by Lisa Walker
My eyes slid from the magazine to a car battery next to Rodney’s computer. ‘What’s that for?’
‘My Ross River fever’s playing up.’
‘Oh, that’s pretty bad, isn’t it?’ I’d heard of Ross River fever, but thought it was more of a North Queensland thing. ‘Where’d you pick that up?’
‘Here. There’s lots of it around. Lots of mozzies … after the rain.’
I scratched my ankle, thinking of the number of mosquitoes that had bitten me recently. ‘Right — so, the car battery?’
‘Trev — the barman at the pub — told me electric shocks are the way to go. You get these aching joints. Bit of electricity loosens ’em up. An electric fence is best, I think, but you can’t always find one when you want it.’ He placed his hands on the battery terminals and jolted back. ‘Jeez. Hurts, though.’
‘Does it work?’
‘Not yet,’ Rodney admitted. ‘But I figure if I do it regularly enough …’
‘Right — good luck with that. Oh, hey — I saw eight echidnas crossing the road this morning.’
‘Yeah?’ Rodney nodded. ‘Must be mating season again.’
‘What are they doing?’
‘The boys,’ he swallowed, ‘follow the girl …’
I nodded. ‘Love is in the air, hey?’ John Paul Young, 1978 … ‘Might do a news release.’
Rodney blushed and shuffled his papers in an earnest way. I smiled — he was so easy to embarrass.
On the way to my desk I pulled up in surprise. Sam was at her workstation; her broad shoulders leaned over the keyboard as she typed furiously. She was humming. It sounded like ‘High on a Hill was a Lonely Goatherd’, but it was hard to tell over the rattle of the keyboard.
That was a first. I glanced back at Rodney.
Every day this week, he mouthed at me.
I held my hands palm up and Rodney shrugged, then mouthed again, no ranger, very busy.
Sam looked up and smiled. ‘Good to have you back, Cassandra.’
By the time I’d turned my computer on, she was out the door.
Yodelley, yodelley, yodelley …
It was the busiest day I’d had in there. In the absence of Mac, Rodney diverted all the calls to me.
Each time I’d start work on a plan for a public awareness campaign around protecting the thylacine, I’d get calls like these:
‘One of your kangaroos ate my lunch while I was bushwalking. Can I be reimbursed?’
‘There’s feral chickens in the bush next to us. Can you come and get rid of them?’
‘We have feral chickens in the bush next to us and I’m worried the neighbours are going to kill them. Shouldn’t you be protecting them?’
‘What time do they let the animals out in the national park?’
‘Where can I buy a possum? I want one for a pet.’
‘The flying foxes in the trees next to me keep me awake all night with their noise. Can you come and get rid of them?’
‘I’m worried our neighbours are going to do something to the flying foxes next to us. Can you come and give them a warning?’
It was a yin and yang thing. Almost every call would be followed by one expressing the opposite opinion.
Was this what Mac had to deal with?
By midday, I had a full diary of house calls to make the next day. God knew what I’d tell these people, but my PR skills were going to come in handy.
I scanned the Beechville Star as I had a quick bite to eat. The What’s On section highlighted an enticing array of diversions for the weekend. Lawn bowls, soccer, line dancing, craft collective, dog trials … I couldn’t wait. Each of the activities had a little spiel next to it.
Lawn Bowls — reigning champion Rodney Speers will lead the Beechville side …
Line Dancing — the Beechville hoofers will be swinging their skirts at the showgrounds …
Dog Trials — join the masters of the round-up Sam Patton and …
Sam. That woman was amazingly talented — whale rescues, musicals, now dog trials. What couldn’t she do? I contemplated the list of activities. Practically everyone I knew in the town got a mention. Some popped up in several activities. What a diligent group of pleasure-seekers they were.
I thought back to my weekends in Sydney. Usually I’d have a work function on Friday and Saturday nights. Sundays, Ant and I would have breakfast at Manly Wharf. Sometimes we’d go sailing with Jessica or do lunch with Wazza but mainly weekends were about work and recuperating from work.
