LAURA JEAN MCKAY The Animals in That Country: extract
How could Laura Jean McKay know that her novel about a pandemic would be published during an actual pandemic? Unlike Covid, however, the pandemic in her debut novel gives sufferers bright pink eyes and an ability to understand the language of animals.
Jean Bennett is a guide at an outback wildlife park and devoted grandmother to six-year-old Kimberley. Her ex, Graham, and son, Lee, are long gone, and she gets through each day with nips from a hipflask. She’s an entertaining, if unconventional guide at the park, possibly tolerated because Angela, the park’s manager, is Kimberley’s mum. But Jean genuinely loves the animals, and on Kimberley’s regular sleepovers, the two of them plan their own animal sanctuary: ‘no animal turned away’.
When the novel opens, the pandemic is just ‘that superflu’ afflicting people down south. There are stories of zoos being broken into and animals being released, but to Jean and the other staff at the park, it all feels a long way away.
In this extract, anxiety about the virus is increasing and many of the Park’s staff have left. Schools have closed, and Jean and Kimberley have been doing shifts feeding the animals.
Extract courtesy of Scribe Publications
From Chapter 4
The news on Angela’s telly looks like a crazy movie. Horses skittering up the streets. People bashing on hospital doors. A politician getting in the shit for saying we’ll have to start eating our pets. Farmers topping themselves. I think of Graham down there on that farm with his teacher-nurse Amy Olivia and his cows.
‘Here at the Centre for Infectious Diseases there are thousands of reports of enhanced communication between humans and animals.’
Me and Kimberly high-five.
‘… but the Health Minister advises this is unconfirmed and emphasises the need to keep calm and stay indoors. The Prime Minister’s “cover and calm” campaign will launch tomorrow. Air and shipping ports have been temporarily closed, leaving tens of thousands stranded. Meanwhile foreign gunships are stationed in close neighbouring waters, to prevent the infected escaping via boats.’
I get out my poor old phone. It lights up in surprise at Angela’s connection. The news is the same as on the telly. The airports. The gunships like sharks on the horizon. I’m still blocked from the socials, but one of the forums has let me back in with ideas about where this disease comes from. Chemtrails. Vaccinations. Fluoride. Vegans again. I try telling Kim some of this. She’s glued to the news because the Prime Minister is speaking. Classic Kimberly. She’s the only person I know who actually likes the PM. Thinks he has a face like a koala. ‘Can we play “cover and calm” now?’ she asks. ‘Like he said?’
Ange comes back in the afternoon and doesn’t mind that her lounge room has been taken apart and remade into a couch-pillow fort.
‘The system is in place,’ she says. ‘The fences are on, rosters for feeding allocated — we lost a long-necked turtle overnight but I think he was on his way out anyway. We’ve decided to release the birds of prey — they’re survivors, they’ll be fine to hunt for themselves for a few weeks. We might even be able to catch them again after. For the rest, we’ve got people and animal rations that’ll last into next month. None of us is sick … Our system’s working.’
I peer between the pillows. ‘They said the animals are talking. Or people can talk to animals. On the news.’
She points at me. ‘I don’t want you giving Kimberly ideas.’
‘It was on the news,’ Kim confirms from deep in the fort.
‘Alright, Kimbo.’ I crawl out. ‘Time to put on our ranger shirts. Get stuck in to the afternoon feed.’
Angela narrows her eyes. ‘You’re happy about all this. You want to be able to talk to them. Remember your priorities, Jean.’
I remember to keep my big mouth shut. Go off swinging Kimberly’s hand, figuring this zooflu could be the best thing ever happened to me.
*
On dusk, me and Kimberly pick up Angela in the zoo train and glide down to the café station. I give a toot that makes Ange frown the way she does when she’s trying not to laugh. No one can work out how to turn off the automatic goodbye message that plays over the loudspeakers in the café courtyard, so every damned person who staggers in triggers Andy’s cheery recorded voice. ‘Thank you for visiting the Park. We hope you had a wild day!’ The management team has decided we should eat dinners together, so we can ration the food.
‘Hey, Ange, it’s better here without all those tourists, right?’
‘The tourists are what keep this place going.’
‘But it’s better, right?’
That makes her real-smile. A shadow passes overhead. One of the released sea eagles glides through the sun. An ‘oh’ escapes Ange. Birdwoman. If she could strap Kim on her back she’d be up there too. Find out what’s in that feathery brain.
