‘But it’s suffering, Dad. Just listen to it.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, Luke. It’s only a rabbit. Don’t be so squeamish.’
Luke was unnerved by this sharp reprimand but he kept silent. The last thing he wanted was for the others to think he was soft.
Down in the cab, Jacko had been listening to Wayne. He quietly slipped out and came into the back of the truck, carrying a different gun. ‘Let me in there, Luke, would you,’ he whispered. He took the boy’s place in the firing line across the roof of the cab and prepared his rifle.
‘Got me two-two-two here, Wayne. Best gun for foxes. You reckon this rabbit’s going to attract a little bushy-tailed interest?’
‘If there’s one in the vicinity, it’ll turn up for the easy meal for sure,’ asserted Wayne Aldridge.
The spotlight was trained away from the dying rabbit, leaving just enough light to detect the arrival of another animal. They waited: two, five, ten minutes. The pathetic cries of the rabbit grew weaker and more resigned to inevitable death. The shooters shifted restlessly from leg to leg, their patience almost spent. Jacko lined up on the rabbit and considered ending the wait, more to satisfy his own boredom than out of concern for the unfortunate creature. Luke had long since decided that it was the most appalling sound he had ever heard: silently he begged that Jacko would pull the trigger.
Then bounding out of the darkness came a hunter. It rushed directly to the rabbit and turned it over, prompting one last flurry of desperate protest from the prey. Kieran Doggitt, who had taken control of the light, immediately focussed the beam on the intruder and at the same instant Jacko tensed to shoot. But he stopped almost as quickly and swore in disgust. ‘That’s not a fox. It’s a feral cat. Damned nuisance. I’m not wasting a bullet on that.’
‘Oh come on, Jacko. Feral cats are a nuisance. Just as much a menace as pigs.’
‘Nope, beneath my dignity,’ concluded Jacko.
‘Well, I’m not proud,’ said Wayne. He quickly worked the lever of his Winchester and found the cat in his sights.
Jacko protested. ‘Hey, mate. You can’t hit a cat with a thirty-thirty. It’ll blow the filthy thing into a dozen pieces.’ ‘What difference does that make,’ replied Wayne coolly, and before Jacko could say any more, the night exploded with the roar of his gun.
The spotlight caught a brief spray of crimson where the cat had been, then there was only stillness and, when the echo of the blast had died away through the bush, silence. But the silence didn’t last. A few seconds later the plaintive squeal of the rabbit, almost spent, began again.
Wayne jumped to the ground and began to jog towards his kill with Luke following blindly at his heels. Behind him, Luke heard the truck start up: soon the headlights of the vehicle illuminated the rabbit and what remained of the cat. Jacko had been right about the effect of the big Winchester. The cat’s body was bent backwards as though it were hinged in the middle, the belly ripped open and its entrails and abdominal organs dumped in a pool of thin blood. At least it had died instantly, thought Luke, who was increasingly disturbed by the rabbit he had wounded, which seemed unable to die. Even now, barely aware of the men’s presence, the unfortunate animal found voice with that horrid squeal.
‘I’m going to finish him off right now,’ said Luke, seized with an anger and disgust which had become too much to bear. With a shock he realised he was angry and disgusted with himself. He stood over the rabbit, willing the automatic drill of load, aim and fire to come into his hands.
But his father stopped him again. ‘Don’t waste another bullet, Luke. I’ll shut the flamin’ animal up.’ Wayne reached down, grasping the rabbit by one hind leg and swinging it in a wide arc over his head, until its skull crashed against a handy log. At last the rabbit was dead, but to make sure and to show his annoyance that the animal’s cries had not attracted a fox, he repeated the dose with twice the force. ‘That should shut him up.’
‘Well, Wayne, you certainly made a mess of these two,’ commented Dave. ‘Take a look at the expression on the face of that cat. Bit surprised, wouldn’t you say. One minute he thinks he’s about to fill his belly, next minute he hasn’t got a belly to fill.’ All the men thought this hugely funny and poured their laughter into the black night that encircled them.
