Skyquakers (3 page)

Ned was not an expert hiker or navigator. Just because he
had lived in the bush surrounded by desert all his life, did not mean he was
any less invested in smartphones or Google Maps than any other
eighteen-year-old. Granted, he loved the outdoors: he spent his summers by
local waterholes, building a campfire on the endless beaches, and riding his
bike everywhere. But his survival skills were limited since he had rarely
needed to ever rely on them. He knew how to make a fire, how to pitch a tent
and how to sterilise water, but that was about it.

Now it was different. This was no camping trip. He could not
treat the outside world as a joke anymore and the journey ahead could turn
fatal if he forgot these lessons. Ned had to be prepared for extreme heat in
the day, the cold of the night, and had to approach precious resources such as
water and sugar as the difference between life and death. He needed to find a
way to carry a litre of water for every day on the road, along with
non-perishable food with high protein content; he needed to choose his clothes
wisely, such as boots and a sunhat and even a jacket for when the sun went
down, and had to make drastic decisions about the many modern necessities which
had to be abandoned. With no digital navigational devices, he decided to wear a
pedometer to track the speed and distance he was covering, to make sure he
could get to his destination before he perished. Along with water and food, he
packed a flashlight and batteries, rope, matches in waterproof zip-lock bags, sunscreen,
a knife, a towel, toilet paper, and basic first aid pieces. No room for clean
underwear or shampoo or his Gameboy; this was not a holiday. Lonely Lily also
joined him, but he kept her switched off to conserve her batteries. He wore
long hiking pants for the journey, the type made of quick-dry material with
lots of pockets, a white t-shirt, an old Western Bulldogs cap, and thick hiking
boots. He ticked off everything on his list twice before he decided he was
prepared to leave.

The journey from Wyndham to the farming establishment of
Ivanhoe started with the long, dusty Great Northern Highway. It led south and
would take him to the entrance of a national park, and there he would cut east
towards the wetlands and then on to the unruly desert of the
Kununurra
. In all, it would take two days to reach Ivanhoe,
according to his calculations. In practise, it would probably take three. He
kept his map close, keeping an eye on the pedometer as he went, using highway
signs to track himself and keep from getting lost.

The highway alone was a test. By early morning, the heat was
already scorching and his back was sore from the weight. He took shade under a
bus shelter in the middle of nowhere only two hours in. He drank warm gulps of
water, trying to balance the need to preserve the resource with the need to
lighten his carry load. Back over Wyndham, storm clouds were beginning to brew
once again and more beams of pink light, bringing new things down from the sky,
could be seen in the far distance. The clouds lingered in a spiralling
formation, moving very slowly, making thunder without lightning.

‘Come and get me,
’
he teased. He moved on.

A few kilometres down the highway was Wyndham Airport: a few
strips of flat asphalt and a shed, really. It was too off-track and, he
assumed, abandoned, to bother. Further on, the rolling sand dunes of the
approaching desert flanked him along his lonely path. The breeze blew grains
from their peaks in swirling patterns. The sands went on indefinitely across
the north. Thrill seekers went 4-wheel driving, sand boarding and quad-biking
here. He had no time for those pleasures, so to him, the sands were a bleak
reminder of the dead void he was walking into. It was frightening, being unsure
of where he would wind up, if he
’
d make it through before dying
of thirst or succumbing to some horrible accident. What if he sprained an ankle
or broke a leg? What if he was bitten by a snake? Never mind the
Skyquakers
: this place was deadly enough on its own and the
number of dangers ahead was innumerable.
 

Shortly after noon, after a can of tuna and half a Mars bar,
he found the turnoff to the national park. He had been here a few times before
for picnics, and once for a school trip to learn about wildlife, but not in
years. The winding paths and hiking trails took him through a welcomingly cool
wetlands, dense with tall – albeit, dead-like – trees, enormous lakes, and
green pastures. It was a hidden Eden in the country’s red centre, and upon
arrival Ned was very tempted to simply set up camp and spend the rest of his
days here, fishing from the pier, reclining under the shade and taking in the
magnificent, uninterrupted serenity.