*
The skeleton staff have brought in their better halves and their kids, who mill around in the café like it’s their first day of camp. Kim eyes the other children and they eye her, each clinging to a parent. Glen stands by the bain-marie with his brow scrunched, counting out the rations so no one has an extra frozen pea they shouldn’t. Trench looks pleased with himself. His wife — a miniature woman who needs some carbs in her life — has finally joined him. Casey and Liu are there — best friends and worst enemies at the same time. Poor Doug is the only guy under forty left and both women are after him, even though tall and dopey are about the only things Doug’s got going. The office staff, Tania and Elsa, are from Sweden or somewhere — they can’t go home. Andy is behind the bain-marie in a butcher’s apron, dishing out the last of the frozen chips with something that looks like curry. The information screen behind him is usually lit up with ads for the Park and zoo train times. Now it shows a map of areas of the country down with flu, red for infection. The south red, the centre red, half the north red. Only the northwest and northeast coasts and the islands off them are brown and green. I feel scorched. Try to hold on to that feeling of driving the zoo train, ranger shirt on, Ange and Kim grinning behind me and the wind in our hair, but I’ve hit the bottom of my tobacco pouch and I feel the hard landing. The lights buzz bright insect drones. There’s a flattened cigarette butt by one of the bins, with a quarter left. My blood itches for it. A bald, burly young man I’ve never seen before rushes out of the café kitchen before I can grab the stub. Puts his giant foot on my find. He’s clutching a white bucket and a big, dead bush fowl. Its orange legs curl like dead spiders, clutching the air above the man’s fingers, black feathers marbled.
‘Who are you when you’re at home?’
‘I’m Andy’s partner. Keith.’ He shoots a doe-eyed look over at Andy, who’s got the face of someone who knows the two people he’s fucking are talking about him. ‘But I’m not one to sit around,’ he goes on. ‘I’ve got extensive experience. Armed forces. Navy. I work in oil now.’ I fold my arms: so Keith is a bit of a dickhead. No surprises there. ‘On the rigs your whole life is in shifts. You get disciplined. But I was navy already so I —’
‘What’s with the bird?’
Keith juggles the bucket into the same hand as the dead bird. ‘First duty is to feed everyone.’
‘With the wildlife?’
‘We’ve run out of chicken. Andy’s always saying I’m great at making a meal out of nothing. Give me a can of tomatoes and a lighter. But there’s not much here. I learned to hunt in the armed forces. Anyway, a bit of bush meat isn’t going to be missed.’
The recorded message blurts over the courtyard. ‘Thank you for visiting the Park. We hope you had a wild day!’
Andy’s young fella starts to look nervous. ‘Boss won’t mind. Will she?’
Angela is off talking to the rangers. Her face a frowny roadmap again.
‘Why don’t you go show her?’ I’m kind of joking, but the stupid shit grins and takes off toward her clutching the bird. I roll my sleeves, cackling to myself, and get in beside Andy to dish out chips, rice, and dark-yellow gruel into plastic disposable bowls.
‘Your boyfriend’s good-looking,’ I tell Andy. He grunts. A bit pleased. ‘Dumb as dog doo, though.’ We look outside to see Angela biting young Keith’s head off. She points at the bird, then at him, back at the bird.
‘Hell.’ Andy throws down his tongs. Then they’re all out there, Andy between them, pushing Keith back inside, saying sorry, Ange, sorry.
‘… Are you crazy? I told you not to tell her things,’ Andy says as they go past into the kitchen, that poor dead bird still hanging upside down.
‘We need some more chips out here,’ I call. Andy comes back out like a little storm cloud. ‘We need more chips.’
‘Shut up, Jean. He’s doing it.’
‘You heard any of the staff talking to animals yet?’
‘All I can hear is you. Still talking.’
Me and Andy serve the rest in silence. I watch Trench and his wife finish up their curry and go out into the courtyard for after-meal smokes. No point trying to bum one off those tight bastards. They suck back and suck back, and blow out so much smoke the air is foggy. I’m stuck in here with sooky la la and his stupid boyfriend. I forget about my sore hand and leave it too close to the hot bain-marie lights. The cut burns so much I might have to punch someone in the face or cry. Trench and his woman stub out their smokes and come back in. Their movement triggers the goodbye again.
‘Thank you for visiting the Park. We hope you ha—’
The lights of the café blink out. The bain-marie fades to black. The spotlights outside are slower. I get a last view of the sunset-coloured
courtyard and then it’s blackness and darkness and yelps of surprise. A crash in the kitchen. Keith cries out. The cries turn to screaming.
