The sofa bounced underneath me. I groaned into the pillows, rubbing the crick in my neck with numb fingers."Goddammit." My snarl barely crested the edges of the pillows. Suddenly my spine cracked as someone sat heavily on me. I felt my lip curl as I dragged my head out of the pillows to glare at my younger sister. She stared straight back.
"What?" I spat out.
"You're deaf." She stated flatly.
"Huh? Why?"
"Look." She tilted her head towards the news. I followed her gaze. The news reporter was shuffling his papers importantly. The screen behind him flickered with the news logo, then switched to the topic. Stations Devastated. The news reporter cleared his throat.
"Recently, station owners have been reporting missing herds, broken fences, filled in dams and destroyed buildings and machinery. The cause is unknown, but the damage is widespread, stretching from Kununurra to Meekatharra. Police are investigating the cause of such large-scale damage but can only say that it is not the work of an organised criminal gang. Now over to our reporter, live at Red Dingo Station." The screen flicked to a picture of a man in a business suit standing in front of a large tin shed coated in dust. Two rocky trucks rose out of the dust behind the man, dwarfing him and mocking the practicality of his light grey business suit. The man was coughing and waving away dust and flies, but spun to the camera, both hands clenched around the microphone stick.
"Hello—" A wave of sand cut him off by shoving itself down his throat. After a frantic coughing fit, he righted himself and started again." Hello, here at Red Dingo station, the most recently attacked station, owner and manager Shaun Mills is struggling to make up for the six millions dollars he lost in cattle, fencing and machinery. Shaun, what do you have to say about this incident?" The grey-suited man turned to a larger man, who had his hat pulled down low over his eyes and shirt pulled over his nose to keep out the dust. He lifted his hat and the expression on his face spoke for him. What are we doing talking in the middle of a sandstorm? I covered a burst of laughter. My sister and I exchanged mirthful glances and mimed out a quick, I feel sorry for him. Yeah, same. The guy in the business suit must be annoying. He obviously doesn't have a clue.
"Well, the losses were pretty bad, and if this weather keeps up we won't be able to check up on the rest of the station. I'd say we're doing pretty badly." The grey-suited man looked like he was holding himself in check from rolling his eyes.
"Thanks Shaun, now back to the studios." The grey-suited man turned back to the cover as Shaun made a run for the verandah. The camera turned away to give one last sand-covered sweep of the station homestead. Suddenly an ear shredding scream split the thunder of wind and sand. The camera shook wildly. My sister jumped off my back in an instant. I could feel my eyes widening and my fingers writhing into the sofa covering. The studio man's voice came over the screen.
"Mark! Mark! Are you all right? What's happening? Can somebody get the camera off the ground?" But it was drowned out. An unearthly sound shot through the speakers like lightning. The high-pitched, gravelly roar echoed in the storm. The camera shuddered. No, the ground shuddered. Dark-tipped claws bigger than the trucks ripped through the wind and crushed the ground. A hand scrabbled in front of the camera and suddenly it was lifted up. The claws were followed by an arm laced with blue markings. The arm stretched into the sandstorm, as big as a skyscraper. Then, the sand cleared.
Fuck.
A golden eye, crossed and dotted with black, patterned with madness, stared down at the camera. A single tail washed the sky clear of clouds and covered the blue with its own. A body only slightly smaller then Uluru swallowed any light from the desert sun. The camera began to tremble, then it was thrown to the ground. A petrified scream was choked by the clouds of sand. Then, the camera and microphone when dead.
Shukaku. What are you doing on Earth?
...