But these Beechville people really worked their hobbies hard. The column hinted at a weekend frenzy of fun. I wondered if I could ever develop an interest in line dancing or arts and crafts. Strangely, the idea didn’t seem all that far-fetched.
I returned to my desk mentally swinging my skirt and tapping my boots. Yee-hah. The phone was still running hot. Finally a call came through I couldn’t put off until tomorrow.
The voice of the woman on the end of the line was shrill, hinting at a lurking hysteria. ‘I’ve got a snake in my house and I’ve caught it under a bucket. Can you come and get rid of it?’
Chapter Twenty-one
Mortality rate second only
to the black mamba
I put the phone down on the snake call and looked around the office. Sam hadn’t returned. Of course.
‘Checking on a turtle that’s being rehabilitated,’ said Rodney when he saw me looking for her.
I told him about the snake call. ‘Can you go?’ I asked.
Rodney shook his head fervently. ‘Not an admin job, sorry. Love to, but it’s outside my job description.’
‘Is it a PR job?’
‘Well …’ Rodney’s eyes met mine uncomfortably. ‘It’s more a PR job than an admin job.’
I couldn’t dispute that. PR is one of those job descriptions that can expand to anything involving contact with people.
‘Isn’t there someone else around here who does this kind of thing?’
Rodney shook his head. ‘Mac usually does it …’ His voice trailed away and he blushed.
I rolled my eyes. ‘It’s all right, you can mention his name. I’m not going to cry or anything.’
Rodney shifted on his seat, then reached into the filing cabinet. ‘Here.’ He pushed a booklet across the desk towards me. ‘All the deadly snakes are on the pages with red borders. If it’s not one of them you can just chase it outside.’
‘What if it is one of them?’
‘Um.’ Rodney gave himself another electric shock before replying. ‘Jeez, I think it’s working. Don’t let it bite you. Here, you’ll need this.’ He pulled a pronged stick from behind the desk. ‘That’s what,’ cough, ‘uses.’
I tucked the stick under my arm.
‘Take a first aid kit too.’ He pulled a box with a green cross on it out from under the desk. ‘There’s a pressure bandage in there if you need it.’
I looked from the box to him.
He blushed, then picked up the phone.
‘Right.’ I picked up the first aid kit and walked out.
The house was a Queenslander, like all the others in Beechville. This one was in good nick, though — a well-kept garden and neat lawn stretched behind the picket fence. A middle-aged woman in a tracksuit was standing at the gate as I drove up. My stomach sank — it was Christine Bowles, the mouse woman. She hadn’t given her name on the phone.
She nodded as she saw the uniform. ‘Took your time,’ she said in a clipped voice.
No need to thank me. I slid out of the car and into my snake-catcher persona. I adjusted my Akubra hat, pushed my hands into the pockets of my pants and resisted the urge to spit on the ground. All in a day’s work, ma’am. That was the fun part — the seriousness of the situation hit me as we went inside.
An upside-down bucket with a packet of rice on top stood in the middle of her spotless kitchen floor. It was as ominous as an unexploded bomb. I nodded slowly. ‘Snake’s under there, huh?’ Isn’t that the kind of thing the bomb squa
d usually says?
She nodded, her grey bob swinging about her head. ‘It came out from under the fridge. Almost gave me a heart attack.’
‘You did the right thing, calling me.’
She looked at me sceptically. ‘What happened to the other ranger?’
I stared at her. Surely she’d heard? Was it possible that anyone didn’t know the story? I sensed she was testing me, but her face wasn’t giving anything away. ‘He had to leave for a bit,’ I said shortly. Pulling out my booklet, I handed it to her. ‘Recognise any of these, Ms Bowles?’ So far, so TV procedural.
She turned the pages slowly, peering closely at each picture. A tapping sound came from the bucket — the snake was trying to break out. The bucket shuddered; there was something big in there.
At last she finished the red-edged pages and continued on to the green ones. I breathed a sigh of relief. But then she shook her head. ‘No, I was right the first time.’ Turning back to the red pages, she held the booklet out to me, her suntanned hand pointing at a picture of a coiled snake. ‘This one.’
