95 Million Killers

by Gary Weston

  'But two million have already been killed,' said Pam.

  'Yeah,' said Charlie, 'but there's no way to tell how many are mutated ones or not. Not without autopsies on every one of the buggers. My guess is that there are heaps of the little shits out there.'

  'Things are worse this time round,' said Bill. 'Nobody has any confidence in authority after what happened last time. Anyone who can hold a gun is out blasting at anything in sight. Hundreds of dogs and cats have been shot already. Look at that one on the news this morning. A woman walking her dog on a lead and bang. Kids shooting out of their car window and the dog is dead and the poor bloody woman gets a bullet in her leg. Now that sort of thing scares me more than the possums.'

  'I still can't believe anybody wants to hear anything Max Harrison has to say,' said Charlie.

  'He's served his time,' said Bill. 'It was a dubious charge to slap on him in the first place. Just to make the people feel better about everything.'

  'It wasn't him that started all this,' said Pam. 'It was his father. It can't hurt to hear him out,' said Pam. '

  'Wanna bet?' said Charlie.

  Chapter 75

  'And I say to hell with the bloody politicians. It is time to take back our country.'

  'Order, order. Please sit down, Mr Landers.' Jack Bendicot knew he was fighting a losing battle calling for restraint and sensible debate in a town hall full of angry and scared people. As mayor of the town, he was tarred with the same brush as anyone of authority. Nigel Landers had fought him for the job of mayor and was enjoying Bendicot's discomfort.'The idea of untrained, ill equipped civilians taking potshots at anything that moves is something I can't condone.'

  'I agree,' said a man on the front row. 'Leave it to the army.'

  'Yeah, right,' said another man. 'Like the bloody last time. We need to get out there and deal to the bastards.'

  'What? To the army?'

  'No, idiot. The bloody possums.'

  'Don't you call me an idiot.'

  'I was being polite.'

  'Order, order,' yelled the mayor.

  'Two pints of beer and a bag of nuts,' called a wag from the back of the hall.

  'The mayors right,' said an old lady. 'Somebody shot my pussy.'

  'Be hard to miss a pussy that big,' said the wag.

  The mayor hammered the table with his gavel. 'That's quite enough of that. The law is still the law. The Prime Minister...'

  'Booooo.'

  'Any more from you, sir, I'll have you escorted from the building. The Prime Minister has assured me personally, we will have serious military protection in and around our town. We know one of our own, Mrs Doris Merchant, was killed by possums not more than thirty miles from here.'

  'Serves the murdering cow right,' said a man.

  'Not for us to judge,' said the mayor. 'Now then. The army and police have power to arrest anyone out on the streets without authorisation, after the eight p. m. deadline. I'm asking you all to cooperate and let the army and police get on with the job unencumbered. It is now seven thirty, so I now call this public meeting to a close and ask you to get yourselves off home. Thank you and goodnight, everyone.'

  Chapter 76

  Professor Angus Morton from the Wellington Institute of Scientific Education, felt uncomfortable being placed in the spotlight by the Prime Minister and be harangued with questions. He had tried to wriggle out of it, but his dean had insisted he went to the Prime Minister's office. Vincent Carlisle had been adamant the country's foremost expert on possums be called in.

  'Prime Minister. We now seem to have two distinct species of possum. Either basically vegetarian or totally carnivorous. I have spent the last twenty years conducting field studies of the former. In that, I am as you said, something of an authority. Then we come to this new species. The mutants. The meat eaters. Apart from physical appearance, they share very little in common with each other. Of that group, I know as little as anyone else.'

  'Oh, come now, Professor Morton,' said the Prime Minister. 'I think you are being a little modest. Haven't you been actually studying the mutated possums for nearly three years?'

  Morton nodded. 'Dead ones, yes. Capturing live ones seems to be beyond our gun happy military. Rather hard to make a behavioural study of the creature if half its head's blown off.'

  Vincent Carlisle sighed, took off his spectacles, wiped them and put them back on. 'At least tell me what you do know, Professor Morton.'

