by Sean Wallace
With rattlesnake reflexes one of the operatives snatched the moth mid-flight. His partner frowned disapproval as he went over to a window, opened it, and gently released his fingers. Unharmed, the moth bobbed away, and the operative closed the window behind it.
The blanket pulled over Parkes’ lap had fallen to the ground, and the operative picked it up and smoothed it back over the old man’s knees before resuming his vigil.
Parkes mumbled a vague thank you, but his eyes never left the television screen. The old man suddenly remembered his old friends, Premier Cahill and Minister Harry Ashworth, now long dead, remembered how they had all sacrificed for this one moment. Tears welled in his eyes. What political battles had they fought, and how much scathing criticism had they endured from the press and public!
The retired architect looked at the scene and whispered to himself, “Today we find out if it has all been worth it.” The tears flowed freely now, and his bottom lip quivered. “Today my friends, we will be vindicated!”
Back at Circular Quay, Echidonah reared onto its stocky hind legs. Its quills bristled with expectation, while mid-harbor, the giant green lizard splashed towards its opponent. Pausing between the Harbour Bridge and the Sydney Opera House, Reptillon flexed its muscles and adopted a defiant stance as its radioactive spines began to glow ominously.
Face to face at last, the two behemoths sized each other up.
Before authorities could stop her, the aboriginal woman jumped a barrier and ran onto the concourse of the Opera House, where she screamed a vengeful call to attack.
“Mamu! Mamu!”
Cobden Parkes leaned forward, gripped the arm of his recliner tightly, and spluttered, “Now!”
The two operatives nodded to each other, then one mouthed something into his microphone.
Grinning toothlessly, an exuberant Parkes turned to Ken, and winked.
As the giant monsters towered over the Quay, poised for battle, a loud ratcheting suddenly distracted their attention.
Together they turned in the direction of the sound, and watched tiny white tiles fly like confetti into the air, as the glittering sails of the Sydney Opera House slowly, delicately and quite deliberately unfurled.
A huge exhaust rotated and locked into position above the aboriginal woman’s head. She did a double-take as the engine core began to glow a radioactive blue.
A State Emergency Services recruit went to retrieve her, but was held back by his mate. The engine ignited, and the woman screamed at the top of her voice before being blown back into the dreamtime.
“Kaaami!”
Her shrill scream was lost as a deep, powerful roar echoed through the harbor foreshore and the building wrenched itself from its moorings. Wings spread, it rose into the sky like a gigantic moth.
Kadimakara and Curlew
Jason Nahrung
“I’ve heard of corrugation but this is ridiculous.” Steve changed down a gear as the Land Rover bumped over another waist-high furrow in the gravel road.
Sarah held on to the dash with both hands, wincing at the thought of what the jolting was doing to the equipment rattling in the back of the vehicle. “I’ve never seen anything like this. This could be our big break.”
“We’ll find out soon enough,” John said, leaning forward from his cramped nest amid luggage and gear on the rear seat. “I can see Kadimakara, over there.” He pushed his glasses back into position on his nose, then pointed ahead through the dusty, insect-spotted windscreen towards an ocher monolith on the horizon. It seemed to float on a bed of heat haze; the plain around it was scrunched like a tablecloth.
Sarah stared at their destination, inwardly cursing that she’d worn a tank top. But it was so damn hot, and she’d expected to be riding in the back, not having John perving down her cleavage every time he wanted to say something. Poor guy, he just couldn’t help himself, however much he tried to fight it. And with those Coke-bottle glasses, he could probably see every damn freckle on her chest.
“The satellite photos didn’t do it justice.” Sarah retrieved a folder from a bag at her feet, doing her best to swivel away from John’s telescopic lenses. “It’s bigger than I thought.”
“I bet you say that to all the boys,” Steve said, flashing a knowing leer.
And the shorts had been another mistake, she realized, as Steve’s eyes continued their roving circuit from the dirt track to her knees, thighs, chest and back to the road. “Never, unfortunately, but I live in hope.”
John spluttered with laughter, spraying her shoulder with spittle.
