by Gary Weston
I think they were civilians who kept it close to their chests. They wanted to reap the benefits for themselves for their own ambitions. So in order to avoid any issues trying to get funding, they told Harrison he could go ahead with some secret trials but Harrison's had to fund the total cost.'
Prickle nodded. 'Hmm. Thus making sure there was no traceable link back to them.'
'Exactly. If anything happened, and it did, the government would simply deny it, because they genuinely knew nothing about it.'
'Do you know who the men were who instigated this.'
'Max Harrison wouldn't divulge that information to me.'
'Hang on a minute, Mick. Rewind a bit. Are you suggesting the possums escaped and got back into the bush?'
'Max Harrison denied it at first, but then he opened up to me. One pregnant female escaped.'
Prickle digested that as he drank his beer. 'And you think the experiment worked and offspring of the two modified possums became so they couldn't eat vegetation?'
'The experiment was a success to a degree. But, like all creatures, the will to survive was strong. Their eating habits went away from vegetation to meat.'
Prickle stared in disbelief at Pritchard. 'Oh, come on. You can't be serious.'
'Think about it. It would explain what we saw this morning. An experienced hunter in familiar surroundings. He's attacked by a pack of flesh eating possums. He takes out three or four with his gun before he's overrun. Poor son of a bitch tries to top himself, but he's out of ammo. We saw the result with our own eyes.'
Prickle visualised the gruesome scene they had witnessed that morning. Several dead possums next to what was left of the hunter's body was the clincher. As much as he tried to think of alternative possibilities, the only one that fitted was the theory Pritchard had come up with.
'Okay. I guess what you say fits. I suppose they found enough to live on in the bush until now. Mick. You have to go to the top brass with this. If a pack of possums have suddenly acquired a taste for human flesh, we have to do something about it.'
Pritchard drained his glass. 'Easier said than done, mate. After all this time, it has all been conveniently forgotten about. Those responsible had no idea that this would come back to bite them on the bum. Several of the brass from back then are still alive and kicking today, only higher up the food-chain. If I inadvertently go talking to the wrong one about all this, especially now a man has died, and it could point the finger in their directions as being part of the cover up, I'll not be too popular.'
'You said it, Mick. A man died.'
'Tell me about it. I've no proof, Bill. Just one dead man and a few dead possums and a hunch. I bet even as we speak, Harrison is warning anyone involved that I suspect the truth. If I go storming in, I'll run smack into a brick wall.' Pritchard got up to leave. 'I need proof, Bill. Incontrovertible proof. Goodnight, mate.'
Chapter 18
Trevor Ringpole was enjoying the few moments of relative peace out of earshot of his wife. The air was pleasantly cool and through the cigar smoke, he could smell the moist earthy surroundings. His tranquility was shattered by the shrill beckoning of Martha. As he casually sauntered reluctantly back the the van, his wife's yelling became even louder.
'Keep your wig on. I'm coming,' he told her.
As he reached the rear entrance of the van, through the door Martha had insisted on him leaving slightly open, he could tell something was wrong.
'Trevor!'
Her cry was loud and piercing. He opened the door wide enough to get in and froze to the footstep. There, resplendent in flannelette nightie and green face-pack was Martha, her fat knees up to her chin as she tried to squeeze her obese body into a corner of the van. Surrounding her, several just inches away from her, were at least a dozen possums. There was nothing cute or cuddly looking about them.
'Trevor. Do something.'
The possums didn't seem in any great hurry. It was as if they were wondering which part of the big creature's body to eat first.
'Shit!' gasped Trevor. 'Stay perfectly still.'
'Get them out of here.'
'Keep calm and don't move.'
The nearest animal suddenly shot forward, its powerful sharp teeth taking a sizeable chunk out of Martha's calf. Martha screamed at the top her lungs and then it became a feeding frenzy. Martha disappeared under the possums as they attacked her. From below them, a steady river of blood ran out.