Luke couldn’t laugh. It didn’t seem funny. He left them huddled over the remains of their kill and went in search of the rabbit he had felled earlier, when shooting had held more enchantment than it did just at that moment. But he found he couldn’t get far, for his eyes were adjusted to the brilliance of the headlights. Away from their glare, the darkness engulfed him.
‘Hey Dad, can you help me find that rabbit I killed first?’ he called from twenty metres away. ‘I can’t see much out here, but I think it’s a bit farther in this direction.’
‘Leave it, Luke,’ came the reply.
‘But aren’t we going to skin it and eat it?’
The reply this time was a chorus of laughter from the men.
‘No, Luke,’ his father finally called, hilarity still evident in his voice. ‘We don’t need it and skinning’s a messy business.’
‘Yeh, especially the way you go about it. Muck up to your armpits,’ said a soft voice, probably Doggy’s. More laughter, this time at Wayne’s expense.
‘But Dad …’
‘Don’t whine at me, Luke,’ snapped his father. ‘Get back in here before you get lost.’ His voice was harsh, even angry. He hadn’t appreciated the others joking about his attempts to skin rabbits.
‘Wretched thing probably had mixo anyway, Luke,’ explained Doggy kindly.
‘That’s right. Can’t eat ‘em when they’ve already become infected with the mixo,’ agreed Dave.
Luke looked puzzled.
‘Myxomatosis,’ Dave went on. ‘The disease they introduced years ago to control the rabbits. Stops the rabbits breeding up into big numbers and ruining the paddocks for sheep and cattle. God, don’t they teach you fellas anything at school any more?’
‘Yeh, I think I’ve heard of it,’ admitted Luke lamely. In fact he remembered quite a bit now that they’d mentioned it, but he left the topic alone, devoting his concentration instead to warding off the strange confusion which pulled at his stomach. He couldn’t find words for his uneasiness, but he knew that he had no desire to kill another rabbit tonight.
Enthusiasm for the hunt was also waning amongst the men huddled in the light of the four wheel drive, and as they climbed aboard Jacko suggested they return to camp. No one contradicted him. The vehicle reversed gently in a wide curve then quietly slipped away into the night. The ground above the rabbit warren was cast immediately into darkness, waiting for the more courageous of the inhabitants to reclaim it and perhaps inspect the three carcasses left to rot in the dust.
eight
The warmth and comfort of his sleeping bag calmed Luke and soothed his disquiet. The night’s sleep renewed his excitement at being here with his father, and with it his eagerness to handle the twenty-two rifle which had almost become a part of him the day before. Straight after breakfast he took the gun and as many cans as he could bundle into an empty box away into the bush to resume target practice.
He had fired only a dozen rounds when Wayne searched him out.
‘Good to see you practising again, Luke,’ he said. ‘A man’s got to be good with a gun, no matter what they say. It’s an important skill to learn. People who say it’s dangerous just annoy me. If everyone was taught to use a gun properly, it wouldn’t be dangerous at all.’ After a pause he added, ‘Guns aren’t dangerous, you know, it’s people who are dangerous.’ To Luke’s ear this sounded so much like a well-worn slogan that he realised Wayne must have read the words on a wall poster or in a magazine.
‘Anyway, I really came to fetch you. We’re goin’ out again.’
‘You beaudy,’ said Luke, falling in behind his father, who had already turned to go back to the camp.
Dave and Jacko were loading one of the
eskies onto the back of the truck as Wayne and Luke strode into the clearing. From the grunting and heaving this involved, Luke guessed it must be crammed with as much beer as it could hold.
‘May as well take a bit of light refreshment with us this time. Could be a long day,’ Dave said. He climbed into the vehicle, claiming the esky as his seat.
Jacko was the last to take his place, the driver’s seat as usual. As he slid confidently into place he called, ‘Let’s go kill something!’ — bringing laughter and cheers from everyone on board. The engine barked eagerly to life and immediately the rear tyres ripped at the loose dirt, marking their departure with an impressive cloud of dust.
