by Gary Weston
'Ah, shucks,' said Bill.
'Everyone, get stuck in.'
Beer and iced cake may not be to everyones liking, but the combination hit the spot in the Nagging Bladder. It was a time of relaxation and celebration in the pub that night. At least it would have been, had not major Burns received an urgent call from the base. Sombre faced, Burns went over to the bar and asked Maggie to stop the music.
'Ladies and gentlemen. I have just had word that the possums are on the move. I need everyone to stay calm and not leave this pub.'
'Where are they?' asked Prickle.
'About six miles away. Heading this way.'
Chapter 66
Captain Sanders had been watching the progress of the signal across the screen. With little deviation, it was heading straight for the village of Patch Creek.
'We can hit them from three sides. Here, here and here. That's all open country. With luck, we can get the lot this time.'
The men were mobilised, and they set off in a convoy, eager to wipe out the possums once and for all. They took the trucks as far as they could, then Sanders split the men into three groups.
In the mobile signals vehicle, the captain asked, 'Are they still heading for the village?'
'Slowly but steadily, Sir.'
'Right. Any change of direction, you let me know immediately.'
'Yes, Sir.'
'Oaky, men. They are now within four miles of the village. It's all open land, so we can finish the job. I'll take the frontal position, between the possums and the village. You go across from this point, then veer north east. You go around them and head north west. We'll keep heading together and we'll have them surrounded. Keep the noise down and wait for my command to start firing. Okay. Let's go kill some possums.'
It took half an hour to get in position, the three groups crossing the open countryside towards each other, ready for action.
'We should be almost on them by now,' whispered Lieutenant Fuller.
'Can't be much further,' agreed Sanders. He spoke into his radio. 'Is the signal still heading towards the village? Right.' To Fuller he said, 'They're right in front of us.'
Sergeant Philpotts spoke up. 'I can see it, Sir.'
'Where?'
'Right there. One bloody possum.'
'We have a sighting,' whispered Sanders into his radio.
Three minutes later, two hundred and eighty armed soldiers surrounded one confused possum with a radio transmitter on its back. It started to run but a clean shot from Philpotts killed it.
'A bit of an anticlimax,' said Lieutenant Fuller.
Sanders retrieved the transmitter. 'Everyone on the trucks.'
Back in the pub, Major Burns announced, 'False alarm, folks. It was just the one possum with the transmitter.'
'Better luck next time, Major,' said Bill Prickle.
Chapter 67
The party got into full swing and Pam Prickle was surrounded by presents. Not everyone who should have been there had made it.
'Pity your sister couldn't make it, Pam.' said Mick Pritchard.
'I told them not to come. Not with this possum problem going on. I told them to stay in Christchurch and we'll go and visit them soon.'
Bill said, 'I expect your presents from them will arrive in the morning.'
'And talking of presents, William Prickle, I haven't seen anything from you, yet.'
'Ah. It's all booked. Two weeks on the Goldcoast. I haven't confirmed the date because of the possums.'
'Now that sounds like a pretty nice present to me, Pam,' said Pritchard.
'That's lovely,' said Pam, giving her husband a kiss. 'The sooner the better.'
'Makes my little present look a bit sad,' said Pritchard.'Not much choice around these parts.
'It's my favourite perfume,' said Pam. 'A very nice present. Thank you.'
'Oh,' said Charlie Matai. 'I nearly forgot. I left my present in the ute. I'll go and get it.'
Charlie went out the back of the pub to his ute and reached in to the parcel on the back seat. When he turned around, he saw his worse nightmare staring right back at him. They hadn't been there when he had left the pub, but they were certainly there now.
Charlie was unarmed, his gun under the back seat. There were at least a dozen between him and the pub. Slowly, he turned and opened the ute door and eased himself inside. He blasted the horn and kept blasting until somebody appeared at the door of the pub. It was Bill Prickle. Prickle assessed the situation and went back inside.