It was a swirling mass of fur, claws and teeth; Martha somewhere beneath it all. In one defiant gesture, Martha's hand punched through the pack, grabbing one around the throat. Two more possums attacked the naked exposed arm and she let the possum go.
She called his name one last time. 'Trevor,' she said, her voice barely a whisper. Then two of the possums turned to face him, their fur soaked in blood, chunks of flesh still in their mouths.
'I don't think so,' said Trevor, slamming the door shut.
He walked casually away from the carnage, whistling softly has he walked. Mother nature had done what he had wanted to do for years. The possums had killed his wife. He had walked a hundred yards when he heard the noises. In the overhanging trees he could hear something disturbing the branches. Lots of something.
He dared to look up, and from the reflective light of the moon, he could see dozens of bright eyes staring at him. He started to run as fast as his sixty four year old legs could carry him, along the highway, away from the camper van. Then, from above, something dropped out of the trees and landed heavily on his head. He tried to fight the possum off, but the possum knew that if it went for the eyes, it would be game over.
Trevor dropped screaming onto the road and instantly he was covered in possums. He couldn't see them, because his eyes were gone, but he could feel every mouthful of his flesh being ripped off his body. One minute of agony followed, then Trevor Ringpole stopped screaming.
Chapter 19
'If you keep daydreaming, we'll never get the place liveable.'
Kevin Milligan took the mug of tea from his wife. 'Thanks. Just admiring the million dollar views.'
'Well, admire the views when the hut is finished,' said Susan. 'Another three days and you'll be back at work with your dad and not have the time to be working on this place as well.'
'The roof's done and watertight, that's the main thing. With the nail gun Dad lent me, I'll soon get the outside re-clad. The glass for the windows is cut to size and that'll only take a couple of hours to fit.'
Susan grinned. 'I love an optimist. You'll need to do something with the range. It isn't drawing properly. I thought you said it was fine. It took me ages to get it hot enough to boil the kettle.'
Kevin agreed. 'Needs a new flue pipe. The old one's bunged up. I'll put one on the trailer to fit.'
'Sooner rather than later. If you're expecting to eat anything cooked here, you need to be onto it.'
'It'll be done before nightfall. Are you sure you want us to stay the night?'
'Only if you fix the range. I'm not intending to freeze to death.'
Kevin held her tight. 'I'll keep you warm.'
'Pack it in, you. Come on. Smoko break over. I'll give you a hand.'
'Is that a good idea?' said Kevin, patting her bulging belly.
'Stop wrapping me up in cotton wool. I told you before, I'm pregnant, not ill. Get busy.'
Kevin fired up the compressor that ran the nail gun. He had already replaced the cladding on nearly three sides and with Susan holding the timber planks in place, he shot the nails through them, into the wall beams. Another steady three hours and the exterior walls were done.
'See?' said Kevin, proudly. 'Already looking like our little cabin in the wilderness.'
'Fix the range now it's gone cold,' said Susan, unimpressed.
'Aye, aye, captain.'
Kevin climbed the ladder up the side of the rough brick chimney and with the lump hammer from his tool-belt, proceeded to pound the old iron pipe that stuck out of the roof. Then he tried to wriggle the pi
pe loose so he could pull it up and replace it with the new one. It wasn't about to budge.
Climbing back down, he went inside the hut and started hammering the flue where it was attached to the old cast iron range. Grabbing it with both hands, he pulled and twisted the pipe until it finally yielded. With a better grip at the freed end, he heaved and the pipe slid up a good yard.
Going back up the ladder, it took one good pull to get the old pipe free from the roof.
'Victory is mine at last,' he cried, triumphantly. 'Jeez. It's almost completely choked up. Stand back, I'll throw it down.'
He dropped it to the ground where it shattered into several pieces. Then he climbed back down, got the replacement pipe and climbed back up. Lowering the new pipe through the hole in the roof, he let it slide down until he heard the clunk where the end hit the top of the range.