The taipan. I read the description. Taipans grow to four metres long. They have the most toxic venom of any snake in the world. Mortality rate is second only to the black mamba, reaching one hundred percent. My hands began to sweat. ‘Are you sure?’
She nodded. ‘Definitely. You’ve done this before, haven’t you?’ She looked at me doubtfully.
‘Hmm.’ I nodded in a non-committal way.
It was stupid, René, but, having got here — wearing the uniform and all — I just didn’t feel I could back down.
You are amazed how weak your mind is and how prone to error?
Tell me about it.
I knew Christine Bowles’ reputation. She’d be onto the Beechville Star in no time if I didn’t help. Wildlife Officer leaves woman stranded with deadly snake … No, this was my Waterloo and I couldn’t surrender.
‘Okay, stand back, I’m going in.’
A Zen-like calm descended on me. Maybe this was what happened to soldiers when they went into battle. Once you’ve made the decision to act, you just go with it. My vision narrowed — there was no-one in that room except me and the snake.
I strode forward, flexing my fingers around my stick. Pin it right behind the eyes. The way Steve Irwin does … did, before he got too close to one too many poisonous animals. With my left hand I reached forward and pulled off the bucket.
With lightning fast reflexes I pinned, crouched, grasped, lifted. A scaly creature wriggled in my hands, its legs waving frantically.
Legs?
The adrenaline leached away, leaving my legs weak and palms sweaty. An attack of hysteria rose to fill the void. I giggled. I spluttered and snorted until it hurt. My free hand clutched my stomach as I doubled over.
‘What is it?’ Christine backed away. ‘Did it bite you?’ She must have thought I was having a fit.
Walking towards her, I thrust the lizard out. Its violet tongue licked its lips. ‘Do taipans have legs?’
‘Does it have legs?’ She squinted at the reptile. ‘I can’t see them.’
I looked at her incredulously. ‘Have you ever thought of getting glasses?’
‘I do not need glasses,’ she snapped. ‘Everyone in my family has excellent sight.’
The lizard twisted in my hands, its body unexpectedly warm and smooth. I ran my finger over its scales. ‘It’s a blue-tongue.’
Christine jumped backwards with a gasp. ‘Get it away. Their bite is stronger than a lion, you know.’
I looked at the creature, now sitting placidly on my arm. ‘Really?’
Christine nodded. ‘One of the most underestimated creatures ever.’
The lizard opened its mouth, displaying rows of teeth. Well, it seemed pretty harmless, but who knew? I tightened my grip on its back. ‘Right then, I guess I’ll be off.’ I paused, waiting for an offer of refreshment, or at least a word of thanks, but they weren’t forthcoming.
Outside, I placed the lizard on the grass. It thrust out its tongue at me, then scuttled into the bushes.
Christine raised her hand in a gesture of dismissal as I drove off.
‘What sort of snake was it?’ asked Rodney as I came back into the office. He looked guilty. As he should.
‘Taipan.’ I swaggered nonchalantly to my desk. ‘Took care of it. Pinned it behind the eyes — that’s the best way.’ Propping the snake-catching stick next to my desk, I balanced my Akubra hat on top of it. All I needed now were some maps and animal traps and I’d really have it going on.
‘A taipan?’ Rodney sounded awed. ‘I’ve never heard of those being found around here before. Thought they were further north.’
‘Just goes to show, doesn’t it?’ I swung my feet up on the desk and admired my dusty riding boots. ‘Wildlife is very unpredictable.’
‘A taipan, wow. And you just grabbed it?’
‘Mmm, right behind the head.’ I stretched and leaned back in my chair, with my hands behind my head. ‘Big one too, coupla metres, probably. They do get bigger, of course. Mortality rate second only to the black mamba, y’know.’
Rodney’s mouth dropped. ‘That’s amazing.’
‘Ah, it’s nothing.’ I lowered my legs to the floor and switched my computer back on. ‘They can’t possibly be as toxic as most of the people I dealt with in Sydney. Red pages all the way there.’
Rodney shot admiring looks my way all day.
I pretended not to notice as I did some reading about thylacines. It was interesting. While they were supposedly extinct, like the yowie they’d been sighted all over. I remembered that night on Cougan Peak — those stripy rumps vanishing into the bushes. They were etched into my memory forever. A warm glow spread over me as I thought of them. It was good to know they were out there.