'Attention, everyone. Quiet please. I've just had a look outside. The possums are out there. Dozens of them.'
'Charlie...' gasped Pam.
'Safe in his ute. That was him with the horn.'
Major Burns was on his phone to the base. Putting the phone away, he said, 'They're on their way. Just keep calm and we'll deal with it.'
Pritchard said to Maggie, 'Are all the windows shut?'
'Yes. I'm not sure I can take much more of this nightmare.'
'We have the army coming. This will be the end to it.'
'I hope so.'
Chapter 68
Charlie Matai could only sit and wait. The possums were on the front of his ute, staring at him through the windscreen. He could hear more of them on the roof. One on the hood pressed its face against the window, saliva running down its chin as it looked at the fresh meat. It grabbed one of the wiper arms and pulled until it broke off.
'You little shit.'
Charlie started the engine and rammed the lever into drive and jammed his foot on the accelerator. The Ute shot forward and Charlie got the speed right up before stamping on the brakes, sending the possums flying to the hard tar seal.
Then Charlie got moving again, feeling satisfying bumps as he took out three possums. There was a blast of a horn from an arriving army truck and Charlie had to swerve hard to miss it.
He drove out of their way and parked up at the rear of the car park. 'All yours, boys. Knock yourselves out.'
Eight trucks filled the car park and another six surrounded the pub. It was almost dark, but the army were prepared and from the back of one truck, four huge searchlights and two diesel driven generators were brought out and positioned to light up the entire pub and car park.
'Try to miss the windows,' Captain Sanders called out. 'Fire at will.'
Inside the pub, Pritchard said, 'I'll double check all the windows.'
Pritchard went up stairs and checked each room, making sure all the windows were secure. Down below, the army were finally dealing to the possums and the night air was filled with the sound of spasmodic gunfire. Pritchard could hear possums on the tile roof. There was a squeal of pain and a possum rolled off the roof and landed with a thud on the ground below.
'Nice one,' said Pritchard.
Satisfied all the rooms were secure upstairs, he started to go down stairs. At the bottom he could see a man waiting there. He had noticed the man in the bar, staying in the background, sipping beer. He'd assumed he was a local.
'Hi,' said Pritchard. 'Just checking all the windows up here. Are you a friend of Bill and Pam?'
'Not exactly. Come down.'
'What?' Then Pritchard saw the gun in his hand.
'Come down nice and slowly, hands on your head.'
'Like that is it?' said Pritchard, putting his hands on his head. 'Are you crazy? You're going to kill me in a crowded pub?'
'I'm not. The possums are. Over that way.'
'Who's paying you to do this?'
'Not important.'
'Max Harrison, I bet.'
There was a side door to the pub and the stranger opened it. 'Here. Now.'
Pritchard made his move and grabbed the man's jacket. The speed with which the man moved surprised Pritchard, especially when the knee connected with his groin. Pritchard buckled under, the blow to the back of his head was the last thing he remembered until he came too outside. In front of him, he could see three possums heading his way.
The hit man had been cle
ver. This seldom used outside passage at the side of the pub was narrow, and lined with trees. Very little light from the searchlights got to that point. The soldiers were concentrating their firepower everywhere else. Being attacked and eaten by possums would be a great cover for the hired killer.
Pritchard tried to get to his feet, but the pain in his head hit him so hard, he fell back down again. The possums could smell the blood running down his face, their hunger overcame the pandemonium of the shooting. One dived on his chest, wicked claws raking his face to get at his eyes.
Pritchard punched it hard in the face but that didn't stop it and the other two possums joined in. Pritchard fought like a man possessed, grabbing one animal around the throat and squeezing hard. Another possum sank its teeth into his arm and Pritchard yelled out in pain.
'Help me. For God's sake, help me.'
