Wildlings
written by: Karen Bayly
A young woman runs through the bush, brown eyes dilated in fear and wonder. Her surroundings arouse a deep longing yet are disturbing and unfamiliar. This world is so wild and beautiful that it takes her breath away.
Animals chase her. Although she cannot see them, she senses their presence, lurking in the shadows, stalking her. A river burbles in the distance, and she races toward it, hoping to find protection in its waters. As she breaks cover, a group of feral animals surround her, mainly foxes, cats and pigs, fire in their eyes.
A massive red fox appears in front of her, its hot breath on her face, its fangs too close for comfort. Its words hammer in her head.
“Killers. Murderers. Humans.”
The fox smirks, and the assembled animals snap at the air in frustration.
She whimpers and cries out, “Leave me alone. I help animals!”
The fox utters a bone-chilling bark scream, and the horde rushes toward the woman, jaws agape and dripping saliva. Snarling, snorting, baying, and screeching fill the air, terrifying in intensity and hatred. She raises her arms and rolls into a ball to protect herself. Teeth sharp as knives sink into her flesh, ripping her apart, and she shrieks, begging for mercy.
***
Cassie Johnson sat at the kitchen table, drinking her third cup of coffee, weariness heavy on her shoulders. Last night’s dream wouldn’t leave her. Its intensity and tangible authenticity seemed more reminiscent of a memory than a nightmare.
These dreams were unlike her. She wished she was back in bed, snuggled against her wife, but Stacey had already left for work.
Sighing, she downed her coffee and glanced at the clock on the microwave. It was time to go to her vet clinic. All her life, she had wanted to help sick and injured animals. But the dream had left her with a sense of uncertainty, a feeling that her life might not hold the significance she craved. She rose on unsteady legs, the weight of her tiredness and dread deep inside her bones. Perhaps the routine of daily life would dispel the misgivings that clung to her thoughts.
She pulled her dark curly hair into a scrunchie, rinsed her mug and set off.
***
An enormous red fox stared at Stacey Johnson and smirked.
Foxes can’t smirk, Stacey told herself as she raised her gun. Her finger tightened on the trigger, and the fox turned tail and darted into the bush. She fired anyway, hoping to injure the wretched creature, then track and kill it.
She bounded after the animal, ignoring the prickly hakeas scratching her skin, tripped and fell sprawling onto a clump of lomandra.
Cursing, she pushed herself upright, turned to check what she’d tripped over and wished she hadn’t.
The mess on the ground was once a man. Now, it was a loose assembly of flesh-stripped limbs, an eviscerated carcass, topped by a face chewed beyond recognition.
Yet despite her horror, she did recognise him. The curly red hair, the hint of a swallow tattoo near the jaw: her old shooting mate, Jacko Wilson.
Stacey scrambled to her feet, fighting the urge to vomit. She turned on her phone, praying for decent reception. Two bars. Good enough. She hit the number for Sergeant Clancy Williams and waited.
“Hey, Sarge. Stacey Johnson here. I found a dead body in the bush down by Wiley’s Reservoir. Looks like Jacko Wilson.”
She paced in a small circle as Sarge fired off a series of questions.
“Can’t answer any of that, Sarge. Not much of him remains. It looks like something’s had a good feed.”
She glanced down at poor Jacko and shivered before hurrying back to her four-wheel drive to wait for the police.
***
The drive cleared Cassie’s head, and she almost felt normal as she drove into the vet clinic car park. Davo Collins, the local curmudgeon, waited with his arms crossed. The second she opened her car door to get out, his strident voice greeted her.
“About bloody time. City hours don’t work out here, girlie.”
The car clock showed 9:15, hardly late for a quiet country town. Davo would only be happy if she were here 24/7, and even then, he’d find something to criticise.
“Here now,” she said. No way would she apologise.
As she headed for the front door, Aunty Doreen, one of the area’s elders, pushed herself up from the front porch bench.
Cassie nodded a greeting.
Aunty Doreen pointed to a glass jar on the bench. “Thought you’d like some of my persimmon jam. Tree outdid itself. And I got a cat that needs attention.” She patted Cassie’s arm. “You take care, girl. You look like crap.”
Cassie stared into Aunty’s eyes, but the woman’s inscrutable expression gave nothing away. “Bring your cat in, Aunty. No worries.”
“Hurry up,” Davo said. “I haven’t got all day.”
She glanced down at the bloodied dog curled by the door. “Nasty. What happened?” She pushed the door open.
