Sweat draws the flies. After thirty-seven years, you’d think I’d be used to having hundreds of the damn things buzzing in front of my face. Not a chance. They annoy the hell out of me.

A fast flick of my hand in front of my face does virtually nothing to get them to leave me alone.

Taking a steadying breath while trying not to draw one of the annoying insects into my mouth, I lean against the fence, staring out into the distance at the greying sky that has taken on a distinct tinge of green.

The storm’s only been brewing for fifteen minutes. It’s big and fast, and the hail is likely going to damage the tin roof.

Why the hell did I think it was a good idea for me to come home again?

Sure, I returned out west for my dad, Jack Sr, to help him through his sickness as best as I could before I finally laid him to rest next to the giant bottle tree he loved so much. But that was seven months ago, yet I’m still here.

One hundred and thirty kilometres from sort-of civilisation.

A crash of thunder rends the air, loud enough that the cows in the far-right paddock bolt for the fence line.

With this brewing storm that, honestly, I’ve never seen anything quite like before, I’m wondering why I’m still standing here.

There’s a strange orange and red, similar to that of a sunset. The sky is a kaleidoscope of colour as it washes over the dark red dirt. The sky, a stunning wash of vermillion, copper, and desert gold, should be beautiful. But that green and the flashes of lightning set my teeth on edge.

It’s enough to have me dragging in a calming breath, thankfully without pulling a flying insect in with—

It’s weird. I hold my breath, listening intently, realising that during the past couple of minutes of watching the fast-approaching storm, all the flies have disappeared.

The slowly descending late-afternoon spring sun usually brings with it a chorus of high-pitched buzzing, the song of the cicadas already filling the otherwise quiet space around me by now. But there’s nothing.

The birds have already flown away, out of the path of the storm, and even the herd is eerily silent.

The braying of Geralt and Gertie, secure in the barn, has even cut off. 

This time of day is usually an in-between time of saying goodbye to a long day of working my old man’s six-hundred-acre property—or mine, technically, though it still doesn’t feel like it—and taking solace in the peace only the outback can offer.

But then there’s this damn storm. It’s closer than it was five minutes ago but still sits on the horizon, probably twenty but maybe thirty kilometres away.

And it’s just kind of hovering there.

The full display of incredible colours remains awash in the sky as the lightning strikes become more frequent. There’s what should be a growl of thunder, but it’s a low groan echoing across the flat land before me. A tired, almost-mournful sound reaches where I stand. It lasts ten long seconds, and by the time it ends, my hairs are standing on end and I’m no longer confident the house and the barn are as secure as I thought they were.

It’s odd. The whole thing.

The now-posturing storm. The majestic show of lightning. The painful wail tearing through the air.

A crack of sound rocks the very earth between my booted feet. Instinctively, I drop to the ground. The world shifts. Tilts. And doesn’t stop moving.

On my hands and knees, I cling to the red dirt as ingrained into my skin as the Australian air is embedded in my lungs. I stare out at the expanding storm. The grey continues to mix with the red and gold, the green growing brighter.

What the ever-loving fuck?

It’s like the aurora borealis or even the aurora australis but with its own palette of colour mirroring the outback landscape.

It’s also impossible. Here. So far away from, well, anywhere.

With the ground still rumbling under my feet, I use the metal gate to steady myself as I haul my arse off the ground. I don’t look away from the mountain of clouds as they stretch and tumble against one another, much like the heaving of ocean waves.

While the storm remains the same distance away, it stretches across the horizon until I have to physically turn to see how far and wide it spreads.

Eyes wide in fear, I back away from the fence. My house, about two hundred metres behind me, feels far away as the storm clouds continue to extend, the edges seeming to reach for each other, forming a goddamn circle. With me in the bloody middle.

I turn and run, grappling for my phone in my jeans as I race for the house. I manage a glance at the screen, fear slicing into me when no signal is evident.

Not even SOS Calls Only is on display.

Is this what a tornado feels like? Am I going to get sucked up and carried away?