He knew his only chance was to get into the beams from the searchlights. Jabbing his elbow hard at the head of one possum, he smashed one eye and the animal ran off. The other two were biting chunks out of his body and he could feel his blood running everywhere. He staggered to his feet and ran at the wall of the pub with the possums on his chest. Bones were broken and one possum dropped injured to the ground.
Pritchard charged the wall again and the third possum crashed to the ground, its neck broken. Finally free from the animals, he managed to put one foot in front of the other, hardly able to see from the blood running into his eyes, but at last he could see the light. He cried 'Help,' just once before passing out.
Chapter 69
'It's stopped.' said Prickle.
'Thank God for that,' said Pam.
'Nobody go outside until I give the all clear,' said Major Burns.
The door opened and Captain Sanders entered. 'We think we have them all. Just stay put while we check everywhere.'
'Anyone hurt?' Major Burns asked his captain.
'Sadly yes. Sergeant Mick Pritchard.'
'What?' gasped Bill Prickle. 'I never noticed he was missing. What happened?'
'He went outside. He was unarmed and the possums got him. He's alive, but in a bad way. He's on his way to hospital.'
'Why the hell would he go outside?' Prickle asked. 'He knew better than to do that.'
'He was unconscious. You'll have to wait until he comes around to find out why he was out there.'
Lieutenant Fuller entered. 'The area is clear, Sir,' he said to Burns.
'Right. Get the civilians home. I'm sure they've had enough for one night.'
'Hey, Charlie,' said Pam. 'Are you okay?'
'I'm fine. The captain and his men did a great job out there. Possums dropping like flies. Which reminds me, Pam. This is for you.'
'Thanks, Charlie.'
'I just want you to know me and the boys bought this before all the bloody nonsense started.'
Pam ripped open the parcel. 'You have to be kidding me. Possum fur slippers and gloves?'
'What can I say,' said Charlie. 'Happy birthday.'
* * *
'What a bloody mess you look,' said Bill Prickle.
A drowsy, heavily bandaged Pritchard tried to smile. 'I'm just happy to be alive. Any news on that bloke who did this?'
Pam Prickle said, 'No. Not yet. He left you for dead and got away in all the commotion.'
'I'd like to get my hands on the son of a bitch.'
Bill said, 'The entire force is after him. It's just a matter of time. Which reminds me.' He checked his watch and turned on a small television mounted on the wall. 'You need to see this.'
They had to wait for the commercials to end and the news to start.
'This is one news and I'm Carla Johnston. In breaking news, the Prime Minister Duncan Prior, is helping police with their enquiries After revelations by the Auckland Express newspaper which published an account of how he was instrumental in collaborating with Harrison Genetics, Ltd, in artificially modifying possums in a botched attempt to eradicate the pest. The Auckland Express alleges that before the Prime Minister began his political career, he was head of a department responsible for possum control. From a detailed account by a Mr Christopher Smith, a South African involved in the project, it is also alleged that the Prime Minister was part of a cover up about the mutated possums....'
Pritchard said, 'Bloody hell. The Prime bloody Minister?'
'You said it was somebody high up, Mick,' said Bill. 'You just didn't realise how high up.'
Pam said, 'There's more on the news. Shh.'
'...Max Harrison of Harrison's Genetics, Ltd. When questioned earlier this morning, Mr Harrison made a statement that at the time of the botched experiments, he had only just joined his father's company after finishing his degree. He has said he has evidence of his father and the Prime Minister in meetings, discussing how the experiments were to proceed. He has offered to hand that over to the police to help them with their investigations.
And Finally. Major John Burns, in charge of eradicating the mutated possums, says he is reasonably confident that most, if not all the affected animals have been killed, but he advises the public to be careful and vigilant and to report any further incidents of possum attacks immediately to the authorities.'
Bill Prickle turned off the television. 'That's it, Mate. All over. I reckon you don't have to worry about hit men after all that lot.'
'That's good to know.'
'We'll let you get some rest,' said Pam. 'We have some packing to do for our holiday.'
