Tales from Past - Outback Blues

July 2064. Four months have passed since the Black Lightning Disaster. Rich entrepreneur Sanjuro Bonzaga is throwing a party to remember the heroic first responders that perished in the explosion. However, Wally and Mono have other plans. Before getting ready to storm the venue, though, Wally hinges on a small, scrapped piece of paper that contains a crayon drawing of a dinosaur, delving once more in a past he wanted to forget.

(Proofread and edited by Kaleb O'Halloran)

“That sketch again? A literal five-year-old could draw better than that!”

I clench my first, gently rubbing the paper. Well, gently enough for a clawed hand, that is.

“A five-year-old did draw it, ya oversized cat.”

I couldn't forget that. I couldn't forget a single bloody detail about this drawing. Maybe I need therapy or somethin'... Actually, scratch that, I definitely need therapy. Point bein', I can't just sit here whining and crying like a baby 'roo about my damned past.

I have to fight for a better future.

I promised it.

Mono is already wearing her ninja-like balaclava. She said she wouldn't go to the party without a mask. I already loaded my gun – which now looks like a bloody trumpet, thanks to that cat – with stunning rounds, so I'm basically ready. Yet despite that, I just can't stop thinking about that sketch. Not this evening.

Mono's face tells me she understands that as she draws nearer.

“That sketch is really important to you, isn't it?”

“...Yeah, it is.”

The fat cat woman stares at her designer wristwatch for a long moment.

“Well, we've still got two hours before the fireworks. If you're okay with telling me the whole story, I'll listen.”

I let out an audible sigh, as I prepare to recount the events of that god-awful day...

**

“I don't understand, cap'n! Why ain't ya happy? They're throwin' us a party, after all!”

I coldly stare at Mao, without saying a word. I refuse to believe he's actually that dumb. Fortunately, Gruda is much brighter and gets straight to the point.

“Ain't ya get it, Mao? While we're off gettin' pissed at that party, there won't be nobody chasing the mozzies!”

It's reassuring to know I'm not the only one thinking 'bout it. Still, Mao's clearly not convinced.

“Yea, but we roughed 'em up so good yesterday that they won't show their ugly mugs 'round there for weeks! Besides, they got the cogheads there doin' cleanup, so whadda they need us for? C'mon, cap'n! Smile!”

I shake my head without even looking at him, “As if those grommets could outsmart the mozzies.”

Gruda nods in approval, before patting my back with his claws.

“Yeah, Mao, those Exxon cogheads are right trash! I mean, why we can't we get some of those fancy Spectra VORS? I hear those're the real deal, I tell you what!”

“They cost too much and we're broke.”

“Ah, right. Money. Well, there goes that idea.”

“Precisely.”

We are Outback Hunters. We're military-trained velociraptors, created for the sole purpose of fightin' those mozzies – or haemophages, if you wanna get technical. That's right, Gruda, Mao, and I were specifically engineered to snap nightmarish creatures in half. And we're damn good at what we do. Which is exactly why it's bloody stupid for us to be wastin' our time at some big, fancy piss-up we didn't ask for.

That aside though, my five years on the battlefield have taught me one thing for sure: the war against those freaks is drivin' me nutty, for Grant's sake! I'd give anything for a chance to smash in the head of the goddamn idiot who thought bio-engineerin' a species of vicious, fast-reproducing predators for a bloody TV show was a good idea. And I'd also wanna give a hearty ol' beatin' to the even stupider idiot who decided to bring some of those abominations to Australia for "scientific research." 'Research' my scaly arse! ...My train of thought is promptly cut short by Mao's interjection.

“But y'know cap'n, this party might be a good way to get some fundin'. That rich pig Bonzaga will buy us some toys, if we play nice! Just you wait, when we show 'im how New Hope Town's been thrivin', he'll wanna fork over as much money as he can for it, yeah?”

Oh Mao, ever the optimist. Unfortunately this party ain't nuthin' but a big publicity stunt to that fat bastard.

“I'll believe it soon as I see the check in my hands. 'Cause ya know what I think? I think building New Hope on the edge of the freakin' outback was bloody stupid, and that mongrel knows it. It's all just for the PR, nobody in his right mind would actually call that place safe!”

“Ay, what's the matta', cap'n? Ya worried 'bout the kiddies?”

I browse the pocket of my trousers, extracting a carefully folded piece of paper. A rough crayon drawing of a velociraptor kicking a mozzie greets me once more.

Thank you, Captain Wally! You are my hero!

That li'l boy at the elementary school sure did know how to move a grown raptor. Only reason I didn't cry is 'cause I've got an image to uphold.

“'Course I'm worried 'bout the kids, Mao. Nobody should'a settled there 'til we kicked the swarm mother's arse straight down to Ayers Rock. We haven't even tracked her down yet.”

Mao just shrugs, as he always does when I try starting a serious conversation.

“Ah, chillax cap'n! Two hours of blah-blah, a handshake here and there, and then we're back in New Hope, right as can be! Don't be such a downer! 'Sides, if we bail, the higher-ups are gonna take the piss outta us, y'know.”

I sigh. Much as I hate to it admit it, Mao's right. If we wanna keep up this attrition war, we need troops, firepower... and Sanjuro Bonzaga's goddamn money. The mozzies breed too fast and we can't stop 'em forever – just stall 'em out, and God only knows for how long. We've got no choice but to do what the higher-ups want us to, and keep that fat bastard happy.

Out of the blue, Gruda suddenly hugs both me and Mao, pushing us together.

