IMPERSONATOR Forager Impersonator Trilogy Book 1

By Peter R Stone

A century after a global nuclear war, eighteen-year-old Chelsea Thomas has spent her life living in fear of Newhome’s paramilitary Custodians, due to a prohibited rogue ability.

In the past week, her twin brother – a forager – has uncharacteristically run away from home and work after the mysterious death of a teammate. Something has also scared her normally unflappable father half to death, and, their family is threatened with eviction.

But her brother’s disappearance presents her with a long-sought after opportunity to escape Newhome, since only the foragers – all men – are allowed to leave the town. All she has to do is impersonate her brother long enough to make her escape while foraging out in the ruins.

But she never counted on the kindness of Ryan Hill, a forager new to the team. Nor on barbaric Skel attacking the team the moment she makes her escape. She has to choose between making good on her escape or saving Ryan and the others.

Twenty-two-year-old Ryan Hill made one mistake at his last place of employment, and that earned the wrath of his fellow workmates, and cost him all of his friends.

Alone and dejected, he begins a new job as a forager, expecting more of the same. But then he meets Chelsea, masquerading as her brother Brandon. And though he falls for her ruse, he sees in her a kindred spirit. Could he(she) spark in him the beginning of a true, genuine friendship that looks past the faults of the other?

* Impersonator is Book One in a new trilogy set in the world of Peter R Stone’s Forager Trilogy. Although it starts three years before the events in Forager, it is not a prequel. It will catch up to, carry on, and draw to a conclusion the Forager Trilogy storyline. It can be read independently of Forager.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Peter R Stone
• Release date: Oct 25, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370312856

Peter R Stone

Peter Stone graduated from Melbourne School of Ministries Bible College in 1988. He has been a Sunday School teacher and church keyboard player for over twenty-five years. He has an international marriage and two children.He has worked in the same games company for twenty-six years, but still does not comprehend why they expect him to work all day instead of playing games.Peter dreams of becoming a writer when he grows up. However, he has serious reservations that either of these events will ever come to pass.Peter, an avid student of history, still mourns the untimely passing of King Leonidas of Sparta, and Field Marshal Michel Ney of France.

Book preview

Chapter One

As soon as Father burst into the flat, I knew something was very wrong. From my vantage point in the kitchen doorway, I saw him put his keys on the hook beside the door with trembling hands and noticed he was breathing rapidly with shallow breaths. I wondered what could have spooked him so badly. He saw me and quickly averted his bloodshot eyes. That was strange. He always greeted me when he came home. Concerned, I watched him closely while wiping sweaty palms on my faded kitchen-apron.

Finally decided to grace us with your presence, did you? Mother said. In an open display of defiance, she didn’t even bother to rise from the threadbare sofa near the kitchen entrance. Like me, she was three inches shy of six-foot, but was all angles, compared to my still developing curves.

Remember your place, Wife. Father’s voice wavered, and he looked anywhere but at her.

Dinner was ready an hour ago, she said.

Hot or cold, with the slop you lot dish up, does it make any difference?

Try increasing my housekeeping allowance so I can afford more than just flour and vegetables.

Stop harping on about money! He never yelled like that. I wondered if something happened to him today. He was an hour late home, but that happened often enough lately. Sometimes he went to the Worker’s Club after work and came home drunk. It’s what he did on the other nights he came home late that concerned me. He would be sober, downcast, and his suit reeked of tobacco, although he didn’t smoke. Our town, Newhome, banned cigarettes, but according to my twin brother, Brandon, plenty were available on the black market.

Tonight Father was neither drunk nor could I smell tobacco on his clothes. This was something new. Something bad.

Why do you bring back less than a quarter of what you used to? Mother spoke softly, but there was an unmistakable edge to her voice.

I told you about the budget cuts at work. It was 'take a salary cut or get the sack.' He blinked faster as his eyes darted nervously around the room.

He was lying. I could tell by his body language. I wondered yet again what really happened to his money. Was he blowing it on booze?

