Southern Hunter

A NOTE ON THE TOWN OF COLLIE AND IT’S PEOPLE

Collie is a real town in South West Australia, situated exactly as stated in the following novel.

For that reason I should point out that the mines get a somewhat bad press in the beginning of the novel and that was not deliberate, but a way to push the story forward. In fact all the heavy industry around Collie supports the community, not just by supplying jobs, but supporting the town’s many events through the year. In the novel Chris Thompson says I don’t want to paint them as evil corporations, and neither does this author.

Being a real place the town has real people, but the characters in this book, main and secondary, are all fictional and any resemblance to people living or dead is purely coincidence.

Except two.

No novel set in Collie would be complete without Erik at Crank n Cycles and he appears in this book with his blessing, on the condition that Sprocket the cat also appears. Big Sam is also a real person and is as big in real life as in the book. He asked to appear and when you are writing a book about fighting dinosaurs how can you turn down such a behemoth? It’s just a perfect match.

The point is that their personalities and actions are written in this novel to fit the story, in real life both these people are lovely, lovely blokes and if they come across as anything else then that is this author’s lack of talent rather than a reflection on them.

I would like to say that the Burrunjor is completely fictional, but is it? Strange things survive in the deep wildernesses and on the edge on imagination.

PROLOGUE

It has been said that only ten percent of the Bush remains in Australia since Westerners arrived, but it still covers vast tracts of land. Enough that each year, even in this day and age, people get lost and some die. There is still Bushland that isn’t crisscrossed with roads or tracks; areas that no one goes in where undiscovered flora and fauna are living and dying in the circle of life. And it is on such a part of thick Bushland in the South West of that great country that two men find themselves.

Was this worth the boats? the man asked sitting in a small area where the undergrowth was sparse enough to set up a little camp.

It’s just for now, his companion answered. We’re illegal, we can’t expect a job in a nice office in Perth, can we?

No, but this? This, what do they call it? he raised his arms to the trees.

Bush.

I mean we’re in the middle of nowhere, no roads, no people. And you hear stuff about Australia, all the dangerous creatures.

Snakes and spiders are more scared of us than we are of them, the other man said.

Not when we’re asleep. The Sun will set soon and then what? Kangaroos, crocodiles.

His companion laughed.

One, kangaroos are not dangerous and two there are no crocodiles this far South.

I still don’t like having to sleep out here.

Well it’s just a few more nights. We’ve marked the trees and surveyed the land, tomorrow we’ll start hiking to that track and get picked up. We’ll be paid more money for this than we’ve ever been back home.

They both sat there around the small fire as the Sun sank to the tops of the trees.

Do you miss it?

What?

Home.

We haven’t been here long enough to.

I do, the man shrugged. This country doesn’t smell right, and it’s all so, I don’t know, neat and tidy?

The other laughed again.

It’s the food, Australians eat pies and chips and drink beer. They don’t cook like us, they don’t live like us; you’ll get used to it.

I guess, he said and looked out into the darkening Bush.

He didn’t really know what would happen. They had paid a lot of money to get here on a boat and he was glad they were one of the lucky ones, lucky not to die, lucky to land without being caught. He’d rather die than go to a detention centre.

Then they’d been moved around, from here to there, all the while disorientated by their new surroundings and finally he and his friend had been taken to a mining company.

They’d done odd jobs for awhile, they were told they would work on a mine, but couldn’t fly there, so they had to wait for a chance to be driven. He wasn’t sure he liked the idea of a mine you had to fly to, it would have to be in the middle of nowhere, out in what the Australians called the Outback. It would not be comfortable living, but he had to think of the money, and his family back home who would receive most of it.

But instead they’d been taken south to a small town in the hills. It was surrounded by trees, Bush as they called it, and the company wanted them to look at a certain area, mark trees for cutting down so that a road could be cleared. Survey the area where they could to work out the best place for crews to come in and clear land. They were digging a new mine here or something.

He hated it; every minute of it out in this strange Bush with its strange animals and snakes and spiders. Australia was famous for all the ways it could kill you: the animals, the reptiles, the plants, the sharks, or you could just get lost in Bush like this, it went on for ever, the same in every direction.

Was it worth it? Life was hard back home, hard to have enough, but there was television. Television that told you of all the things you could have, should have. The West taught the rest of the World one thing, that you should own more things. More things meant more happiness and where once people had been content with their traditions, now they were unhappy and poor.

