by Ali Lewis
*
When I woke up on Jonny’s bed, it wasn’t even starting to get light. I must have been looking at the soldiers he’d painted when I fell asleep because in the morning I found a few hiding in the sheets. I counted them to make sure all forty-seven were there, taking care with my favourite. It was the soldier Jonny had worked on last. I recognised him easily because he only had trousers. Jonny must have had the accident before he’d got round to painting the rest of the uniform.
Once I knew they were all there, I carefully put them away and got dressed. I decided to finish off sorting out the jars in Dad’s shed. As I walked into the dining room I saw the kitchen light was on, so I went to have a look to see who was in there. As I got to the doorway, I saw Dad sitting at the counter on the tall stool. He had his back to the door, and his hat was laid on the side, next to his cup of coffee. He was rubbing the sides of his head with his fingers. He hadn’t heard me and I didn’t want to spook him, so I made a little coughing sound in my throat to get his attention. He turned round and said, ‘Hey, Danny. What are you doing up so early?’ His voice sounded weird, kind of croaky. Like his throat was sore, or something. I shrugged and said I just woke up. We looked at each other for a moment before Dad asked if I wanted some brekkie. I said I had some chores to do and so I’d get my brekkie later when everyone else was up. He nodded and said he was pleased I’d taken the right attitude to the chores. I guess that meant he was glad I was doing them.
It was starting to get light, but the sun hadn’t arrived so everything was grey. There was enough light for me to find my way to the shed and open the door. Inside, the jars were all on the floor where I’d left them. I picked up each one in turn, unscrewed the lid to have a look inside to make sure there were only washers or nuts or bolts or nails inside each one. That was a bit tricky to start with because it wasn’t really light enough to see, but after a while the sun poked its head over the desert and things got easier. I made sure all the jars went back on the shelves where they belonged and then closed the shed door behind me. I took out the list of chores Mum and Dad had given me and crossed that one off. As I looked at what I had left to do on the list, my stomach growled. I folded the piece of paper up and put it into my shirt pocket as the sun streaked the world orange.
I walked back to the house and Lloyd and Elliot were outside having a smoke. I heard Lloyd say something about Little Sissy with that gin. But Lloyd stopped speaking when Elliot said, ‘G’day, Danny, you’re up early.’ I asked them why they weren’t inside having their brekkie, and Elliot said the Pommie’d screwed up again, so they thought they’d have a smoke instead.
When I opened the door, the Pommie was inside waving a towel around. I soon realised why – she was trying to get rid of the smell of burnt toast. ‘Great start to the day,’ she said as I walked past. In the kitchen I saw six black slices of toast balanced on top of the pigs’ slops. Bobbie was standing guard over the grill to make sure the next lot didn’t go the same way. I went back into the dining room, where Mum was shaking her head at the smell while the Pommie opened more windows.
Eventually we sat down to eat the unburned toast Bobbie had made, while we pretended we couldn’t smell smoke any more. The Pommie wasn’t at the table – she was back in the kitchen watching the grill, like she had something to prove. By the time she brought the next lot of toast through, Mum had left the table to go to work, Bobbie had gone to the school room to get things ready for us over there and Dad and the fellas were probably halfway to Simpson’s Dam. When the Pommie realised there was only Emily and me there, she sighed and put the plate on the table. I didn’t want any more, but seeing as she’d gone to the trouble, I decided to take another slice. As the Pommie passed Emily the jam, she said she reckoned Sissy’s baby would be a bit like everybody jam. I thought she’d totally lost it. I mean, why would the baby look like jam? But then she said that all babies had special powers, which meant everybody liked them – no matter what. I shrugged at her as I kept chewing. Emily said she’d like it, but only if it was a girl. The Pommie reckoned it wouldn’t matter if the baby was a girl or a boy, everyone would still love it.
She said, ‘You’ll see,’ as she carried the plate of uneaten toast back into the kitchen.
I reckoned she’d be in trouble if Mum saw how much bread had been wasted.
Twenty-three
It was Sunday morning when things really started to go wrong.
