Tomorrow When The War Began by John Marsden

in taking the lead, in being so sure I knew my way, might
cost us our lives. I wasn’t yet sure if the others realised how
ignorant I’d been. I forced myself to speak, through rattling
teeth. I wasn’t even sure what I was going to say, and my fury at
myself seemed to come out as anger directed at them. I’m not very
proud of how I was that night. ‘Shut up! Shut up and listen,’ I
said. ‘For Christ’s sake. We’ve got a couple of minutes. This is a
big garden. They won’t go rushing around in it, in the darkness.
They’ll be a bit unsure of us.’
    ‘I’ve hurt my leg,’ Corrie moaned.
    ‘What, you didn’t get shot?’
    ‘No, I ran into something, just back
there.’
    It’s a ride-on mower,’ Kevin said. ‘I nearly
hit it too.’
    A volley of gunfire interrupted us. It was
frighteningly loud. We could see the flashes of fire from the guns.
As we watched, trembling, we began to recognise their tactics. They
were keeping together, moving through the garden, firing into
anything that could have concealed a person: a bush, a barbecue
pit, a compost heap. They’d probably seen enough of us to have an
idea that we were empty handed, but they were still moving
cautiously.
    I was struggling to get some air, to breathe.
At last I was starting to think. But my brain was operating like my
lungs, in great gasping bursts. ‘Yes, petrol ... we could roll it
... no, that’d give them time ... but if it sat there ... matches
... and a chisel or something ...’
    ‘Ellie, what the hell are you on about?’
    ‘Find some matches, or a cigarette lighter.
And a chisel. And a hammer. Quick. Very quick. Try these
sheds.’
    We spread out, rushing to the dark buildings,
Corrie limping. I found myself in a garage. I felt around with my
hands, locating the smooth cold lines of a car, then quickly going
to its passenger door. The door was unlocked; like most of us who
lived around Wirrawee, Mrs Alexander didn’t bother to lock her
cars. Everyone trusted people. That was one thing that was going to
change forever. When the door opened, the interior light, to my
horror, came on. I found the switch and turned it off, then stood
there trembling waiting for the bullets to come tearing through the
walls of the building. Nothing happened. I opened the glove box,
which had its own light, but it was small, and anyway I needed it.
And there it was, a blessed box of matches. Thank God Mrs Alexander
was a chain smoker. I grabbed the matches, slammed the glove box
shut and ran from the garage, forgetting in my excitement that the
soldiers could be out there. But they weren’t, just Kevin.
    ‘Did you get them?’
    ‘I got the hammer and chisel.’
    ‘Oh Kevin, I love you.’
    ‘I heard that,’ came Corrie’s whisper from the
darkness.
    ‘Take me to the ride-on,’ I said.
    Before, two people had found it when they
didn’t want to. Now, when three of us wanted to find it, none of us
could. Two agonising minutes passed. I felt my skin go colder and
colder. It was like icy insects were crawling over it. At last I
thought, ‘This is hopeless. We’ll have to give up.’
    But stubbornly, like an idiot, I kept
looking.
    Then another whisper from Corrie: ‘Over
here’.
    Kevin and I converged on it at the same time.
Just as we did I saw a torch flash for a moment, somewhere near the
front verandah. ‘They’re coming,’ I said. ‘Quick. Help me push it.
But quietly.’
    We got it on one side of the driveway, near
the brick wall of Mrs Alexander’s studio.
    ‘What are the hammer and chisel for?’ Kevin
whispered urgently.
    ‘To make a hole in the petrol tank,’ I said.
‘But now I think it’ll make too much noise, doing it.’
    ‘Why do you need a hole?’ he asked. ‘Why not
just unscrew the lid?’
    I just kept right on feeling stupid. Later I
realised I was even more stupid again, because a hammer and chisel
would have caused a spark that would have blown us all up.
    Kevin had worked out what I wanted and he
unscrewed