by Billie Jones
The chopper swings dangerously from side to side, red lights shriek from the dashboard. The taipans are back with a vengeance. I hear them tear themselves apart on the rotor blades as they give a long, human-like screech of protest. Holy mother of God. I see their venomous fangs, their tongues dart forward as they launch into the helicopter windscreen, killing themselves in force to smash the glass. Taipans, with the distinctive angular brow, look at me menacingly before the blades make mincemeat of them. I check our GPS. We’re approximately fifty kilometres from Uluru. The power of the typhoon has swept us so far west, there’s no chance of help from Brisbane.
The pilot slowly comes to. “We’re gonna die,” he mutters groggily.
“Dude, you’re not helping!” I roar, as I root around the cockpit for a manual on how to land this thing.
His eyes snap open, and he sits bolt upright. “We need to get the bird down pronto! Look at the gauges, shit! There’s no oil pressure, no fuel, we’re losing altitude…”
“And,” I interrupt, “The rotor blades sound like they’re the size of chopsticks!” I’m no expert on aeronautics, but I know if you don’t have blades, you don’t fly. The chopper vibrates, and alarms wail.
Cold air melds its way through the cabin. The glass is fracturing. Web-like patterns colour it opaque. The snakes are so close to breaking the windscreen wide open, I can smell their foul breath flow in, a mixture of earth and waste.
“OK, can you land the bird? Or should I?” I ask urgently.
“I’ll land,” he thunders.
We might just make it.
“Tape!” he grunts. “Tape up the cracks. Don’t let them in. We need the cabin pressure to stay as constant as we can!”
Rummaging through the console, I find a circle of black gaffer tape. Ripping lengths off with my teeth, I stick them over the ever-expanding gaps in the glass.
We begin to descend and the engine groans and stutters, shuddering us silly. Snakes slither and slide into view. Fucking taipans. Never liked them much. It’s like one giant rope of snake, and I wonder how the hell we’re going to get out without being eaten alive.
Think.
Think!
What would the manual say?
The engine falters, which spurs me into action. I flick switches to stop the incessant flashing, and shout, “Down, down, down! As close as you can to the secret government department.”
Ditching the tape, I sit quickly and click in the seatbelt. The chopper lurches into a death roll and we plummet towards the ground, battering winds pulling the big bird so far to the left we’re almost upside down. I scrunch my eyes closed as our bodies are thrown every which way as our seatbelts expand, struggling to hold us in.
My eyes open again and I listen for the sound of the snakes. The inky, vast blackness has gone. “Where are they?” I whisper, leaning on the glass, making out trees and plants, lots of red dirt and a big red rock. The squally winds stop as quickly as they came, and sunshine pokes through the bloody, pulped mass of dead taipans on the windscreen as the chopper hovers a few metres above the ground.
“What? What the hell?” the pilot says. “Where did they go?” he flips switches, and tries to control the dying engine.
“OK, OK,” I say, speaking fast. “The storm hasn’t hit here yet. The taipans are trapped in the snake typhoon. We can make it,” I say above the grumbling rotor blades which don’t whoosh so much as creak now. I scan the horizon for the building we need to get to. It must be miles away I can only see a glint of silver in the distance.
Fumes from the burning engine fill the cabin. I cough as we hit the ground with a thud, puffs of dust clouding the chopper. “Quick,” I say, unclasping the pilot’s belt for him, then my own, before hurdling out. We stumble from the wreckage, hands up, shading our faces from the blinding sunlight. I’m about to run, when I remember my bag which is full of supplies.
“Keep going,” I say to the pilot. “I’ll catch up.” I grab my backpack and the medical kit, and look for anything else that may be of use. A trickle of fuel leaks from the undercarriage right beside a cluster of burnt-out wiring. The acrid stench of melted plastic is making me dizzy. I hear a sizzling sound from the tail end and jerk my head towards it to make sure it’s not a taipan when something tells me to run. I sprint away with my bags as fast as I can before I realise why; the fuel and the shorted-out wiring make a lethal combination. “RUN!” I shout to the pilot, waving him on. “It’s going to―” Before the words are out of my mouth, I’m lifted into the air by force and a boom so loud my insides shake. Heat singes the hair on my legs as I’m propelled higher. The pilot swivels to watch me and I see the flames reflected in the whites of his eyes. As quick as I’m thrown up, I come down again. The red dirt comes screaming into view and I throw my backpack on the ground and curl myself into a ball before I land smack bang into it. I somersault off it all in one swift move.