At four thirty Rodney braced himself with one last shock and approached my desk, his sun-bleached hair still bristling with electricity.
I knew he was going to ask me out. He had that look about him — like he might explode any minute. I picked up my bag — I’d save him the trouble. I could do with a night out. Anything would be better than Lean Cuisine in my empty house. ‘Where do you want to go?’
‘Do you want to …’ He stopped, realising what I’d just said. His tension seeped away like someone had pulled the plug. ‘Cool — the pub?’
‘Is there anywhere else?’ I didn’t think so, but perhaps there was a secret gourmet restaurant that only locals knew about.
‘No.’
‘The pub it is then.’
The Beechville pub was almost empty. A few men in cowboy hats leaned against the bar and a group of teenagers, including Tyler, was playing pool. I hadn’t been in there before. I’d thought about it a couple of times, especially when I’d forgotten to take my frozen dinner out of the freezer. Life’s tough without a microwave. I’d kind of sensed that a woman on her own would be a cause for discomfort among the locals, though.
All heads turned as I came in — I felt like Angelina Jolie on the red carpet. Rodney’s shoulders straightened — proud to be the escort of the local celebrity.
The barman — a huge red-cheeked man in a battered hat — leaned over the counter and nodded. ‘Rodney.’
It took me a little while to realise where I’d seen him before. He was the lead farmer from the feral pig morning, the one who’d faced off the animal libbers.
‘Hi, Trev. This is Cassandra,’ said Rodney.
His washed-out blue eyes fixed on me intently and then he nodded. ‘Reckon I knew that already. You doing the electric shocks like I told you?’
Rodney nodded. ‘Yep. Think it’s working.’ He rolled his shoulders. ‘I’m loosening right up.’
‘What’ll it be?’
‘What do you want?’ Rodney reached for his wallet.
‘Hmm.’ I hadn’t had a drink for a while. I could do with one. Come to think of it, I could do with quite a few. ‘I’ll have a schooner of beer with a rum chaser.’
Rod
ney looked startled.
Trev’s eyes met his. ‘Rodney?’
‘I — I’ll have the same.’
While Trev got the drinks, I eyed a map pinned up behind the bar. Red-tipped pins clustered here and there in a vaguely military way.
I nudged Rodney with my elbow. ‘What’s that?’
‘Cane toads,’ Rodney muttered. ‘Trev’s obsessed with ’em. Goes out collecting most nights — marks the locations with his pins.’
I remembered the article in the paper — Local man nets record cane toad haul. That, I now realised, had been Trev.
Trev returned, sliding the drinks across the counter. He noticed our gaze on his map. ‘Bastards are getting better. More cunning, harder to catch, even got longer legs.’ He glanced back at the map. ‘I’m trying to work out what their strategy is — then I can cut ’em off as they come down the hill from Queensland. Bloody Queenslanders — should’ve stopped ’em at the border years ago. Put up a fence or something. They did it for the rabbits over west. All you need is a bit of mesh; they can’t jump like frogs, y’see. Even cattle grids on the road would have helped — they’re lazy, like to follow the highway. But no, just let ’em on through. Come right in and take over New South Wales. Bastards.’
I wasn’t sure if he was talking about the Queenslanders or the cane toads. It probably didn’t matter.
‘Onya, Trev,’ said Rodney, picking up the drinks.
A few beers later, I was getting hungry. Rodney and I had exhausted our conversation. I’d found out his main interests — surfing, watching car races and playing lawn bowls for the Beechville team. Apparently he was the star player.
‘There’s a lot of money in lawn bowls if you take it to the elite level, Cassandra.’ The alcohol had reduced his shyness, but increased the redness of his sunburn. ‘It’s not a sport where you burn out after your twenties either. I’ve got at least another twenty years until I reach my peak.’
‘Is that right? Fascinating. I never would have imagined.’ It was hard to know where to take it from there. ‘What’s to eat here?’ I glanced around, but there was no sign of a bar menu. ‘Any chance of a curry or something?’ I was missing my Thai food.
