Skyquakers

by Conway, A. J.

  With haste, he rounded up some things: his knife, his binoculars, and his bicycle. He rode towards the beam, just outside of town. It was still there, humming away, giving off a bright light and thunderous sounds. He rode to a plateau scattered with spiky shrubs called Five Rivers Lookout, a mound which overlooked a wetland. At the top of the plateau, he abandoned his bike and crept to the edge on his stomach, watching through the binoculars. This beam was enormous. Ned estimated it to be at least 500 meters wide. Specks of light floated down from a spiralling eye in the clouds like loosely-thrown confetti, and, in the same fashion that he had seen the beams vaporise solid objects and absorb them skywards, they now appeared to be creating solid things on the ground using a reverse mechanism. Ned watched glittery dots float down and form a shape on the earth, growing speck by speck into a solid, rectangular object. It was a slow process, creating the four walls inch by inch, solidifying from nothing but dust. It was unclear what the object was going to be yet, but it was wide and metallic, like a large warehouse or some sort of enormous aircraft hangar. He scanned the walls, trying to get his bearings on how big it was going to be, and then he saw a living creature emerge.

  ‘Holy sh—!’

  He tore the binoculars from his eyes, as though he had seen something too bright. He took a few deep breaths before he dared to look back.

  From behind one of the walls came two figures. They appeared to be inspecting the structure, watching it grow from the dust, chatting to themselves about it with head nods and hand gestures. They stood inside the pink beam unharmed, dressed in glossy, high-tech astronaut suits with oval heads, rubber gloves, and thick boots. On each of their backs was a scuba tank, strapped to their shoulders, with a hose connecting it to their hoods to allow them to breathe. The suits were grey, plain, without any symbol or flag, giving Ned no indication of anything. The only thing which frightened him was their height. From a distance, it was hard to compare, so he took reference from a nearby tree. By the height of that tree, Ned concluded that those two walking, talking figures were about two and a half metres tall. At least.

  Skyquakers.

  There was a third figure now. A human appeared. He was so small compared to them. He wore a business suit with a tie and nice shoes, leather ones. He had slicked back hair and was well-groomed. He looked up and spoke with the hooded giants, who cranked their long necks down to see him. This human was also unaffected by the beam, and remained as a solid entity within its circle as around him the warehouse continued to grow taller. The three spoke for a while. The human pointed around, directing their attention to a tree, to the rivers, to the ocean, and then, finally, he pointed directly at Ned, and the two hooded things turned and glared directly at him through their masks.

  Ned ducked and scurried backwards on his belly, until he was partially down the side of the mound, hidden again. He felt his heart race. Did they see him?

  It was impossible to judge what the Skyquakers were, where they had come from, or what they were looking for, but instantly Ned knew he was no longer safe in this town. He began to see the big picture now: these beams were clearing the land of the former inhabitants to make way for something; something new and intrusive. This new construction was undoubtedly only the first in a series of warehouses which could soon spring up around the area, and very soon Ned could find himself surrounded. These were not the only Quakers he would ever see; more were coming. They had come from the sky to establish something here on the ground: perhaps a new colony, a city of their own, or even a military base to attack the rest of the world. They wanted something from this place, and things like Ned were simply in their way.

  After that, Ned considered leaving town for good. If there was no one here, and not much food left other than piles of cans, then there was little point in staying. He did not want to go; he was certain with these new beams that change was occurring and he did not want to miss a second of it, but they were far too close for his liking. Any Quaker who dared to wander closer to town may find evidence of him living here, sparking alerts and resulting in more thorough hunting parties. He may as well get out while he could.

  Besides, somewhere out there, somewhere in the whole of Australia, there had to be another idiot who locked himself in a fridge and survived. Lonely Lily was one survivor, so there had to be more. Getting out of Wyndham safely, though, was going to be problematic. Manoeuvring through the town was not an issue; every home had a fridge to keep him safe in an emergency. On the dusty highways and open bushland, with hundreds of kilometres between townships, however, he would be exposed to the sky, without shelter or barriers to keep him safe from being abducted. There was no telling how far he would get.

  Ned made his decision after careful planning and deliberation. He found a street directory and calculated how long it would take to hop between here and the next town. Hours – days – of walking in the heat did not sound enjoyable, especially if he planned to take some less-travelled bush routes to keep his movements unpredictable. The Great Northern Highway was basically the one and only road out of Wyndham, which led south directly into a realm called the Kununurra. The Kununurra was a desert: a dead, flat, unforgiving place with no shade and no water in the heat of summer. In the wet season, it transformed into a flourishing wetland, but this season was very brief, and Ned could not wait around another few months just for the hope of rain. The highway cut through the desert, but the trail was so horribly exposed, offering nowhere to rest or hide from the blistering sun, and given its length and unpaved roads, it was often not attempted without a 4WD. Ned was going on foot, so to not draw attention to himself, and he was already dreading the journey ahead. The Kununurra was not going to be merciful, but where else was there to go? West, there was Broome, over 1,000 kilometres away. East, Darwin was just about the same distance. In the desert, he would have no water, no food, and no relief from the flies and the heat. On foot, it would take him two days to reach the other side. He could ride his bicycle, but it would not make it over the rocks or through the sand. It was going to be painful either way, but eventually he would reach a river called the Ord, and on the other side he would find greenery and a flourishing farming town in the country’s desolate centre. He aimed to reach this new world as though it was some sort of forgotten Eden, and the thought of arriving to a town of welcoming people made him keen to pack up and go.

  He slept one last time in his fridge and then left at sunrise the next morning. He wrote a note on the fridge door in black marker and left it standing for his mother to clearly find:

  Mum,

  Left for Ivanhoe. The fridge can keep you safe.

  xx Ned

  When he finally said goodbye to Wyndham, it said nothing back.

  LAGOON

  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 nec
k 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.