The pilot shakes his head. “Oh my God, how’d you learn to do that?”
I double over, winded from the fall. “It was…in the manual.”
“Just…wow,” he says, his gaze softening.
I look over my shoulder to the flaming wreckage of the helicopter. Pieces of metal and debris are shooting out from it, like fireworks. It’s a remarkable sight, but we don’t have time to dilly-dally.
“I’ll see if I can get mobile signal here.” I half run, half walk while I call. The phone cuts out, so I type a message instead: Snake typhoon. ESOE. Meet me at the Red Centre.
I press Send and hope to God the signal is strong enough to get the message to my team.
The heat bears down on us as we run. Well, I run, and the pilot hops and drags his dead leg beside me. “What did you give me?” he asks.
“Anti-shock. For the shock,” I say, only half-listening while I pull him down beside me to assess the sky for taipans. “Rest for a sec,” I say.
“We don’t have anti-shock in the medi-bag. What colour was it?” he asks, rubbing his chest where a small bubble of skin swells out.
“Red. Look, can we focus on the job at hand here?” Never mind that he hasn’t said thank-you.
All I can see is a bunch of parched skinny-trunked trees. The infinite orange-red dirt makes me gulp. What if we don’t find help? Sweat drips from my forehead and I shake it off, then stand up. The pilot’s eyes are closed, and he’s back to rubbing his moustache. I can’t give up, not yet. Biting my lip, I squint as I look up and take note of the position of the sun. “Right, according to my calculations, we have to head due east. You’re going to need to hobble as fast as you can, got it?”
“Got it,” he says.
“We need to get inside and get help before the typhoon gets here.”
Without giving him a chance to respond, I drag him by the hand as I run through the trees. I swipe at branches with the other hand and wince when I hear them ricochet back on the pilot’s face. He grunts and moans as we race forward.
Cobwebs cling to my face as I propel myself forward. Huntsmen spiders land and clutch onto me with their hairy legs. I squirm and flick them off, stepping on them as I go. They squish easily under the weight of my boots.
The pilot puffs and pants behind me; for a fit guy he’s really struggling. “Keep going. I think I can see something.”
Everything is dehydrated and dry, sticks and branches crumbling when we stomp on them. Flies bother my face, swarming around my eyes.
Brown-speckled goannas stare lazily at us as we pass. Sweat trickles down my back and I wonder how much longer we can keep this up when the secret government department rolls into view.
Thank God. We’re almost there.
We pause just in front of the huge metal structure so the pilot can catch his breath. I hand him a canister of water from my backpack and he chugs it down with a grateful look on his face.
“Thanks.” He places his hands on his knees, bends over and heaves air into his lungs. I close my eyes and let the bright sunshine burn my face. Sunshine means no typhoon. No
typhoon laden with venomous taipans…
“Oh God,” the pilot screams. “The sky!” I snap my eyes open and look to where he’s pointing. A fat grey cloud is moving at a worryingpace and, as it moves closer, a loud drone buzzes towards us. The fucking taipans.
We scramble to the door and pummel our fists on the glass, the pilot gasping for breath. “Let us in! Help!”
I crane my neck to see how close they are, then the door opens and we fall through.
Chapter Three
An officer stands in our path. He’s tall and imposing and has absolutely no expression on his face. His buzz-cut and steely blue eyes give me the creeps.
“I’m the herpetologist you sent for,” I say, my voice breathless from anxiety. “The snake typhoon…”
He interrupts me, “That’d be Bluey you’re after then.”
“What?” I ask dumbly.
“Bluey, that guy over there.” He closes the door behind us and points to a red-headed guy who’s as sun-starved as anyone I’ve ever seen. “Bluey had a roll in the hay with Loose-y Lucy and hasn’t stopped scratching since.”
