
“They might,” ventured Maya. “They eat berries. I saw it on Discovery Channel. And berries are sorta like peaches... And the peaches are in syrup. So that’s sorta like honey...”
Zac chuckled softly as Jake loaded several cans of peaches into his sleeping bag.
Silence.
“Hey Jake. Have you got any canned fish in your pack?”
“Yes.”
“Can I have it?”
“Okay. Why?”
“Bears eat fish... I saw it on the same show on Discovery Channel... Although I don’t remember if they were filming a black bear or a brown bear...”
A rustling sound. Jake passed Maya over a can of tuna.
“Want one as well Zac?” he offered.
“I’m right thanks mate!” chuckled Zac.
A faint clink as several cans made contact in Maya’s sleeping bag.
Silence.
Someone yawned.
“I see a Big Bear!” said Jake suddenly.
“Where?!” gasped Maya, sitting upright again.
“Up there. In the sky. Ursa Major. It’s a constellation that looks like a bear. See?”
“I’ll get you back for that Jake!” growled Maya hotly, holding up a can of rice-cream.
Zac cracked up.
“Best save it for the bears, Maya.”
Everyone resettled themselves.
“Well I thought it was an exciting discovery,” groused Jake. “I’ve never seen Ursa Major before. You can’t see it in Australia... But I can’t find Ursa Minor. Do you know where it is Zac?”
“It’s over there... To the left of the moon... It’s partly concealed by that cloud... See,” pointed Zac.
“Oh yeah. Found it... Goodnight Little Bear.”
Silence.
“Hey Zac... Did you see any bear tracks when we set up camp tonight?” asked Jake.
“Nope.”
“What about bear slobber or bear claw marks?” asked Maya.
“No!”
“What about bear droppings?”
“Jake! You’ll be asking me if drop bears are real in a moment!”
“Are they?” asked Maya.
“No! Enough about the bears. They generally only bother people if they’ve learnt they can get a regular feed somewhere or they can smell food. Now go to sleep. Both of you.”
Ω
Charlie sat down on the edge of Ryan’s bed and glanced at him in the semi-darkness. He took off the gold chain from around his own neck and held it out.
“My wife gave me this a few years back, but I’m sure she wouldn’t mind me passing it onto you... Where’s your lucky charm anyway?”
Ryan reached his hand down into his jocks.
“In with your crown jewels, eh?” joked Charlie.
Ryan almost smiled.
“This dude at the homeless shelter taught me how to sew secret pockets into my clothes. To keep important things safe.”
Charlie nodded to hide his bewilderment.
“Here... let’s thread it through... there we go... I’ll just clip it up around your neck... There, good as new, eh?”
Ryan cleared his throat.
“Thanks. Lots.”
Charlie nodded again.
“You didn’t look inside it, did you?”
“Nah,” lied Charlie. “It’s personal.”
Silence.
“Are you gonna tell the boss I punched you?”
“Nah. If he gets wind of what happened, I’ll tell ‘im we were practicing old school defence.”
“You will? Thankyou Sir.”
A faint smile. Charlie returned it.
“Sir? Am I allowed to call you Charlie when we’re off duty? Like the others do?”
“’Bout time!” grinned Charlie.
Silence. Ryan broke off eye contact and wriggled down into his sheets. Charlie picked up the hint.
“I’d better let you get some sleep... Goodnight Ryan.”
“Goodnight Charlie,” replied Ryan, as he put his earphones into his ears.
Ω
I was not in a position to keep my promise, but Crawley kept his. By nightfall, Western Power had disconnected the electricity and the Water Authority had turned the supply down to a trickle. The other residents took the inconvenience calmly. They fired up an ancient kerosene fridge. I was surprised at how well it worked. They barbequed outside. I resorted to cooking in my room on my camping stove.
After tea I built a water heater out of a 44 gallon drum and connect the dribbling water in the ladies shower to it with polypipe from the garden. I’d seen a similar setup in a Red Cross emergency camp in Chile.