She flinched and he fell back in his seat, stared out the window. She swore under her breath. It was like being on a high-school excursion. This was the first time she’d been out in the field with Steve since, well, that last time, but if he thought they were picking up where they’d left off, he was sadly mistaken. Hopefully, with John joining them on this trip, past errors of judgment wouldn’t be repeated. Maybe it would all be worth it, if this seismic event turned out to be as unusual as she suspected. Yes, there could be a paper or two in this; a promotion, even a real job overseas where the earth really moved.
The road stretched towards the western horizon, vanishing into the haze somewhere between Kadimakara and a smaller outcrop to its north. A few scrubby wattle trees had been uprooted; others leaned at crazy angles, all facing away from the huge rock.
“Just incredible,” Sarah said. “I don’t think anyone’s encountered anything like this before.” She held up the pictures as she tried to compare the satellite images with the world around her. “It’s like the rock was dropped in a pond.”
The photos clearly showed the rings of disturbed earth radiating out from the monolith in rough concentric circles. They were broken only where they hit the buildings of the Aboriginal community nestled near the only other natural feature in the area, the Sentinels, whose twelve granite towers looked like jumbled flagstones when seen from above. She could just make out the wavering line of a dry watercourse jagging down the western side of the settlement from the Sentinels towards Kadimakara.
“If only,” Steve said, flexing his shoulders against his sweat-soaked shirt. “I could use a dip and a cold beer about now.”
Sarah swiped the air-conditioning outlet in the dash with the photographs. “I’m sure this bloody thing isn’t working.” Her back was stuck to the seat and her bra itched.
“Maybe it needs re-gassing,” said Steve.
“Not long now and we’ll be able to cool off,” John added, without leaning forward. “We should be at the township well before dark.”
“I hope they’ve got a bar.” As he spoke, Steve steered off the road to avoid a particularly nasty uplift of earth. The ground didn’t seem any rougher than the road as small bushes thwacked against the vehicle and rocks dinged off the underside.
John squeezed Steve’s shoulder and settled back. “Sorry, mate, it’s a dry camp.”
Sarah sighed. “We talked about that last night.” How had she ever thought going to bed with Steve was a good idea? How many days was she going to be stuck out here with these two boys?
“Oh yeah, I forgot,” Steve said with a mischievous grin. “Better empty this then.” He reached into his shirt pocket for his battered flask and let go the wheel while he unscrewed the cap.
“Steve, I don’t think you should—Watch out!” Sarah shouted, but Steve was already braking hard and jerking on the wheel, the flask sloshing liquor as it clattered to the floor.
“Where the bloody hell did he come from?” Steve yelled as the Rover rocked to a stop, boxes sliding in the rear as dust billowed around them. “Jesus!” He leaned forward, fighting his seat belt as he groped for his flask.
“Did you miss him?” Sarah asked. “He came from nowhere . . . I think you missed him.”
“Who?” asked John, trying to extricate himself from the avalanche of gear.
“Didn’t you see him, John?” Sarah glanced back. “A blackfella . . . It must’ve been close.” She p
eered out the side window, squinting through the sun and dust.
She shrieked. The men jumped.
An elderly Aborigine stood next to her window, staring at them through the glass, his wide nose twitching with dust, apparently oblivious to the half-dozen flies crawling around the corners of his moist brown eyes.
Sarah, one hand on her thumping heart, wound down her window. The fresh dirt smell rolled in on a blast of hot air.
“Jesus,” she said. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“Not as much as you mob scared me, missus.” He smiled, revealing a few dark gaps in his wide, white grin.
“Are you all right?” Sarah asked. “We didn’t even see you.”
He wore faded, stained jeans and a dirty singlet. Rings of gray hair framed his dust-caked forehead. Dots of dark red paint flecked his cheeks.
“I’m all right, missus.” He pointed at them with a knobby finger. “It’s you mob should be worried.”
“Us?” she asked. “We didn’t hit you, did we? I’m sure we didn’t.” She looked at him more closely but couldn’t see any injuries. Bare feet, she noticed, and he was thin, his skin the deepest black, and the eyes—old, but not dulled by age.