Bluey hangs his head and does his best to hide behind his desk.
“What?” Is Loose-y Lucy a new species of snake? “Was he bitten?” I give Bluey the once-over. He doesn’t look like someone who is in the throes of venomous snake poisoning. I pull out my manual from my top pocket and flick through for references of Loose-y Lucy. Nothing.
“You could say that. Covered in love bumps. But he ain’t the first and won’t be the last. What kind of meds can you give him? I mean, herpes is herpes, hey?”
“Excuse me?”
“We sent for a herpetologist. A doctor, like,” the officer says, belligerently.
Wait a minute. “You sent for a herpetologist? For herpes?”
“Yeah, what of it? We Googled it, and up you popped. So, if you don’t mind, sort out our mate here.” He nods to Bluey with a flick of his large head, his sweat flying off and raining on me.
I try to halt my rising blood pressure by using techniques I’ve learned from How to Find your Happy Place, for Dummies, but it’s impossible.
I wipe his noxious sweat from my brow. “Are you telling me you called a herpetologist to deal with a case of herpes? I mean, it sounds ludicrous even saying it!” I manage through clenched teeth.
“Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m sayin’” he says, an evil smirk alighting on his face.
“I hate to break it to you, dude, but a herpetologist is a zoologist who studies reptiles and amphibians. And, right now, we have a major crisis on our hands. The snakes, the typhoon, they’re heading this way!”
“Wait, that’s real? Our reports suggested it was a simple ecological anomaly that would be contained before it reached us.”
“Bad news. It’s not contained and it’s almost here.”
The officer waves his staff over. “Shit, you gotta fix Bluey first. He’s our meteorologist, and obviously all his scratching has distracted him from doing his job properly.” The officer throws Bluey a dark look.
I think back to the vials in the first aid kit. “Fine,” I say. “My backpack and the medi-bag are by the front door. Get someone to grab them while I explain to you what’s going on. Bluey, you contact my team and tell them it’s an ESOE.”
The officer nods and yells an order to a stick-thin guy who, unbeknownst to me, is standing so close I mistake him for my shadow. He runs out the double doors, which clang shut after him, but not before I see that the sunshine has completely disappeared and been replaced by blackness.
“Come back!” I race to the door to peer out. It’s too late, I can’t see anything.
All eyes are suddenly fixed on me. The officer says, “Talk us through it, what exactly is it?”
The group edges closer, so I take a deep breath to steady the rising panic and explain as quickly as I can. “There is a typhoon heading this way, and it’s full of snakes. Taipans. One of the most venomous snakes in Australia.”
Bluey speaks up, “Er, it’s actually called a cyclone in Australia.”
“Yes, but it doesn’t have the same ring to it.” I shoot him a viperous look.
“Right,” Bluey says, nodding.
“So we need to figure out why they’re here, and how we can stop them. I have a few ideas…”
I’m about to tell them my plan when Shadow Guy runs back into the room screaming. He’s covered in bites and is clawing at his skin, which is shredded like he’s run through a cheese grater. He drops the medi-bag on the floor and falls to the ground writhing and cursing like some kind of rapper.
“Mate!” Bluey screams and runs to his colleague.
The group gathers round to examine him. “He’s been bitten!”
I do the Tenacious D running knee slide and land at Shadow Guy’s feet. Leaning over him, I’m almost knocked out by the stench of body odour that pours from his pores. Taking a deep, toxic breath I rip open his shirt and check out the bite marks. Yes. Snake bites. Lots of them.
“Shadow Guy,” I say, clutching his face and staring into his frozen eyes. “Were they taipans? Is it raining taipans?”
“It…t…t…t…” he manages.
I wrench his face closer to mine, “Snakes! Is it raining snakes?”
“Y…y…y…y…”
“This might take a while,” Bluey says, glancing over at me.
“Yeah, the venom is working its way around his bloodstream.”
“No, not because of that. He’s got a stutter.”
“Oh.” I start making snake-like gestures with my hands and darting my tongue out of my mouth. “Like that?” I ask.
