Skid

by Keith Fenwick

  Can and Punch made a beeline for the underside of the ute, whining each time he fired. But Cop almost leapt out of his skin in anticipation. He made little whining doggy noises and began to drool. As far as Cop was concerned, shooting usually meant fresh meat. Like his master, Cop was not all that fussed with the tucker they had had to eat lately and was looking forward to a change of diet. That guns occasionally meant the death of a dog, which was why Can and Punch hid from Bruce, didn’t worry Cop one bit. None of them was due for the chop as far as he was aware.

  The first shot missed the tree completely but the second caused a few chips to fly from the target area, satisfying Bruce that the weapon was more or less accurate. Not that he was a particularly good shot, nor would he admit this even to himself. Bang! Click, rattle. Bang! He emptied the magazine and then went down to the tree to check out his aim, with Cop at his heels. Bruce was rapt to find three holes fairly close together in the general area he’d aimed and several deep gouges in the ground just behind the tree where several other bullets had ploughed into the earth. Not bad!

  “Want a shot?”

  “No, thanks. Guns frighten me.”

  “Okay. Here, get up, you two.”

  Can and Punch crept out from under the ute, shying away from Bruce and his rifle. As if their lives depended on it they leapt onto the back of the vehicle and cowered behind the cab.

  “They’re scared of you carrying that thing. I bet you have shot dogs before. Right?”

  “Nah. They’re just wimps. You should see them when we get a thunderstorm. See, Cop’s not worried. Anyhow, you can talk; you had your fingers in your ears.”

  “Are we walking?” Sue changed the subject to avoid further ridicule, attracted by the chance to stretch her legs more than anything else.

  “Nah. We’ll go in this.” He patted the ute.

  “I thought when you went hunting you had to track your quarry like Daniel Boone or somebody.”

  “Huh?”

  “Sneak up on them.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Of course.”

  “Really?”

  Sue nodded, less assured than she had been initially.

  “Geez, Wayne!” Bruce laughed. “You’ve seen the ivops. We’ll be able to drive right up to them. So close I’ll just about be able to stick the muzzle up to one’s ear and blow its bloody head off. Anyhow, how would we get the meat back here? Carry it on our shoulders?”

  The expedition was starting to look more dubious to Sue, but she climbed into the ute anyway.

  On the fringes of the immense herd of ivops that spread almost as far as the eye could see in either direction, a few of the beasts looked up from their grazing as the red thing came to a stop and disgorged two creatures that stood on their hind legs and three smaller four-legged ones. None of the ivops flinched as Bruce raised his rifle and fired. This sort of noise came from the sky from time to time so was not a novelty. Besides, the grazing was too good around here to move on unnecessarily. One or two of the ivops started as one of their number collapsed close to the new creatures. None of the remaining beasts associated the arrival of the strange creatures with the death of the ivop, though some of them would soon learn differently. For now the herd moved off, completely unconcerned by the incident.

  As the young ivop, about the size of a small cow, hit the ground, Bruce handed the rifle to Sue while he ran forward with his knife and expertly slit its throat lengthways from chin to breast. Then reversing the knife he stabbed downwards at where he thought its heart should be. A bright red spray of blood greeted this thrust, and Bruce stood clear of the fountain of blood and the ivop’s kicking legs, almost disappointed. He’d half expected the blood to be of a different color, something really exotic, to finally prove to himself he was on another world and not simply inhabiting a dream.

  Can and Punch overcame their fear of guns and crept out from their hiding place under the ute to join Cop, who was licking at the pool of blood forming by the ivop’s head. Waiting for the beast to stop kicking, Bruce took the gun from Sue, who was beginning to look a little green, and put it in the ute. He then touched up his knife with the steel he took from the small pouch on the sheath.

  “Why do they kick like that?”

  “Just nerves.” He gave the body an experimental prod with his foot as it gave a last desultory jerk and ceased moving altogether.