  'Fair enough. For a start, the carnivorous possums tend to be between fifteen and twenty percent larger than their vegetarian cousins. A typical fully grown male mutant weighs in at an average three Kilo's compared to a top weight of two point four kilos for the non mutant ones. Their teeth are longer for dealing with flesh, and so are their claws. Muscle mass is denser. It's their intelligence that I'm most interested in, though.'

  'And how do you rate their intelligence?'

  'Superior. By a long way. Regular possums mostly have to stay in the bush and eat it. The meat eaters have learned to work together in packs. This requires discipline, coordination, planning, stealth and cunning. We also know they are elusive and have learnt how to avoid man.'

  'Unless they want to eat us,' added Carlisle. 'Professor. What is your opinion on trying to have another go at genetically modifying them?'

  Morton shook his head. 'As misguided as the first time, in my opinion. '

  'Something I agree with you on. Which is why I want you to work in with Harrison's Genetics and keep an eye on Max Harrison.'

  'Impossible. I'm due in Australia in two days time to study their possums.'

  'It has been cancelled.'

  'What? But the dean...'

  'Already informed. Professor. I wasn't asking you, I'm telling you. Max Harrison has already been told to expect you tomorrow morning.'

  'Is that so? What if I refuse?'

  'Feel free to do so.' Carlisle picked up a single sheet of paper off the table. 'You receive substantial government funding. Due for renewal in three weeks time. My signature on this piece of paper ends your funding.'

  'You wouldn't.'

  Carlisle took his engraved gold pen out of his top pocket and made a show of taking the top off. 'Professor?'

  Morton sighed and nodded.

  Chapter 77

  Trish Markham laid it on the line. 'Think of a big number then add lots of naughts to it. That's the cost to the country in billions.'

  Markham had the tourism portfolio. She also had the best legs in the coalition government, a fact not wasted on Vincent Carlisle. Markham had told Carlisle the damage to the economy due to the drop in tourist numbers. Carlisle had listened with half a mind, the other half wondering if she wore stockings or tights. Please God, if there is any justice in this world, let it be stockings, he'd been thinking.

  'Seventy three percent down?'

  Markham shrugged. 'They all want to come here, but if there's a good chance of being eaten alive, seventy three percent would rather pass.'

  'Oh, come on, Trish. One deranged woman who chops up her husband gets eaten by possums. One in three years.' He leaned forward, partly to emphasise his point, partly to get a better look at her thighs. 'Perhaps...'

  'Yes?'

  'Perhaps a little more positive spinning by you would help the situation?'

  Markham closed her folder with a snap. 'Ah! Right. Of course. My fault.'

  'What?'

  'Me tourism minister, no tourists, ergo, my fault.'

  'Trish...'

  'There's another interpretation?'

  Even unmarried Carlisle knew that men arguing with women generally resulted in the male gender hopping precariously on their back feet. Mentally, he had already started hopping.

  'Trish. You and I are on the same side here. How does that old song go? Eliminate the negative, extenuate the positive.'

  'Bing Crosby.'

  'Wasn't she great? But think about those words. And like you said yourself, it's all about interpretation.'

 
'Right. Interpretation. Big campaign. Come to clean green New Zealand. Hardly anyone gets eaten by man eating possums.'

  'Exactly. What? Hell no. Trish...'

  Markham got up to leave. 'You get rid of the possums, I'll bring in the tourists.'

  'Trish...'

  'Vince, the figures speak for themselves. My hands are tied until the possums are gone.'

  'We are doing everything we can.'

  'Whatever it is you are doing, I suggest you do it quicker.'

  The tight black skirt ending nine inches above the knee did it for Markham. The five inch heels and the blatant posterior swagger did things to Carlisle's yearnings that were well off the political scale. Markham opened the door, turned, raised one immaculately groomed eyebrow at him, pouted and said, 'Get rid of the possums, I'll deliver.'

  Carlisle had one last lingering look at her curvy backside, opulent thighs, shapely calves, slim ankles, and purred.

  'Please God, stockings.'