His eyes go so wide I see his thought process, and it’s not good. He grunts and moans, then half-heartedly gesticulates, but there is no time for charades. I grab the bag, a new syringe, and another red vial. I plunge the needle into his chest with a resounding oomph, and depress the crimson liquid into Shadow Guy’s heart. He lets out a pig-like squeal of protest.
The temperature drops, and the room becomes dark as midnight. Wind belts through the building, and tin clanks above us. Shit. If the roof blows off, we’re all dead. “It’s the snake typhoon!”
“What do we do?” Bluey howls.
Water seeps underneath the doors, and I see snake tongues dart through the tiny crack. “Guys, quick, they’re here!” I scan the secret government department for weapons.
All eyes turn towards the water. “But how?” cries Bluey. “There’s no water for miles around here.”
“Typhoon, that’s how.” Their scared little boy faces peer at me, and I realise that if there’s to be any hope, it’s going to fall to me to fix it.
“OK, it’s OK,” I reassure them as I search the compartments of my brain for every training manual I’ve ever read.
The group look frightened, their faces pinched and complexions green. There’s no time to wonder about who trained them to be secret government officers. This only steels my resolve. I will save them.
Thunder rumbles and lightning sizzles the tin roof. The puddle of water seeping under the crevice of the door becomes a flood, flowing in red from the dirt and ballooning the double doors with pressure. The snakes start their spooky, high-pitched screams.
I give Shadow Guy a cursory glance. I don’t think he’s going to make it by the look of his non-moving, open eyes, and the fact that his chest isn’t rising. I shake my head. I must focus on the mission before I grieve over casualties.
What are snakes afraid of? My mind spins through my four years of university training. All those days in the field, inching up slowly to snakes to study them. What do they hate? The guys are huddled together, arms crossed tightly over their chests. With no warning, and no idea the snake typhoon was imminent, they are dumb with fear.
The taipans smash at the small windows, their evil, flinty eyes staring straight at me, making me shudder.
“Fire!” I yell. “Snakes are afraid of fire! It’s the only thing that’ll stop them from
getting inside!” I weigh up the risks of the building burning on top of us, or the snakes biting us to death, and realise it’s worth the chance. We’ll have to try to kill as many as we can, and pray Cindii and Jay will arrive with some heavy- duty weapons of snake destruction.
All eyes turn to me. “OK, fuel, we need fuel. Something ignitable.”
Bluey runs to a storeroom and comes back with a jerry can. “Petrol!” he bellows.
I snatch the can and pour the pungent liquid in a circle around the edge of the room.
“It’s the apocalypse!” screams Shadow Guy from the floor and I nearly fall over when I see he’s alive.
“Guys, pull him inside the circle. Quick!” I strike the match as Bluey pulls his half-dead friend inside the safe zone. I drop the match and with a whoosh! the circle lights up.
I find a bag of rags. If I can fashion them into flame-throwers, we might get out alive. The bright-orange blaze takes the chill off the room, and we’re mesmerised by the flames. My chest heaves in awe until the curtains catch fire and the insulation in the ceiling ignites. Shit! It’s happening too soon. Electricity crackles before the lights burst like fireworks and rain minuscule shards of glass on us.
“Bluey, break up the chairs, quick as you can, then tie these rags onto the wood and dunk them in petrol, got it?”
He nods and rushes off. I motion to the pilot to help him. They bring back the wood and rags and I pass them the lighter. “Right, don’t light it yet, wait until we need to get outside. Stick together.”
I get perilously close to the window, and peer through the blackened glass. No sign of taipans. I edge closer.
“Guys, come quick. They’re gone!” The men rush up behind me, cheering. Where are the fucking taipans? I turn away from the window, discombobulated when I see her. I lurch forward. Between the dirty, sweat-stained, blackened faces is a clean one. Cindii. I have never been so relieved to see her bleached- blonde hair and shiny white teeth in all my life. I tumble into her arms. “You’re here!”
“I’m here.” She laughs into my ear. “I can’t believe you made it through the typhoon and saved the men from the secret government department. You’re amazing, Kez! Are you hurt?” She scrutinises me; my uniform is ripped and shredded from the explosion, there are thick, dried blood stains on my knees and soot from the fire coats my arms.