There was a body of water across the wetlands called Parry
’
s
Lagoon. It was incredibly picturesque, dotted with floating lilies and
surrounded by long grasses and some sort of pink desert flower. The lagoon
dried up from time to time, but for now there was adequate water in it, and it
glistened under the sun so invitingly. There was a trail marked out for
tourists, but to hell with that! Ned marched through the scrub towards the
water without the need to abide by those rules anymore. Grass whipped against
his legs as he skipped through the bushes towards the green slither of
vegetation that ran like a vein through the heart of the desert. He expected to
see wildlife here; Parry
’
s Lagoon was initially a bird
habitat, but of course, there were no birds anymore. There were frogs though,
as well as lots of bugs, and he bet he would find small fish here too. The
lagoon was a popular camping ground, giving Ned the fleeting idea that perhaps
he may find friends here. Perhaps little campers in tents had been missed by
the scanning beams, failing to recognise them as the same intelligent beings
who lived in towns and cities.

He came to the edge of the lagoon to a typical campsite by
the water. A tent was set up, and around it was an
eski
,
three deck chairs, a barbeque, and other junk. Their 4WD was still there,
parked nearby. He did not see people yet.

‘Hello!
’
he called out.
‘
Anyone
here? My name is Ned!
’

No one replied. They could all be fishing, he thought, or
doing their business in a far-off bush.

He stepped closer and examined the setup. Two of the deck
chairs were tipped over. The tent had collapsed at one end. The ground looked
as though there had been a big scuffle.

‘Hello?
’
he asked again. He saw
sausages in the
eski
. They were very off, with
hatched maggots writhing through the meat. Nope, they were beamed; if they had
left on their own accord, they would have gone by car. Their clothes were still
here, hanging by a line, as were their torches and beer, which had boiled to
such a high temperature that it had begun to foam and leak out of the can.

Ned saw a fishing rod by the water. Useful, he thought. He
was not sure what he could catch in the lagoon, let alone if it was edible, but
he decided it may be a handy addition to his survival pack. He also saw
something else by the water: someone
’
s shoe was stuck in the scrub
on the other side of the lagoon, floating sideways amongst the overhanging
grass and shrubbery. Curious, he moved towards it. He went ankle-deep into the
water and felt the cool sensation run up his legs. The lagoon was calm, not too
grotty-looking, and fresh too. The cool water was too much to resist, so he
ditched his backpack at the bank and walked in gently. The water quickly went
up to his waist, then shoulders, and then he was treading. It was only a short
gap between one side of the bank and the other, so before long he had swam the
width of the lagoon, drenched in the cool natural waters, and finally was in
reach of the lost shoe.

He took hold of the Nike sports runner, only to immediately
scream and drop it again.

The shoe had a limb still inside it, a human foot, severed
at the ankle and left there to rot with exposed bone and flesh. It was not a
fake: the flies and maggots proved it, and by the jagged edges of the flesh, it
looked as though it had been
chewed
off. Instantly Ned felt sickened by the water. He threw the severed limb away
and swam back, splashing about. Where was the rest of it? What the hell was
going on here? The answer struck when Ned remembered he was in fresh water. He
gingerly turned to notice, further along the bank, the peeping eyes of a
creature, lurking beneath the surface, watching him.

Ned panicked and raced to swim back. The crocodile
disappeared underwater. Ned stumbled out, half running, and got clear of the
lagoon. The beast, waiting idly for fools like him to stumble into its domain,
resurfaced in its full form. It launched up onto the bank with its jaws open,
emerging where Ned
’
s feet had been a second
before.

‘Jesus Christ!
’

That was
not
a crocodile.