I said nothing to the remaining not-so-regular crowd in the hostel as I laboured to get the shower operational. I surreptitiously listened into their conversation however as they chatted about the day’s events.
They were a family clan of sorts. Drawn together by a common label.
Displaced person.
Dutchy and his wife Katja were the clan’s elderly patriarch and matriarch. Displaced by the holocaust as children. Then there was Prada and Reece. Originally from Romania, they both looked too young to responsibly parent the three children that called them mum and dad. Finally there was Pedro. He was about Zac’s age and build. Jet black curly hair; dark olive skin; good-looking to the power of ten. His small daughter clung to him like a life preserver. Wild, dark eyes that seemed tinged with sorrow followed my every move. I wondered why.
My determination to build something which would keep us all in a safe hygiene zone became stronger as twilight gave way to starlight. Eventually dejection replaced determination.
“Do you want help yet?” asked a small voice in Spanish.
I eyed the tiny girl. Surprised she had broken away from her father. I glimpsed the expression on her father’s face. He seemed mega-surprised that she’d broken away too.
“What’s your name sweetie?” I replied back in Spanish.
“Petrina.”
“Petrina. When you grow up, I want you to remember something.”
She glanced at me with attentive eyes.
“I want you to remember that women invented windshield wipers, dandruff shampoo, disposable nappies, the dishwasher, the hair dryer, the automatic coffee maker, Kevlar and liquid paper. So we’re smart enough to get a simple thermo-siphon shower working.”
“There’ll be a bubble in the loop,” said Petrina in a matter of fact tone.
I laughed warmly.
“How do you know?”
“Daddy told me that’s what’s wrong with it. But he thinks you’re clever for trying to build it anyway.”
I could feel myself blushing.
“Well let’s see if daddy’s right,” I murmured, squeezing along the loop with my fingertips. Small palms imitated my actions.
An unexpected gush of water drenched us both. The room erupted into laughter.
Petrina’s father said something in an unrecognizable language. More laughter. Petrina’s eyes danced in response.
“What did your daddy say?” I asked, shaking myself like a wet dog.
“He said, ‘Now we know why a woman invented the hair dryer’,” replied Petrina, giggling into her hands.
Her high pitched laughter triggered a pang of longing for something I’d never wanted before. Motherhood. And a giggling daughter to mould and fashion and chat to. The seriousness of my present situation welled up and quickly replaced the out of character longing.
If General Luan finds me, I might never be a mother. Or a wife.
Two nights ago I had been learning massage strokes off Dave to pamper my future husband, without a care in the world. Now I was looking over my shoulder at every unusual sound.
I took a deep breath and swallowed the lump in my throat.
“I might wash up now we’ve got this working. I hate going to bed without a hot shower.”
Petrina smiled and waved goodbye.
“Tell daddy thanks,” I added softly, shutting the door behind me.
I have learned to use the word “impossible” with the greatest caution.
-Wernher von Braun
Dave looked over towards the window-door at the faintest sound. Jen became immediately attentive and kept the conversation going as they fastened their sarongs. Dave stealthily unlocked it, then quickly yanked it open.
A suit clad body fell inside. Dave and Jen exchanged impassive glances.
“Well what do we have here? A clumsy eavesdropper.”
“D... Don’t hurt me!”
“Let me guess... You’re a scientist or a journalist, right?” growled Dave, tugging Frank to his feet.
“What makes you think that?”
“Because every time I flippin’ well try and pamper me wife, either a scientist or a journalist drops in...”
“Well technically this one fell in!” said Jen, with a hint of a smile.
The visitors strip triggered. Jen jumped with fright and quickly locked the sliding door again.
“I demand that you release me!” whinged Frank.
“Pipe down!” hissed Dave.
The approaching car headlights cast eerie shadows in the room. Dave killed the solar lights, plunging the house into darkness. The car pulled up outside the homestead and the driver switched it off.
“New arrivals this late?” murmured Jen.
They both peered through the window. Frank went to bolt for the door but collided with the table.
“Sit!” ordered Dave, pushing him roughly down into their lounge chair.