The first bad thing that happened was when I got to the calf pen. Buzz was shouting his head off. I knew he was trying to tell me something, then I saw what was wrong. Elaine was dead. I dunno what killed her. She’d seemed like a pretty strong little poddy calf, but you couldn’t always tell which ones would live and which ones would die. I felt bad for her. The others were staring at me – probably wondering where their food was.
I opened the gate and Buzz wandered into the yard. He waited there for me to get Elaine out of the pen. I grabbed her back legs and dragged her along the dirt, turning her pretty white hide orange. Her face fell over to one side, and her mouth was slightly open, so her tongue picked up the dirt too. She felt cold and heavy.
As I shut the gate and started to pull Elaine along the ground towards the Old Rover I saw Emily watching me. Once she realised what I’d got, she came running over and said, ‘Is Elaine dead?’ I told her I didn’t know why she’d died, but she was cold, so she’d been dead a good few hours. I said I was going to take her to the carcass dump and Emily said she’d come too.
Buzz followed us to the house and I told him to stay outside. He didn’t like that. When I went up the steps he tried to follow me, so I had to push his nose away so the fly screen would shut. Mum was in the kitchen on the phone. It was Bob, the road-train driver – he was real upset. Nine animals had perished in the trailers on the way to the slaughterhouse from Simpson’s Dam. He said it was dehydration and the shock of being mustered. It happened sometimes. Dad and the fellas were out at Simpson’s Dam taking down the yards. Mum reckoned she’d have to radio to let him know. I felt scared. While Mum took down the receiver and started radioing Dad, I ran through to the dining room and stood on my tiptoes to be taller than the photo of Jonny on top of the piano. I held the frame and gently ran my fingers over Jonny’s face. It was the only thing I could think of to do.
I saw Liz and told her what had happened and how Emily and me were going to the carcass dump with Elaine. She sighed and said, ‘Oh no.’
When we got to the carcass dump, Emily and me climbed into the back and pushed Elaine out into the desert. She landed on the ground like a couple of pairs of trousers that had fallen off the line. Her white hide stood out like a tooth amongst the dirty old bones of the other dead cattle and horses. She looked so new against the orange desert. It wouldn’t be long until she was just a smaller version of the other old, empty, brown carcasses, picked over by the dingoes and crows. ‘Poor old Elaine,’ Emily said. She looked back at the white carcass as we drove away.
Dad was home when we got back to the station. He was on the phone, speaking to someone about the cattle that had died in Bob’s road train. Dad wasn’t happy, he reckoned it would get Timber Creek Station a bad name. He slammed the phone down and then slammed the door behind him as he went back out to Simpson’s Dam. I knew not to ask if I could stay with him at stock camp.
It was less than an hour later when the radio fizzed and Greg Croft’s voice came through. Seeing as I had my mouth full, the Pommie answered it. Greg asked her if Dad had been out to Cockatoo Creek Dam. That was the water hole on our land that was nearest to their station in the east. The Pommie didn’t know, so she asked me. I wasn’t sure, but I didn’t think he’d been out there. Greg said he was real concerned. Gil Smith had shown up at Gold River, worried about Cockatoo Creek Dam. Greg reckoned Gil had been on a walkabout when he’d seen the dam was dry, so he’d run all the way to Gold River, the nearest place to the dam, to raise the alarm. Greg said it was a scorcher and that Gil looked wrung out, so Penny had
made him some tucker and told him to have a shower. While Gil got cleaned up, Greg had been to check the dam out and said it was dry as a bone.
Liz looked at me and I felt the sandwich catch in my throat. I started to cough. I dunno if it was because of hearing about Gil or the fact the dam had gone dry. Liz told Greg she’d radio Dad straight away, but she didn’t have to. As soon as she said over and out, we heard Dad radio Greg. You can do that on the radio – listen in to what other people are saying if they’re tuned to your frequency. Dad had heard everything Greg had told the Pommie and so he said he’d go to Cockatoo Creek straight away.
To get from Simpson’s Dam to Cockatoo Creek, you have to go through Timber Creek, so Dad said he’d pick me up at the station on his way. He radioed to tell me to make sure I had plenty of water and to have Jonny’s gun ready. His ute tore into the station yard like it was in a race. He blew the horn as I ran down the steps with my water bottle, some bullets and Jonny’s gun. I’d made sure I touched Jonny’s photo again too.
