Work Camp

Written in Janurary '07 at the YLC

1 The Getting There

From where I sat at my computer there, in my home, I heard the engine of the bus.  You could tell it was a bus simply because no busses ever came down this way - our home being in a cul de sac, and so - from inside our home, the sound of a bus was something of a rarity.

In my mind, nothing.  I heard the sound of the bus - and while I understood what it meant for me, my mind did not react.  Instinctively I hit on the firefox icon down in the taskbar floating at the bottom of the desktop.  1.5 gigabytes of RAM.  Call it excessive and you'd be right.  The computer only runs like it's got a gig in it.  However I did not check the slight grin that came to the corners of my mouth; Firefox, the best browser out there (closely followed up by Opera) is however notorious for sucking up a bit too much RAM.  The program loaded nice and quick.

No new messages.

Coarse voices that can only be described with the word "Australian" soon rent the still afternoon air.  Subdued sobbing; the moans of fatigued and terrified captives could be heard.  One pair of brand new steel-capped boots marched up the driveway.  It would have been an impressive sound - however the the owner of the boots had a bad left leg.  He gasped in agony at every other step, cursing whatever or whoever happened to be close by, his dissability attributed to service in the Veitnam war.  The reality however was quite different.  A thoroughbred Aussie if ever there was one.  The man in the boots parted his tobacco stained teeth.

"Kitty and Andy"

No! they wanted Kitty as well.  Kitty ran into the room, and with eyes dilated she managed to keep her voice calm.  "They've come Andy!  We have to go don't we".

ctrl+alt+delete, enter. 

I locked the computer.  No time to shut the bomb down now - sometimes you know, you'd have to tell it to shut down twice - othertimes, the kill signal would do it's job.  My younger brother - fortunate for him - was out at work now, and would turn my computer off for me when he got home.  Either that or mum would maddly flick switches and pull out cables until no fans turned, no LED lights flashed or burned.  A compulsive shiver racked my frame as I pulled my headphones off and looked up at my sister.  I always had my headphones on, regardless of whether or not I was listening to anything; assulting my ears with some bizzare and freakish tune off a random myspace page, or just listening to the sound of silence; those earphones kept my ears warm.

"Ok Kit.  You know what we've gotta do.  You're ok?"  Kitty clenched her teeth and nodded - at fifteen she was too young for this I mused.  "You think I've got bloomin all day?"  The war veteran spluttered.  Huh.  He looked all, of 40 years old, but was that his voice breaking there?  "Yes, we're just coming".  I turned to my sister - I could feel the beady eyes of our abductor piercing the back of my skull; I turned on my heel and added "sir", in the most sarcastic tone that I could muster.  The fool either didn't note the sarcasm, or ignored it - my subservient attitude towards him appeared to please him.

We took nothing with us.  For we had heard the stories of the ones that had gone before us - They stripped you, Xrayed all prisoners.  Anyone they deemed as looking suspicious, they stuffed full of the most attrocious and unrefined laxitives.

As we took the despondant steps out the front door of our home, our captor couldn't resist shoving us in the back as we filed past him.  If I straigtened my back and walked on the sides of my shoes, I found that I was a full head taller than my rough adversary.  As I walked down the driveway to the van, I looked over my shoulder, emphasising the action required to lower my eyes to meet his.  His eyes conveyed that he was keenly aware of his relative disadvantage in physiology, and in a hushed scream he informed me that I was to keep my eyes ahead.

As we aproached the van, I looked in through the passanger window, stealing a look at the driver.  A swarthy fellow who looked about the same age of his counterpart, this enemy looked one to be reckoned with - moreso than the limping dwarf, anyhow.

We clambered into the van, our little guard smashing his shin on the step and issuing the lengthiest stream of the worst language that my ears had ever been cursed with.

Kitty looked at me, a subdued grin brightening up her face.  I twitched my right eye - we shared just a moment of silent mirth, and then it was back down to reality.  The filthy commie knelt down behind me and pulled my legs from under me.  I crashed to the ground, knocking my head on the corner of an unpadded bench seat.

Out.

2

Someone was tapping my shoulder.  Groggily, I straightened the kinks out of my neck, looking up at the one interupting my rest.  "Andy" she whispered.  At this stage, the up tight driver informed us in the most basic fashion that if we made any sound, it would be all the worse for us.  I pulled myself off the floor, from the foetal position that I had found myself in upon regaining conciousness.  Throwing myself onto the backless bench seat, I cradled my head in my hands; elbows on the knees style.