I already live in the land of Aus, and if any walking, talking lions, scarecrows, or tinmen cross my path, they’ll be sucking lead.

What I need to do is get the hell out of here.

Hearing Geralt and Gertie, I hesitate, hand on the door.

There’s banging coming from the stables. They’re freaking the fuck out. And I get it. I’m right there with them.

Fuck.

They’re good horses, but trying to get them into the trailer while they lose their shit is going to be a nightmare.

I peer up at the sky, back at where I first saw the storm brewing.

My breath shudders out of me. The edges of the clouds speed towards each other. In no time at all, they’re going to touch. The circle will be formed.

While I have no idea what that means, I absolutely know it’s nothing good.

“Fuck,” I bellow and wrench the flyscreen door open. Half a step inside, I grab the key to my Ford Ranger, turn, and bolt for my truck.

I’m inside in a few heavy exhales, my fingers trembling as I jab at the ignition button.

Nothing.

I press it again, dread curdling my stomach. No lights are on in the dash, and there’s zilch coming from the engine.

Gripping the steering wheel, I shake it. Frustration bleeds out of me. “You fucking piece of shit. Fuck.”

Think, Jack. Think.

With my pulse racing and my thoughts spiralling, I tumble out of the ute. Right about now, I wish I’d listened to Jeremy. He’s a hard-core prepper and would be all over this shit. The man even built a bunker.

Instead, I’ve got an old Queenslander that’s made out of tin and wood, same as the barn, and an expensive-as-hell Ford Ranger that’s worthless.

I’m a few metres away from the barn, heading towards my bike, when silence has me pulling up short.

The growing wind has dropped, and the groaning storm has quietened. All I can hear are my uneven breaths sawing out of me.

Even Geralt and Gertie aren’t braying.

I take slow, measured steps to the side of the barn so I can see east—where the storm clouds are meeting. Wide-eyed, I swallow hard. The clouds appear less than ten millimetres away from touching at this distance. I take another breath, and the oxygen is sucked out of my lungs as I fly through the air.

My arms windmill, and any second now, I’m going to be kissing dirt.

I stare up into the once-blue sky, my brain stumbling.

Green.

The green of the Daintree Rainforest.

The sky above my head is fucking green.

I have but a second to process the strangeness before a light fills my vision so bright, I’m unable to see anything. Not the strangeness. Not the usual ochre dirt breaking my fall.

Not my red blood spilling against the soil.

My ears ring. The piercing brightness fades around the edges, narrowing into blackness. The darkness is the only familiar sensation in the changing landscape.

I welcome it.

* * *

I don’t know how much time has passed since I was knocked out. All I know for sure is, the back of my head throbs, my coccyx is screaming bloody murder, and it’s possible I have a concussion. The latter is the only explanation for the still-green sky above me.

It’s a possibility, I suppose, that I’m in a coma. It’s a valid reason for the world above me seeming like it’s been dipped in the North Queensland rainforest and appearing as a vividly bright canvas textured with varying shades of green.

“Shit me.” My fingertips come away damp when I shift my head and touch the tender bump at the back. Red stains my fingers. It’s still wet. So either I’m still bleeding or I didn’t black out for too long.

I test my limbs. Everything aches, but agony doesn’t send sharp stabs of alarm, so that’s something. I circle my ankles left, then right, and I release a shaky exhale. Not broken.

It’s time to sit up and take real stock. The weird sky above me is a problem I’ll solve once I know I can stand without falling on my arse.

I manage to lift myself up and stay upright on my butt, then pick up my worn, dusty Akubra off the ground by my side. The aches are very real, but I think that’s all they are: sore bones and muscles. From this position, my childhood home looks untouched from the blast that took me down.

The windows are intact, and the tin roof has the same number of dents from previous hailstorms. It’s a relief. Whatever put me on my arse felt like it had the power to demolish the whole building. It’s a miracle the old place is still standing—a Queenslander my grandpop built eighty years back.