Yes, he was the same; that was why he was here. He wanted a good life for his family, he wanted good schooling for his children, but that was never going to happen tending bar to tourists back home. He had to do this for them, he had to remember that. There was a reason for this and maybe, maybe he could get legal, somehow bring his family here; have a good job.

But for now he was stuck in this Bush.

It’s not so bad, his friend said.

What isn’t?

This. No distractions, no noise, no complaining wife or begging children, just peace and quiet. And we get paid for it, he relaxed out on his swag.

I miss them, the man said morosely.

What is it they say here about glasses being half empty?

I don’t know what you’re talking about; do you really not miss them?

His friend sat up angrily.

"Why do you think I’m here? For my family, to give them a better life. Of course I miss them, but I know that because I do this they will have a better life."

I’m sorry, the man said.

The Bush stirred behind him and he looked back sharply.

Relax.

What was that?

Who knows? We’re in a forest.

What’s out there?

Nothing that can hurt you.

That’s not true.

Not this again. Snakes and spiders aren’t going to come here and once you’re in your, what are they called?

Swag.

Right. It covers you completely, nothing can get to you.

Noise came from the darkening Bush again.

And that?

Wind? A kangaroo? Who knows, but it won’t bother us, it’s not like they have tigers here.

No, you’re right, I’m sorry. I guess I’m just worried.

There’s nothing out here.

Not that. I mean this job is nearly over, what if they drop us?

What do you mean?

I mean we’re illegal. We don’t have any rights here.

I don’t know, I try not to think of it.

The Sun sank below the tree tops and the spaces between the trees went from bright and beautiful to dark and ominous. Those creatures that lived by the light began to scurry home as those night hunters awoke and readied themselves. Kookaburras flew and called to each other in their distinctive monkey-like laugh. One began to wind up as others joined it until the trees around the men were full of the laughter of the birds, as if mocking the men their fate.

I’ll never get used to that sound, the man said.

I can’t believe they are birds and not monkeys, the other agreed as the birds fell silent as one.

There was a crash in the Bush and the man looked that way.

Just a tree falling.

You’ve an answer for everything.

Did you never camp back home? Forests make noises.

I preferred the comforts of the city, the man complained.

The Bush was silent as if waiting to see what might happen next. The man turned back and began to get into his swag, a sleeping bag with a semicircular tent pole at the head so that the person could be completely enclosed. And that was what he wanted now, to be enclosed, shut off from the world and whatever might be out there in the dark.

The Bush rustled and twigs snapped. Something else cracked, a branch maybe and he was sitting up again peering around in the last of the light.

It’s big, he said and saw that his friend was also sitting up.

Yeah. There are some big kangaroos, maybe we should make a noise to scare it off?

Yeah, OK, he replied, though the last thing he wanted to do was make noise out here. It was irrational, he knew, but that wasn’t going to take the fear away.

His friend whooped and he cringed before shouting out himself.

They listened. There was not a noise, not the sound of something coming nor something running away.

And then the whole Bush around their little clearing shook and thrashed and he couldn’t believe his eyes as a giant head, mouth open, hundreds of razor sharp teeth, burst out of the dark trees and grabbed his friend. His head disappeared into the gaping mouth and it bit into his chest. Two clawed hands appeared and grabbed his friend, tearing him in two. Blood sprayed and poured as the beast flicked its head up to swallow his friend’s torso.

He shrieked, struggling up out of his swag, hands up and forward to protect him, as if that would help.

No one knows we’re here, no one will ever know or care. We’re illegal, was his last thought as he staggered backwards and the giant beast leapt forward and sunk its giant claws into his chest.

BOOK ONE

The Road Out.

CHAPTER ONE

OK, OK, Chris Thompson said loudly. You can pack away your things and get ready for lunch.

The chattering became a bustling as students packed books, paper and pens into their bags. There was noisy chatting and laughing, everyone ready for the weekend.

Come on, calm down and sit. Jason, I said sit. No one is going anywhere until you’re all seated.

What are you doing this weekend, Sir? a blonde girl sitting at the front asked.

Well, Kate, I’ll be marking. It’s a fun life as a teacher.

I’d never work as a teacher, a boy said.

You don’t work at all, though, do you, Cody?

Yeah, just not in this class. English and stuff. I work.

You know that teachers talk to each other, right?

So?

The bell rang and nothing else mattered but getting out of the classroom and to the canteen. He knew he should tell them to sit down and be dismissed, but it was a losing battle that he didn’t have the energy to fight today.

