February 28th

A short story for February:

A clean break

I had said right from the start that if the sky was clear we would have to call it off, but of course on the night itself, with a newly waning moon beaming down upon us and not a cloud in sight, we went ahead with it anyway.

D took the lead as we casually (as casually as is possible when dressed in black and carrying conspicuous cargo) left the sidewalk and entered the park. Navigating past the seesaw and monkey bars we came to the edge of a large field and immediately set off across it towards the cyclone fencing on the far side. D and I moved silently, half jogging and half running across the already dewy grass. We got within the shadow of the fence and paused in a squat. Fifteen seconds later Max, with the fridge trolley balanced awkwardly over his shoulder, caught up with us. His lanky frame dropped to the ground panting, a slick sheen of sweat visible across his brow.

‘You fuckers,’ he growled. ‘Thanks for waiting.’

Pulling my phone from my pocket I sent the prearranged text to Swifty. Within half a minute I had the desired response - all clear. We collected ourselves and moved along the fence line towards our entry point.

Swifty’s job was to warn us of any surprise arrivals. If D brought composure to the mission and Max brought muscle and I brought planning, then Swifty’s contribution was an overabundance of clumsiness. There was no way I was bringing him inside with us, and so he was the lookout by default. On the far side of the grounds and with a view of the main entrance, he had positioned himself comfortably beneath the low hanging branches of an imposing willow tree. By comfortably, I refer to the folding chair, thermos of coffee, and scotch finger biscuits he had taken with him. ‘If I’m gonna sit out the fun, I’ll be sitting out in style, thank you very much,’ Swifty had announced at the pre-brief. Naturally, I’d had all sorts of objections, but on that occasion at least, had been wise enough to let them slide.

It only took D a few seconds to find the gap. She was the one who had discovered it weeks earlier; the fence was bent viciously out of shape both outwards and upwards, but the breach was obscured by some very craftily placed bushes. A previous infiltrator (or perhaps escapee) had carefully prepped this route for some unknown past conveyance, and tonight we were the benefactors. Max grabbed the wire with both hands and pulled it higher as first D, then the trolley, and then I made it underneath. The damp ground mixed with the dirt and streaked our clothes as we slid through, but I didn’t mind. It felt authentic.

In a feat of agility I wouldn’t have thought possible from someone his size, Max managed to twist, bend and slide through the gap whilst simultaneously applying the necessary upward force on the fence to prevent himself becoming trapped beneath. He stood, picked a leaf from his collar, and the three of us surveyed our options.

We knew enough about this place to be confident that there were no cameras or alarms monitoring the exterior of any of the buildings. The most direct route to our target was north east, past the aging administration block, then down the steps and across the square. But it had always made me nervous to get too near that head office, and my plan was to go south instead, circumnavigating the laboratories before cutting through the garden and approaching the square from the other side. Both paths left us very exposed on such a bright night, and I saw no reason to revise my intent. We headed south.

The labs were bordered by a line of old gum trees, and as we crept along, some wicked shadows danced through the branches across our path. D was fearlessly powering ahead, but I could tell by his timid footfalls that Max was freaking out just as much as me. When two possums suddenly exploded into a shrieking scrap in the gutter directly overhead before bounding off over the roof at pace, I totally pissed myself (just a little bit). After that, the careful creeping was over with, and we fair sprinted through the garden and around the corner, arriving at the south east corner of the square.

Moonlight shone brightly down upon the exposed centre of the quadrangle, in stark juxtaposition to the shadows around its edges. Our destination was a covered passageway between two buildings on the far side. Just as D moved to head across I gripped her shoulder tightly. A beam of light, a torch, was visible beyond the steps to the west. It played back and forth across the path, and was definitely coming this way. Seeing it, D stepped back into the cover of the shadows and the three of us froze in place.

Mr Flock appeared at the top of the steps, dressed as ever in jeans and an untucked button up shirt. He slowly swung his torch back and forth across the square. I attempted to shrink my head and neck down beneath the line of my collared black polo. D’s hand found mine and gripped it tightly. An exciting development in its own right, but for another time.

Flocker, Flockie, sometimes known as The Mother Flocker, was our coordinator. Simultaneously the coolest and toughest of them all, Mr Flock would laugh with you at the latest meme one minute, and detain you the next. I didn’t respect anyone more than five years older than me, but I appreciated smarts when I saw them. Not that I appreciated seeing them right now.

Flockmeister trotted down the steps and headed east through the square in the direction of the car park. Then, halfway across, he suddenly stopped and turned in our direction. Seconds felt like hours. My fingers lost all remaining circulation. He took a step forward, before bending down and picking up an empty drink can from the ground. Crumpling it in his hand, he strode off and away. Thirty seconds later, a car engine denoted his departure, and as its sound faded from earshot, my pocket vibrated. ‘Flock just left!’ Yeah, thanks Swifty, it was his arrival we were interested in.

At some point while I checked my phone D must have let go of my hand, and as I looked up I could see she had also put half a step between us. Okay, focus now. Max wanted to call it off and go find Swifty for a good hiding, but I convinced him to calm down and consider the best play. After all, Flock was gone. D agreed; we’d come this far, let’s get it done.

We headed across the square and up to the passageway, where our entry was barred by a high wooden gate, secured shut with a padlock and chain. Exactly as expected. D motioned for me to turn around, and she unzipped my backpack and removed the bolt cutters, handing them to Max. After a bit of fiddling we had the gate open and were inside. Pulling a torch from my backpack (brand new batteries of course) we surveyed the task ahead.

The passageway was perhaps 20 metres long, and lining each side for the entire length were book lockers. Each individual locker was part of a standalone metal frame set of four lockers; top left, top right, bottom left and bottom right. There were 12 frames on each side of the passageway, comprising 96 lockers all told. Each locker was fastened shut with a standard school issue combination lock, and as per school policy, the doors were bare of any personalising features. Contained within, the private property of every year 11 student and about a third of the year 10 students at our school. Max wheeled in the fridge trolley and carefully lifted the first set. This was going to take a while.

The next morning as the school was being opened up at around 7am I was at home and fast asleep, so I can only guess as to how things played out. I imagine the janitor was quite surprised to find the broken chain hanging from the wooden gate. But peering within at row upon row of neatly lined lockers, I am quite certain that he couldn’t have noticed a single other thing out of place.

Later, at about twenty to nine, Swifty, Max, D and I convened at our usual table on the edge of the square for the very last time. It was our final day of high school, but none of us were late to arrive. As we watched on with barely shrouded glee, the confusion and frustration amongst the year 11 students grew and grew. Not one of them seemed to be able to get their combination lock open. It took well over an hour (and an entirely wasted first period) before they all found their correct lockers in the reshuffle. It was fantastic. We came in the night without being seen and departed leaving no trace. No graffiti, no vandalism, and mainly to Max’s credit, not a single tipped locker. Classy, I reckon.

We weren’t the only observers on the square that morning. Mr Flock was also there. But he wasn’t observing the mayhem. He was observing us. And damned if I couldn’t detect just the faintest hint of a smile.