“Out shooting ferals, and something scared him. Ran like devils were chasing him straight into a barbed wire fence.”
Davo pushed past her, his dog limping behind. Cassie looked over her shoulder and saw Aunty Doreen across the dusty road. She raised her hand in farewell, but the older woman didn’t glance her way.
***
Cassie patched the dog as best she could. After that came a goat with severe tapeworms, a kelpie with mange, and a budgie with mites. Normality, in all its dullness, returned.
However, when Stacey stepped inside the clinic, Cassie sensed bad news. She nipped into the kitchenette and boiled water for a plunger of coffee.
Stacey followed, face like a storm cloud.
“That bad, huh,” said Cassie.
“Jacko Wilson’s dead, mauled by animals. Partially eaten.”
“Gross,” she replied.
Stacey nodded. “I stopped and examined some baits on my way here. Every single one was uneaten, covered in fox and cat scats, and stinking of urine.”
Killers. Murderers. Humans.
The words tugged at Cassie’s memory, and last night’s vision came flooding back. She ignored the tumultuous emotions the dream awakened and poured the coffee. “So, like an up you to humanity?”
“They’re dumb animals, Cass. They don’t do revenge.”
“Famous last words,” she said. “Take it from a vet. Controlling feral animals is fine, but how can native species survive long-term when they have nowhere to live? It annoys the hell out of me that land clearing still isn’t getting the attention it should.”
Stacey squeezed her hand. “Promise me you won’t say that in front of anyone around here.”
Cassie rolled her eyes. “I’m not that clueless. I get that I’m an outsider, a greenie weirdo from the city.”
“But you’re my greenie weirdo. They accept us, a miracle in itself.”
Cassie shrugged. “Small steps.”
Stacey blew her into her coffee. “Better than no steps.”
The vision kept tugging at Cassie like a child wanting attention. She took a deep breath.
“I had a dream last night.” A distant howl reached her ears, and she paused, staring into the distance, her courage wavering.
Stacey waved a hand in front of her face “Earth to Cassie.”
She shrugged off her fear. “It was weird. A bunch of feral animals attacked me. I got the impression they were out for blood from everyone, not only me.”
Stacey grinned. “Probably true, but they can’t do much about it.”
“Can’t they?”
“Cass. We have guns. What do they have?”
“Teeth. Claws. Venom. The will to survive.”
Stacey sipped her coffee. “We have that. And we have the upper hand.”
“Do we, though?” Cassie frowned and slumped against the refrigerator. “This dream…I can’t shake the feeling that it’s a warning.”
Stacey put down her coffee and stepped toward Cassie, arms open. “Sweetie, you’re overthinking things. It’s just a dream.”
Cassie sank into the warmth of their embrace, welcoming the distraction.
***
Sarge scratched behind his ear, then examined his fingers. He stared with mild disgust at two tiny insects, one crushed and the other still moving—bloody ants. You expected them out here, but they seemed to be everywhere lately. He flicked them both into the bush and returned his attention to the scene before him.
Only two days ago, he’d witnessed the grisly sight of Jacko Wilson. Now this.
Three men and two women, each an experienced conservation hunter and a national shooting organisation member. All dead. Something had ripped them to pieces and feasted on their flesh.
A vehicle door slammed behind him, and he turned to find Stacey Johnson striding his way. Her blonde hair half-escaped its ponytail, and her clothes looked like she’d slept in them.
He held out his hands. “Don’t come any closer, Stace. You don’t need to be here.”
His words fell on deaf ears, and she paused beside him, paling at the carnage.
“Holy crap. I’ve never seen animal attacks this ferocious. Not even with dingoes. Something is very wrong, Sarge.”
He snorted. “You don’t say.”
She nodded absentmindedly, her expression thoughtful.
“What aren’t you telling me, Stace?”
“Something Cass said about animals and revenge.”
He snorted again, louder for emphasis. “Animal rights bullshit. Typical city bulldust. Go home, Stace. Nothing you can do here.”
Stacey thought of telling him where to stick his criticisms of Cassie but decided she’d be wasting her breath. Instead, she turned and left.
***
Cassie drove down the road to “Colembar,” one of several properties owned by the Shipton family. A few weeks ago, she stitched up a cow attacked by feral dogs, and now it was time to remove the stitches. That she had heard nothing from the patriarch, Alistair Shipton, worried her.
