few to be concerned with. Chasing after them
individually would waste too much time and energy. They did not care for Ned
and Jackrabbit, not the Quakers.
But Suits were different, Jackrabbit said. They were the
rat-catchers, set loose onto the empty towns and cities to smoke out the last
of the human population. They knew where to find them, where to direct the sky ’ s
beams, and they got smug satisfaction out of pleasing their new masters.
‘ But why would people help them? Why would they turn on us
like that? ’
‘ Dunno . Because they ’ re
dicks, probably. ’
‘I saw one guy in Wyndham, a Suit. He was talking to them,
showing them things. How do they communicate with each other? Telepathically?
Hand signals? Do they speak English, you think? ’
‘You wanna see this or not? ’
They left their belongings at the campsite and headed
towards the Quakers’ farm as the orange skies turned to dusk. Jackrabbit took Ned’s
knife but also found a good palm-sized rock. Ned assumed they were going off to
hunt for some game. He was partially right.
Two small shadows weaved through the bush unseen and came to
a rocky mound overlooking a bizarre and ominous sight. The Quakers’ farm was
nothing short of an industrial-sized cattle ranch, covering a section of
flattened land consisting of hundreds of thousands of hectares. A giant
warehouse of familiar Quaker architecture stood in the epicentre of a series of
oblong fenced-off paddocks, with newly planted grasses being cared for by
integrated irrigation streams and sprinkling systems. This was the final, fully-completed
form of the establishment Ned had witnessed being built in Wyndham. The
warehouse was now operational and, according to Jackrabbit, at least two
Quakers were permanently stationed here. The white glow of electricity lit up
the interior of the building, and a series of other machines, one which looked
like a water tank, another somewhat similar to an oversized garden shredder,
were partially visible at the rear of the building, spewing out white smoke
into the air. This farm appeared to be well into production, but production of
what?
‘What are they? ’ he gawked.
‘ Dunno , ’ said
Jackrabbit.
The paddocks surrounding the warehouses housed tens of
thousands of an animal breed that Ned had never seen before. It was some sort
of wombat-like creature: four stumpy legs under a round, furry body, little
black snouts and ears, digging about with their claws and munching on grass,
but these wombats were the size of bears. They were worryingly tall and
muscular, as though they had been fed buckets of steroids, and parts of their
faces and bodies were slightly ‘off’, such as their prominent jawlines, or the
way their back legs moved. They looked like the agglomeration of two or three
animals, with extra outlandish body parts from worlds unknown glued into place.
Despite their many similarities to animals Ned knew, their entire existence was
eerie.
‘There ’ re so many of them. ’
‘ Ahuh .’ He nursed the rock in his
hand.
Ned paused. ‘ You expect me to eat that ? ’
‘Yeah. Why not? Gotta eat, mai . One of these could feed ya for days, but you gotta get it on the fire before the
flies get to it. ’
Jackrabbit said they should sit and wait until it was
darker. They sat in the bushes, crouched low, swatting at flies as they watched
the stars appear one by one. Ned pointed out the Quakers when he saw them
emerge from the warehouse. They were still wearing their grey astronaut suits,
so not much of them could be observed other than their height and their hand
movements. What was uncomfortable was how much alike they were to humans in
their movements: two arms, two legs, probably two eyes too. Jackrabbit appeared
to be thinking to himself when he muttered, ‘I wonder how long it’d take for
the fucker to suffocate if I stabbed him in the tank.’
Ned was also interested in the tanks strapped to their
backs, supplying their hoods with
individually would waste too much time and energy. They did not care for Ned
and Jackrabbit, not the Quakers.
But Suits were different, Jackrabbit said. They were the
rat-catchers, set loose onto the empty towns and cities to smoke out the last
of the human population. They knew where to find them, where to direct the sky ’ s
beams, and they got smug satisfaction out of pleasing their new masters.
‘ But why would people help them? Why would they turn on us
like that? ’
‘ Dunno . Because they ’ re
dicks, probably. ’
‘I saw one guy in Wyndham, a Suit. He was talking to them,
showing them things. How do they communicate with each other? Telepathically?
Hand signals? Do they speak English, you think? ’
‘You wanna see this or not? ’
They left their belongings at the campsite and headed
towards the Quakers’ farm as the orange skies turned to dusk. Jackrabbit took Ned’s
knife but also found a good palm-sized rock. Ned assumed they were going off to
hunt for some game. He was partially right.
Two small shadows weaved through the bush unseen and came to
a rocky mound overlooking a bizarre and ominous sight. The Quakers’ farm was
nothing short of an industrial-sized cattle ranch, covering a section of
flattened land consisting of hundreds of thousands of hectares. A giant
warehouse of familiar Quaker architecture stood in the epicentre of a series of
oblong fenced-off paddocks, with newly planted grasses being cared for by
integrated irrigation streams and sprinkling systems. This was the final, fully-completed
form of the establishment Ned had witnessed being built in Wyndham. The
warehouse was now operational and, according to Jackrabbit, at least two
Quakers were permanently stationed here. The white glow of electricity lit up
the interior of the building, and a series of other machines, one which looked
like a water tank, another somewhat similar to an oversized garden shredder,
were partially visible at the rear of the building, spewing out white smoke
into the air. This farm appeared to be well into production, but production of
what?
‘What are they? ’ he gawked.
‘ Dunno , ’ said
Jackrabbit.
The paddocks surrounding the warehouses housed tens of
thousands of an animal breed that Ned had never seen before. It was some sort
of wombat-like creature: four stumpy legs under a round, furry body, little
black snouts and ears, digging about with their claws and munching on grass,
but these wombats were the size of bears. They were worryingly tall and
muscular, as though they had been fed buckets of steroids, and parts of their
faces and bodies were slightly ‘off’, such as their prominent jawlines, or the
way their back legs moved. They looked like the agglomeration of two or three
animals, with extra outlandish body parts from worlds unknown glued into place.
Despite their many similarities to animals Ned knew, their entire existence was
eerie.
‘There ’ re so many of them. ’
‘ Ahuh .’ He nursed the rock in his
hand.
Ned paused. ‘ You expect me to eat that ? ’
‘Yeah. Why not? Gotta eat, mai . One of these could feed ya for days, but you gotta get it on the fire before the
flies get to it. ’
Jackrabbit said they should sit and wait until it was
darker. They sat in the bushes, crouched low, swatting at flies as they watched
the stars appear one by one. Ned pointed out the Quakers when he saw them
emerge from the warehouse. They were still wearing their grey astronaut suits,
so not much of them could be observed other than their height and their hand
movements. What was uncomfortable was how much alike they were to humans in
their movements: two arms, two legs, probably two eyes too. Jackrabbit appeared
to be thinking to himself when he muttered, ‘I wonder how long it’d take for
the fucker to suffocate if I stabbed him in the tank.’
Ned was also interested in the tanks strapped to their
backs, supplying their hoods with
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