The panicked braying from the barn has me moving.

I need to check on Geralt and Gertie. That I can hear them is a good sign. Sure, they’re distressed—a given considering the storm.

The storm.

The thought makes me slam on the brakes a few metres shy of the closed barn doors.

Where the fuck has the storm gone?

I do a slow 360, then a fast one, which sends a thud of pain through my head. But I don’t have the brain space to worry about that.

The dirt beneath my feet remains a familiar deep ochre. The kilometres of barbed-wire fencing—most I rigged up with my dad over the years—are laid out before me, spanning my inherited six-hundred-acre property.

From my property, beyond my cattle, the fences, and the yards, all there usually is to see is the main road, only visible on a still day, about three kilometres away in the south, and my sister and brother-in-law’s neighbouring property about four kilometres down the road in the east. Beyond that, there’s usually just flat land, red dirt, endless blue skies, and, during the wet season, glorious grass.

Fast, shallow breaths have my shoulders vibrating and my head spinning.

I shake my head, struggling to comprehend what I can see. What’s gone.

What the fuck’s happened?

The three-kilometre gravel road leading from my property via a two-hundred-metre dirt-track road to the bitumen of the A7 remains intact. Several kilometres out to the left of it, the usual flat plains are gone.

Literally fucking gone.

The ground, where the long grass usually dances in the breeze, hasn’t been burnt by the storm—a possibility from the lightning display I witnessed.

I shake my head, struggling to process what I see.

A mountain crouches in the distance. Its peak—impossible to tell how high it is from the ground—is covered in snow. Snow. Legit, the first and last time I ever saw snow was on a school trip almost thirty years ago when we visited Canberra. It had been cold—obviously—but disappointingly icy. None of the fluffy stuff good for making snowmen like you see in movies.

It’s not just the mountain that is nearly exploding my mind.

To the west, there are buildings. They’re too far away for me to tell what kind or how many. All I know is, they shouldn’t be there.

“The fuck is happening?” My words catch on a slight breeze that appears. It’s warm and surprisingly humid, not carrying the usual dry heat of the outback.

I spin around, looking in the opposite direction, my jaw going slack.

Gut clenching, I’ve no idea if I’m going to vomit or shit myself. Either is a possibility when, in the distance, I see movement. A cloud of… I swallow hard. Sand. It’s fucking sand. Here. Sure, there are deserts and beaches in Australia, but not fucking here.

The cloud of sand is heading towards my sister’s property.

Even though it looks like a speck from this distance, I can still sense that it’s big and fast. It could be an SUV, but my gut tells me it’s not.

The moving sand cloud has yet to meet the red dirt I’m so familiar with. It’s still several kilometres away.

Either way, my gut’s screaming at me to move.

While I’m sure my sister and Derek are at work, not usually finishing till the sun has set at six-ish, Jamie’s school bus drove by over an hour ago. He’ll be home, doing his chores like the good twelve-year-old kid he is.

Turning on my heel, I race back to my ute, my heart thundering. 

Please start.

It doesn’t. The battery seems to be dead.

Not wasting time, I rush to the barn while doing a cursory check of my phone, but I already know I’ll have no signal. I’m right.

Whatever the blast was must have taken out the towers. My service is always a little sketchy out here, but I have no doubt that isn’t the issue.

When I open the barn doors, Geralt’s and Gertie’s braying assault me. They’re freaked.

“Hey, there.” I go straight to Geralt, who’s the bigger and noisier of the two. “Shh. It’s all okay.”

I stroke down his rich brown neck, his hair smooth and familiar. A breath gushes out of me when I do. I’m fucking wrecked, my nerves shot. But I have to pull my head out of my arse and get to Jamie.

“We’ll all be okay,” I whisper, straightening my spine and willing myself to believe it.

I was brought up here, isolated and battling everything from grassfires to floods to dealing with snake bites. I know I’m made of tougher stuff than this. I need to do better.

