The scent of antiseptic mixed with a putrid pong stung my nostrils. ‘Ugh! What’s that wiffy…?’ I gagged. Then with hand to mouth, I looked up.
Boris lounged on a reclining armchair. He rested on his shell showing off his abdomen. His flesh was covered in gaping wounds infested with maggots.
After parking, Mr K leapt from the car. ‘Oh, looks like rain.’ He ripped out the “raincoats” and waved them in the air. ‘Come on boys, you need to be waterproof.’
Son 1 recoiled. ‘I’m not wearing that.’
‘No!’ Son 2 screamed and hid behind me.
‘Oh, yes, you will!’ Mr K said. ‘You’ll get wet and a chill and then catch a death of cold, if you don’t.’
‘No!’ both boys squealed and then scampered up the path.
A battle ensued; Mr K with garbage bag-ponchos verses sons refusing to wear the garbage bags.
After some time being tossed around, the vehicle came to an abrupt halt and I banged my head against the metal back of the driver’s seat. I fell. I tried to stand. I keeled over, hitting my head on the floor.
‘Urgh,’ growled some being that sounded like an ape-man. He grabbed one arm.
‘Urumph,’ another ape-man grunted. He gripped my other arm.
They pulled me out so that my toes dragged on stones. The air stank of rotting cabbage.
A narrow escape. We heard that night while dining with my cousin, Kiah who runs the Strahan Visitors Centre, that fallen trees on the railway track had stranded the tourists on the train for several hours. They arrived back in Strahan at 8.30pm. The next day, on the cruise, Kiah overheard some girls who had been on the train trip say they were going to write a reality TV show about bored kids.
Read more "K-Team Adventures Gordon River, Tasmania"‘Yes, the IGSF are coming in to help with the rescue—hurry, we haven’t got much time.’ Driver grabbed my hand. ‘We have to go to meet our officers. We have to show them where the mutants and morphans are hiding.’
We hurried up the three rickety flights of stairs leading to the outside.
I had an uneasy feeling about my dream. It seemed just a little too real, like I’d lived it once. Must be a dream.
I knew this wind meant business, dangerous business. I rushed to Dad and told him the whole story—the wind, the sparks, the wild fire, and my little blue bowl.
‘What campfire?’ Dad smacked his lips, yawned and turned over.
Mutants appeared from nowhere, for their early morning swim. Their sack-like bodies flopped in the water.
Then the mutants spotted us. And they were after us.
‘Wanna go out with me?’ one asked his tongue hanging out in anticipation.
Another followed us like a shadow. ‘You be my frwend?’
