A Novel by

Cav Mulholland

2016©

she was everything I ever wanted”

and the old man he just held out his hand and said,

“welcome to the one place no-one ever wants to be,

where even in your dreams

you watch them dance (with) the darkness”

Darrell Scott

‘Long Ride Home’

She stopped and sniffed the air that hung thick and dark before padding from the

scrabbling brush. A thumbnail moon reflected on mountainous cloud. Lightening danced at the edge of the sky and filled the horizon with arcing blue. It would be many hours before the storm, and thirst constricted her throat. She retreated one or two steps and then continued to the water’s edge. She stood silently for several seconds, muscles quivering with apprehension. She knew the men would be back and her ancient instincts battled her thirst. Danger stalked the unwary. Without moving her legs the dingo stooped, neck extended at the tepid, black, water. She lapped quietly, pink tongue flicking at the foul tasting liquid. The water stung at her throat, but gradually her thirst eased. She watched warily as water gushed from the huge black pipe across from her and her nostrils twitched at the sharp odor that drifted across and hung in a mist on the blackness. She drank her fill and retraced her path to the lair.

The pains grabbed at her gut again. They were more frequent now and each day she felt her strength weaken. She loped across the gibbered earth and ducked her head as she eased her way into the thicket on the edge of the clay pan. She stopped and looked about her and then, satisfied, she eased her way through the scrubby jungle. She stopped at the fence line and sucked her belly into her lean frame as the pains gripped her again and she whimpered at their ferocity. Her heart thumped and the thirst returned and caused her throat to constrict. She stood panting, sucking at the tropical night air. Her legs splayed in an effort to maintain her balance.

Her vision danced with the nausea and her gut rolled and heaved and she vomited. The chill of fever gripped her. She felt very weary now.

Slowly the little bitch made her way to the lair. She barely recognized the sound of the thunder as the rolling storm crashed its way across Arnhem Land to the east. The first hint of breeze played across the entrance as she stumbled through the opening. She stopped and sniffed at her remaining pups and nuzzled at their skinny forms and her heart scrunched in puzzlement as she recognized the all too familiar smell of death. They were the last of her litter; the strongest of the six pups she had borne. Two had been still born and she had discarded the bodies in the first hours. Each day had brought another death and she had whimpered and worried at their bodies and she mourned the death of her mate and her pups.

Her mate had been afflicted with the pains from the earliest time of her pregnancy and weakness and hunger had made him desperate. Together they had gone to the area of the lights and pounding noise and sirens and they had scavenged through the huge drums in which the men placed small amounts of food. It was dangerous hunting and she was heavy with her pups and could do little but watch as he pushed at the heavy barrels in an effort to knock them over. Massive machinery careered across the grey earth in clouds of suffocating dust and they had run for their lives when the men approached. He had been made weak from the pains and she turned at the edge of the light when she heard the noise. She had seen him fall and roll and he lay very still. She ran through the darkness with terror in her heart and when she was certain that she had no pursuers she stopped and stood under the black sky and listened, waiting for the fall of his footsteps. She cried out in her fear and stood in the darkness and listened for his reply. Gradually her terror had subsided, but not her fear. Slowly she made her way back to the lights.

She sniffed at the ground where he had been and she saw his blood and smelled his death and her heart was breaking as she called at the blackness for her mate who she knew would never come. Her pups were born in the stifling heat of the wet season and had come early in her term.

They came with the smell of death and she had discarded the two and tried to care for the remaining litter. The three bitches were under sized and the first had died the next night. She nuzzled at the three remaining pups and the little dog pulled at her teats and drank her milk greedily. He was stronger than his sisters and pushed at his mother’s belly with his tiny paws as he suckled. Each day another of the bitches died. Now only the little dog remained and he made frustrated cawing noises as he nuzzled at his mother’s belly. Slowly she rolled to her side and attempted to bring her dags around for her pup, but the effort was almost too much and she was overcome with the gnawing pain from her gut and she drew her last breath as the first splodges of finger thick rain cracked across the red earth at the entrance to the lair. The little dog was not aware of his mother’s death and he made tiny, whimpering, noises as he pushed contentedly at her belly with his soft pads and sucked greedily at her milk. His face screwed as the first edges of pain grabbed at his gut and he only stopped suckling momentarily as a tremendous clap of thunder ricocheted through the blackness.

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