Darkness Be My Friend (Tomorrow, Book 4) by John Marsden

By John Marsden

5 months into global battle III, Ellie and her 4 last pals have slightly escaped the Australian city of Wirrawee with their lives and their sanity intact.
But because the subsequent step turns into transparent, they notice they need to once more sacrifice their hard-won convenience and security. a bunch of squaddies has recruited the children to lead the best way to the Wirrawee air base.
What may be able to inspire Ellie and her associates to come? This dicy sabotage undertaking should be their in simple terms wish of rescuing their households, too.

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Additional resources for Darkness Be My Friend (Tomorrow, Book 4)

Example text

Yeah. But what I was thinking about was, it’s happened to us, hasn’t it? ’ I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t sure where this was heading. ’ Lee started scraping another name into the dirt, with his finger this time. I couldn’t see what the name was. ‘My grandfather,’ he said slowly. ’ And suddenly Lee was crying. It took me a minute to realise, because he did it so quietly. He hadn’t changed his position: he was still sitting there but his body was shaking. It was like – this sounds terrible but it’s the only way I can describe it – it was like someone was running a low-voltage electric current through him.

But yes, they kept going. 45 am. Bui-Tersa asked me how I felt, but again I could tell what answer she was hoping for. She was itching to get back with her mates. That was fair enough. I’d have been the same in her situation. At least, that’s what I would have said before this night. Now I couldn’t be so sure. But I felt OK about going into Hell on my own anyway. I was back in the bush, that was the thing. The change in my feelings was no more complicated than that. About the only bad things that could happen in the bush were snakebite or bushfire.

Because in every photo they looked to be about ten or eleven years old. And I’d always wondered about that. If they were fit to be full adults when they were ten, what was wrong with us that we weren’t ready till we were twenty or twenty-one? Or in some cases even older. I knew twenty-four-year-olds who were still treated like little kids. Randall McPhail, for instance. Sometimes I didn’t think he was ever going to grow up. He was twentyeight and still living with his parents, still burning around the district in his hotted-up Holden ute with stickers on the back saying things like ‘No ute, no circle work’ or ‘I survived the Stratton B&S’.

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