2. Ley Farm

For three days now, Rion, Marcel and Vanya had been awaiting further instructions at their new forward position halfway between East Hills and Yew. Their encampment was in what had once been endless fields of wheat, but was now just another dustbowl. Down near the bank of the dry Blake River, nestled between hills in the heart of the Belt, the place was called Ley Farm. So proclaimed the lone remaining gate, its twin having vanished during some forgotten calamity, leaving the rubbled track to the fire-scorched farmhouse, only partially gated.

The three men had had little to do these past days but cower from the furious summer sun and pray that there was no fuel in those blighted fields left to burn. They played never ending card games in the suffocating, airless rooms, praying for night to fall so that they might venture outside. It was on the afternoon of the third of those intolerably sultry days that the radio came to life and Rion heard the words he’d long feared:

“The AFP are here and they want to speak to you, Rion. They’ll be arriving at your location within the next hour.”

The words were spoken by Turley but to Rion it was like the judgement of some vengeful god. He made the appropriate noises into the receiver in response and then slumped down onto the concrete floor.

“You all right, bud?” Marcel said, still brandishing his hand of poker, the cards turned protectively into his ample chest.

Vanya kneeled over where Rion had slumped. “Dude, what’s up?” he asked.

“You’re gonna have to talk these AFP goons,” Marcel said. “You might even get out of this fucking heat. They’ll have a nice cool cell for you somewhere.”

Rion sat up, his head pounding.

“You’re going to run?” Vanya asked.

“I have to,” Rion said. “If they catch me they’ll hand me over to CIQ Sinocorp. I’ll be taken back to Yellowcake Springs.”

“It’s the feds, not Sinocorp,” Marcel pointed out.

Rion got to his feet. “Same difference,” he replied. “They all want a piece of me.”

“But you haven’t done anything,” Vanya said.

“I’m a poor man and I’ve got something over them,” Rion said. He didn’t ask either of them to go with him. He knew they’d both decline and that they’d be well within their rights to do so. He made his way into the kitchen and started stuffing cans into a bag.

“You know we’re gonna get questioned,” Marcel said. “I’m gonna say you up and bolted, just like that. Took a shottie and made for the door.”

“What if they arrest us?” Vanya asked.

“Then we’ll get some fucking aircon, all right?” Marcel said, placing a big hand of warning on Vanya’s shoulder.

“I might be back later,” Rion said, picking up one of the shotguns. “If they’ve gone by then.”

“I’ll send you a signal,” Vanya said. “I’ll fire off a shell.”

“That could be the sound of us getting blown to fuck,” Marcel grumbled. “No more discussion, bro. Just leg it.” He slapped Rion on the back and it turned into a sweaty hug. Rion stood half crushed. “I’m not trying to be a cunt,” Marcel explained.

“I know you aren’t,” Rion said, extricating himself. “The less you know, the less you can spill.”

“Right.”

The heat hit him the moment he set foot out into the shimmering world. The sun was long past its zenith, but he thought only of shade. Knowing that he couldn’t run far, he searched for a subterranean bolthole, some crevice or cavity in the earth itself. The machinery sheds were too close to the farmhouse, but there were other structures further afield, down near the riverbed. A concrete water tank, partially dug into the barren earth, seemed a possibility. Of course it would be empty, and of course it was an obvious place to look for an escapee, but he had no other options. He scaled a ladder and scrabbled atop the hot tank in search of an access point. The hatch he found was badly corroded and for a moment he thought that he couldn’t get it open, but it opened with a screech and he peered down into the gloom. He pushed his pack through the opening, not expecting to hear a splash, and there was none. He tried to gauge the depth of the tank and the likelihood of him being able to climb out of it. He lay flat on the tank, his head and torso halfway through the opening, swishing blindly inside the tank for an interior ladder, but there was no ladder. Like a fool, he’d already dropped the pack containing his meagre supplies inside. The sun bore down, imprinting his skin, and he was very thirsty. He decided that he would have to risk it.

