Burning for Revenge by John Marsden Read Free Book Online

the van, hoping no one had seen us, hoping the driver hadn't heard us. I got down on the ground and had a look underneath, trying to see what was happening. Sure enough, a second later I saw his feet. He was walking along the other side, then he veered away, towards the hut. We had a moment to plan our next move. I stood, and used sign language to show the others what was happening.
    They just stared back, looking terrified, all with those huge wide eyes.
    And I realised as I looked around what the others had already figured. We'd struck a big problem. The scrub against the fence was too far away. Like, fifty metres. We'd be in full view of the other drivers for forty-nine of the fifty. And the car bodies Lee mentioned were no better. They were as far as the fence but in an even more dangerous direction, back towards the truck being unloaded.
    There was no other cover anywhere.
    I could hear footsteps so I dived down and took another look under the van. The driver was returning. He took his load up the step again. I could hear him moving around inside. His boots echoed through the aluminium body. Then out he came, and back to the shed.

    This time I stayed on the ground and kept watching. I saw his feet go straight to the door of the building and straight into it.
    I knew what we had to do.
    "Inside the truck," I hissed at the others.
    They stared at me in horror.
    "He's finished loading the felt," I said, although it was a huge gamble to say that. I didn't really know if he'd finished. I just assumed he had, now that he'd gone into the hut.
    "Quick," I added.
    Taking a leaf out of Homer's book I forced them to follow by going ahead on mv own. I pushed past the two boys and sprinted around to the back of the vehicle. The door was still open, thank God. I went up the step and inside, knowing that someone, I didn't know who, was following.
    Inside it was like a church, dark and silent. But the smell was musty and hot. It made my skin prickle. Or maybe it was the fear that did that. I don't know.

Four
    The guy had obviously been thinking like a good removalist, stacking up felt he could use to protect his loads. Tied in each of the front corners was a neat pile of blankets and hessian, and more felt. The stuff he'd collected today wasn't tied; just dumped in piles on the floor. Maybe he was taking it back to wash it. I hoped he was, for the sake of any future customers. Some of it was pretty grubby.

    I burrowed in under a heap of felt. There was so much of it and it was so dark in the truck that if he glanced in he might miss us.
    At least one thing was for sure: Lee had made the right move getting us out of the hut. The way the driver walked straight in: we'd have had to overpower him and run for it, or give up. And giving up was still unthinkable. Even though there were moments when I almost wished we'd be caught—just so the whole thing would be over and done with—when it came to the crunch, I'd do anything to avoid capture.
    Someone burrowed in next to me. Someone light, probably Fi. I could feel her boots touching mine.
    I was feeling hot and prickly and sweaty. The stuff was so dusty I was afraid I might sneeze, like I had in the fuel depot in Wirrawee, the night we'd tried to sabotage the jet fuel. This time I thought I could control it, but what if someone else sneezed? Was Fi allergic to dust? Her whole family was allergic. Her little sister got asthma pretty badly.
    After a few minutes came the sound that would decide our fate. The sound of footsteps. There was a pause. I remembered a lady in New Zealand telling me about her little son, who had pins and needles in his legs. He complained: "Mum, I've got lemonade legs." Well, I had lemonade everything, right now. My skin fizzed. It felt like lice were crawling through my scalp,
then I got the horrible idea that maybe the packing material was full of lice. It wasn't impossible.

    There was a creaking noise, then a slam, and sudden darkness. He had shut the