As my parents continued to bicker, I ducked back into the kitchen and tapped my fingers against the stained glass oven door. It was no longer too hot to touch. The roast veggies inside would still be warm, but that was a far cry from serving them hot. If we had left the oven on at a low temperature, they would be hotter, but we were going to be hard-pressed to pay the next electricity bill as it was.

Father’s home then? my sister asked. She was standing beside the bread maker on the kitchen bench. At fifteen, Karen was three years my junior, although slightly taller. We sported the same strawberry-blonde hair and brown eyes, but apart from that, you wouldn’t have thought we were related. In respect to my face and figure, I was a true plain-Jane – or plain-Chelsea – if you asked my brother. Karen, on the other hand, turned many heads with her gorgeous curls, defined cheekbones, and fuller figure, which she somehow managed to accentuate even though she wore the mandatory ankle-length dresses. It annoyed me that it was 2120AD, but the law required we wore dresses like those worn in the early nineteenth century. Clothing styles of the past two centuries were banned, as they were deemed too revealing and therefore provocative. Personally, I’d settle for a pair of jeans and hoodie like my twin brother wore.

Another difference between Karen and me was the large purple birthmark near the hairline above my left eye. I used to hate going out in public when I was little because people stared at me, thanks to my mother refusing to let me have a fringe. Then one day my father sat me down and showed me a similar birthmark on his knee. He said it wasn’t something to be embarrassed about because the marks made us unique and were not something of which to be ashamed. I believe that’s what my mother was trying to teach me; she just didn’t put it into words.

Father, or someone who looks just like him, I replied.

Is he drunk?

No.

Small mercies, then.

I don’t know. Something’s wrong.

What do you mean? she asked.

He looks afraid, like he’s terrified of something.

You serious? I thought he’d grown an impenetrably thick skin since the accident.

Well, something’s gotten through to him, I replied.

I grabbed a pair of oven mitts and took out the tray of succulent roast veggies, which included potato, sweet potato, pumpkin, carrot, onion, and parsnip. I dropped the tray on the bench and grabbed a plate down from the cupboard.

We would serve Father first and wait in the kitchen while he ate. Normally my brother dined with him, but we hadn’t seen him for a week. He had been stressed out of his mind about something when he came home from work last Thursday. Refusing our attempts at conversation – even mine, he had packed a few things into his new backpack and stormed off. I was concerned, but not overly so. It wasn’t the first time he’d gone off by himself. He often stayed at a friend’s place for a few days to get Mother out of his hair.

Once the menfolk had eaten their fill, the women would divide what was left between them. This custom was part of the uniquely crafted society handed down to us by the Founders who established this town in the ruins of post-apocalyptic Melbourne, Australia. Just over a century ago, global nuclear war had virtually exterminated the human race and much of the world along with it.

The Founders, in their great wisdom, created a society that would not make the same mistakes our ancestors made. One significant part of their vision was to restore males and females to clearly defined, time-honoured roles. Males became the breadwinners and women the homemakers. Therefore, boys went to school to learn the knowledge and skills required to join the workforce when they graduated, since only men were permitted to work. And girls remained at home while their mothers taught them to cook, sew their clothes, and manage the household.

According to the Founders, the pre-apocalyptic family environment had been destroyed by males and females joining the workforce, resulting in a generation of children raised without proper supervision. Children, who upon reaching adulthood were socially inept and lacking in moral judgment. Only by restoring women to their role as fulltime mothers could children receive the teaching, guidance, and love they needed to grow into mature, responsible adults.

This sounded great in theory, but I couldn’t say I was particularly fond of our ‘unique’ culture, and in fact, spent most of my life quietly bucking it, just like my father did. That was because although women were supposed to be revered as the cornerstone of our society who raised the next generation, they tended to be treated as second-class citizens by the menfolk on whom they waited hand-and-foot.

Our son home? I overheard Father ask.

No, Mother replied.

Why not? he demanded. I wasn’t sure if he was panicked, angry, or both. I moved back to the doorway so I could watch them argue. Father’s eyes widened slightly when he caught sight of me. He looked away again. What was with him tonight?

How would I know? Mother asked.

Because you’re his mother!

And you’re his father. She was angry too now.