He went to his desk and piled his things together before picking it all up and walking to the door where he had to wait for Tiffany who was still shoving things in her bag. She hoiked it up onto her shoulders and walked past him wishing him a happy weekend and then he was out into the cool air and bright sunlight. He fumbled in his pockets for the key, locked the door and walked across the school grounds that were already full of noise and students. Two things that went together all over the world.

Yo, Mr Thompson, someone called.

Hey there, Jim, he called back.

He liked to think he was liked by the students, not when he was teaching them, no one liked being made to study. No that was not true, there were students who wanted to learn, wanted to get somewhere in life, but they were not the majority. Teenage brains just weren’t wired to look into the future. Anyway, he still liked to think he was liked by the student body, someone they could talk to and have a laugh with.

It was tough on the kids here; a small town in the middle of the Bush, not much to do and that could lead to boredom which could lead to drugs, alcohol and general deviancy. But it also meant that a lot of them didn’t have high aspirations for the future. In the city parents might be lawyers or doctors; they might have office jobs, be accountants, really anything. But here there was only really the mines and the power plants and most kids had a family member or two working there. So what did they aspire to? Working the mines.

Not that that was a bad job, it was just a job the kids seemed to think needed no education, some claimed that their Dad’s were illiterate and still had a job on the mines. He wasn’t sure if that was true, but there had been a time when the mines of Western Australia had hired anyone because of the demand. Now, from what he heard, they could be more selective and were getting rid of what someone had called ‘dead weight’. He wondered what kind of shock might await some of these kids.

He walked into the Humanities office and sat at his desk. He booted his laptop up to check his email.

Oh, sod the lot of them, Webby said as he walked in.

Another fun lesson?

Aren’t they all?

Chris laughed.

How do you teach English literature to kids who can barely read?

I dunno, mate, I had the same with Geography. I mean, you’d think living in the Bush, they’d be interested in the natural world.

Would you?

Maybe I have high expectations, he smiled.

Is it like this in England? Webby asked sitting down.

Dunno, never taught there, but from what I hear literacy is an issue everywhere.

So why’d you leave, what’s it called? Palaeontology. I know you’ve told me before.

No job opportunities. Well, I’d have to do a lot more study to be getting the good jobs and frankly I’d had enough of studying. Maybe I should be more empathetic with the kids, he laughed.

Tough job, digging holes, Webby shrugged.

Funny.

I like to think so.

The office filled up with teachers. Humanities covered English and Society & Environment (that is History, Geography, politics, law and economics), and a number of teachers there taught both.

Anybody got any copies of the Year 10 History text? the Head of Learning asked. There should be one up here on the shelf.

Did Ellen have it? Jane Brook asked.

She doesn’t teach year ten.

He didn’t teach the tens either and hadn’t seen it, so he went to eat his lunch in the staffroom.

Any plans for the weekend? Liz asked him.

Marking.

Another great weekend, she smiled.

Shot myself in the foot by putting the test on a Thursday.

Not the smartest move.

No. How about you?

Going to Perth after school. It’s a friend’s birthday.

Cool. At their place or going out?

Their place thankfully, I don’t think I could afford to go out in Perth.

I hear that. What about you, Jim?

Golf in the morning.

Of course.

Then not a lot. Might start on a new beer. Trying to do it all from scratch this time, not use the packets.

So if I hear an explosion…

That’ll be me, Jim, an older Science teacher, smiled.

As long as I get a taste, I don’t mind how it gets made.

That can be arranged, I’m sure.

∞

Right. Macquarie Harbour. Anyone heard of it?

He looked at their blank Year 9 faces.

"It’s in Tasmania, there was a prison there for convicts who committed a crime either in Australia or on the boat over. It was, allegedly, very harsh conditions and few escaped.

But there were a few, the Gentleman Bushranger Matthew Brady for one, but I want to tell you the story of Alexander Pearce. The story goes that eight men escaped the prison, but after nearly two weeks in the Bush they were starving and drew lots to see who would be eaten.

Eaten? someone cried.

Yep.

I wouldn’t get eaten, I’d smash them all, another said.

"If you say so, Cameron. Anyway. They drew lots and Thomas Bodenham drew the short straw. One man, Robert Greenhill, had an axe and killed him and at that, three of them ran away and the others ate the body. That left Pearce, Greenhill, Mathers and Travers.

"Now, Greenhill had a friend in Matthew Travers so Pearce knew that it would be him or Mathers to die next so he wanted to make sure it was Mathers by siding with the other two.

Now down to three, Pearce knew he’d be next, but then he got lucky as Travers got bitten on the foot by a snake. They carried him for five days before finally eating him.