Two muselie bars whose best-before date could not have been any later than 1996 were hurled over the shoulder of the man in the passenger seat.  The wrappers were deteriorating and filthy.  The bars just about fell out of their packaging, and we consumed the bars - each with a good helping of saliva to assist them down our throats (I speak for myself).  Anyway, Mum always said that the best-before date didn't mean much.

To the driver of the van, we applied the nick-name Brent.  It was not till a few days later when, walking through the compound past the guard house, he informed me of his name.  "Bow to the door of the guardhouse everytime you walk past it, you dog" He reminded me.  I offered a casual nod in response.  This, it seemed did not satisfy the brute.  "Yes sir Mr. Henries sir" He prompted me, - his voice laced with danger.  I mumbled out the salute as I continued my leisurely stroll past him.

Never have I seen a man drive when he was so heavily under the influence.  One could tell that he was drunk upon reflection of his sullen, quiet, deliberate movements.  The van veered crazily towards the side of the road every now and then, but was quickly brought back to the center of the left side of the road.

Kitty and I both knew that this day was coming - late April was the date that was floating round.  And then there it was, on the morning of April the 23rd, 2007 our time had come.  They had come, and we were to go with them.  To have resisted would have meant serious and unreversible consequences for those we held dear.  Two things only we had as tools; weapons with which to hold out against our new captors.  These were firstly, a secure knowledge that God was on our side, and that everything that happened to us was for our ultimate good and His eternal purpose.  Secondly, my sister and I each had a comprehensive intuitive nature, something often refered to as "Good old Kiwi inginuity".  While our fiends claimed that they also had our first weapon, there was no doubt in my mind that they did not.

As for ingenuity; imagination: intellect, let's not even go there.

"Kaiapoi".  Kitty whispered that unholy word into my ear.  Oh no, anything but that.  Visions from somewhere in the back of my skull suddenly flashed accross the front of my mind, past my eyes, and I envisaged horrible scenes of torture, forced labour and despondancy.  Camp Kaiapoi was the most notorious of all of the camps; renound especially for the short life expectancy of those who entered it's fearsome, towering gates of concrete.  "We're going to Kaiapoi village" Kitty whispered again, elaborating upon her first revelation.  I grasped my knees, massaging the knee caps, putting pressure on the cartilidge.  "We'll be right", I lied.  "We'll be out of there before you know it."  I looked out the blackened window of the van, out accross the right hand side of the road.  A huge cattle truck full - likely containing a human cargo "wooshed" past our vehicle, obscuring all view.  A supersonic boom was almost induced, but not quite.  The van rocked from side to side.  In the cabin, the man in the passanger seat bit his tounge and yelped.  The driver kept his eyes on the road.

Had he even seen the truck?

We were on gravel now; the road full of potholes, two deep ruts travelling parallel along the middle of the road.  Thistles and sticky bids abounded in the center strip.  The van came up on it's two right wheels as we tore off the little track into a tarcealed driveway.  Abruptly we came to a stop, inches from the dreaded concrete gates.  Two Ford Falcon V8 engines powered each side of the impressive gates.  Some staticky conversation on the walkie talkie hanging from the reversing mirror, and the gates began to swing open.

Day3

One of the forlorn captives in the van with us was a young man.  He stared at us, his face emotionless, his body movements admitting nothing.  Another of the captives informed us that the young man's name was Nate: his entire family had been mercilessly butchered - caught hiding a fugitive, on the run from the ruthless new army-state - it had shaken him.

Brent swung himself down from where he sat in the passanger seat and opened the side door of the van was opened.  He then went around to the back of the van and opened the back door.  What the heck are they doing?  He went back around to the front of the van and took his place sitting next to the driver.  "Let 'er rip" He told his colleague.  The driver manouvered the van right up close to a fenced compound.  A giant cage would be a better description.  Stuff that looked like chicken wire, only made from number 8 wire encompassed a large cube area.  There were two doors.  The van was now parked hard up against one of these doors; the open side door leading directly into the cage. 

"Roight" Brent yelled.  A dirty great wolf came bounding up towards the back of the van.  A long length of rope was tied around the beast's neck.  The knot designed to strangle the animal if it strained too hard at it's leash.  The van's human occupants exited the vehicle quickly, as could be expected...