Don’t take that tone with me, Wife.

What tone would you prefer?

Do you know if he’s even going to work? he asked.

Apparently not. His boss rang this morning, asking for him. He hasn’t been to work since Thursday.

My hand flew to my mouth in shock. Hadn't Brandon been to work for a whole week? He’d never absconded from work before – he lived for his job and the camaraderie he shared with his workmates.

It suddenly occurred to me that if he didn’t go to work tomorrow, it could be my opportunity to escape this prison town and make my own life out there in the Victorian countryside. A life away from the oppressive rules and regulations I didn’t agree with. A life where I would no longer live under the threat of death.

He hasn’t been to work? What on earth is that boy playing at? How is he supposed to pay his room and board if he doesn’t work?

I thought it was weird that Father insisted Brandon give him a quarter of his wage every week towards ‘room and board.’ He was a member of the family, right? Not a stranger who lodged with us.

Father initiated this strange practice after he was accidentally shot, framed as the cause of the shooting, and consequently imprisoned – the event that had inexorably changed our family for the worse.

Is that all you’re worried about, his money? Mother was flabbergasted.

He owes me room and board from last week’s wage.

Husband, you’re unbelievable! Aren’t you worried about where he’s been this past week? About what happened to cause him to run off like that? What kind of father are you!

Don’t be so melodramatic! He just hanging out with his friends, as usual, Father said.

You ever heard of him ducking work before?

No, but can’t say it surprises me. The boy’s so caught up in himself and his own world he doesn’t consider the consequences of his actions. We were too soft on him, that’s the problem.

‘You didn’t see him when he got home from work last Thursday before he ran off. Looked like he was mighty troubled about something," Mother replied.

Mother was right. I’d never seen Brandon so distressed before. And it had annoyed the daylights out of me when he wouldn’t tell me what was wrong. He had never kept anything from me previously – well, not that I was aware of. We were like peas in a pod. I hoped he was okay and would hurry back home soon, or at least ring to let us know he was okay.

Probably fought with one of his workmates. If so, it’s time he faced up to it and moved on. If he rings when I’m at work, you tell him that.

Father stormed off to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. Moments later, we heard him stomping about, throwing things aside, and muttering to himself.

What’s that buffoon doing now? Mother snapped.

Sounds like he’s looking for something, I said.

I didn’t let on that I could actually hear what father was saying, even through the closed door. Where is it? It has to be here. Where does that idiot boy keep it now? Come on! Don’t tell me he took it all with him!

WasFather looking for Brandon’s secret stash? I couldn’t believe it – what had gotten into him? I hoped Brandon took the money with him because it sounded like Father was trying to get hold of more than just the room and board.

He eventually gave up and returned to the lounge-dining room. He plonked himself down at the dinner table, looking even more worried than he had before.

I quickly ducked back into the kitchen and glanced at my sister, who had just finished slicing the home-cooked wholemeal bread and was putting it in a woven basket that was fraying at the edges.

Couldn’t you have at least tried to cut the slices evenly? I asked.

For whatever reason? She covered the breadbasket with a check-patterned tea towel.

You know Father makes a fuss when you do a sloppy job like that.

You think I care about his childish tantrums?

But...

But what?

You should take pride in your work, regardless of who you do it for.

We’re talking about cutting bread, right? Good grief but you’re a waste of space sometimes, Elder Sister.

In our society, family members addressed one another by their titles, not their names. Hence, Karen called me ‘elder sister’ rather than ‘Chelsea.’ That was done as a sign of respect. The Founders declared that previous generous of Australians, indeed, of people worldwide, had forgotten the meaning of reverence and respect. Changing the way we addressed our family members was one of many seeds they sowed to correct that mindset. Somehow, I didn’t think it was working here, nor when my parents addressed each other as ‘husband’ or ‘wife’ in such a manner that it was insulting. Which was most of the time.

No need to get all personal about it, I said.

Really? Because I know what you’re going say next. First, you nitpick the way I cut the bread; then you move onto the rest of my life. What is it you say? ‘You need to put more effort into life, Younger Sister.’

