Defective Read Online Free

someone agreed to
take the orphans or the owner of the land agreed to let them stay
on, children under the age of twenty automatically became wards of
the state and were sent to forestry camps, orchards and farms
across the county. Most were already used to hard work and, other
than the cost of a little food, they were cheap labour. Many of
them died in the camps or ran away and died in the forest.
    Porkchop looked
down at her feet. She dreaded what the Constable would say next.
There’s so many of us, she thought. We have to stay together.
    "But," the
Constable continued, "your grandfather said he’d take you."
    "Grandfather?"
    "Pater, that's
your grandfather. He knew that your Pa and all of you were
here."
    "But Pa never said
anything."
    "He didn't know.
Pater asked me not to tell him. Told me it wasn’t my place." PC
Pierre looked briefly at his own feet. "He's a bit, well he can be
a bit difficult. But he has about ten acres of farmland. There’ll
be plenty of room for all of you. And who knows? You’ll be twenty
in less than two years. Maybe the Landlord will take the family
back on here."
    Porkchop doubted
that.
    The Constable
stayed the night so that they could get an early start the next
day. When he woke up the next morning the children were already
packed and ready to go. Nine rucksacks of varying sizes sat in a
neat line by the press house door.
    After breakfast
the Constable fed and watered Josephine and harnessed her to the
cart. Porkchop, with Bull and Jones, did a final inspection of the
buildings, making sure that everything was in its place. Santa
washed the dishes, passing them to the others, who dried them and
put them back onto the kitchen shelves. Mixer sat in front of the
open press house door, smacking his fist on the ground over and
over.
    The sun was almost
up when they left.
    They bumped slowly
along the potholed roads. Most were gravel and dirt, but some still
had a coating of black tar in places, broken off at the road sides.
They said very little. Porkchop and Titania sat up front with the
Constable, the younger ones in the back. Bull, Forest and Jones
walked alongside the cart.
    Jelly sat on her
pack watching as the road slowly wound out beneath her. Her pack
contained her medicine box, seeds, some small garden tools, a few
pieces of clothing, and the two books that Pa had given her.
    Left from the
orchard. Right at Farrow Road. Straight for about an hour. Left at
fork. Right at intersection.
    Along the way she
spotted anything with writing on it, repeating the words over and
over in her mind. She recognized some old road signs, the kind that
Pa used to bring home sometimes. Rectangles and octagons and
triangles. Some of the triangles still had faded tinges of yellow
paint on them and the outline of three black wedges in the
middle.
    Narrow was also
silently memorizing the route. They were heading west. He would
update his maps as soon as he got the chance.
    Santa sat with her
legs stretched out in a V, Mixer nestled between them. He looked
miserable. At the start of the journey he had drawn a handful of
dirt from his pocket and flung it on the bottom of the cart in
front of him. He drew his fingers through it, over and over again.
Santa began to hum a tuneless tune and soon Mixer fell asleep.
    Josephine took an
easy pace. The children had never been away from the orchard and
were quiet as they studied their slowly passing surroundings. PC
Pierre would occasionally interject with stories.
    "Part of this area
was carved out by rocks that were hurled after the explosion," the
Constable said to Porkchop who sat next to him.
    From the back of
the cart Narrow asked, "What explosion?"
    "Well, the
history's not clear. From what I've been able to piece together
from the records there was some kind of upheaval or explosion, a
few hundred years ago. Some records say it could have been an
earthquake or a meteor." He anticipated Narrow's next question. "A
meteor's a big hunk of rock that flies around