Closing my eyes, I take a calming breath. This is the last one I allow myself before I take action and stop having a breakdown. “Get your shit together, Jack.”

Geralt nudges my shoulder, and I snap open my eyes.

My dirt bike, quad, and ATV are dead. Even the tractor is fried.

I force steel into my words when I say, “We’ve got this.”

At least I really hope Geralt has got this with me.

Rather than cussing up a storm, I put my focus on saddling Geralt. 

As I swing myself onto his back, I feel his familiar powerful muscles beneath me, his fifteen hands of chestnut power offering me comfort. He’s a stockhorse and has been my steadfast companion for years, yet today even he’s skittish.

He whinnies and huffs.

“Come on, boy. We need to get to Jamie.”

A snort escapes him, his muscles tensing against my legs as he prepares to move. He’s clearly anxious, but he’s intelligent and reliable. I have faith that he knows what I need from him.

As we burst from the shelter of the barn into the expanse of rich soil beneath Geralt’s hooves, his nervous energy transforms. His strides become purposeful, his movements sure.

With each step, his confidence grows, and thank fuck it does. I can’t look away from the changed landscape in the distance and the green-tinged sky that keeps snatching my attention.

Was there a chemical explosion? Maybe radiation is polluting the sky. But what about the buildings? The further I move from my home, it becomes clearer there are shelters of some sort in the distance.

Then there’s the goddamn mountain that’s appeared like a damned mirage.

Fuck, I’m at the point of believing aliens really do exist.

The first fence is looming, but I know Geralt’s got this.

He launches over the barbed-wire fence with such effortless grace, relief barrels into me. He’s in control. It feels good. And since I’m the one riding him, I need to suck that shit up and take a page out of his book.

Wind whips around us, but Geralt powers on, his hooves pounding the familiar path towards my sister’s property. Urgency gnaws at me, anxiety coursing through my veins.

Jamie’s a good kid. He’s smart. He’s also a country kid. He knows how to handle himself.

He has to be fine.

My reassurances are a mantra in my head as I push Geralt harder, urging him to go faster and cover the distance in record time.

My sister’s property grows closer on the horizon, and my heart races, fear and hope battling it out. But the house looks unaffected. So does the barn.

That’s a good thing, right?

As we draw closer, the adrenaline in my veins matches the thundering beat of Geralt’s hooves.

Movement.

The screen door swings open.

Thank fuck.

Jamie barrels down the steps, his arms pumping fast as his gangly form hits the gravel path.

He’s safe.

The weight pressing against my chest eases.

He’s unharmed.

“Uncle Jack!” The warm breeze snatches his words and delivers them to me.

His relief mirrors my own, as do his wide eyes.

This kid means the world to me.

In truth, he’s the main reason I chose to stay after losing my dad. 

“Jamie.” On shaking legs, I dismount. “You’re okay.” I tug him close, embracing him tightly, gratitude flooding me.

He’s shaking and gripping me.

Geralt stands by, a comforting presence, his chestnut coat glistening with sweat. Reaching out without releasing Jamie, who takes a long, shuddery breath, I stroke Geralt’s mane.

He’s done good.

“Hey.” I dot a kiss on top of Jamie’s dirty-blond hair, the same colour mine was at his age, but I lost all traces of gold by the time I turned sixteen.

Leaning back, Jamie’s wide eyes meet mine.

“You good?” I search his face, trying to see how he really is. His face is flushed, his eyes a little watery, but there are no tear tracks down his cheeks.

He straightens and steps out of my hold but remains close enough to touch.

I do just that and place my palm on his shoulder, squeezing gently.

“I am now. I had to change my undies ’cause I shit myself from that blast. But holy crap, Uncle Jack, what the hell was that?”

Warmth blooms in my chest, humour dislodging some of the fear that’s taken root there.

This kid has a mouth on him, which, sensibly, he curbs around his parents.

But not around me.

I swear I’m the best kind of influence on my nephew. Admittedly, Harper doesn’t always agree. But this kid’s a mini-me. Even his poor folks can’t deny that.