He cocked the barrel of the shotgun to check that it wasn’t loaded – it wasn’t – and then he dropped it into the tank and lowered himself down. The corroded metal of the hatch scorched his fingers as he hung, not quite willing to drop the few feet but knowing that it was already too late to change his mind, as he would not have the strength to lever himself back up.

Then he fell and began the term of his latest incarceration.

It was cooler though not remotely cool and he had no way of closing the hatch. A patch of sunlit floor revealed the many spiders and other creatures that resided here. On his haunches, he scoured a section of floor next to the illuminated square with his pack, hoping to rid the area of spiders, many of which would no doubt be poisonous. Then he reached into the pack for the canteen, unscrewed it and drank.

His eyes adjusted as the passage of the sun moved the lit patch further away from him. He sat listening to the noises from outside. A breeze had picked up and the branches of a nearby tree swished against the side of the tank.

He sat, slowly sinking into a stupor from which he might never wake. Things were crawling on him and he batted at them feebly. The sun had sunk lower, moving the portal of light nearer to the tank’s edge. He thought he heard voices. There was a gunshot, followed quickly by two more. Then distant voices and eventually silence. No one came near the tank and slowly the light began to fade. He lay with his head on the pack, not thinking of how he might escape, not caring what crawled on him or whether it would bite. By the time night fell, his thoughts had turned to the shotgun and how he might use it on himself when his water ran out.

It did not seem likely that he would sleep, but he must have done, for in his dream someone called his name. Rion, the voice called. Rion, where are you? And he wanted to say, Down here in the tank. Come save me, but he could not. No words escaped his throat and he sank further down into the uncomprehending earth. Down to where his bones could rest with those of the people who’d come before. Down to where his mother lay and the father he’d never known. Tears rolled down his face and he had a notion that if he cried enough it would fill the tank and he would bob to the surface on a salty wave and make his escape that way. He moaned, not knowing whether he slept, not knowing whether he lived, and the voice called to him, imploring him to reply.

“Rion!” it said. “Are you hurt? It’s all right.”

And in the moonlight he saw a face high above him, looking down.

“Vanya!” Rion said, matching the name to the face.

“Nice hiding spot,” Vanya said. “But how the fuck did you plan on getting out of there? I’ll see if I can find a rope.”

Vanya departed and Rion thought about calling out again but resolved that he would wait. He imagined that the tank itself had taken flight and now voyaged across the summer sky.

“Pass me your stuff,” a voice said, waking him. He felt a stab of annoyance. “Rion? Pass it up.”

He passed up the bag and then the shotgun. The fog in his mind began to clear and he understood that Vanya was his saviour. He was thrown a rope. Vanya pulled him up and they lay panting on the tank’s roof, their strength spent, looking up at the crescent moon.

“Dude, you’re covered in bites!” Vanya said. “Your face is all puffy. Man, you must be delirious. Far out.”

Poisoned. Dimly, he understood.

Vanya made him drink from the canteen and after a while his head felt clearer. “Yeah, I’ve been bitten,” he said, continuing the conversation from several minutes ago.

“You’re fucking lucky that you were carrying on like that or I’d never have found you. Thought I was going mad. Then I thought you’d been shot or broken your back falling or something.”

“What happened with the cops?” Rion asked.

“Not sure, I panicked and split,” Vanya said. “Fuckers shot at me too. I ran down to the river and hid. Nearly croaked from the heat down there.”

“What about Marcel?”

“Dunno, but he’s not in the house now. They must have taken him in.”

“You saved my life,” Rion said.

“Yeah, but you’ll have my back when the time comes. Do you think you can walk?” Vanya asked. “We need to get somewhere while it’s still dark.”

“I guess,” Rion said. His face still felt swollen but the fever had passed. “Feds must have cleaned out our stuff, hey?”

“Yeah, they took all the cans and shit. Hardly anything left.”

Rion sat up and felt dizzy. It was the first step. The next was getting down from the tank. “We can’t take the road,” Rion said. “They’ll be looking for us there.”

“I figured.” They threw their things down from the tank and descended the ladder.

“But we can follow the river all the way to Yew,” Rion said.

“Think we can get there by morning?”

Rion put his arm around his friend’s shoulder. “I reckon.”