Going back down the ladder, he returned to the range, and maneuvered the end of the new flue pipe securely into the hole in the range.
'Just like a bought one,' he said. 'I just need to fit the the new rubber garter on the other end to make it watertight and job done.'
'You do that and I'll lay the fire again. We can have our first proper feed here at last.'
'I'll shout you when I'm done.'
Taking the rubber gaiter, the black sealant and self tapping screws and his battery drill, Kevin went back up the ladder, placed the gaiter over the end of the flue and pulled it down to the roof. Using copious amounts of the sealant between the new roof iron and the rubber gaiter, he pressed it all down firmly. Then through the holes in the metal ring of the gaiter he drilled the small holes into the roofing iron. Half a dozen self-tapping screws meant the whole thing was secure and would keep out the rain. He called down the flue.
'Fire her up, Mrs Milligan. Get that bacon and eggs cooking.'
As Susan started the meal, Kevin covered the compressor and the nail gun with a tarpaulin and it was time for a hot meal and warm beers. After that, they snuggled down together in the double sleeping bag and in the warmth from the range, spent their first night in the hut as man and wife.
Chapter 20
'...Martin Ranford for One News. We now go live to Kate Wilson at the scene.'
'Martin. As you can see, the forensics team are already hard at work, examining both scenes. Police were alerted to the incident at two seventeen this morning, when a truck driver saw the remains of a man at the side of the highway. When the police arrived, they also found the remains of a female in the camper van behind me.'
'Kate. Have you been able to get any details from the police as to how the two people were killed?'
'Not yet, Martin. The police say statements should be released later, once the autopsies have been done. The detectives in charge of the investigation have told me however, that the man and woman were related, and that both died in much the same way. One moment, Martin. One of the detectives has just come out of the camper van. Excuse me, Detective...?'
'Detective Senior Sergeant Philip Patterson. Look. I'm sorry, but I'm really unable to tell you anything at the moment.'
'I understand you'll be releasing a full statement once the autopsy has been done. Any idea how long that might take?'
'Hard to say. We are making this a priority, though.'
'Can you tell me if firearms were used?'
'No comment.'
'But the couple were related?'
'Yes. From passports, we know they were married.'
'But not from this country?'
'No. We'll be releasing names once we have contacted their relatives. Look. You will really have to wait for the autopsy report and the official statement.'
'Thank you, Detective Patterson. Well, Martin. As you can see, the police are reluctant at this stage to speculate on the cause of death. But if we can just get a clear shot of that side window...there. As you can see, the window was smashed open from the inside. You can also see what looks like blood stains running down the outside of the van as if something covered in blood exited the van that way, rather than the doors.'
'It certainly looks like the police have a mystery to solve, Kate. We'll follow up with any further information, as soon as it becomes available to us. In other news, the Prime Minister today revealed plans for expanding trade deals with....'
Pam Prickle turned off the television. 'I wonder what all that was about?'
Bill Prickle was about to to go off on his regular patrol of the three villages. 'We'll probably know more about it in the evening news. I'll be back about one for lunch.'
Chapter 21
'You'll have to fix the windows, next,' said Susan Milligan. 'It was freezing in here once the range had gone out.'
'I never noticed.'
'I'm not surprised. You were snoring your head off. Between that and the wind whistling through the windows, I hardly slept a wink.'
'I want to get the interior boarding nailed up first. That'll help keep the warmth in. Then I want to get the new guttering up to collect the rainwater. I'll do as much of the windows as I can before it gets dark.'
'Okay. I'll get the range lit for the kettle. I'll open that tin of corned beef and we'll have spuds and cabbage for dinner. I need to sort out the long drop dunny*. It stinks in there.'
* Outside toilet comprising of a deep hole, the excrement to decompose in the earth at the bottom.
Kevin said, 'Once we got the new water tank installed, we can flush it down more often. Just don't use all the water in the containers. That's all we have with us.'
