Red Fox (12 page)

A nice thought, to let the animals free, but I think of cows struggling to calf and dying halfway through labour from exhaustion. I think of flyblown sheep in the summer. I think of how many thoroughbred horses, which take so much special grain to keep fat and healthy, will starve in the winter.

In this day and age, most livestock need humans to survive. They aren’t the sturdy, half-wild creatures they once were when humans first domesticated them. Animals have changed along with the world. With every wide-open gate we see, my hopes of finding a single cow diminish a little more. They must have all left the property to find fresh feed. After an hour of riding and searching every nook and cranny of the massive property, I’m certain we won’t find any livestock, but when we reach the back paddocks that border the National Parks, Whil and I pull the horses to a stop, startled to see black angus cows scattered all over the last paddock. They’re underneath trees, nursing yearling calves, standing at the edge of the dam having a drink. Whil and I exchange delighted looks.

The cows spot us on the hilltop, begin bawling, and then stampede towards us, obviously thinking that we have brought food. I wheel Barry around and tell Whil to follow. We plod along and the cows follow, sprinting around us while bucking and making a fuss. The Biocentrics seem to think it’s evil to own an animal. But these cows loved their old owners. My aunt and uncle cared for them, and that is why the cows never took to living in the wild and still clung to the hope that their masters might return. The Biocentrics, in all of their self-bestowed glory, forgot completely that humans and animal form relationships.

We lead the cows to the other side of the farm where the old hay shed stands. It sits in the middle of the paddock, huge and bold against the blue sky. A white electric tape surrounds it to keep the cows away and inside the shed is packed full of hay – ready for the cold winter months. I can smell the sweet silage bales, wrapped in sea green plastic. The cows come to a halt, positively bellowing in hunger, while keeping their distance from the wire, not realizing there is no longer electricity to shock them away. Whil and I tie the horses to a nearby tree, duck under the wire and start climbing the haystack. Jack and I used to play hide and seek in the haystacks when we were children. I still remember the itchy feeling of straw down my shirt when I crammed myself between two of the bales. The thought brings an ache to my heart, but I push it away, hopeful Jack still lives.

At the top of the haystack, I pat one of the round bales teetering on the edge. Even with the light touch, it wobbles precariously.

“We’ll push it off and try to roll it out for them,” I tell Whil. In winter when there is little grass, the cows would usually be fed two or three bales daily. They must be starving.

Whil nods and both of us give the bale a gentle shove. It topples from its position and lands on the ground five metres below, sending a huge plume of dust and straw billowing into the air. Coughing, Whil and I climb back down, drop the electric fence, cut the plastic wrapping of the bale and begin straining our weight against it. Once we get it moving, the bale rolls down the gentle slope and unravels itself, leaving a trail of thick, sweet smelling hay behind it.

The cows rampage into the hay, scooping it up in their slobbery mouths and eating it like nothing ever tasted so good. When Whil and I have finished unrolling the bale, we go back to the horses. They look towards the hay eagerly, but I know there are a few smaller bales of hay in the shed nearby the farmhouse, so we can feed them later.

“So… which one should we eat?” Whil asks me, looking over the cows.

I don’t really like the idea of eating any of them now that I’ve seen them. When we were starving in the bush, it was different. But having a stomach full of crackers, sultanas, and water makes the thought of killing and eating one of these cows sickening. So I shrug, say we will decide later, and we ride back to the house.

13.

Whil and I live peacefully for the next week and a half. We eat cans of beans; spaghetti; sandwiches with peanut butter, jam, and vegemite; and small amounts of fruit and vegetables from the gardens outside. We sleep in separate beds, and we have cold baths in the dams. It is an austere lifestyle, with simple meals, dirty drinking water and little entertainment, but we survive.

I tend to Whil’s wound daily, becoming more and more concerned by its foul appearance. Though Whil doesn’t seem to be weakening, the wound has now taken on a yellowish hue and it is always swollen and inflamed red. I’m so worried about him that I give him a course of shots from a bottle of Penicillin for cattle that I found in the shed. The drug label reads ‘For Animal Use Only’, but it is the only antibiotics that could possibly save him. Left unattended and untreated, the wound would certainly kill him.

When several weeks pass with no sign of danger, we feel safe lighting a fire so we can finally be warm and eat a proper meal. One evening, exactly three weeks after our arrival, I gather some wood from outside, pile it in the hearth then strike the timber to life with a match. The spark catches and within a minute, there is a fire roaring in the living room, casting another red glow in the candle-lit home. Sitting so close to the flames that the radiant heat burns my back, I look into the kitchen where Whil is preparing a meal. Neither of us had the heart to shoot a cow, so when Whil had found my uncle’s old farm gun in the shed, he’d instead shot a kangaroo clean in the head, convinced it would make a fine meal.

Whil places a large chunk of raw kangaroo meat in a camp roast pot with some potatoes that we dug up in the veggie garden and then brings it over and settles it across the flames. With a groan, he slumps beside me in the floral-print, three-seater couch.