  Bruce stood alongside the carcass, facing toward its tail, and pulled the left rear leg towards him and grasped it between his knees. Carefully he made a long incision from behind the hock to a point above the tail. Then reversing the knife he sliced the skin away from the limb until it was bare. With a deft turn of the wrist he severed the hock and cut the strip of skin that held the lower leg to the rest of the hide, tossing it to the dogs to fight over. With a grunt he stepped over the carcass and repeated the process with the other rear leg. Only this time the incision went below the tail, meeting the first just above the udder.

  “Hey, noticed something? There’s no flies, eh?” he grunted as he decapitated the beast and pushed its head under the front left quarter to prop it up. “At home they’d be buzzing about at the first hint of blood.”

  Once the front and rear legs had been opened up, Bruce paused to touch up the knife on the steel and then slashed a strip of skin from the dead animal’s belly, from the neck of the carcass down to where his two earlier cuts had met above the udder. Then he began to knife the skin off the rest of it.

  The whole operation took about twenty minutes and left the bare carcass lying on its skin with only a few flecks of dirt and bits of grass marring its marbled surface. Pushing the carcass onto its side Bruce began to gut it.

  “Hmm. Let’s have a look here.” He slashed between the last rib and the hips, dragging out the offal and piling it on the ground. “Nothing particularly unusual here.” He was still hoping to discover something exotic about the ivops.

  “What’s this?” Sue prodded the lungs with her bare toe, quickly withdrawing it from the still warm organ.

  “Heart.” Bruce pointed with his knife. “Lungs, where you put your toe. Liver.” He turned over the mass of entrails. “Kidneys.”

  “This. Is it pregnant?”

  “No, that’s its rumen. The main stomach, if you like.” Bruce slit the organ open. “Let’s see what it had for breakfast. Are you keen on tripe?”

  “I just love tripe. Which part’s that?”

  “You’re looking at it. See?” Bruce pulled back the flaps of the cut he had made; exposing the rumens folded interior and its contents of partly digested vegetation.

  “Interesting, eh?” Bruce pulled out a few pieces of the mushy stuff, sniffed at it and then tossed it away, wiping his hands on his shorts. Sue turned away, covered her mouth with her hand and dry retched.

  “Perhaps not, then.” Bruce chuckled as he cut the heart and liver into large chunks and tossed them to where the dogs were taking turns at ripping the ivop’s head to shreds. Swiftly he sliced the choice cuts of meat from the rump and shoulder, throwing them into the chilly bin until he reckoned there was enough for both of them for a week or so. He then threw two quarters onto the back of the ute for dog tucker.

  “How do you like your steak, Sue? Rare? Medium? Well done?”

  She gagged at the prospect, turned away once more and vomited into the grass.

  “Well, I’m going to enjoy the stuff anyway. Well cooked, with eggs and chips.”

  Chance would be a fine thing. Still, he almost drooled at the thought of proper meat to eat. He got in the ute, rolled a smoke and waited for Sue to compose herself.

  Climbing in beside him, Sue wondered how Bruce could stand having all that blood and guts sticking to his arms. The cloying smell of death upset her stomach further, and she held her head out of the window all the way back to the house.

  Bruce took a good look at the dogs who’d devoured the meat left on the back of the ute by the time they got back to the house. They seemed to be fine.<
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  “Take this inside will you, Sue?” He handed her the chilly bin full of bloody meat, which had picked up a few more pieces of dirt and grass from somewhere.

  “But it’s dirty,” Sue declared, looking for a good reason to go hungry. “We can’t eat that!”

  “No worries. It’ll brush off.” He lifted the remains of the carcass off the back of the ute, broke it up with the axe he’d brought with them from town and threw the lot into the freezer he found by the back door.

  Inside the house Bruce found the chilly bin in the kitchen with Sue conspicuously absent. At least she could have started to cook it!

  He worked his way through the cupboards searching for plates and a frying pan. Finding some plates, he dumped enough meat on them for a meal and put the rest into the fridge, kicking the chilly bin carelessly into a corner. He put the frying pan on one of the hot plates and turned it on high, poured a little water into the bottom of the pan then threw in the meat. He found a fork to turn the meat over as it cooked, blissfully ignoring the globules of fatty water splattering everywhere.