I keep saying it because it’s true. You don’t try.

Close enough’s good enough.

No, it isn’t! I tried not to let my rising anger get the better of me. Father getting home an hour late, and the state he was in, had set me on edge. We should always strive to do our best, and then keep improving on that. Then we can feel a sense of accomplishment and hold our heads high.

Seriously, the stuff you come out with...

Karen’s spiteful reply was cut short when our mother walked into the kitchen.

You two bickering again?

Not me, Karen replied. It’s Elder Sister. Doesn’t matter what I do, it’s never good enough for her.

Mother fixed me with a withering stare. Give it a rest, will you? Your father’s ready to eat.

I bit back the first response that sprang to mind and served up Father’s dinner. I arrayed the roast veggies away from the edges of the plate, with the pumpkin, carrot and sweet potato in the centre, and the potato and onion surrounding them.

My sister shook her head. Why do you bother, he won’t notice.

So it’s just me bickering, is it? I said. And instantly regretted it. I didn’t know why I squabbled with her so much. It was a bad habit we had fallen into and I somehow lacked the ability to end it.

Eldest Daughter! Mother said.

Okay!

I took the plate into the dining room and laid it before Father. Karen put the breadbasket and a tub of butter beside it, while Mother gave him a glass of light beer. Somehow, he always had enough money for that.

We retired to the kitchen doorway and waited upon Father while he ate. I expected him to complain when he saw the uneven bread slices, but he was so distracted by whatever had spooked him, that he made no comment. He kept glancing at Karen and me, a haunted look in his eyes. Then, when he was halfway through the meal, he suddenly seemed to have an epiphany, though his face remained troubled.

You’re eighteen now, he said.

That’s right. My birthday was last week, something he would have known had he’d shown even the slightest interest in his family.

His hands shook as he cut a roast potato into smaller chunks. Time to marry you off, then. He risked a quick glance in my direction.

Chapter Two

My jaw dropped open, and it took some effort to close it again. Though I couldn’t say I was particularly surprised by his announcement. It was customary in Newhome for fathers to marry off their daughters as soon as they turned eighteen. I just never expected he would follow that custom religiously. What was I, a costly possession that needed to be disposed of as soon as possible to avoid paying ongoing maintenance costs?

Don’t feel you need to rush into it on my account, Father, I said.

I’ll pop into one of the marriage agencies on my lunch break tomorrow and see if there are any immediately available bachelors with good prospects and connections. He ignored me completely.

That’s it. I was out of here. Father’s threat to marry me off, coupled with the revelation that my brother was skipping work, made up my mind.

Tomorrow I would masquerade as my brother, head over to his work and go out with his foraging team. Then when their backs were turned, I would make a run for it. From what Brandon said, Melbourne’s ruins were like a rabbit warren, so there was no way they’d find me if I ran off during a toilet break.

I looked at my father, who continued to pick away at his meal, oblivious to my presence. I sighed. He hadn’t always been like this. Before the accidental shooting, he was warm-hearted and considerate, especially during my younger years. However, the accident and the ensuing short stint in a prison factory, even though he was exonerated, changed him. No – it broke him. I didn’t even know who he was anymore.

I cast my mind back to one of my strongest memories. Accompanied by her mother, my Mother had just returned from the market, laden with bags of food and necessities. She found my brother and me, aged four, snuggled on Father’s lap while he sat on the sofa. He was showing us flashcards he had made containing simple words. My brother and I took turns reading the words, squealing and giggling with delight every time we did so.

What on earth are you doing, Husband? Mother snapped.

Teaching them to read, Father replied. I can’t believe how quickly they’re picking it up!

You’re wasting your time teaching Chelsea now.

What, why?

She doesn’t need to read or write until she has to read recipes and patterns, and that won’t be for a few years yet.

Well, it’s too late for that, I’m afraid – they can both read already. Father gave us both a hug and kissed us lightly on the tops of our heads. We beamed back at him.

Mother looked at Father sceptically. You seriously expect me to believe that? They’re only four!

Watch this. Father held up the flashcards, and we took turns sounding out and reading them. Impressive, eh? I’ve never heard of kids this age picking it up so quickly.