Poor Whil. His muscles, especially his bum muscles, aren’t accustomed to horse riding, and we have been doing a lot of it in the last week. I remember what it feels like: the aching in the back of the legs, the sore, bruised feeling of the bottom and even a ping in the back from sitting so straight in the saddle. The rusty old Ute in the garage runs and has petrol in the tank, but we can’t use it for frivolous things. If we need to make a quick getaway or decide to go looking for our family, we will need the car much more than we do now.

“Do you want to go for a walk while this cooks?” Whil asks, looking at me with bright, expectant eyes.

I look outside. It’s dark already. Snow hasn’t fallen again so the ground is dry, but it’s still cold and moist from where the snow has melted. I’d prefer to sit in front of the fire all night, but Whil looks so hopeful…

I agree to go for a walk just to keep Whil happy and when we go outside, I’m glad I said yes. There is a full moon, glowing pearly white. It’s so bright I can hardly look at it directly and the glinting stars shine all around it in a completely cloudless, black sky. I gape as I look up. The Milky Way stretches in a clear band like black velvet flecked with diamonds. No wind blows. Nothing stirs in the silver tinted leaves of trees or the blades of steely coloured grass. All is still. The only noise is Whil and I as we exhale deeply, the warm breath escaping our mouths in frosted clouds.

Gazing around in awe at our amazing world, Whil and I wander to the top of a nearby hill where an old landing airstrip used to be. The hill overlooks nearly the entire farm and with the moon glowing so brightly overhead, we can see every corner of the property by night. I can even see the black specks that are our herd of cows in the hayshed paddock. I sit down and lie back in the snow-grass tussocks, which feel soft beneath me. Whil does the same, folding his arms behind his head like a pillow, which makes the muscles in his biceps swell. I look away from him before I get carried away and just stare at the stars. Soon, my eyes slide closed and I simply breathe in the cool, mountain air. I haven’t felt so relaxed in a long time. Not even before the Biocentrics took over.

Then I feel a gentle warmth wrap around my hand, and when I look down to see Whil’s hand holding mine. Blood warms my cheeks as I look at him. His blue eyes are silver now, like the ocean in the moonlight, and he looks at me as though he is waiting for something.

“You know, sometimes I can see why the government is doing what it is,” Whil says quietly but suddenly.

Instantly, a feral anger consumes me and I jerk my hand from his. The peaceful moment shatters and my heart seems to constrict with irk. Whil looks at me with a mysterious expression. I can’t place it. I’m unsure if I’ve ever seen an expression quite like this before. It’s almost neutral. Like he feels nothing. Like he is nothing. I know how angry I must look but I can’t help it. Keeping my hand well away from his, I try to fall back into hypnosis by gazing at the stars but I have to ask.

“How could you say that?” I say, my voice hardly more than a whisper but startlingly fierce.

“Calm down, Freya,” he says gently. “I just mean that they want people to live like we are now. We are living off the land, without technology or electricity. And we can see the beauty in our own world instead of destroying it. The Biocentrics have gone completely crazy with how they tried to make us understand their point of view, but I do understand now.”

I frown. He’s right, of course. He’s always right. Governments don’t take over countries because they want to hurt humanity. They take over because they think they know what’s best for the people. And perhaps this is what is best: lying under the stars with a friend and knowing the world is thriving once more. But then I think of Clara and my lenience vanishes instantly. No matter what their original plan was. It eventually involved killing innocent people who they thought could be a problem. The Biocentrics want us to be more natural like an animal, but no other species on the planet would kill its own kind for supremacy. Only humans would kill one another for what they call
‘the greater good’
. The Biocentrics contradicted themselves by murdering all of those people… 

Be natural, but kill anything that stands in your way.

I shudder involuntarily and sit up. No, Whil shouldn’t be defending them. Maybe they didn’t kill Whil’s mother in front of him, but Seiger killed my best friend while her family and young children looked on. If I ever return home, will I find a dried stain of blood in the town centre from where the life drained from the bullet wound in Clara’s head? Would it be the only reminder left of my best friend? Will there be a mass grave dug into one of the paddocks surrounding the town full of rotting, bloated human bodies that were once the D group? Will my best friend be decaying at the bottom of it, smothered by hundreds of others?

“Freya?” Whil says quietly.

I suddenly feel the painful lump that has formed in my throat and the heavy, stinging tears threatening to overflow from my eyes. I sniff the tears back before they fall and clear my throat. It’s too late, Whil saw my sudden display of emotion. Except for in the horse drawn caravan, I haven’t shown weakness in front of him before, but he couldn’t see me then, and now he is looking at me in a totally new way. His expression is soft and compassionate, like he has suddenly realised that a living, breathing, feeling girl sits in front of him rather than a rock. I don’t want to be seen as weak. I want to be the rock.

“I’m fine,” I tell him stubbornly, dashing the last traces of the tears from my eyes with my cuff.

“Freya,” he says again. This time the meaning in his voice is clear as he touches my hand and his fingers curl like warm mist around my forearm.