Jacko hurried the truck over the rough tracks, bringing howls of discontent from those jostled about in the rear. Dave quickly abandoned his perch on the esky, seeking the secure grip of the metal framework, to avoid being bucked into the dust like a cowboy from the back of an angry horse. Luke was lucky to be safe in the front seat. Jacko slowed a little, but as he explained, he was keen to explore the more isolated corners of the property, and to do this they needed to cover the ground quickly at first. But the haste and discomfort brought no reward. By eleven o’clock they had sighted every manner of beast from kangaroo and emu to sheep and a small herd of wild and filthy cattle, which had viewed their presence with obvious suspicion. But there was no sign of feral pigs. Without a shot fired they parked in the shade of a cluster of evergreens and opened the esky. Beer cans in hand, they cursed their luck and discussed their next move. This degenerated into a heated but friendly argument over whose memory of the property was superior. In the end, Jacko and Wayne won out over Dave and Doggy.
Each man took another beer from the esky, then Jacko eased in behind the wheel and the search began again. None of those four cans was more than half-empty before it was dumped suddenly over the side in a frenzy as they sighted a low, dark line trotting wearily ahead.
Following a well-worn path away from the creek was a family of pigs, a number of larger animals heading the line, a ragged procession of youngsters worrying at their heels. They had already detected the approaching danger and increased their speed, staying for the moment on the path, which offered them the surest footing. There was no smooth ground for the truck, however, and Jacko was forced to weave a precarious course around fallen trees and hidden hollows, hurling the wheel one way then the other, slapping at it and swearing as it fought against his control. All this was carried out with total disregard for the safety of Dave and Doggy, whose shouts from the back of the truck were filled with as much fear as exhilaration.
Jacko’s confused course eventually took them ahead of the pigs in a wide arc, leaving the quarry out of sight at times. Then without warning, Jacko stamped on the brake and Luke was startled by the sight of Kieran Doggitt sliding down the windscreen and across the bonnet, to finish upside down with his hands on the lowest rung of the roo bar and his long ungainly legs waving towards the sky. At any other time, the spectators would have first checked that the unfortunate man was unhurt and once assured of this, laughed their heads off at what would surely be a story to tell for years to come. But at that moment there were pigs to chase, and even Doggy himself barely paused to consider what had happened. Jacko had stopped for the simple reason that there was a sturdy wire fence not ten feet in front of the roo bar, from which Kieran now detached himself.
A little farther along, the men could see where the narrow path crossed under this fence, at a point where the lowest strand of wire had long ago given way. What’s more, the band of pigs came into view at that instant: alarmed by the sight of the truck and the men standing around it, the animals lost their discipline and bolted in every direction. One of the leaders made for the fence, sensing that the men could not easily follow on the other side.
Wayne and Jacko reacted together. Wayne leapt the wire, using the wooden post as support while Jacko reached inside the truck and brought out his rifle. He threw it to Wayne, who stood waiting until the gun fell into his arms. Then he raced away to intercept the escaping pig. Jacko levered himself over the fence in the same way and made off in Wayne’s tracks. Though he carried the extra weight of the rifle in his hands, Wayne outstripped his mate. He was so quick that he startled the poor pig, which had assumed its attackers were behind it. The pig grunted and turned to head back towards the fence, this time with two men closing on its tail. As it reached the fence, it slackened its pace to slip under the wire. This gave Wayne a brief opportunity to take a shot, but at the final instant, as he applied pressure to the trigger, he sensed the presence of another body close to his line of fire. He looked up, and pushing the rifle away from his face and shoulders bellowed angrily: ‘Doggy, what are you doing? Get out of the way!’
Kieran Doggitt had run along the fence from the truck towards the track the pigs had made under the wire. Not only had he nearly been shot by Wayne, he had almost collided with the pig as it scrambled through the opening. His eagerness seemed quite pointless, as in the rush he had neglected to bring a gun, and as the pig waddled free of the fence, it turned briefly towards Doggy, considering for a moment whether to lunge towards him. Showing remarkable agility, Doggy climbed the strands of wire and balanced on top of the fence post. This cleared his legs out of the pig’s reach, but all the animal need do was nudge the post to bring him crashing to the ground, where he would be an easy target.