I thought Mother would be proud, but she frowned, clearly displeased. She slammed down the shopping bags and tore me from Father’s lap. Enough of this nonsense, Husband. Come, Chelsea, help me put the food away.

Disappointed, I glanced back at Father, Brandon, and Grandmother as I followed her into the kitchen. Far from cowed, my father winked at me and smiled mischievously. I knew he’d keep teaching me my letters when Mother went shopping with her mother on the weekends.

Later, when Father got too busy at work and lost interest in continuing the lessons, my brother took over. Throughout his primary school years, he and I often got up in the middle of the night after our parents fell asleep so he could teach me everything he learned at school that day.

Brandon couldn’t be bothered keeping this up regularly once he hit secondary school, saying he was too tired. I figured it was more a case of it being uncool to sneak to the lounge-room to be with his sister every night. All the same, he didn’t abandon me. The nights he didn’t show me what to do, he left his school bag and textbooks in the lounge-room so I could continue the midnight lessons by myself. The next day, when Mother was out of earshot, he would test me to see what I’d learned.

Of course, there was no point in me learning mathematics, history, English, and the sciences, if I was to remain in Newhome all my life. But as it had always been my goal to escape, I figured the knowledge would come in mighty handy one day.

There was another area in which Brandon helped me. Physical fitness. A couple of years ago he came home one night and showed me his arm. He had been rather slim most of his life, but his muscles had become quite pronounced.

Check out this, Sis, he said, pointing to his bicep. He was supposed to call me Younger Sister since he was born twenty minutes before I was, but like me, tended to throw a lot of conventions out the window when our parents weren’t around.

It’s like a rock – and so big! How did you get it like this, Brandy? I asked, impressed.

Been going to the gym after school every day.

A gym, like where they do gymnastics?

No, doofus, he laughed. A gymnasium, where guys go to pump iron – sorry, lift weights, in girl-speak.

And of course, no girls allowed.

Absolutely not!

That’s so unfair. I want to go too. I pouted.

Really? Well, in that case, I’ve got an idea.

Come on then, out with it.

As it’s not always possible to get to the gym, our instructors have been teaching us how to use our body weight to increase flexibility, balance, and strength. I could teach those exercises to you if you’re interested. You can do them anywhere, even your own bedroom.

Teach me, Mister! I replied. The stronger and fitter I was, the better my chances of survival if I managed to escape one day.

So Brandon taught me a number of body weight exercises, such as push-ups, reverse crunches, sit-ups, lunges, and my least favourite – burpees. Unfortunately, I had to do these when Mother was not in the room. Otherwise, she’d rant on and on about how inappropriate it was for a lady to engage in such pursuits. Especially since I had to do the exercises in my pyjamas because they were impossible to do while wearing a restrictive ankle-length dress. My sister saw me exercising a few times, but wasn’t interested in joining me. She thought I was nuts.

At any rate, I had nicely toned muscles now, was a lot fitter, and felt better about myself. Well worth it.

Coming back to the present, I retired back into the kitchen, lamenting the loss of my father’s friendship.

Why do you get all the breaks? Karen said. Envy was written all over her youthful face.

What are you talking about? I snapped.

You’re getting married soon.

Getting married wasn’t exactly on my list of things to do now.

It’ll get you out of here and away from them. She indicated our parents with a flick of her head.

By marrying some git twice my age I’ve never met? By being pregnant, barefoot, and stuck in the kitchen for the rest of my life? It was common for girls in Newhome to meet their husbands on their wedding day. The lucky ones met them once or twice beforehand.

It’s not that bad, surely.

Really. What about their marriage? I indicated our parents again.

Not all marriages turn out like theirs, Karen said.

How many good marriages have you heard about in this town?

Plenty.

Really.

You could strike it lucky. Besides, what do they say? ‘You get out of marriage what you put into it.’

That’s a nice theory, but it takes two to tango. What if I get landed with a controlling, overbearing man who lays down the law and won’t put any effort into it?

Seriously, Elder Sister, you can be so negative. You have to expect the best out of life, Karen said, shaking her head so that her curls bounced around her face.