“No, missus, you didn’t run into me. I come to warn you. This isn’t a good place. You should all go back where you belong.”
Steve snorted. “We spent three days driving out here. We’re not going back now.”
“I'm no good for climbin’,” the man said with a gesture over his shoulder to the monolith.
“Are you talking about the climber who died last week, just before the first quake?” Sarah asked.
“We’re not here to climb it, old timer,” Steve said. “We’re here to study it. We’re scientists, from the government.”
“Guv’ment? Guv’ment don’t come out ’ere.”
“Well, we’re bloody well here now,” Steve said.
“Are you from the camp?” John peered across Sarah’s shoulder at the man. “You want a ride?”
The man cast an eye over the four-wheel-drive. “Better to walk, eh.”
“At least tell me your name,” Sarah said. “I need to talk to you about the tremors. About what you saw, what you felt.”
The old man stepped even closer, staring into her eyes, and his voice dropped to a hard-edged whisper. “I told ’im, that fella that died. I told ’im, Kadimakara’s no good for whitefellas to scramble on. He’s no good for any mob.” He wagged a finger at them. “You better stay away from ’im, missus. You don’t wanna end up like that other fella.”
“What are you saying?” Sarah asked. “Are you threatening us?”
“I’ve had enough of this bullshit,” Steve said, crunching the Rover into gear. “See you there, old fella.” He drove off with a lurch that sent John flying back into his seat.
“You didn’t need to be so rude,” Sarah said, “even if he was a bit creepy. I needed to talk to him.”
“You can chat all you like when he finally gets back to the camp,” Steve said, and shook his head. “Not that he made much sense. Pissed, probably.” He caught a glimpse of John between jolts in the rear-view mirror. “I thought you said it was a dry community?”
“Oh, it is,” John said.
Sarah fired a dirty look at Steve, then reefed her gaze away. Disgusted, she bit her lip, tasting dust. Through the window, the monolith shimmered in the haze, waiting patiently.
The houses of the local community seemed baked in the sun. Paint had faded on the windowless walls; tin roofs wavered with the heat rising from the unsealed roads. There wasn’t even breeze enough to stir the plastic bags and food wrappers that littered the bare dusty yards. People and dogs lounged under scrubby trees shading the open space in the middle of the township.
Hope hadn’t died here, Sarah thought as they passed yet another rusted car body. It hadn’t been game to slow down, let alone stop. No, hope had taken one look and headed for the coast where at least it could live out its old age in comfort. The urge to follow it welled inside her. Maybe the encounter with the old Aborigine had spooked her more than she realized. He’d been right on one score, though—she didn’t belong here. Maybe that was what was really bugging her; the realization that her world had, to whatever degree, contributed to the state of this one.
Sarah shelved her disquiet as they pulled up outside the canteen. One thing she could be sure of—an unusual, perhaps unique, geological event had occurred here, and it held enough promise to override any apprehension she might be feeling.
She flashed a nervous grin at two Aborigines seated on a warped bench. The pair swatted at flies as they watched the three scientists get out of the four-wheel-drive.
“Uncle’s inside. He’s bin waitin’ for you mob,” one of them said with a half-hearted movement of his hand.
“Is that right?” Steve replied. “Hope it’s his shout.”
The man’s expression didn’t change, but Sarah sensed the hardening behind his brown eyes. She could’ve kicked Steve, she really could’ve.
They went in, blinking in the sudden dimness until their eyes adjusted. The screen door clunked behind them with a scratch of tired hinges and an aluminium rattle. There was the clink of someone taking a shot on the threadbare pool table, and a tinny radio played country music. A little girl in a white dress danced to it with unselfconscious grace as two others played with sticks on the floor. Everyone stopped what they were doing as the scientists entered.
“Holy shit,” Sarah whispered, gesturing towards the bar.
“How the hell?” asked John.
“Tricky bastard,” Steve said, and led them over. The old man leaned against the bar, his hand wrapped around a cold can of soft drink that had left a puddle on the polished timber. He raised it in salute as they reached him.