The sound of Wayne Aldridge galloping towards it on the far side of the fence decided the pig. It hurried off, leaving its pursuer to negotiate the obstacle.
Wayne’s determined sprint had exhausted him, so when he was confronted by the fence, with Kieran Doggitt still perched ridiculously on top of the post, he baulked at launching himself over the top, as he had done a minute earlier, and instead chose to scrabble under the wire as the pig had done. He pushed the rifle through before him and crouched down on all fours. It was only then that he became aware of the anxious cries of Doggy above him, as well as Dave and Luke, who had watched the chase from the truck. In the confusion, it was Luke’s voice he could hear most distinctly. What was it saying? ‘The pig … watch out!’
Wayne looked up. The pig had stopped its terrified flight. The confusion of finding men whichever way it turned had stirred its temper beyond bearing. It now saw one of its pursuers on his knees, vulnerable and no more than thirty metres away. It charged. Wayne’s gun was out of reach, but this mattered little. The safest option was to scramble backwards from under the fence. Then he could use the fence as a barrier. So long as he kept the fence between him and the furious creature he was safe. It would be only a matter of moments before one of his mates arrived with a gun. Wayne threw himself backwards but his shirt caught on the barbed wire. He tugged and strained with all his strength but the snag held him down, unable to retreat from the reach of the charging pig. There were no words to shout, no time for a calm, clear call for help. Wayne thrashed wildly on his belly like a lizard held by its tail and all the while he screamed in fear and horror, his shouts coming out as desperate whimpers as he fought to be free of his shirt. All this took place in no more than three or four seconds, but to Wayne and those watching, the scene created its own time.
Perched on the bonnet of the truck, Luke could almost count the pig’s strides as it closed in towards his father. His own limbs would not move, his own voice would not give forth sound. His father lay frantic in the dust, scarcely able even to raise his head above the ground. The pig would kill him.
From his prone position in the dust, Wayne saw two boots thunder into the ground before his face. A hand reached down, grasped the gun and after the briefest delay — it seemed desperately long to Wayne — came the explosion. The charging pig came on but its lowered head slid into the dirt, gouging a shallow groove until finally the snout dug in hard and the momentum of the heavy body drove the creature into an awkward somersault. It was still rolling when the second shot drove into its head. The pig didn’t move again. After the echoes of gunfire had died, the
bush all around was very still and very quiet.
It was Doggy who had killed the pig. From his strange vantage point he had seen the pig turn and hesitate and watched as Wayne made that simple error, sliding the gun away from himself in his eagerness to slip under the wire. He had guessed what was in the pig’s mind but it was too late when he shouted to warn Wayne. As soon as he realised Wayne was caught he leapt neatly from the fence post and retrieved the gun. He had saved his mate from a terrible mauling.
By the time Luke, Dave and Jacko arrived on the scene, out of breath, Doggy had disentangled Wayne from the wire and was helping him to his feet. Wayne stood holding the fence post, quietly swearing, the same words over and over. The fear was visible in his eyes, wide and frozen, and in his frail, defensive stance, like that of a man expecting to be punched in the belly at any moment. He was snaking uncontrollably, and just as the others joined him his legs buckled and he sat down in the dust.
‘You all right mate?’ asked Dave, crouching on one knee. ‘Better get some water. You look terrible.’
Wayne did look like a corpse. His face had drained of blood, his eyelids and mouth hung loosely. Beside him Doggy stood erect, staring at the carcass of the pig, the gun in his hands ready to fire again if the animal should show the slightest sign of life.
Luke was sent for water from the truck and when he returned to the group, Jacko was making the obvious statement: ‘You coulda been killed.’
Luke was unsure to which of the men Jacko spoke — it applied equally to Wayne and Kieran Doggitt.
‘I never saw him stop,’ said Wayne.
‘Don’t ever take your eyes off a pig, Wayne,’ said Jacko seriously. ‘They can turn and charge at any time. You should know that by now.’
‘How could I be so stupid, tossing the gun out of reach like that! I must be crazy.’
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