Chapter 21 THE SHUDDER OF THE DEAD

[image error] Billy opened his eyes on the third morning to judge how far into the day he was. He could have been mistaken for thinking that the sun had barely risen with heavy rain clouds still dominating the sky. He’d been dozing on and off for hours, far too tired to get up. It was only then that he realised that something was very wrong.

He’d wriggled deep into the sand while snuggling the pups but he still couldn’t get warm. Normally he’d just get up, have a leak, get the fire going and lay back down to sleep some more. Not this morning, he couldn’t move, didn’t have the energy to move. The pups were the same, their bodies rolling limp instead of being alert.

Starvation was setting in.

It frustrated him. The pups were looking great yesterday — active and clowning around — over their heat stroke. Now they were getting sick again and it was all his fault. He knew he was being unreasonably hard on himself but he also knew that his anger would energise him into action. He dragged himself up to light the fire, leaving the pups to roll into the centre of the pit.

What remained of the fire was just a large ring of ash with a barely visible spiral of smoke rising from its centre. He blew away the ash to locate the smouldering coal. It glowed at him like a beacon of hope. But it was tiny, much smaller than the coal he’d formed to start the fire in the first place.

He’d already prepared a small pile of tinder the night before which he carefully lay over the coal and blew, ever so gently. It did nothing — the tinder had become damp in the night air. He packed the tinder a little tighter and blew some more. It started to smoke, telling him that the heat was fighting its way through the moisture. Finally, a flame burst into life.

Now it was time to call upon his ancestors for help — today, he would hunt.

He rummaged through the leather pouches in his shoulder bag until he found the one with the brightest red fur. It contained his red ochre. He broke off a chunk and ground it to dust on python rock using his small stone with the kangaroo painted upon it. It made him wonder what Mallee and Pindaari were doing during the storm. Mallee was probably working out ways of getting Pindaari back for tricking him into sitting on a bull ant nest. And Pindaari was probably worrying about what Mallee was going to do to get him back. He wished he could show them his cool new hunting dogs. He imagined all the fun they’d have, playing with the pups and patting them.

He added a little water to the powder to grind it into a paste and painted his totem upon his body, a red line down his thigh portraying the Red kangaroo’s thigh bone, his shin bone, arms and body. Then he selected the pouch made of white fur from under the roo’s chin, it contained white clay. He dabbed his four fingers into the paint he made and ran streaks through his hair, across his face and over his whole body. He’d be ghosted into the Ghost gum trees that dominated the forest below the overhang. All the while he sang quietly to himself in his native tongue, as he always did while preparing for a ceremony.

The pups watched him curiously the whole time, with the final result unsettling them slightly. He wondered what their reaction would have been if he’d suddenly appeared with his camouflage already painted on.

They needed camouflaging too. He couldn’t stalk prey with three balls of snow slinking through the undergrowth, trying not to be seen but standing out like the proverbial. It had him scratching his head for a while, wondering how on earth he could possibly camouflage them. Then he realised in a flash of the obvious that he was black and they were white! He’d painted white stripes on his body so why not paint black stripes on their bodies. He scrounged around for a piece of cold charcoal from last night’s fire and gave it a go, and then rolled around laughing his head off at the result. They thought it was funny too, checking each other out and racing around the cave excitedly.

It was time to get serious. Billy stoked the fire, gathered his clapsticks and began an ancient hunting song that reverberated off the cave walls.

The pups barked uncertainly at first, not sure what Billy was doing as he danced around the fire, imitating his prey, stalking his prey and then stabbing it with his spear. It began to look like a whole lot of fun so they joined in, digging little holes, spraying sand everywhere and barking triumphantly.

Billy danced himself into a trance and then sat by the fire, chanting his hunting songs and inviting his ancestors to join him on the hunt. Herding his prey towards him, lulling it into a false sense of security and guiding his spear. The pups joined in the song, a quartet of sorts, howling out of harmony.

The storm grew in intensity. Bone–shaking thunder exploded all around them with gusts of wind sweeping torrents of rain into the cave, lashing at the fire and sizzling it to steam. Billy increased his intensity, singing even louder, his voice penetrating the storm. The pups now hiding behind him and howling in fear.

Time disappeared as Billy’s melodious drones slipped him into a meditative state. He found himself on the hunt, stalking through the forest, camouflaged, invisible. His eyes searching with wind swirling all around him, one second blowing in his face, the next on his back. It didn’t matter, the heavy downpour would carry his scent to the ground and drown it anyway. He followed a game trail — muddy, soft and silent underfoot, the leave’s dry crackle long since gone. His spear led the way, pushing branches aside while he slipped quietly by.

A Paddymelon wallaby buck stood staring into the haze, shivering in the middle of the trail and shaking off another load of cold water from his rain–drenched coat. A nearby branch creaked and cracked and crashed to the ground, shattering the last of his frayed nerves. He hung his head in despair, exhausted after too many days on high alert. His eyelids drooped as he listened to the wind howling around his ears, trying to block out all the terrifying noises of the bush that kept shaking him to the core. He heard something nearby and had to look, but his eyes saw nothing. The hunter was no more than ten metres away when the spear left his hand. Paddy didn’t even know what was happening as the spear punctured his heart and he started to die. Then his nightmare ended.

Suddenly lightening struck a tall tree in the bush below the cave. It wrenched Billy from his dream just in time to see the bolt blast a long–dead branch from the top of a tree. It whirled high into the air, spinning spectacularly with smoke and sparks trailing it like the tail of a dragon.

The pups yelped and launched themselves into Billy’s lap where they whimpered from the sting of adrenaline surging through their bodies.