He pulls me closer with the most gentle, careful pressure. It isn’t enough to move me an inch, yet, I lean towards him like the force is irresistible. His breath touches my face and I inhale his scent, which is that of a forest. Like damp soil and dew-laden pine trees. Like rain and earth. My eyes slide closed when our lips are an inch apart. He releases my arm and both of his hands cup my face as he pulls it to his.

The heat that bursts between us is incredible. His lips are soft and hesitant, yet I feel passion burning behind them. Adrenalin pumps through my veins, and I have to rein myself in to stop from seizing Whil’s face and pulling him closer. My mind whirls in a blurry frenzy. There’s ravenous hunger in my stomach that won’t be filled by food or water. Only by Whil. My hands want to knot in his hair. My body wants to be pressed against him. But I control myself remarkably well.

It lasts for just a few seconds and then he pulls back. Not knowing how to behave, I sit up, eyes wide, and look straight ahead across the airstrip, stone-faced. The fire I felt while kissing him is gone but it has left a hot prickle throughout my entire body, mostly in my face. Even in the night, I’m sure Whil can see the scarlet glow to my cheeks.

Whil mustn’t know how to react either because he doesn’t say or do anything. He just stays in his lying down position, propped on his elbows, and doesn’t move. Something inside me is whooping with joy and triumph. But something else tells me I should have pushed Whil away when I had the chance. I’ve told myself for weeks that,
now isn’t the time
, but apparently all of that mental discipline didn’t help. Maybe Whil didn’t feel anything and he was just testing the waters.

After a minute of silence, Whil sits up and pulls me to his body. I thought I couldn’t blush any more but I do as his warm chest presses into my back. I can feel his chest rising and falling and his heart thundering against his ribs.

“Our food will be burning,” he says so his breath stirs my hair.

“I know I am.” Immediately, I bite my tongue so hard I taste blood. Could I have said anything more humiliating?

Whil just laughs and pulls me up as he stands. He offers me his arm just like a gentleman would to a lady back in the ‘50s and we walk towards the house together, my arm linked through his.

When we approach the house, we can see a hazy mist of smoke pressing against the windows. Whil runs inside, smirking, and opens the fireplace door. Smoke pours out from it and the smell of burning meat fills the room. He sticks on the glove next to the fireplace and thrusts his hand inside to rescue our dinner. Withdrawing the pot, he opens the lid and both of us peer inside at the blackened lump of meat.

“Damn,” Whil says.

“It’s alright,” a voice comes from behind us. “You won’t be needing that anymore.”

My stomach drops. My throat convulses like I might vomit and the air is driven from my lungs. Both Whil and I spin around and the camp roast pot hits the floor with a loud crack, scattering remains of burnt kangaroo meat over the tiles. I’m immediately petrified, almost paralysed with fear just from the mere sight of Seiger, and my eyes scan each exit, wondering which would be easiest to run to, even though I can now see a troop of armed men standing outside on the veranda. They must have hidden in the nearby patch of trees when we came into the house.

“No. No,” Seiger says as he sees my horrified face. “No running. Do you want to be darted again?”

I’m frozen to the spot as he taps a tranquilizer gun fastened at his waist. It terrifies me more than a real gun. At least I know a bullet would end my life, this agony, but the tranquilizer gun means more horrors await me. Us. Whil and I.

“H-how did you find us?” Whil asks, sounding stunned, but not terrified like I feel. I don’t know what to do. We can’t escape. We can’t fight. We can’t hide. I’m trembling so violently that the vision of Seiger shakes before my eyes.

“It wasn’t hard to run a screen on both of your names. We found out Freya had relatives in this area. It was only natural she would come to this place. Now, come on. You two passed the test.”

“Passed?” I spit, my courage returning in a fiery blaze. “We escaped your stupid arena!”

“Yes, as I thought you might. The thought of being electrified keeps most of our Bs away from the fence entirely but there is the occasional one who tries to get over. Some fall. Some get caught and die in the wire. Most of our Bs stay in the arena and survive. You two were the only ones who got over it without killing yourselves in the process. Which means you passed with flying colours! The test of the arena was to see whether you have what it takes to be wild. Only wild creatures will risk their lives to escape a cage.”

The more I hear about B group the more frightened I become. Why are they so obsessed with us just because we behaved so violently, risking death over captivity? What does our letter ‘B’ stand for?

“Come on,” Seiger says. “Time to go.”

I glance at the open fireplace and wonder whether I can somehow start a fire in the house that will give us a chance to escape. Attacking Seiger isn’t an option when he has so many guards. I look at Whil with frantic desperation, but when he gently takes my arm and steers me towards the front door, I know we have no choice but to go outside with Seiger and leave the comfort and the safety of my aunt and uncle’s home. We could have stayed here together. After three weeks of being with Whil, feeling protected in his presence and learning more about him, I know we could have lived here happily. As Seiger herds us outside, I bid the house a mental farewell, knowing we will never return to it.

I’m not surprised when I see a black van parked a small distance up the driveway. It’s just far away enough so that we couldn’t spot it when we returned to the house. Just like the electric fence, the government will happily use technology for their own benefit. The van is quite large; large enough to fit everyone inside. The back door hangs open, and Seiger tells us to get in.