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.