  Chapter 78

  Ralph Morris wasn't the most patient of men. He sat in the van, flicking ash out of the window. In front of him, the road was completely blocked by the slip. It was a fact of life along that stretch of road; part of the embankment would give way after a spell of heavy rain and cover the road completely. It was his job to get the roads cleared. The heavy equipment was parked up behind him, the men bored and ready to get stuck in and do what they were paid to do.

  'Two bloody hours,' said Morris.

  'Shouldn't be much longer,' said Joe Potts. 'Shall I give them another call?'

  Morris sighed. 'It won't make any difference, mate. They'll be here when they get here. Shit. We'd have the job done by now.'

  'As long as head office are happy to pay us for sitting on our backsides, I don't give a crap.'

  Morris's phone chimed out. 'Hi, boss. Nope. No sign of them yet. I've no bloody idea, mate. No way, boss. I don't make the bloody rules. No outside work in this area without army protection. I know. Bloody ridiculous. Tell them bastards in the Beehive, not me. Oh. Hang on. Our baby sitters just arrived. Looks like we can start soon. Yeah. I'll keep you in the loop.'

  Morris got out of the van and went over to the army Land Rover. 'Nice of you to turn up.'

  'Sorry about that. Usual bloody breakdown in communications. I'm Lieutenant Roger Shaw. Come on, lads. Get busy.'

  Shaw and his men got out the vehicle and all were armed.

  'What do you want to do first?' Shaw said to Morris.

  'We need to get a good look at the slip from all angles and work out the best way to clear it.'

  'Right. I want you and your men to keep within sight of at least one of my blokes at all times. There's a fair amount of bush around and these bloody possums are sneaky little bastards. I know. I was at the Patch Creek Stand.'

  'Pity you didn't get all the nasty little shits. Okay. We've been hanging about long enough. Lets get the bloody job done.'

  Morris and his crew climbed onto the top of the slip which was about four metres high at the peak. The soldiers paired up and two were on one side of the slip with two on the other.

  'We'll start with the dozer at the shallow end, making a break in the pile. There's enough of a ditch over there to dump stuff.'

  'How long will it take to clear the lot?' asked Shaw.

  'Four or five hours,' said Morris.

  'Right. We'll try to keep out of your way. Nobody goes walkabout without one of us.'

  'No worries. No bloody possum has me for dinner.'

  Chapter 79

  Max Harrison wasn't over the moon at having Professor Angus Morton foisted on him.

  'I suppose I have to accept a spy in the camp. Can't expect Carlisle to trust me.'

  'I want to be here about as much as you want me here. Probably less. I was supposed to be in Oz working with their possums.'

  'Fair enough. When the crap hit the fan, my company almost went to the wall. To be honest, my offer to try to find a solution is as much about public relations as anything else. If I do help to get rid of the problem, that's a bonus.'

  Morton agreed. 'A damn big bonus. Look, Max. I know sweet nothing about genetics, but if I can help in anyway I will.'

  'You might not know about genetics, but you know more about possums than I ever will. I'd appreciate your input, Angus.'

  'Thanks. An impressive facility you have here.'

  'State of the art,' said Harrison, proudly. 'I learnt from my dad. Hire the best people, give them the tools to do the job and allow them to shine. I keep that philosophy going. It's just about lunchtime. Come and let me introduce you to a few people.'

  Harrison led the way to a cafeteria capable of seating up to forty people at a time. There were around twenty seven men and women at the tables.

  'Everybody. A moment please. This is Professor Angus Morton, from the Wellington Institute of Scientific Education. One of the top possum experts in the world. He'll be working along side us to come up with something to get rid of those pests once and for all. Please make him feel part of our little family and be open with him with anything we're doing.'

  Morton said, 'Thanks, Max. I look forward to working with all of you and if I can be useful, so much the better.'

  'Right, Angus. Grab a bite to eat. The fish looks good.'

  They helped themselves from the self service counter and sat with two women wearing lab coats.

  'Angus. This is Doctor Stephanie Delano.'

  Delano had the swarthy complexion of a Mediterranean woman. She was small in stature, with black wavy hair and deep brown eyes.