“Alright, mates. If that's the plan, then we'll go in there, keep our chins up, and flash 'em those good ol’ fake smiles that say "give us the money". We’re doing this for the people after all, so a little stress is well worth it, I'd say. It'll be no worse than eatin' Vegemite and pretendin' it's good!”

Mao starts laughing out loud.

“Fair dinkum, mate! But I actually do like Vegemite, y'know.”

“Please, man! Next you'll be riding a bloody 'roo in the outback, a boomerang in one hand and a coldie in the other, with a surfboard on ya back, and shoutin' "g'day mates!" all around ya!”

We all burst out laughing at the same time. Leave it to Gruda to bring people together. I wipe my eyes to look at the drawing one more time, before placing it safely back in its pocket. I feel ready as can be for the challenge ahead of us.

“Well, whaddaya say, gentlemen? Let's go get that bounty!” And their answer is a cheering choir.

“Aye aye, cap'n!”

**

First thing I see is what hits me the most.

Not the smoke, not the blood, not even the emergency lights dazzlingly blinking through the fire.

It's a head. The ripped-off head of an Exxon 27 police unit. Its eyes left wide open, showing something I would have never expected to see in a piece of scrap metal.

Fear. Raw, unbridled fear. I can fuckin' feel it.

That combat machine's AI was scared to death by what it saw out there.

I felt a shiver just then, I'm right sure I did. Every scale of my skin, every ounce of my being, just ran even colder than normal. My heart starts to beat in my ears. Something that could scare a robot...

“Cap'n...”

Mao's voice finally snaps me outta of my trance. Jesus, how long had I been stuck fixatin' on that hunk a' junk? Those eyes...

“Cap'n, the hunting ground's clear. No mozzies around. Either they're hidin' or they ran their asses back to the bush.”

“Mao... what about... what about the...”

I stop. I can't even bring myself to ask. No way this has happened... no bloody way!

But Gruda, standing next to him, sees right through me. He knows, he knows all too well what I need to hear. And yet, those aren't the words that leave his mouth.

“No survivors, cap'n. Not a single one.” Gruda's voice is so cold, so calm. Almost detached. He stands tense for a moment, staring at the ground. Then, out of seemingly nowhere, he bursts into tears. “I'm sorry, cap'n! I'm... I'm so sorry!”

The mighty Gruda, the same Gruda whom I've watched brutally kill mozzies by headbutting 'em to death, the same Gruda who lost an eye during the attack on Darwin and shrugged it off yelling "one is more than enough!"

That Gruda is kneeling in front of me, crying like a baby.

“We were too late, cap'n! Too late! Those cogheads... those cogheads were useless! They weren't ready for... for...”

I kneel down and hug him, while trying to keep the dam in my own eyes from overflowing. I'm Captain Wally Alba, after all. I'm a hero. I can't cry. I gotta keep strong. Just then, Mao joins us on the ground, repeatedly beating his tail into the dirt.

“I feel so powerless, cap'n... so fuckin' powerless...”

And I feel the exact same, Mao.

While we were sat on our arses puttin' on fake smiles for the cameras at the “celebration party for the heroes of the outback,” the mozzies completely razed New Hope. While we were raising money for the army, they were feasting on children's meat.

Children...

Oh my God, no.

No, no, no, no, no!

“Mao! The school! The school had an anti-haemophage shelter! Have ya checked it? Maybe they... there are...”

Silence. Cold, immovable silence. Mao's tensed eyes already tell me what he's about to say before I even hear the words.

“I'm... sorry, cap'n. None of the kiddos... made it out alive.”

I clench my fist tight. I frantically search my pocket, picking back out that precious piece of paper.

Thank you, Captain Wally! You are my hero!

Goddammit.

Goddammit, goddammit, goddammit!!

I'm no hero! I'm NOBODY's hero! I... I couldn't save a single one of them, I couldn't!

I slowly begin to sit down near the crying Gruda and the whining Mao. There's nothing but pain in their eyes, pain and sheer sadness. If the govvies had just sent some real soldiers instead of trustin' those rust-buckets, if they didn't make us go to that goddamned “party,” then maybe... Who am I kiddin'? Now... now they got themselves a tragedy to leech off'a. A live TV broadcast of what the freakin' mozzies can do. And people will cheer as they just push more money into the army than in public health, as they restrict freedom in the wake of “public safety.”

All on the skin of five-year-old children. Like the one who gifted me this tiny masterpiece I'm staring at now.

Forgive me. I couldn't... be your hero.

Forgive me, please!

FORGIVE ME!!

**

“So that... that's the story, huh? Behind that drawing?”

“Precisely right, ya oversized cat. And that's why you'll shut up anytime I take it out, capiche?”

Mono nods, then all of a sudden, she embraces me tightly. Even through her balaclava, I can distinctly see tears flowing down her cheeks.

“I knew you always had a soft spot for children, Wally... but I couldn't imagine you had to go through that...”

Ha... she ain't so dense after all, despite her fashion-driven mind, huh? My big cat sis never ceases to amaze me. But we've got work to do. “Crying time's over, sis. We gotta get ready for the big show.”

That's right. This evening, that fat bastard Bonzaga is throwing a party in Euterpe for the families of the firefighters who died in the Black Lightning Disaster. While he's busy drownin' himself in vodka with his guests, we'll take his money from right under his nose.

If there's anyone who's gonna pay for what happened, it's you, Sanjuro Bonzaga.

I owe it to the children of New Hope.

I carefully fold the drawing again and put it back in my pocket, as Mono and I take our positions.

The real party is about to begin.