The opening passage is from an aborigine myth, authentic as far as I know. I have referenced it in an unfinished "Naughtenny Moore" story. On re-reading the source, I noticed a passage about the dead returning to life, and "tweaked" it to fit the present genre.

"The World is overturned, and the dead walk!"

For Utdjungon is your deadly foe,

Watching alert for the time to spring.

'Tis only we who know the law

Who hold him there in the old sky track.

Without us none can hold him back.

Then as he springs, and all goes black,

This earth will shudder, the trees come down;

And over the noise you will hear our cry:

We'll cry for you as you pass away;

We'll LAUGH at you as you pass away.

Wadaman song

7 hours later...

Adoni Jackson was descended from "half-caste" Aborigines, but (perhaps for that reason) had been self-consciously raised in the old ways. This had made him exceptionally qualified for his current job as a ranch watchman. He reported directly not to any individual rancher, but to a corporation that managed their holdings and distributed their stock. He patrolled throughout the combined ranch territories, monitoring both human and animal activity. Tonight, he had orders to watch the northeastern ranges, for reasons known only to his superiors. He also had orders to shoot animals with signs of rabies, and to "shoot on sight" an "unclassified dog or dog-like animal."

Jackson used a motor bike to move about, but did his tracking and hunting on foot. He carried a semi-automatic .30-.06 rifle, the most powerful weapon that could be owned by private citizens in Australia, a 4.9 mm air rifle that he used more often, and a .45 double-barrel derringer. Thanks to his nation's extremely prohibitive gun laws, even this was an unusual arsenal. It had taken him 3 years to get a license to own the .30-.06 (the difficulties being exacerbated by the fact that he was barely literate), and only a signed letter from a federal lawman allowed him the derringer. He also carried a tablet computer with a camera, GPS and a real-time aerial map, something his employers needed far more than he did: He could navigate the desert better without it than most whitefellows could with it, but he needed the computer to translate his observations into data the whitefellows could use.

This evening, he had an additional piece of whitefellow equipment along: a pair of night vision goggles. They worked by amplifying visible light, and also registered infrared. Hence, the landscape showed clearly, albeit in shades of red, and living animals appeared as glowing orange shapes. At this moment, he dismounted his bike at the sight of the neon orange form of a medium-sized kangaroo that did not so much hop as knew his orders required him to kill the animal. He considered his options. It was too large to take with the air rifle, but too small to warrant the .30-.06. He advanced 10 paces, closing the range to 10 meters. It turned its head, which bobbed and wobbled, but made no move to flee. He pointed at its head first, then shifted his aim downward to its chest. His shot staggered it, but it hopped not into the brush but toward him, covering in three low-angle hops what a normal kangaroo could have covered in one. He did not fire his second shot, but kicked it in the chest as it made a final lunge for him. The kangaroo tumbled over. He planted a foot on its chest, and fired a coup de grace to its head.

The round nearly beheaded the kangaroo, but did not stop it from thrashing and letting out a long piercing scream. He retreated in horror. When his foot lifted, its thrashing grew still more violent, and it flopped about like a fish out of water, at times seeming to stand up for a moment. The sound and furious movement only grew as the time for any rightful spark of life approached and then passed by. Then it the cry was silenced as suddenly as a sound system unplugged, and the body falling and lying stilllike a puppet with its strings cut.

Almost mechanically, he photographed the carcass and marked its location on the tablet. Then, while his visor was raised, he glanced back at his bike, and his terror returned. Standing between him and his vehicle was a creature that looked like a dog, but to his honed eyes clearly was not. Its fur glistened in the moonlight. Its jaws swung open ponderously, gaping so wide they seemed unhinged. Then it leaped, and those jaws wrapped around Adoni's thigh.

An hour later, Adoni rode through the gate of the Weis homestead. His leg was heavily bandaged, but still soaked with blood. He had his bike in low gear, and still struggled to keep it under control. He fired his .30-.06 into the air before tumbling off his bike. Within minutes, Joe Weis ran out to him, fully clothed and with a semi-automatic center-fire .22 in his hands. He was shouting into a cell phone earpiece; he was on a line to the WilCo hospital, but the dispatcher on the line seemed unwilling or unable to send an ambulance. He lowered the phone and spoke to Adoni. "I'm calling for help now," he told the blackfellow. "How bad are you hurt? What happened?"

"Dibbul dibbul," Adoni said. "Bit- me." Weis was distracted by a loud beep announcing that the line was dead. The Aborigine raised himself to his knees and grabbed Weis by the arm, practically pulling him down.

"Listen," he said in the rancher's ear. "Look at the sky. Look at the star." He pointed, clearly with a specific point in mind, but Weis could see nothing. "That a new star in the cave of the emu's head. It be the eye of Utdjungon, the Great Dibbul Dibbul, whom the Great Spirit made judge of the blackfellas. His eye be bright with hate, because he see we have forgotten the law. His hate be not anger at wrong, but hate that is happiness to see a man fall. Now he make ready to kill us, and all the fellas of the world. He has overturned the world! He make the dead walk, and send them to kill everybody who live!"

Weiss pushed away his hand. "I don't know what you're talking about. But I'm sure help is on the way! Just calm down and try to tell me what happened."

"Whitefellas do no good! Doctor do no good! Guns do no good!" Adoni raved. "Only blackfellas do any good, but we forget the laws, and now we no good neither. Nothing do no good now. But I had to tell somebody. Now I go." He fired the derringer into his ear, and with his dying twitch fired the second shot.