Despite driving slowly, dust billowed from the road leading to the property. As Cassie opened the gate, several cows turned baleful eyes toward her. It was unusual for them to mill around in the upper paddock, and they stamped their hooves as she passed. One of them charged the fence, its horns rattling the wire. The hair on the back of her neck prickled.
She pulled up close to the house. “Hello?” Her voice sounded querulous in the vast silence.
A stiff breeze blew up from nowhere, and the screen door to the house swung open. Cassie swallowed her growing dread and stepped onto the porch. A stench of decay drifted through the doorway. The door blew open again, revealing its source. Furniture overturned and split as if gored. Blood on the walls and floors. Bodies lay on the ground, ripped open and partially eaten—carnage like nothing she had ever seen.
She turned away, retching, then called Stacey, tears blinding her eyes.
***
A month passed by, bringing more deaths in the region and no answers as to why. And for Cassie, it brought more dreams.
She stood outside Aunty Doreen’s front door, her heart beating triple time. She was here on pretence, a friendly vet visit. In her heart, she longed for a pearl of ancient wisdom, anything to free her from the endless visions. Yet, she knew that, as an invader of this country, she had no right to ask.
She knocked and waited, listening for Aunty Doreen’s footsteps. Her guilt and doubt grew to monstrous proportions, and as she readied herself to abandon her quest, the door swung open. She froze.
“M-Morning, Aunty. I, um, wanted to check on your cat.”
“Cat’s gone feral,” said Aunty Doreen. “Living down by the creek. Bugger hissed at me and ran away.”
“Perhaps it was a different cat.”
Cassie knew she was stalling, her intended words elusive, fluttering like dragonflies just out of reach.
“I reckon I know my own cat. And it recognised me. Just had better things to do.” Aunty crossed her arms. “What are you really here for?”
The elder’s sharp expression hit Cassie like a slap on the cheek, and she crumbled under the challenge. Why would her visions mean anything?
“You got something you want to share with me, girl?”
Cassie opened her mouth, a flood of words relaying the message from her visions.
Aunty Doreen’s expression did not change as she spoke, and a fog of frustration descended over Cassie. Did no one understand? A spark of anger loosened her tongue.
“Look. It’s not my right to expect you to have answers, but—”
Aunty Doreen waved her hand and huffed in disgust. “Go away, girl. Nothing I don’t already know. Come back when you got something useful to say.” She slammed the door in Cassie’s face, leaving her with a mouth full of bitter hope.
She slunk away, cursing her ineptitude.
***
Two months later
Cassie locked the door of their house and paused, forehead pressed against the doorjamb.
“That’s it?” Stacey shoved the last box into the trailer attached to her four-wheel drive.
“Everything worth taking,” she replied.
“You okay, hon?”
Cassie straightened. “Yep. Just lack of sleep. And I hate moving.”
“Me too,” said Stacey. “But we’ll be safer in the city.”
For months, a constant stream of stories overwhelmed the news networks. In the Northern Territory, feral buffalo trampled a group of shooters. Cane toad invasions in Queensland. Wild dog attacks in South Australia. In Western Australia, feral horses and camels stampeded human habitations. The animals exhibited super strength and seemed impervious to bullets. Some suspected a scientific experiment had gone awry. Others blamed green terrorism. Everyone had their favourite conspiracy theory. But the truth was that no one knew how or why. In response, the government deployed the military, and rural Australia became a war zone.
Cassie forced herself to leave the familiarity of the doorway, unsure if running away was the solution. The car and the trailer were chock-a-block with pieces of their life together, and she fought back her tears.
“Bad dreams still?” Stacey draped an arm around her shoulders.
“Yep. And no, I don’t want professional help. Or anyone else’s help, for that matter. I’m done talking.”
The guilt on her lover’s face tugged at Cassie’s heart yet did nothing to dispel her sense of betrayal. That other folk might suspect she’d lost the plot was fair enough. For Stacey to believe her visions were precursors to a breakdown stung.
“Okay, but you might—”
“Leave it be, Stace,” she said. “Please.”
But deep down, she wanted to break through her frustration and yell her message to the world even if no one heeded her warning. And in her dreams, animals gnashed their teeth and mocked her pain
***
A young woman leans against a Scribbly Gum, bleeding profusely but still alive.
On a branch above perches a male Red-tailed Black-Cockatoo, one eye fixed on the woman below.
The young woman groans. “You too? I thought you’d be on our side. We are only killing the ferals to protect you.”
The cockatoo squawks and flies down. He lands beside the woman, his pose imperious, crest raised. His words fill the woman’s head.