I’d rather not take the risk, thanks, I said.

You make it sound like you have a choice.

Maybe I do.

How so? she demanded.

I was tempted to tell her my plans for tomorrow but realised I couldn’t. She’d tell Mother, who would probably lock me in the closet to stop me going.

Karen said something, but my mind was elsewhere, busily thinking of the things I had to do tonight so I could impersonate my brother tomorrow.

Of course, what I was planning was not without a considerable amount of risk, since it was forbidden for a woman to masquerade as a man. The penalty was a mandatory prison sentence accompanied by a hefty fine. So if my brother’s workmates saw through my disguise or caught me out in some other way, I was in for a world of trouble. Similarly, if my brother actually turned up at work tomorrow while I was there pretending to be him...

However, being arrested for impersonating Brandon was the least of my worries. My brother and I had spent the last thirteen years living in fear for our lives because we were mutants.

The law stipulated that no aberrations of the human genome were permitted – it had to be kept pure at all costs. Because of that, foetuses found to contain a mutation, even extra toes or fingers, were terminated, and all child or adult mutants were to be reported to the authorities, after which they were taken away and never seen again. It was rumoured they were euthanised and then dissected in the Genetics Laboratory.

That’s the primary reason I've always wanted to leave this town. To get away from the death sentence that hung continually over my head.

Regarding our mutation, my brother and I realised before the age of three that we were different from our parents – and everyone else, for that matter. We could hear things they couldn’t. And not just quieter noises, but dog whistles and even bats using echolocation, also known as flash sonar. We also discovered that we could pitch our voices up in the ultrasonic range and that if we did this at night, we could even see in the dark! We kept this secret from our parents, though, because being able to hear them coming from a mile away gave us quite an edge. As such, our parents thought we were little angels since they rarely caught us doing anything wrong.

Unfortunately, our days of enjoying our mutation were cut short. I remember vividly the day when my brother and I were five, and our grandmother and mother took us to the market. Brandon came with us because he hadn’t started school yet.

We were standing behind our mother while she and grandmother picked out fruit and vegetables from a green grocer’s street stall, when I noticed an old man dressed in a well-worn suit standing close by, watching us. He looked a little freaky – his skin was so wrinkled, and he looked so tired, as though he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

He took a step closer, inclined his head, and whispered so softly that Brandon and I were the only ones who could hear him.

You two are different, aren’t you?

Brandon just stared at him, but I nodded.

You can hear better than anyone else. And you’ve got a special high voice your parents can’t hear.

This time we both nodded.

The elderly gentleman – I think he was Chinese – reached out and grabbed our arms. I’m sorry to tell you this, but you children are going to have to hide your abilities. Hide them from everyone, even your family and friends. Do not ever use your high voices inside the town. Don’t let anyone know you can hear better than they can–

Why? I asked.

He pointed to a pair of imposing armed and armoured Custodians patrolling the market. You know who they are?

Custodians, I said.

Do you know what they do?

They take away bad people, Brandon replied.

Not just bad people, he whispered. They also take away children like you – children with special abilities. They take you away to the Genetics Laboratory to be cut up like a frog. Do you understand what I’m saying? If they discover your abilities, they’ll kill you!

Brandon and I nodded solemnly, so the strange elderly man straightened up and made to leave.

But why would they do that? I asked.

Because you’re different, and they’re scared of children who are different, he whispered.

But why? I asked. I wasn’t happy.

He took a step closer, and I saw tears in his eyes. I didn’t think they’d discover you children so early, and I never expected they’d react like this when they did. His face hardened. Remember what I told you – hide your abilities!

He turned and quickly threaded his way through the swirling crowd of shoppers.

Chapter Three

When the old man disappeared from view, I took Brandon’s small hands in mine. The look of terror on his face was a perfect match for the one on mine.

That was when we decided we had to leave the town when we were older and find somewhere safe to live. Somewhere away from Custodians and the horrible Genetics Laboratory that the man told us about. Somewhere we could be free to be ourselves.

When we got home from the market, I helped Mother put away the food we bought.