Credit: Illustration: Justin Randall
"I'M DRIVING round to Bob's," said Ern. "There's UFOs in his chook house again."
Maree paused, the socks she was packing dangling limply from one hand. "Dunno why you'd bother - they won't lay again after this. You know what happened last time. I need you to load the trailer."
"Won't be long," he said, pushing his hat firmly in place as he opened the front door. The flyscreen clattered loudly behind him, obliterating Maree's parting words. She knew nothing she said would make any difference, even if he'd heard. She walked through the kitchen and fastened the flyscreen latch properly, still holding the socks.
Outside, the lawn lay brown and parched, the orange trees she'd planted five years earlier listless in the still, dry heat. The sky, as always these past few months, was filled with tiny silver discs that flitted about like insects, forming occasional patterns and swirls against the blue.
"I'm not leaving without Claudie," said Debbie, pouting.
"Well then, you'd better find him, hadn't you?" replied Maree. "He's probably under the house. You know how funny he gets whenever we go away."
"But I've looked there already." Maree's youngest daughter's signature whine was edging its way into her voice. It wasn't her fault. She was tired. They all were.
"Then you'd better look again. We can't come back for him."
"But Mum! What if -?"
"Or maybe try the shed. We have to leave soon. There's nothing I can do about it."
Debbie spun on her heel and darted out the back door, calling the cat's name as she ran. Maree glanced after her.
Supposedly the silver discs weren't dangerous. The voltage they occasionally discharged was slight and didn't hurt, not even as much as an ant bite. But Maree had decided not to tell her daughter about the Brewzynskis' Siamese; how they'd found it dead on their verandah last week with nothing to explain how it died.
Maree didn't trust the UFOs, nor the federal authorities that were making local farming families relocate to a new community development out at Terrapin Flats, so new that it wasn't even marked on any of the maps. The farm had been in Maree's family for three generations. They'd survived droughts, bushfires and the free trade agreement. If their soil were really contaminated, they'd have known about it years ago. Maree wasn't buying it - she suspected the move was connected to the strange little silver discs. What the hell were they? Where had they come from?
Ern got back an hour later.
"Bob says they're bussing the uni kids back down from the city."
Maree's heart jolted at the thought of Karen. She'd been talking about travelling through South America with a friend before the phone lines started playing up. Maree wanted their eldest safe at home.
"Reckon she might know something about all this UFO business? She's doing computers. Must've learned something more about it all up in the city."
Ern grunted his agreement. He headed straight for the fridge and drank deeply from the two-litre container of orange juice in the door. She didn't bother to tell him off for not using a glass. They'd been instructed to leave all foodstuffs behind as well as all white goods. Where they'd be living soon had all amenities built in. Maree didn't like the sound of that. She wanted her own fridge, her own washing machine and dryer, not something generic a faceless government bureaucrat had picked out of a catalogue. She hadn't liked the sound of anything since the UFOs began to swarm.