“For real,” he continues, barely taking a breath, “I fell on my butt.”

“Are you hurt?” I cut in before he no doubt continues talking nonstop.

“Bruised.” He stops, his eyebrows shooting high as he takes me in. “Bloody hell, you’re bleeding.”

I touch the back of my head, no longer feeling fresh blood there. “I’m good.” I shake my head. “It’s stopped.” It still hurts like I’ve been whacked with a piece of two-by-four, but since there’s not a pool of blood at my feet and I’m still standing, I figure I’ll be okay.

“So, what happened? One minute I was making myself a bowl of cereal, and the next I hit the floor and the air-con went out. I’ve checked the trip switch, but nothing’s working. Ridge hasn’t stopped kicking off.”

With my panic subsided, I hear Jamie’s horse. Ridge does sound like he’s going apeshit.

“Is your phone working?”

Jamie shakes his head. “Nope. The internet is down too.”

A given, as there’s no electricity.

“I tried the Can-Am,” he says. “It won’t start. I was going to come over, check on you.”

Of course he was.

This kid’s been brought up knowing how to make a Vegemite sandwich, fix a fence, and ride a bike and a Can-Am. He’s also a sure shot with a rifle and can ride a horse even better than I could at his age.

His dad’s a good guy—an accountant, if you can believe it.

Which is the reason why my parents shaved off just five acres fifteen years back for them to build a home, knowing that Derek could ride a mower, but beyond that, running a property wasn’t his thing.

My dad spent the time teaching Jamie how to live and love the property life, and I did, too, when I visited.

“Let’s just settle Ridge, and I’ll give Geralt a quick brush down. We’ll then figure out what’s going on, yeah?”

“Okay.” He hesitates, his focus moving beyond me. “And what are we doing about that?”

Fuck. The plume of sand—not freaking dirt.

I jolt around and follow his line of sight. Narrowing my gaze, I try to figure out what I’m seeing. It’s closer now, but I still can’t work out what it is.

“What is that?”

I shake my head. “No idea.”

“Are we ignoring the fact that there’s sand where Mr Bates’s property used to be?”

Why Jamie’s so damn calm is beyond me, but my pulse is going berserk. Not only because the plume is likely just seven kilometres out, but before Jamie spoke, I could have pretended I’ve been hallucinating.

“You see that too?” It’s best I double-check.

“Yep. And the giant freakin’ mountain. That too.”

“Shit.”

“And what’s up with the green sky?”

I snap my head up, knowing he’s doing the same.

It looks more sea green at the moment. Has it changed shade? Maybe the way I’d perceived it earlier was just my head still spinning and struggling to make sense of it.

“Radiation?” It’s clear I’m clueless.

“No way is that radiation.” My nephew legit scoffs, a sound too light and carefree, considering neither of us knows what the hell is going on.

“How would you know, wise-arse?”

“We did a project on it in science last term. That’s not what radiation looks like.”

“So, what are you thinking?” I glance at Jamie, my heart squeezing at the contemplative expression forming on his face. God, I love this kid. And thank Christ he’s not freaking out.

He shrugs. “It kinda looks like some of the video games I play.”

I quirk an eyebrow at him. “Uh-huh. That’s helpful.”

He shrugs and meets my gaze. “I’m not saying I think we’re in a video game, but nothing about this is right.”

“True that.” He’s dead set got it in one. Nothing about this is right.

While our homes are still here, as are part of the road and a section of Liam and Nancy’s neighbouring property, beyond that—from the sky to the very ground—nothing is as it should be.

It’s like a section of our world’s been cut out and stitched into somewhere “other.” And just thinking that makes me want to roll my eyes and knock back a bottle of whiskey.

Geralt snorts and paws the ground. I tighten my grip on his reins. He shakes his head, eyes wide, almost frantic.

“Uncle Jack.”