  “I hope you’ll clean up the mess when you’ve finished,” Sue said, looking over his shoulder and hoping he was not going to suggest she eat any.

  “You sound just like my mother,” he grunted, none too fondly. “I’ll clean it up later,” he continued, having no intention of doing so.

  “Grab the eating gear, will you, and set the table. This looks about done.” Bruce speared the pieces of meat with his fork and dropped them onto the plate. He popped the last chunk of meat into his mouth, suspiciously giving it a couple of chews before gulping it down. It tasted a bit like venison. Definitely feral. But okay, an indescribable improvement on synthofood, however it tasted.

  He took the plate of meat out to the veranda where Sue waited unenthusiastically.

  “Here we are!” He set the plate on the table. “Real tucker at last. Could do with some onions and spuds though,” he added wistfully.

  From somewhere Sue had tracked down a shaker of salt, a couple of glasses and a long-necked bottle which Bruce picked up and sniffed.

  “Where’s the beer? What’s this?” He took a sip from the bottle. “Wine! Where on earth did you get this from?”

  “At the local liquor store, silly!” Sue grinned facetiously. “Where do you think?”

  “Oh,” he muttered sheepishly, momentarily lost for words. This sheila was catching on in a hurry.

  “Well, pour some into a glass then, bright eyes, and wrap your molars around this,” he said unceremoniously, dumping an unappetizing lump of meat onto her plate.

  “You’re sure it’s okay?”

  Bruce responded by nonchalantly pouring himself a glass of wine and chasing a piece of meat down with a healthy swig. He smacked his lips contentedly. “Try a bit. It’s good.” He took another gulp of wine, slurping noisily.

  Sue stabbed a small chunk with her fork.

  “Go on,” he encouraged, thinking she might refuse to eat it.

  “Okay.” Sue put the fork into her mouth, pulled the meat off with her teeth and prepared to die. She tried not to recall the sight of the bloody carcass on the ground and the way her stomach had churned at the thought of eating some of it. A few moments later, pleasantly surprised that she had not at least been sick, she tried to size up the meat’s flavor. “It’s a bit tough, isn’t it?”

  “Well, it’s not exactly the grain-fed prime steak you’re probably used to.”

  “Definitely more interesting than synthofood.”

  “That’s for sure.” Bruce took another piece for himself and another swig of wine. “Quite a nice drop, this. A little dry for my taste though.” Bruce refilled his glass and held it up with the air of a connoisseur. After polishing off the meat that Sue couldn’t eat he rolled himself his first post-meal cigarette and contemplated the view across the plain for several few minutes.

  “We’ve got company,” he said shortly after, noting a dark shape in the sky growing larger and larger.

  “Where?”

  “Over there. Look.” He pointed at the aircraft whose shiny fuselage reflected the last rays of the sun.

  “I still can’t see it.”

  Bruce sighed and pointed to a grove of trees on the plain. “See that clump of trees?”

  “Yes, but …”

  “Look up and to the left of them.”

  “I’ve got it now. Wonder who it is?”

  “Dunno, but I reckon we’ll find out soon enough.” He relit the stub of his smoke and watched the aircraft land on the grassy slope below the house.

  The door flopped open and Cyprus popped out, looking as if he did not really want to be there. He glanced around worriedly and then scuttled quickly up to the house, closely followed by Leaf and a drone.

  Neither Bruce nor Sue felt sufficiently hospitable to rise and greet the Skidians and waited for Cyprus to climb the veranda steps.

  “Greetings, friends,” he gasped as if he had run a long way to get there. “I hope I find you well?” he asked without a hint of concern, once he had regained his breath.

  “Sure,” Bruce answered curtly. “What can we do you for?”

  Cyprus frowned, uncertain as to how he should respond. “Please, could you speak more clearly. I do not understand,” Cyprus demanded, suspecting correctly that Bruce was making a joke at his expense.

  “Sorry.” Bruce tried to sound suitably chastened. “How are you?”

  “Very well. How are you?”

  “Not bad. All the better for a decent feed, mate.”

  “Feed? What is this feed?” Cyprus craned his neck so he could look about the veranda, past the offworlders and into their new quarters. He sought some strange offworld device used for who knew what.