  'Nice to meet you, Stephanie.'

  'And me you, Angus. This is Doctor Maria Draper. We're going to be heading the team on the possum problem.'

  Angus shook hands with Draper. 'Making any headway?'

  'Not until the government gives us the green light, Angus,' Draper said.

  'Our Prime Minister isn't convinced genetics is the way to go,' said Morton. 'He was quite clear about his feelings yesterday.'

  Harrison said, 'We need to put a game plan together for him. If we have a clear direction, we might get the funding. No funding, we don't do anything. I'm not going about it like my father did.'

  'Transparency is the keyword,' said Angus.

  'I feel the same way,' said Harrison. 'How is the fish?'

  'Excellent.'

  'Our cook does a good job. After lunch we are having a brainstorming session. Just us three. I'd like you to be involved.'

  'Thanks. Looking forward to it.'

  Chapter 80

  After two hours, half the slip had been removed. The digger and dozer were working back and forth, on either side of the pile. Everything was being dumped into a ravine just off the side of the road.

  'Going well,' said Lieutenant Shaw.

  'We're getting there,' said Morris. 'Once the road is cleared, we need to level out the bank a bit to stop any more slipping.'

  A big man in his late forties got out of the dozer. 'I need to pee,' he said.

  'Okay, Sam.'

  'No toilets?' the lieutenant asked.

  'Not on little jobs,' explained Morris. 'The bushes do on a job like this.'

  'Right. Over there should be good. Corporal Mathews. Go with this man into those bushes.'

  'Yes, Sir. Come on, mate.'

  'Okay, but no peeking,' said Sam with a grin.

  Shaw said to Morris, 'I'll get one of my lads to make a brew. Hungry?'

  'I could use a feed.'

  They decided to take a break and gathered around the army vehicle. The two privates were setting up the small camp kitchen when a shot rang out. The three soldiers were instantly ready with their guns. From the bushes, Corporal Mathews and Sam appeared, Sam carrying a possum by the tail.

  'That's one less,' said Sam.

  'Corporal?'

  'They're out there, Lieutenant,' said Mathews. 'Dozens of the buggers.'

  'Look at the size of that thing,' said Morris.

  Shaw said,'Mutants are bigg
er than regular possums. I'll give the Major a call and see what he wants to do.'

  'Tell him another hour and we should be done.'

  'I will. Tuck in. I'll be right back.'

  Five minutes later, Shaw returned. Morris said, 'Don't tell me we have to move out.'

  'No. You can carry on. But if there's more activity, we need to evacuate the area. There's a chopper with thermal imaging equipment on the way.'

  Half an hour later, the chopper set down and the pilot got out. After a discussion with the lieutenant and corporal for directions, the chopper was airborne and zigzagging slowly over the bush. Twenty minutes later it was back.

  'Well?' said Shaw.

  'Nothing,' said the pilot. 'Corporal Mathews.'

  'Sir?'

  'You sure there was more than one possum?'

  'Positive, Sir. What you reckon, Sam? Twenty? Thirty?'

  'At least. No more than twenty yards from us. I'd have peed myself if I wasn't already peeing.'

  'They're gone now,' said the pilot. 'Must have been the shot got them running for the hills.'

  'Good,' said Morris. 'Ten more minutes and we're out of here.'

  Chapter 81

  'The way I see it,' said Max Harrison, 'Whatever we come up with, we'll get resistance from a highly suspicious public, including the Prime Minister.'

  Morton's phone chimed out. 'Talk of the devil. This is him. Prime Minister. Good afternoon. Oh? Where? Anyone hurt? That's something. I'm with him now. Do you want to talk to him? No. Yes. I'll pass that on to him. Of course. As soon as we have a plan. Thank you.'

  'Angus?' said Max.

  'Mutant Possum sighting. About sixty miles east of where that Merchant woman was found. They shot one of them. The possums fled.'

  'Did you say nobody was hurt?' Doctor Draper asked.

  'Not on this occasion. It's near enough to where the Merchant woman was killed to be the same pack.'