Skyquakers by A.J. Conway Page A

some sort of gas.
    ‘Maybe they can ’ t breathe here, ’ he said.
    ‘Then maybe they shouldn’t have come here.’
    It was cold at night without a fire, but it was their only
option if they were to remain unseen. Ned ’ s stomach
was making wild sounds by the time Jackrabbit declared it was dark enough to
proceed. The novelty of these wom -bears had now
faded, and now all Ned could imagine was sinking his teeth into a big chunk of
leg meat. It made him eager to get up and go, but Jackrabbit was a patient man.
He had been timing how often the Quakers emerged to check on their produce, and
when he was finally convinced it was safe, he made his move.
    ‘You stay here, ’ he said. ‘ I ’ ll
get one. ’
    ‘Why can ’ t I help? ’
    ‘You ’ ll scare them off. ’
    Ned sat in the grasses and watched from a distance as
Jackrabbit snuck onto the property. He jumped a wooden fence and kept low,
moving slowly along the grass, attempting to get close to a grazing herd. Of
course, like all herbivores, the wom -bears were aware
of something foreign in their midst and kept moving in a wide arc around him.
He got himself closer into the centre of the herd, then returned to crouching
in the grass. Eventually, the sluggish beasts forgot about him and went back to
pulling grass up with their flattened teeth. When one little wom -bear, barely the size of a pony, ventured a little too
far from its group, it was snatched up by the man lurking in the grass and
brutally attacked. Like a crazed murderer, Jackrabbit cracked his rock over the
animal’s head again and again until it stopped kicking and squirming. Around
him, the rest of the herd scurried away, making honking noises of distress as
they waddled off to the other end of the paddock. But they were not loud
creatures, not loud enough to spark any alerts, and so Jackrabbit ’ s
kill went unnoticed.
    He carried the carcass over his shoulders, its legs draping
either side of his neck, red blood seeping from the open gash in its head. He
laid it on the ground and used Ned ’ s knife to hack off the head.
Useless, he said, and the less weight to carry back to camp, the better. Ned
squirmed as he watched Jackrabbit hack through the arteries, the flesh, the
fur, and the chunky spine. On the inside, these creatures looked relatively
normal; pink flesh, red blood and white bones. He would not know what abnormal
innards would look like anyhow.
    Jackrabbit carried the carcass over his shoulder, undeterred
by the excessive blood on his shirt. Ned walked behind and had to stare at the
big, red stump where its head once was. When they returned to their campsite,
the fire had now formed a large pit of red-hot coals. Jackrabbit constructed
everything, but Ned watched intently, knowing one day he may have to do this on
his own. Jackrabbit dissected the wom -bear into
pieces: off went the legs, the fur, the guts, although they were edible too, he
claimed. What remained where four or five large meaty pieces: shoulders, thighs
and some part of the breast. He arranged the coals with his stick and embedded
the meat where he wanted it. He made Ned fan the coals with his jacket, to keep
them glowing. After an hour, the meat was beginning to cook, and almost three
hours after that, Jackrabbit was happy it was good enough to eat. Ned was so
hungry that he burnt his mouth attempting to bite into it too quickly.
    ‘Slow down, mai . How is it? ’
    ‘Chewy. ’
    The wombat-bear hybrid was somewhat how he imagined game
would taste like, although Jackrabbit claimed this was not like anything he had
tried before. To Ned, the black charcoal from the coals was the most dominating
flavour: the rest was simply meat and tendons.
    At last, satisfied, Ned lay down by the dying coals and felt
the tiredness sinking in. Jackrabbit was nearby, hat over his face. The soft
lapping of the nearby Ord began to lull them both to sleep, and with warm coals
and fully bullies, the chilly desert night was a little more