As we got closer to Cockatoo Creek Dam, Dad blew the horn at a wedge-tailed eagle that was ripping strips off a calf’s carcass at the side of the road. The way it was tearing it to shreds made it look like the calf was made of paper. ‘That doesn’t look good,’ he said. I knew what he meant. That calf had perished, and as we got further away from the station and nearer Cockatoo Creek, we saw one or two more carcasses in the bush.
It was another scorcher of a day, but I didn’t expect Cockatoo Creek to be as bad as it was. The water had gone and in its place was a big muddy mark on the desert.
With dead cattle dotted all over it – like freckles.
Twenty-four
It was a bit like we’d been beamed onto the moon, or had just wandered into a bomb blast. It didn’t look like our station. The cattle were lying around, like rubbish blown by the wind. They were dead and dying, caught in the mud, desperate for water. They would have walked for miles to get to Cockatoo Creek for a drink. When they got there, they’d have been exhausted, but they would have smelled water and waded into the thick sludge. I guess they thought that if they went a bit further in they’d find something to drink, but the deeper it got, the weaker it made them. They died in the mud, too tired to carry on.
One cow was braying quietly as she lay in the mud. She looked mad. She seemed to be crying for something. Her legs were too tired to even stand up. The flies were probably already eating her. I was glad I had Jonny’s gun with me. Dad always had a gun with him so he could deal with a sorry situation like that.
I couldn’t stand to look at all the bloated carcasses any more. I hated the filthy stink coming from the mud – I could taste it, it was so strong. It smelled of stagnant water, like when the old wash-house drain blocked, but as well as that, I could smell rotten meat – and death. It made me feel sick. There were so many flies, it was like they’d beaten us to the muster. Every now and then I’d hear one of the cattle cry out. Sometimes I couldn’t tell which ones were alive and which were already dead.
As we sat in the ute looking at the carcasses around us, Dad and me didn’t speak much. I could tell he was thinking because his eyes were narrow and the tip of his tongue flicked from one side of his top lip to the other. We drove down closer to the dam. I pointed out a couple of carcasses as we went past them and he nodded. He didn’t want to see them.
We hadn’t thought about the shade from the trees and bushes, which were along the sides of the track on the way to Cockatoo Creek, until it was gone. When we left the trees behind, the sun came through the windscreen like a nasty surprise. It made my seat sticky and my eyes sting. On the bare part of the desert around the dam the ground shimmered, so the dead cattle appeared and disappeared like a magic trick. The drought had stopped being a chat about the weather. It wasn’t even about water, or dead cattle. I guess Dad was scared we’d dry up too. His eyes darted around the dust in front of us and picked over the dead and dying cattle. He said, ‘Jesus,’ under his breath.
Dad stopped the ute and cut the engine. As he climbed out of the door he reached for his gun, which was on the back seat. ‘Right, Danny – shoot the worst. The fellas’ll help shift the carcasses.’ We’d have to get rid of the dead cattle. If we didn’t, it would mean that when the dam filled up with water again, it’d be poisoned. I asked Dad what we’d do with them. The carcass dump was too far away and too small for all the dead cattle at Cockatoo Creek. He said we’d burn them.
Dad started at one side of the dirty bit of earth that had been the dam and I went to the other. All you could hear was the buzz of flies, broken every now and then by a gunshot or a cow crying out. I shot a couple of cattle and then stopped to wipe my face and reload. I was concentrating on slotting the bullets into the barrel when Dad shouted, ‘Danny! Daniel! Watch out!’ I turned round to see what was wrong, but before I could work it out, Dad had fired his gun. I felt my body jolt – the sound bounced off the desert into me. I looked to the other side, and out of the corner of my eye saw a cow flop over. It looked like it was wearing muddy trousers; a tidemark of sludge clung to its belly. I looked back at Dad and he was running towards me. His face was hard as he grabbed me roughly by the arm and said, ‘This is too dangerous.’