The hitch in Jamie’s voice captures my attention completely. But his whole focus is on the direction of the plume of sand. I follow his gaze, my heart jolting so hard, my chest feels bruised.

It’s no longer a speck I can mistake for an SUV.

“Seriously, what is that?”

At the panic in his voice, the hair on the back of my neck rises. Horror floods my system, but more importantly, I agree with my nephew: What the fuck is that?

“We need to move. Get the saddle on Ridge.” I thrust Geralt’s reins at Jamie and charge into the barn, knowing I can get Ridge ready for riding faster than my nephew can. “Get the key for the gun safe,” I holler as I tug the leather saddle from its mount.

Hearing Jamie moving, I focus on saddling Ridge, my pulse pounding a frantic beat in my ears.

We need to get out of here. Fast.

Whatever the hell that thing is outside, it’s not a vehicle.

With shaky hands, I get the saddle fastened and put on the bridle. I can’t think about what I saw. If I do, it’s likely I’ll hesitate. Stumble. Lose my fucking mind.

“Got the keys.”

I nod as I secure the reins. “Get your popsy’s gun sling.” It’s one Dad gifted Jamie a few years back even though it would take some time for him to grow into.

“Okay.”

After finally securing the stirrup straps, I head to the gun cabinet in the barn and unlock the door. A satchel sits on the floor, one of my dad’s that he used to carry ammo when he went mustering—intending to shoot brown snakes and the occasional taipan.

“Here.” Jamie passes me the sling as I grab one of the guns.

“Thanks. Take Ridge outside. And grab the water container and make sure it’s full. Throw it in one of the rucksacks.” I focus on gathering ammo, securing the rifle in its sling, and collecting the saddlebag attachment that carries my sister’s shotgun.

I lock the safe back up and look around.

This feels dramatic, reacting this way. Or at least it should.

But deep in my gut, I know something—quite possibly everything—is wrong.

And if what I saw in the distance is real and not my concussed brain freaking me out, getting armed and the hell out of here is simply common sense.

Outside, under the weird sky, Jamie joins me. He passes me a backpack.

“I shoved some jerky and potato chips in there.”

I ignore the way his hand trembles and nod, offering a smile I absolutely don’t feel. Beyond sheer panic, dread, and knowing I need to protect Jamie, there’s little room for anything else.

“Mount up.”

He puts on his own pack, pushes his Akubra firmly onto his head, and mounts Ridge. He does so effortlessly, causing pride to swell in my chest.

How the hell he’s so calm and keeping his shit together is beyond me.

He saw the same thing I did in the distance.

Yet he’s here, kitted out, and looking at me with wide, clear eyes as if I have all the answers.

If only I did.

But for him, I’ll bullshit my way through this. There’s no other choice.

Securing the shotgun to Geralt, I finally glance in the direction I’ve been avoiding.

“What’s the plan?”

As I stare at the monstrous creature speeding towards us, its horns large and purple, I swallow hard.

What the fuck is our plan?

“We’re going to get the hell out of here, head south towards Injune.” It’s where my sister and brother-in-law work. It’s usually a forty-minute drive, so it will take longer than that by horse.

“Do you think it’s still there?”

Jamie’s question freezes my brain.

Slowly, I glance at him, risking taking my eyes off the creature that I mistook for a vehicle. Understandable, since it really does look to be the size of a big SUV.

I see it in Jamie’s worried frown. In the moisture in his eyes. Beyond the familiar red dirt is a land that we both know is not our own.

If we’re right—and I absolutely pray we’re not—it’s likely that town and the world as we know it has gone. Disappeared.

That or it’s been swallowed somehow by the beastly creature who I have no doubt wants to eat our faces off.

Fuck that shit.

“Let’s get the hell out of here.” I mount Geralt, nod at my nephew to take the lead, and together, we ride on out.

Who knows what we’ll find. The important thing is that Jamie’s okay and I have a bag full of bullets for the rifle and shells for the shotgun if I need them.

Read more...

Signed Paperback

Direct E-book

Amazon