'You two have a great time and I'll see you when you get back.'
* * *
There was a hint of rain in the air; dark clouds smothering the moon and the stars. The chilly breeze from the south ruffled her fur. Most of her wounds had healed well and her strength was returning. It was time for her to move on and find a mate. P 117Bx117C climbed down from the tree and sat on the soft grass. She sniffed the air and started her journey, disappearing into the shadows of the night.
Part Two
Payback
Forward
More than three years had passed since New Zealand and the rest of the world had woken up to the revelation that a prolifically breeding animal had been genetically modified with devastating results. With the Prime Minister Duncan Prior implicated and imprisoned, the government of the day was brought down and a hastily formed coalition government was made up from all the political divides to prevent total anarchy and do their best to restore law and order and peace. The people felt betrayed and trust in authority had dissipated to the extent that it wouldn't take much to tip the country into revolution.
It had been hoped and prayed for that the genetically modified possums had been eliminated in what had been colloquially called, The Patch Creek Stand. For a short while, heads rolled, citizens appeased, promises were given and everyone wanted to draw a line in the sand and help the country move on.
Deep down, it was what the people needed. They just wanted stability and to get on with their lives. Once the rhetoric had died down, there were signs that a sense of normality was returning. But then it happened...!
Chapter 70
Doris Merchant turned the bacon, then carefully tapped the egg on the edge of the frying pan. This was a moment that filled Doris with dread. She was down to her two last eggs so she couldn't afford to make mistakes. But she did. As the egg dropped into the pan, the yoke broke.
'Shit!'
Okay. Not a total disaster. She had one more egg. She just had to make sure this one was perfect and everything would be alright. She could eat the broken one. Through the door into the lounge, she could see the bald head of her husband as he leaned back in his armchair, watching the game. He was in a good mood for a change, his team winning by a mile. All she had to do to avoid getting a beating was to not crack the yoke of her last egg.
Taking a deep breath, she picked up the brown shelled, free range egg and delicately tapped it on the rim of the pan. She sighed as the entire egg slid down and settled in the oil to cook. She smiled as she turned the bacon, c
ooked to perfection, crispy with hints of burning. She didn't care for her bacon that way, but her husband did, so this was how the bacon was fried.
The plates were warm, not hot; the bread was fresh and white, none of that “bird seed crap”; the beer to wash it down with was chilled just right. This could be a good night; not one laced with pain. She laid out her husband's tray with the salt and pepper on the left and the brown sauce on the right with a single sheet of kitchen towel to wipe his mouth with.
Doris placed the warm not hot plate on the tray, picked up each rasher of bacon with a fork and let the oil drip off them before carefully placing each rasher, always three, on the left side of the plate. For her own plate, she just dropped the bacon in no particular fashion along with the broken yoke egg. What she ate, didn't matter.
From the lounge came a happy whooping sound that meant his team had done well. Yes. This could be a good night, like normal people had. She smiled as she got the extra wide spatula under the egg, feeling confident when she lifted it above the pan to let the excess oil drip off, when the yoke broke. To a normal married couple, this would mean nothing, probably gone unnoticed. To Doris Merchant, this was her worse nightmare come true. The broken yoke would provoke anger, abuse and pain.
It was an abomination on the extra large spatula, the broken egg dripping its guilty secrets back into the pan.
From the lounge came her husbands happy cheering of his team and yet in the kitchen, Doris' wellbeing hung in the balance of a plastic spatula and a broken egg. She flipped it onto the plate with the precisely layered three rashers of bacon, next to the beer, cool, not cold, the neatly folded napkin, two slices of bread, white, and the brown sauce on the right. It was a disaster. She could smile and offer him the imperfect meal, suffer the abuse, the way the tray would be hurled against the wall, already broken egg running down, followed by the pointed finger, the swearing, the belittling, the first slap, the next punch, the kick to her ribs as she lay on the floor, covering her head as best she could.