The lagoon monster was enormous, almost three metres long,
scaly, reptilian, with four stubby arms and legs to drag its belly along the
ground; sharp, yellow eyes, a swishing tail, and crushing jaws filled with
deadly teeth. But it was not a crocodile. It had a long neck, thick, giving it
a height which nearly matched Ned
’
s. The thick neck slithered
like the body of a snake, or like some sort of prehistoric dinosaur. The beast
had gills too, fishy fans which sprung from each cheek and flailed to the sound
of its ferocious cry as it tried to take a piece of Ned in the same way as it
had done to the last idiotic camper.

Ned ran for his life. He ignored his bag and sprinted for
the nearest tree. He clambered up and perched himself on the highest branch
which could support him. From his high post, he observed this atrocity. It
seemed to be the king of the campsite now, perhaps even the cause of the
campers
’
disappearance. Fully emerged from its watery
domain, the beast inspected the lagoon with its slithering neck and snake eyes
for any remnants of its prey
’
s scent. From the shoulders
down it fully resembled a crocodile, but the neck and gills appeared to be
these…
added
features which it had
suddenly evolved to become an even more terrifying specimen. Luckily it also
had the energy and attention span of a crocodile, and once it had lost its
chase for Ned, it used its stumpy legs to slither back into the water and once
more it disappeared under.

Ned got down from the tree once he regained his composure.
He quickly snatched up his bag from the water’s edge and got far, far away.

The sun was setting when he arrived at some sort of lodge on
the far eastern side of the reserve. It looked to be part of the park ranger’s
office and a cabin for the staff who once worked here. Behind him, an orange
glow blanketed the sky over distant wetlands and scattered lakes, and the
absence of a natural ambience was now a familiar silence. The cabins appeared
intact and rather fitting for his first night away from home; perhaps there was
even a fridge to use as a bed, but as he approached the little wooden fence
surrounding the cabin, he saw a light flick on inside.

A light flicked on.

Ned halted with his hand on the gate. He felt a powerful flutter
in his chest, part excitement,
part
horror. Could it
be?

Be cautious
, some
part of his brain told him. He had already witnessed a creature posing as a
crocodile; who knew what could be inside, posing as a human being.

He saw shadows moving on the other side of drawn curtains. A
little
face, that
of a child’s, peeked out from an
upstairs window. A second, taller, being could be heard shuffling about
downstairs with the light. Ned gingerly swung open the rusty gate and stepped
forward. He opened his mouth, preparing to introduce himself as a harmless
survivor, like them, but before he could speak, the
flyscreen
door of the cabin swung open, and a park ranger in a dark green uniform
appeared on the front porch with some sort of long-barrelled hunting rifle
aimed directly at Ned’s head.

‘Wait!’ Ned cried, holding up his hands. ‘My name is—’

‘Leave!’ the ranger cried. ‘Get out of here!’

Ned noticed behind the ranger a small girl in overalls, only
six or seven, watching from the staircase inside.

‘Please,’ Ned whimpered, ‘I’ve been alone for weeks. I
just—’

The ranger cocked his gun and narrowed his aim. Ned began to
sweat.

‘Please, I’m only trying to
—’

‘You think I’m an idiot, huh?’ the ranger spat. ‘You think I
don’t know a fucking Suit when I see one?’

‘Suit? No, my name is
—’

‘You
’
ve got until the count of
three, you little shit.
’

‘Please!
’

The ranger placed his nose to his gun and looked down the
barrel.
‘
One
…’

‘I
’
m going!
’
Ned cried. He shut the gate and walked backwards, slowly and gently. The
ranger kept his eye on him the whole time, his barrel following him as he went
back down the dirt path, back onto the bushes where he came from.

Ned, once out of reach of the crazed park ranger, watched
from between the trees as that little light went out and all the curtains were
hastily closed again. They were scared, scared like him, but why point a gun at
what may have been the first fellow survivor they’d seen in a month? What did
they think he was? An escaped criminal? A Quaker?