  “Yes, knocked off an ivop and we’ve just eaten some of it.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Cyprus sounded shocked, as if he could not believe such a sacrilege had been committed.

  “That is good?” Cyprus asked at length, reinforcing Bruce’s impression that it might not be.

  “Would you like some, Cyprus?” Sue asked.

  “Ah …” Cyprus did not sound too keen to test the unknown today. He had not decided what the offworlders had been doing yet. “Later perhaps. But first I wish to make sure that everything is satisfactory here.”

  Bruce followed Leaf’s entrance into the house with his eyes, a little angry that Cyprus had brought her there and a little excited, as he imagined her backside wiggling beneath her robe.

  “The house is wonderful, isn’t it, Bruce?” Sue said quickly, her new feeling of security threatened as she caught the direction of Bruce’s gaze and the flicker of interest she saw in his face.

  “Yeah, couldn’t be better,” he replied, not really caring as long as it had four walls, a roof and a decent loo.

  Sue wished Leaf had not turned up. Maybe I can get rid of her somehow, she thought.

  “I haven’t checked out the other shed yet, but I’m sure everything’s fine down there as well.”

  “Good.” Cyprus nodded, accepting undeserved praise for a job well done.

  “I’ll need some help out here soon with some of the work,” said Bruce, as if the thought had just occurred to him. “I imagine you already have people prepared who are interested in learning the food production systems you wish me to set up?”

  “Oh yes, most certainly. This work is well in hand,” Cyprus lied easily, betraying the fact that neither he nor anybody else had given any thought to the matter of who would learn all the offworlders had to teach. ‘Do not concern me with the details’, he could have added. What the offworlders required were a few drones and expert drone programers, for it was beneath the dignity of any Skidian to assist the uncouth creature in whatever primitive scheme he might be planning. Besides, how could they turn around and suddenly demand that Skidians had to learn to fend for themselves after generations of not having to do so, even if they knew how.

  “Please tell me,” Cyprus asked, express
ing his curiosity as to why the offworlders should be eating the flesh of an ivop.

  Bruce jerked upright, spilling wine down his shirt. “What are you on about, Cyprus? The ivops are a major source of readily accessible food for your people.”

  “Oh.” Cyprus was nonplussed. Did Bruce think Skidians were as stupid as his own people? Advocating that Skidians eat ivops indeed! The very thought sickened him.

  “What the hell?”

  A crash came from the direction of the kitchen accompanied by a scream. Sue leaped up from her chair and raced inside, closely followed by Bruce.

  “Ahhh!” Leaf screamed again, amid a pile of pots and pans scattered across the kitchen floor. Bruce thought it a hell of a joke as Leaf shakily explained how she’d opened a cupboard to discover what was inside and had then been attacked by the objects that now lay around her. While Sue began to replace everything in what she considered were their rightful places, Bruce drew Leaf to her feet.

  “Don’t worry, Leaf,” he chuckled. “One of us will show you how to use this lot one day.” He left her in the kitchen tearfully cursing the luck that had thrown her into contact with these strange and uncivilized beings. Bruce returned to the veranda just in time to see Cyprus hastily climbing aboard his aircraft. He dismissed him from his mind completely. The useless bugger wasn’t worth worrying about.

  He dropped into a chair, skewed it round so he could prop his feet up on the veranda rail and rolled another cigarette. What more could a man want? he asked himself. Many things immediately sprang to mind. But for all that, on this night, Skid didn’t really seem to be such a bad place.

  “Where’s Cyprus?” asked Sue, emerging from the kitchen to sit on Bruce’s lap, wriggling her bottom about until she had made herself comfortable.

  “You’re a weight, woman!” Bruce grunted. “I dunno. He buggered off while we were inside.”

  “Good riddance,” Sue pouted distastefully. She did not like the way Skidian men looked at her, and Cyprus was one of the worst. The latent contempt in his eyes beneath that polite veneer, the way she felt them strip away her clothing, the strange lack of sexual interest in her. Rather, and more hurtful, she felt the Skidians were disgusted by her appearance.