"Now we come to the deadly game of cat and mouse, they were both tired and hungry and they had to sleep, but the first person to do so would be dead. They don’t say how, but I assume Greenhill fell asleep and Pearce killed him with the axe.

He was free for about 113 days before he was caught and hanged. So my question to you is, could you survive in the Bush? And how far would you go to do so?

I reckon I could, Tristan said. I go out pigging all the time in the Bush.

That’s a good point, Chris laughed. You guys living out here would fare a lot better than city kids.

I’m going pigging this weekend with my dogs, Harry said.

Well, that’s great.

You don’t like it, do you, Sir? Tristan said.

Hunting defenceless animals? Sure. Love it.

They’re not defenceless, they have horns, Harry protested.

They’re tusks, idiot, Tristan said.

Whatever.

Yeah, those tusks against your guns, Chris said and Tristan laughed.

We don’t have guns, I use my dogs and a knife.

"Well, that’s great. Back to the topic, there’s a little patch of Bush behind the basketball courts and we’re going to go and see what we can find to help us survive. Anything. The lay of the land, the vegetation, even rubbish that’s been dropped.

I don’t need to say that if anyone feels that this is an opportunity to mess around, we will come straight back inside.

∞

Back in the office, he reflected how much he liked that class and it had helped that some of the less well behaved kids had been away. That was a tough one, a lot of the kids who needed school the most, wagged a lot, but it was good for the other kids as it cut down on interruptions.

Anyway, they had behaved and a lot of them knew quite a bit about plants to eat; they found hollows to sleep in; branches to help them walk and he had shown them how to make a compass using a stick and the Sun. Still, in the end they knew more about the Bush than he did and as he watched them he wondered if he could survive in the Bush.

Probably not.

He was born in London and had never lived anywhere like this. He had done his fair share of trekking in forests and jungles around the world, but always with a guide. The fact was that the Bush was still a dangerous place, you could still get lost out there and die, even in this day and age, but that didn’t stop the kids going out hunting and dirt bike riding in it. To them it wasn’t dangerous, just a rich playground.

He put all his stuff, mainly his marking, into his bag and said goodbye to those still finishing off in the office and went home.

They’d been lucky, a house had come up for sale on top of the hill and it afforded amazing views of the town and the Bushland that surrounded it. He was glad that they couldn’t see the new road that had been carved into the Bush by the mining company.

It was this view that he stopped to look at when he got out of his car and wondered again whether he could survive out there. Hell, he should probably get out there more, there must be some beautiful walks through the trees, there were definitely paths, but they often spent their weekends relaxing at home after a hard week teaching.

#

They had eaten an early dinner and then cracked open a bottle of wine, as was their Friday night ritual.

So how was it? he asked his wife.

School?

Yeah.

Same as ever, kindy kids cry, poo, sleep and play.

I wish the same could be said for my kids. Without the poo, he said and she laughed.

Yeah, I don’t think you want to be changing their nappies.

Actually I wish they would play and sleep less and try to get more of an education.

I’m sorry, babe, she frowned.

Ahh, I’m underselling them. Most of them are good kids, it’s just that small minority that are either really bad, or really lazy. They just don’t see the point, they think they’re just going to walk into a job on the mines. I had one say to me today that they would start working in grade 11, when it mattered, he shrugged and took a drink.

Do you think it’s Collie kids?

I don’t know, I think it’s generational, their parents have lived in a boom and can afford to give them whatever they want.

And now they think they deserve it, Kylie agreed.

Been told they are special and can do what they like. It’s not their fault though; their parents grew up with the postmodernism thinking that if it’s good for them then it’s good. No objective truths.

Still hating it? she asked kindly.

No. Hate’s a strong word and I enjoy actually teaching. Maybe I should have stuck with English as a Foreign Language teaching though.

You could go back to it.

Not here, in the city, yeah.

Would you go back to the city? she asked before taking a sip.

Nah. I like it here. It’s quiet and different. Perth’s just a series of suburbs. I guess the only places I would live back there, we’ll never afford.

Not unless you write that book, she smiled and he smiled back.

I dunno, maybe it’s an English teacher’s folly, thinking you can write a novel.

That doesn’t mean you should give up.

No, I suppose not. Maybe if I get all this marking done I’ll get back to it.

He mentally sighed at the thought of marking, but now into his second year teaching at least he had an idea of what was expected for each grade.

It’s better than a lot of jobs though, right? she asked.

"Yeah. Yeah it is. Better than sitting in an office. I do like it, it’s just not what