just time,’ Corrie panted, from
behind me. It took me a minute to realise what she meant: time to
meet the others.
‘We can go straight there,’ Kevin called.
‘How’s your leg Corrie?’ I asked, trying
unsuccessfully to return to the normal world.
‘OK,’ she answered.
We saw headlights coming and ducked into a
garden as a truck went past at high speed. It was a tray truck from
Wirrawee Hardware, but with soldiers in the back instead of garden
tools. Only two soldiers though.
We ran on, reaching
Warrigle
Street
, then racing up the Mathers’ steep drive,
taking no precautions at all. We were struggling for breath now. My
legs felt old and slow. They were really hurting. I stopped and
waited for Corrie, then we walked on together, holding hands. We
couldn’t do any more, go any faster, or fight anyone else.
Homer and Fi were there, surrounded by bikes,
a full set of seven now. Our dinking days were over, but
ironically, just when we had enough bikes, there were only five of
us to ride them. There was no sign of Lee and Robyn. It was 3.35,
and from the hill we could see other vehicles leaving the
Showground, all heading for
Racecourse
Road
. One of them was the Wirrawee ambulance. We
couldn’t wait any longer. With only a few tired mumbled words
between us – mainly to find out that Fi’s house too had been empty
– we mounted the cold bikes and pedalled down the hill. I don’t
know about the others but I felt as though I was going round and
round on the spot. I stood and made my legs go harder and faster.
As we warmed up we all started to accelerate. It seemed incredible
that we could find any more energy but for me the simple need to
keep up with the others, not to be left behind, forced me to
increase my rate. By the time we passed the ‘Welcome to Wirrawee’
sign we were going like bats out of Hell.
Chapter
Eight
We arrived at Corrie’s place a few minutes
before dawn. The sky was just starting to lighten. It had been a
horrible ride. At every tree I promised myself that we were nearly
at the turnoff, but I doubt if we were even half way there when I
started promising that. I had pain in every part of me, first in
the legs, but then in the chest, then the back, the arms, the
throat, the mouth. I burned, I felt sick, I ached. My head got
lower and lower, until I was following the back wheel of whoever
was in front of me, Corrie I think. My mind was singing a tired
chorus of a meaningless song:
‘I look at your picture and what do I see?The face of an angel
looking back at me ...’
I must have sung that a thousand times. It
went round and round in my head like the wheels of the bicycle
until I could have screamed in frustration, but nothing would make
it go away. I didn’t want to think about what had happened at Mrs
Alexander’s, or the fate of the three soldiers who had chased us,
or what might have happened to Lee and Robyn, so it seemed I had no
choice but to sing to myself:
‘The face of an angel, come from Heaven above,You’re my sweet
angel, the one that I love.’
I tried to remember more of it than just the
chorus, but I couldn’t.
At one point someone said to me, ‘What did you
say Ellie?’ and I realised I must be singing out loud, but I was
too tired to answer whoever was asking the question – I don’t even
know who it was. Maybe I imagined it anyway. I don’t recall anyone
else speaking. Even the decision to go to Corrie’s seemed to have
been taken by osmosis.
We were half way down her driveway before I
let myself believe that we’d arrived, that we’d made it. I guess
everyone was in the same state. I stopped in front of the
Mackenzies’ porch and stood there, trying to find the energy to
lift my foot and get off the bike. I stood there a long time. I
knew eventually I’d have to raise that leg but I didn’t know when
I’d be able to do it. Finally Homer said kindly, ‘Come on Ellie’,
and I was ashamed of my weakness and managed to stumble off
behind me. It took me a minute to realise what she meant: time to
meet the others.
‘We can go straight there,’ Kevin called.
‘How’s your leg Corrie?’ I asked, trying
unsuccessfully to return to the normal world.
‘OK,’ she answered.
We saw headlights coming and ducked into a
garden as a truck went past at high speed. It was a tray truck from
Wirrawee Hardware, but with soldiers in the back instead of garden
tools. Only two soldiers though.
We ran on, reaching
Warrigle
Street
, then racing up the Mathers’ steep drive,
taking no precautions at all. We were struggling for breath now. My
legs felt old and slow. They were really hurting. I stopped and
waited for Corrie, then we walked on together, holding hands. We
couldn’t do any more, go any faster, or fight anyone else.
Homer and Fi were there, surrounded by bikes,
a full set of seven now. Our dinking days were over, but
ironically, just when we had enough bikes, there were only five of
us to ride them. There was no sign of Lee and Robyn. It was 3.35,
and from the hill we could see other vehicles leaving the
Showground, all heading for
Racecourse
Road
. One of them was the Wirrawee ambulance. We
couldn’t wait any longer. With only a few tired mumbled words
between us – mainly to find out that Fi’s house too had been empty
– we mounted the cold bikes and pedalled down the hill. I don’t
know about the others but I felt as though I was going round and
round on the spot. I stood and made my legs go harder and faster.
As we warmed up we all started to accelerate. It seemed incredible
that we could find any more energy but for me the simple need to
keep up with the others, not to be left behind, forced me to
increase my rate. By the time we passed the ‘Welcome to Wirrawee’
sign we were going like bats out of Hell.
Chapter
Eight
We arrived at Corrie’s place a few minutes
before dawn. The sky was just starting to lighten. It had been a
horrible ride. At every tree I promised myself that we were nearly
at the turnoff, but I doubt if we were even half way there when I
started promising that. I had pain in every part of me, first in
the legs, but then in the chest, then the back, the arms, the
throat, the mouth. I burned, I felt sick, I ached. My head got
lower and lower, until I was following the back wheel of whoever
was in front of me, Corrie I think. My mind was singing a tired
chorus of a meaningless song:
‘I look at your picture and what do I see?The face of an angel
looking back at me ...’
I must have sung that a thousand times. It
went round and round in my head like the wheels of the bicycle
until I could have screamed in frustration, but nothing would make
it go away. I didn’t want to think about what had happened at Mrs
Alexander’s, or the fate of the three soldiers who had chased us,
or what might have happened to Lee and Robyn, so it seemed I had no
choice but to sing to myself:
‘The face of an angel, come from Heaven above,You’re my sweet
angel, the one that I love.’
I tried to remember more of it than just the
chorus, but I couldn’t.
At one point someone said to me, ‘What did you
say Ellie?’ and I realised I must be singing out loud, but I was
too tired to answer whoever was asking the question – I don’t even
know who it was. Maybe I imagined it anyway. I don’t recall anyone
else speaking. Even the decision to go to Corrie’s seemed to have
been taken by osmosis.
We were half way down her driveway before I
let myself believe that we’d arrived, that we’d made it. I guess
everyone was in the same state. I stopped in front of the
Mackenzies’ porch and stood there, trying to find the energy to
lift my foot and get off the bike. I stood there a long time. I
knew eventually I’d have to raise that leg but I didn’t know when
I’d be able to do it. Finally Homer said kindly, ‘Come on Ellie’,
and I was ashamed of my weakness and managed to stumble off
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