‘Jesus.’
Andy jolts in the darkness, takes off in the direction of the yells.
‘Calm down,’ Angela’s voice says over Keith. ‘Someone help him.’
There’s movement toward the gift shop. A soft, hairy body — an animal’s body — slips past my knees. ‘What was that?’
Three torches pilfered from the gift shop puncture the black and stutter toward the kitchen. The screams have turned to sobbing, but start again when people get near. The kitchen is lit for a second. Keith with his hands over his face, shirt wet, Andy crouched over him.
‘Hot oil,’ Glen reports through the gloom. ‘He upended the deep fryer. Burns are minor. He’ll be alright. We better call a meeting.’
Kimberly is pushed into my arms. I can’t really see her, just feel her warm bony body, damp undercarriage, her shallow, frightened breaths in my ear.
‘What’s happening, Granny?’ Kimberly whispers.
‘It’s not the fuses,’ says Glen into a walkie-talkie. I can just make him out. The CB radios fizz. ‘It’s been cut at the mains. We’ll have to transfer the food to the aquarium. The generator’s going so we can eat from there. Right now, we’ll follow the fire plan and meet at the food store. Over.’
*
Laura Jean McKay
The zoo trains run on electricity, and only a couple of Park utes are nearby. The rest of us head over to the food store on foot. Our steps heavy along the paths. Kimberly wants to be carried, a sack of soggy potatoes. ‘What’s happening?’
‘They’re going to tell us about talking to animals, darl. That’ll be good, won’t it?’ She clings tighter. I hustle my steps. The darkness makes the other sounds big. The slam of wallabies through the bush, and my swollen-up feet trying not to trip. Banksias flare like sparklers in the torchlight. The ant hills, gravestones of old, old cities.
The power is off at the food store too. We assemble in the prep room and wait. Kimberly’s elbow digs into the rib just below my left boob. That might be Casey next to me. Glen on the walkie-talkie again. My eyes adjust. A ute takes off and comes back again, and they unload Keith onto a gurney and wheel him past. I can make out Andy moving along beside him.
Angela’s voice breaks through. ‘Glen …?’
Glen turns on a torch and shines it onto a folder. He’s slow to get to the bit about the animals. Drones on and on about contingency this and risk matrix that.
‘Are they going to say about talking to animals?’ Kim asks me, loud enough that those poor sick bludgers down south could probably hear what she said.
‘I think they’re getting to that, Kimbo.’
‘Excuse me, Glen, I’d like to hear more about the talking … the zooflu as well.’ Blow me down, it’s Trench. ‘What are the developments?’
Everyone in the room starts muttering. I feel for my phone. It’s dead again.
‘Something about codes,’ I call out. Can’t help myself. ‘Encoding and … decoding. Means if you’re sick with that flu you can understand what the animals’ bodies are saying, and the animals can understand you too. I looked it up.’
Glen’s sigh punctures the dark. ‘That’s exactly what it means. Come on, Ange. Even Kim can get this info. We’re not helping by —’
‘Nothing’s confirmed.’
‘Bullshit. This thing’s massive. I made a few calls to the southern zoos and they’re screwed down there. This disease means that everything we knew about our animals is going to change. It’ll last months, if we’re lucky.’
‘Which is exactly why we need to follow procedure.’ Ange’s voice is freezing in the hot room. ‘We made this plan for bird flu a few years back and we’ve done some adjustments for now. The short of it is —’
‘But if we can talk to the endangered species, maybe we can find out how to help them.’ That’s Liu. Bit of mutiny happening here in the dark.
‘Talking to them is exactly what we don’t want to happen …’
The muttering starts to take shape. One voice, then three, coming together in a chant of ‘Talk-ing birds. Talk-ing birds.’
‘Maintaining a stable environment for these vulnerable animals is key,’ Ange yells. ‘It’s key. That’s why … that’s why we’ve closed the gates.’
The whole staff sings over her, ‘Talk-ing birds. Talk-ing birds.’
Poor old Ange still shouting. Casey beside me laughing so hard she can’t keep up. In the gap between words, a sound. We drop away, listen. It’s the dingoes, howling from the enclosure on the other side of the park. And then a responding howl. Close to us.
From Laura Jean McKay The Animals in That Country Scribe Publications 2020 PB 288pp $29.99
Like to keep reading? You can buy The Animals in That Country from Abbey’s at a 10% discount by quoting the promotion code NEWTOWNREVIEW here or you can buy it from Booktopia here.
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