“Balance. Us. Them. No human.”
“Why?”
The bird moves closer and gazes into the woman’s eyes. “Can’t change.”
“Yes, we can. I can help.”
“You?” He screeches with laughter. “Already failed. Brought the plague of your civilisations.”
He bows, ready to take flight.
“Wait! What about indigenous peoples?”
The cockatoo peers at her. “What about them?”
“What if they guide us?”
He shifts from one foot to the other and shakes his head. “You ruin it for everyone.”
“That’s unfair!”
“Who are you to judge?”
A sob escapes the woman’s lips. “Please. Give us another chance.”
Red-tailed Black-Cockatoo ruffles his feathers. “Too late.” He flies away, screeching.
The young woman bows her head and cries.
***
Cassie awoke with a start. She’d hoped the dreams would cease now she was back in Emu Plains with the cool breeze off the Nepean River blowing the cobwebs out of her head. No such luck. The visions refused to let her go.
She had to do something, however absurd, to stop the dreams. She grabbed Stacey’s shoulder and shook her awake.
“What’s wrong—”
“I have to go to Canberra, Stace. Now.”
***
The rain fell in sheets, turning the ground into a quagmire, soaking Cassie’s boots, seeping through the seams, and dampening her socks.
Yet, still, she waited. As impossible as it seemed, she had to speak to the Prime Minister. Stacey was off on a coffee run, and Cassie hoped she’d be back soon.
Despite her mental preparation, she was unsure if she could articulate the words or achieve her aim. She closed her eyes and visualised delivering her message one more time.
Sir, the animals want to rewild on their terms. Non-native and native species competing and finding equilibrium. We are ruining their chances. They want us out of the equation.
Even in her head, the words sounded ill-informed and fanciful, the ramblings of a fanatic. And as Australia’s first Indigenous prime minister, he undoubtedly had his fill of privileged white crusaders.
“One flat white with two sugars. One cheese and tomato toastie.”
Cassie’s eyes flew open, and she smiled in relief at the vision of Stacey balancing coffee and brown paper bags of food on a cardboard tray.
“Thanks, Stace. For everything.”
Stacey shrugged. “No trust, no relationship.”
“I wish I could convince you.”
“Your belief is enough for me.”
Cassie knew that wasn’t true but loved that Stacey stood by her anyway and squeezed her lover’s arm. She wasn’t brave enough to confront the Prime Minister alone.
She felt Stacey stiffen under her touch. “What’s up?”
Stacey stared at an enormous red fox about one hundred metres away. It appeared to be watching them and smirking.
“I swear I’ve seen that fox before,” said Stacey.
“Me too,” she replied. “In my visions.”
A group of men rushed past them. Cassie snapped back to reality as one man opened the limousine door, and the Prime Minister slipped inside.
“Wait. Mister Prime Minister.” Cassie lurched forward. “I have to speak with you.”
Two security guards turned and shooed her back like she was an errant puppy, but she pushed past them. In her peripheral vision, she saw Stacey grappling with one guard.
To her surprise, the Prime Minister held the limo door open.
“You have something to say to me?”
His words, so similar to Aunty Doreen’s, took her breath away, but she shook the fear from her bones, took a deep breath, and spoke.
“The animals. They want us gone and—”
The scorn in his expression strangled the rest of her speech. “Do you reckon my mob isn’t aware? You people ruin it for everyone. You’re too late, girl.”
A security guard wrenched her away while another shut the limo door. She shrieked in frustration as the limo sped off.
The fox barked, and, to Cassie, it sounded like a laugh.
Her heart sank, and she plopped down on the sodden grass, head in her hands. Red-tailed Black Cockatoo’s words rang in her head. You ruin it for everyone. Too late. The Prime Minister had echoed the same sentiments.
The muteness of her prophecy hit home hard. Those who needed to hear would not listen. Those who heard the message already understood. Her knowledge, her pain and her guilt meant nothing.
Stacey stretched out her hand, and Cassie took it. As she rose to her feet, the fox trotted toward them, snarling, each step fraught with menace.
She faced the feral and stared deep into eyes brimming with hate. This time, she didn’t back down.
“You want a war, mate? You got one.” She grabbed Stacey’s hand. “Let’s go.”
“Where are we going? What are we doing?”
Cassie gazed into the distance, and her heart ached. “Whatever it takes.”
The fox threw back its head and screamed.
The End
- Wildlings - March 9, 2025
- Life As An Albatross - August 22, 2021