Sarah licked her lips as thirst fought with curiosity. She pulled up a stool, the cracked vinyl creaking under her, and decided she could satisfy both—if Steve would let her.
He had walked right up to the old fella and, as John asked the teenage girl behind the bar for three cans of lemonade, Steve poked the air in front of the man’s face and said: “So how’d you do it, granddad? You have a bike stashed out there? A horse? What was the idea, jumping out like that? We could’ve hurt you.”
“No bike, no fancy four-wheel-drive. I told you blokes, out ’ere, these are better, more comfy.” He pointed to his bare feet. “Got good air condition’ too, boss.” He waved a hand, sending a few flies buzzing.
“You’re crazy,” Steve said, and walked back behind Sarah to get his drink.
Sarah introduced them. “And you’re . . . ?”
“You can call me Jimmy Curlew. You mob shouldn’t be ’ere. This isn’t your place.”
“Jimmy, what can you tell me about the earthquake? It doesn’t seem to have damaged the community.”
“How the hell could you tell?” Steve snorted behind her, and again she had to quell the impulse to slap him.
“John, maybe you and Steve should go set up the camp? Where’s a good place, Jimmy?”
“Brisbane’s not far, missus. Not with a good car like your one.”
She laughed. “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.” Then she got serious. “We’re here to study the rock, Jimmy, but we don’t want to offend anyone. So please, where do you think is a good place for us to camp?”
He studied her, then nodded. “All right then, missus, if that’s what you want. There’s a little billabong, over by that creek there.” He pointed out the back door. “Not much water, but he’s got good shade. Close to Lumaluma. You mob will be safer there.”
“Thanks, Jimmy. You boys go on, I’ll catch you up.”
“You be all right, Sarah?” John asked, wiping the dust from his glasses.
“Yeah, I just want to find out more about what they saw from here and how it affected them.”
Sarah’s teammates left, promising her a fine meal of baked beans on toast, and again she asked Jimmy about the tremor.<
br />
“Lumaluma, what your mob call Sentinels, they look after us, missus. They might look after you, too, if you don’t upset ’em.”
“And how would we do that, Jimmy?”
“Just keep away from Kadimakara, that’s all, missus. Don’t go climbin’ on ’im. Too many died up there already. That fella, he’s got too much blood in ’im.”
“Yes, I know. The latest one only last week. A heart attack, wasn’t it?”
“That’s what they say, missus. But it wasn’t no ’art attack.”
“So what was it, Jimmy? What don’t you want us here? Because we are staying. This upheaval is amazing. It could make a person’s career.”
Jimmy shook his head. “Could cost you plenny, this career of yours. Kadimakara is the spirit of this place, older than old. We keep ’im quiet, keep ’im dreamin’.” His voice rose, so it carried through the shed, and he swept the rest of the building with his gaze. “But these young ones, they aren’t innerested in the old ways.” He looked over to the pool table where two young men in football jerseys had resumed playing. Sarah felt their eyes on her, measuring her like she was another ball in the game. “They don’t wanna stay ’ere an’ sing to Kadimakara. They want money an’ them fancy cars.”
One of the lads threw his cue on the table. “You’re mad, Uncle. And you’re mad, too, missus, if ya listen to ’is stupid old stories.”
He stormed out, leaving his mate to flash an apologetic grin and a shrug before he, too, sauntered away.
Jimmy shook his head and took another swig. Sarah smiled as his throat bobbed, reminding her of a frog as he gulped down a few mouthfuls before he resumed talking.
“And the guv’ment, they aren’t innerested neither. They want tourists to come an’ climb ’im, carve their names on ’im, piss on ’im. They don’t unnerstand it’s the land, missus. People forget where they come from, people forget where they are.”
“And where are we, Jimmy?”
“We’re in the land of Kadimakara, missus. We’re livin’ in ’is shadow.” He grinned, without amusement.
The ground shook. Bottles rattled on the shelf. Sarah grabbed at the bar as her stool wobbled. A pool ball bounced off the table, cracked across the concrete floor.