Then everything went quiet. The wind dropped and the rain stopped while Billy watched in awe of the branch twirling through the air. It started down, finding its centre and spearing like a javelin. He followed it through the canopy and watched as it stopped gracefully, sinking into the sodden soil behind a patch of scrub. Billy scrutinised it, trying not to doubt his ancestors. And then it happened, the shudder of the dead vibrated through the end of the spear. Billy smiled with pride and quietly thanked his ancestors.

“Let’s eat!” he said to the pups while leaping to his feet and geeing them up. “Come on, time for hunting lesson.”

“Rrar, rrar, rrar,” they barked excitedly.

He bolted straight out of the overhang and down the path, leaving all his weapons behind. The pups were right behind him, barking enthusiastically. When he got to the bottom he settled them down and then snuck through the scrub. They caught on quickly, keeping close and treading lightly.

Billy could see the top of the spear poking out above a couple of moss–covered granite boulders. He froze, wanting to see what the pups would do. They followed his lead and stopped too. Then he cautiously stepped around a bend in the trail that revealed Paddy, speared through the spine, dead instantly and compassionately. He was pinned where he stood with his head bowed, as if he was still nibbling on a blade of grass.

Billy felt powerful.

Supernatural.

He’d never harnessed the power of his ancestors to such an effect before.

“Hunt,” he whispered to the pups.

Larry tilted his head and then caught a whiff of the wallaby on the air.

“Hunt,” Billy said again.

He looked at Billy in surprise, understanding instantly.

Curly and Moe must have smelt it too because they also went into hunting mode. They fanned out, noses to the ground while sneaking silently through the long grass.

Billy noticed that it was going to be Larry who would see the wallaby first so he watched him carefully to see how he’d react. Larry froze solid, and then to Billy’s delight, Curly and Moe also froze. Billy was ecstatic, they were already excellent hunting dogs!

Larry burst from the undergrowth and seized the wallaby by the throat. Moe was right behind him, sinking his teeth deep into the wallaby’s tail and using his weight to hold it down. Curly then latched onto its muzzle, preventing it from biting and helping Larry suffocate it.

Billy tried not to laugh as he watched them look to one another, wondering why their prey wasn’t putting up a fight at all. Suddenly they let go and tore into its belly, ripping at the skin, desperate to get at its insides. Billy was impressed again — they knew exactly where to go. He just couldn’t understand why anyone would want to get rid of such good little hunting dogs.

Larry and Moe pulled together as the belly skin started to tear. Curly was straight in, biting out chunks of the intestines. Then Larry and Moe did the same, tug–of–warring over large pieces to tear them apart.

“Good tucker hey, fellas?”

Larry looked at Billy and then dived into the cavity, his head disappearing and reappearing a moment later with the whole liver hanging from his mouth. He proudly trotted over to Billy and dropped it at his feet. It was then that Billy truly understood how intelligent these little dogs were. That was exactly what he would have done for Cobar — given him one of the most nutritious pieces of the beast. Billy gave him a pat and scoffed it down hungrily.

Curly saw what Larry had done so he raced over to give Billy the slobbery piece of intestine that he’d been chewing on. Moe tried to do the same thing but his bit was still attached, making him struggle as it unfurled from the wallaby’s belly.

Billy thanked them, pretended to eat it and then flicked it into the bush — liver was one thing but he’d never been able to stomach raw intestines. He fished the kidneys out of the cavity instead and tried not to think about how much better they’d be over the coals — they had a thick layer of tasty yellow fat that oozed goodness and begged to be heated and melted. He cut out and discarded the wallaby’s stomach, bladder and what remained of its bowels; waited while the pups finished gorging themselves and then hoisted Paddy onto his shoulder to carry him back to camp.

The fire was down to just coals so he took advantage of the break in the weather to gather some more wood. The pups helped, competing with each other to see who could carry the biggest stick, their full bellies rocking from side to side as they lumbered up the path.

When the pups arrived, they were so overjoyed to see the wallaby in the cave that they rolled all over him, covering themselves in his scent and gnawing on his legs. Curly took it a step farther and climbed right inside the body cavity. He stuck his head out as if he’d just found the best kennel in the whole wide world.

Billy stoked the fire and without a second thought, threw Paddy into the flames. The pups didn’t like that at all — not being able to chew on their prize. They barked and whimpered and howled in distress. As soon as the fur was burnt off, Billy dragged the carcass off the flames and laughed at the pups surprised expressions over the change in flavour as they licked the legs.

He gave the flames time to die down, and the pups a chance to calm down, before cutting off the arms and the legs at the knee joints to give them all something to chew on while Paddy cooked over the coals. The pups were like deliriously happy kids with a new toy — running all around the cave with their bones in their mouths, playing tug–of–war with each other’s bones and encouraging Billy to join in.

Billy had broken the carcass’s hip joints and laid Paddy belly side down over the coals. The rib meat would cook quickly which was exactly what he wanted. He didn’t give it long, rolling it onto its back and sitting it along the edge of the coals while he sliced the meat from its bones. He couldn’t remember ever eating a tastier wallaby.

The pups were keen for some too, dropping their bones and looking longingly at Billy. He couldn’t believe they were still hungry but he gave them a taste anyway. They scoffed every morsel down until they just couldn’t fit in anymore. Then they went back to their bones with the exception of Moe, he spewed his guts up and came back for more. Now Billy understood why Moe was bigger than the others, he was a total guts.

Suddenly all hell broke loose — Larry and Curly were checking out Moe’s spew, which he didn’t like at all and chased them away. Then he ate it all back up again.

Billy was totally grossed–out, but not enough to turn him off his own tucker.

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