As we went back to the ute, he told me that the cow had seen me and had probably got spooked by the gunshots. He said it was crazed with dehydration, had scrambled onto its feet in the mud and for some reason was charging towards me. He said he had no choice but to shoot. ‘Even the live ones are no use,’ he said, like he’d lost already.
Instead of working on foot, we got in the ute. I drove and when Dad spotted a dying animal, he told me to stop. He’d load his gun and shoot at his target through the window. We’d been driving round shooting at the cattle for a while when we heard Reg’s voice on the radio. He wanted to know how things were at Cockatoo Creek. ‘It’s a bloody disaster – we’ll be bust by the time the year’s out at this rate,’ Dad said. Then he added, ‘A bloody disaster,’ again, but it was like he was talking to himself. I could tell things were real serious.
Reg said they’d almost finished taking the yards down at Simpson’s Dam, so he’d send Rick with the tanker to Wild Ridge. Once it was full, he’d bring it over to Cockatoo Creek. I knew that would take a while – it took hours for the tanker to fill and Wild Ridge was as far away from Cockatoo Creek as anywhere on the station. They wanted to know if there was anything we needed from Timber Creek because they’d be passing the station on their way through. Dad asked Reg to send Elliot over right away, and for him to bring the loader, chains and some diesel from the station. ‘I’ve never seen it like this. Just get over here as fast as you can.’
*
When Elliot arrived at Cockatoo Creek, he didn’t bring the loader, he came in his ute with the chains and a few cans of diesel. When he saw the mess he pulled the neck of his shirt up over his nose to try to block the bad smells. He couldn’t believe how quickly the dam had dried up. Elliot had checked the dams a few days before and he reckoned Cockatoo Creek had looked a lot better than Gum Tree Dam. Dad shook his head. When the loader growled down the track, I could tell it was Lloyd inside – no one else was as muscly as him. He stopped and climbed out of the cab. His mouth was open, and eventually he managed to find the word he wanted: Jeez!
Reg had told Elliot and Lloyd to come over to help Dad and me. He reckoned his mob could bring the tanker over when they brought the fencing, ready to build the yards. Elliot said that when Reg had the bit between his teeth, he worked faster than any fella he knew. Dad nodded and asked how long Elliot reckoned it’d be before they all got to Cockatoo Creek. Elliot looked at Lloyd, who shrugged. ‘It’ll be later on tonight,’ Elliot guessed. It was a lot quicker to take down the yards than to build them up, but even so, it’d been real hot and the fellas were tired.
Dad turned his attention back to the carcass dump around us. We’d killed all the cattle we could see that needed to be shot. Dad told the fellas to start moving the dead ones over
to a clearing a few hundred yards away from the dam. He was angry. Mainly with the weather, but all of us knew not to test him.
Elliot started off by tying the chains around the dead cattle. Then he attached the other end to his ute and dragged the carcasses away. He couldn’t do that with the ones that had perished on the edge of the dam because the mud had dried solid and held them down like superglue. For the ones that had died in the dam, Lloyd used the loader. To get them he drove into the sticky dirt, then dropped the bucket into the mess and scooped up the carcass. Sometimes bits fell off into the desert when they were shaken by the loader bumping over an uneven bit of dry ground. Seeing a leg falling out of the sky was like being in a horror movie.
Lloyd carried the carcasses to where we were going to burn them. He dumped them on top of each other and then scooped up the dead ones Elliot had left there, to make them into a tidier pile for burning. From where I was, it looked just like fire wood, until you noticed a head or a hoof.
Dad and me were doing the same job as Elliot with our ute. Dad wouldn’t let me tie the chains onto the cows, so I had to drive. It was hot inside the ute. My hands were sweaty and they slipped against the steering wheel. Every now and then Dad would swear when we accidentally ripped the legs off a carcass.
It was starting to get dark when Reg radioed to say he was on his way to Cockatoo Creek to help. He said him and Rick would drive over with the tanker while Jack and the Barron brothers finished off at Simpson’s Dam. When Dad took the radio from me, his hand was brown and wet-looking from handling the rotten carcasses. He said, ‘Get over here as fast as you can, fellas, we need all the help we can get.’ Ron from Gold River came on the radio then.