They set about their various tasks, Kevin uncovering the compressor and nail gun. Checking the compressor for fuel, he could see it was low. He went over to the ute and got the petrol can off the back. It was half full and he figured it would be enough to get the interior cladding nailed up. Above the ute he heard a rustling in the branches. Looking up, he could see a fat looking possum staring right back at him.
It was unusual to see one in broad daylight, but the animal didn't bother him. As he made his way back to the compressor with the fuel, he noticed another possum, this one on his new roof.
'I'd appreciate it if you didn't crap all over my roof, mate. We'll be collecting our drinking water off it soon.'
The possum just stared at him. Kevin ignored it and filled up the compressor. He fired it up outside and the noise startled the possum on the roof and it disappeared into an overhanging tree.
Kevin had piled up the new cladding inside the hut and picked up the first sheet and placed it across one corner, the bottom edge resting on the floorboards. With the nail gun he used just enough nails to hold it in position, his plan being to do the same to all the boards, and then to go around all of them one last time to finish the job.
Susan had the range lit and the kettle on the top to boil. There was a door in one corner of the hut leading to the long drop dunny. It was open and an unpleasant smell mingled with disinfectant wafted through the open doorway.
He hoped he was right about flushing with rainwater would improve the smell. If the place wasn't liveable, Susan would be putting her foot down to sell the place. It took another two hours to finish the interior boarding and they sat outside to eat, away from the smell from the dunny.
'I'll get the guttering up next,' said Kevin. 'That won't take too long.'
'Just make sure at least some of those windows are fixed, okay? Look at that cheeky devil over there.'
Not more than fifteen feet from them, perched on a low branch of a tree, a possum was watching them eat. Susan picked up a small chunk of bread and threw it towards the tree. The animal ignored it.
'Susan. Don't encourage the bloody pests.'
'Yeah, I know. It looks so pretty, though.'
'That's as maybe. Just let them get their own bloody grub. Right. Guttering next.'
Chapter 22
Pam Prickle basted the chicken. Another fifteen minutes and it would be perfect. She looked at the clock on the wall. Almost one O'clock. She made herself a coffee and turned on
the radio.
'...and still no news from the police regarding the deaths of the tourists on highway one early this morning. A detective on the case confirmed they were still awaiting the autopsy report before issuing an official statement.
In other news, the Jackknifed lorry that brought Highway Three to a standstill for three hours has now been cleared but police advise caution until ....'
Pam turned off the radio when the phone went. It was Bill.
'Well how long will you be? No. Nothing that'll spoil. Just chicken. I was going to do sandwiches for our lunch and a chicken curry for tonight. Okay. See you later.'
It wasn't unusual for her policeman husband to be caught up with something. It was just a part of life.
* * *
Bill Prickle bought a steak and cheese pie and a mug of tea. Mick Pritchard just had a coffee. They found a table at one end of the café. The café was roughly half way between Patch Creek and the police headquarters. Pritchard looked decidedly edgy.
'Nothing official,' said Pritchard. 'Just the jungle drums working overtime. Those tourists were eaten alive.'
That bombshell was almost enough to stop Prickle eating. 'Any dead possums around?'
'Not this time. The victims bones were pretty much picked clean. The door of the camper van was unlocked but shut when the police arrived. One small window had been smashed open from the inside. If the woman had been killed by a person, he would simply have gotten out the van by the door. A possum wouldn't know how to do that.'
'Even so. It might not be...'
'There were bloody paw prints all over the place. It was possums, Bill.'
'Shit. Surely this killing will blow it wide open?'
Pritchard shrugged. 'Maybe. I'm guessing not.'
'Oh, come on, Mick. Three deaths due to possums? They can't keep a lid on this one.'
'I think they'll try. Can you imagine the panic if people find out our ninety five million possums want to eat them? I bet you that right now, there are meetings going on all over the bloody place, with some very high up brass desperately trying to cover their backsides. That's why I wanted to meet you here, out of the way.'