Crunching footsteps indicated a solitary visitor.
“Sounds like they know their way around. It must be someone from town.”
“You keep an eye on our friend... I’ll go,” offered Jen.
“Stand behind the metal plate when you open the door love,” prompted Dave.
“Wilco,” replied Jen softly.
Ω
Jen cautiously opened their main front door. Tired relief.
“Gordon!”
“Good evening Jen.”
Jen quickly unlocked the front security door and switched the solar lights back on.
“Deadlocked doors at night? That’s not like you two...” commented Gordon softly.
“Wise as serpents, harmless as doves,” replied Jen. “It’s good to see you again so soon. But what are you doing here?!”
“Don’t sound so surprised. I said I was going to get back to you on that background check in person didn’t I?”
Jen’s features relaxed.
“Thanks for sharing the load Gordon... Dave’s in the living room. I’ll just turn on the generator so I can make everyone a cuppa.”
Ω
“Gordon!” greeted Dave with surprise. “You didn’t tell me you were in the neighbourhood mate. I’d have picked you up from the airport.”
“I didn’t need a lift. I hired a car since I may be here a few days. I’m here to watch Jen’s back while you’re away.”
“Away? Where am I going?”
“I need you to locate a couple of bods I’ve been monitoring, who are showing an unusual interest in Western Australia. They’re a little too nasty for Zac. And he’s kinda got his hands full with Jake and Maya anyway...”
“You’ve got Maya?” interrupted Frank. “If you hurt her I’ll kill you!”
Dave fired him an impatient look.
“Zip it up. I’ll get back to you in a minute... You were saying Gordon...”
“The first bloke is a Korean armed forces General... Luan Ain Quong... I’m not sure what his present agenda is, but wherever he pops up in the world, nasty things tend to happen.”
“And the other bod?”
“Carlos Stefan Tarapaca...”
“The Chilean arms dealer?” butted in Frank.
“I told you to sit quiet!” ordered Dave. “Have you got some mug shots of these bods Gordon?”
“Yep... I’ll just fire up my laptop... Who’s our knowledgeable friend here anyway?”
“I was just about to find out when you arrived... He’s staying in the singlemen’s quarters. ‘Caught him eavesdropping on us outside our window, just before you arrived. Lousy at it though. At a guess I’d say he’s a deskie.”
Gordon eyed Frank with interest.
“Your deskie’s face looks familiar. Who’d he sign in as?”
“Jonathan Walker.”
Gordon failed to restrain his grin.
Frank looked taken aback.
“You know him?” asked Dave with mounting interest.
“We’ve never met, but a few weeks ago Zac ran a background check on him - to help his sister out on some college assignment she was doing. In the process they discovered our friend here has been writing articles about the misuse of E/M weapons for years. He also writes articles as Greg Bates and Don Sarfati... Although for Australian taxation purposes, his name is Frank Wieland and he’s the editor of The West.”
“Who are you people?!”
“You mean this mug’s responsible for running Maya’s articles?”
Gordon nodded with amusement. Dave rolled his eyes.
“That explains the new BMW. I had to pinch meself when he rocked up at our place in that!”
“When I get away from you I’m gonna report you to the police for kidnapping!”
“Will ya please dry up? I’m trying to think... Frank... Frank Wieland... That’s right... Now I remember. His name and phone number were on Hope’s poster... You’re that grumpy ol’ bellyacher who hung up on me when I tried to tell you she needed help!”
“And I’m telling you I don’t know anyone by the name of Hope!” thundered Frank.
“Maybe you know her as Heidi Cannikin,” suggested Gordon softly.
“Heidi?!” echoed Frank.
“Yes. Except her real name is Hope Canney.”
“Canney? As in Zac Canney?” confirmed Dave.
“I was right?” interposed Jen.
“Yes on both counts Wonder Woman... Talking of facial recognition... Do you recognize either of these blokes?”
Jen stared at the side-by-side snaps on Gordon’s laptop.
“Yes! They’re the men who are chasing Zac’s sister!”