The Turning

He screamed. The chainsaw slipped from his grip and hurtled towards the ground. The moment seemed to run in slow motion as it dropped almost perfectly through the gap between the two old gum tree branches. It hit the dry earth with a dull thud and sat there beneath the midday sun, its motor humming like a speedboat. For a moment he could only stare at it, transfixed and unable to believe that he had averted what should have been a freak accident. An intense pain flared in his right arm and when his world began to gradually focus once more, he was certain that he would look down and see an open gouge, blood spurting from a wound and pooling on the parched soil. When he finally did bring himself to look, he saw no blood, not even a mark anywhere on his burly forearm. He brought it close to his eyes and examined the skin carefully, trying to decipher what had caused him such a bolt of agony. But there was nothing. With a shaking, unsteady hand he reached down and flicked the switch on the chainsaw to off, its motor ceasing abruptly. Scowling at it as though it were some old dog that had nipped him, he picked it up and gazed around at the blocks of red-gum wood scattered around the log he had been sawing that morning. Then he sighed and licked his parched lips, peering up into the bright afternoon sky as it bore down another thirty-five-degree day. Sweat rolled down his face. He staggered a little, his entire body coarsing with adrenaline, and lumbered towards the tray of the ute where he sat the chainsaw down beside his battered toolbox and grease-spotted blue air-compressor. He surveyed the still, open terrain of the paddock. Somewhere in the far distance he could hear his landlord's sheep baaing and the occasional thundering of yet another arid gale in his ears. He felt a little crook now, as though he had eaten something earlier that was just beginning to disagree with him. But aside from that and the shakes, he felt okay. He was lucky, by god had he been, but things were all right. Except his arm still ached. He supposed he would get his wife to check it when he returned to the house, though he couldn’t imagine it being anything serious. He slid in behind the wheel and drove towards the open gate of the paddock, the ute rumbling and rolling over the loose, freshly churned soil his landlord had worked up days before. Flies landed on his face and eyes, tasting the salty nectar of his sweat. “Bastards,” he said, swatting at them. He turned the radio on and AC/DC drowned the cab, relaxing him a little. He felt irritable and hot and all he wanted to do was head back to the house, eat some lunch and maybe take a nap for an hour or so. He would leave the chainsaw alone for the rest of the day and work on a few chores around the house. Maybe mow the lawn like his wife had been asking him to do for the last week. She was starting to worry about snakes. # The baby was crying when he opened the back screen. Jacinta sat at the table, scrolling through her phone and nursing the child as its thunderous wails filled the old farmhouse. He could see, once again, that she was trying to get her to drink from the bottle but after an exhausting hour at it, she'd finally offered the breast. Baby Steph wasn’t interested though. "I dunno what's wrong with her," Jacinta said over the top of the child's wails. Ryan closed the door, slid his cap off and hung it beside the door before pulling off his boots. “She’s probably hot. Why don’t you turn the air conditioner on?” “Because it chews the crap outta the power,” she said, peering down at the baby and rocking her gently. The child’s screams did not relent. “Bugger the power,” Ryan muttered. He grabbed the remote for the reverse cycle and pushed the button. The air conditioner whirred to life. "I thought you said we weren't going to use it too much cause it costs too much money," she called after him as he entered the living room. “It does but its bloody hot and the poor kid needs to cool down,” he said, laying down on the carpeted floor and peering up at the ceiling with heavy eyes. His stomach was beginning to churn. The sick feeling had intensified and now, accompanying it, was the rippling onset of cramps. He hoped now that it was something he had eaten and not a summer-time bug. The last thing he and Jacinta needed was a vomiting infant. He closed his eyes and could feel sleep pulling him away when Jacinta cried from the kitchen, "Ryan, c'mere quick!"
 With a groaning sigh, Ryan lumbered back onto his feet and strolled back into the dining room. “What?” She was holding the baby out and examining her legs, her eyes wide with alarm. “s**t!” "What? What is it?" he said. He bent slightly to see and at first, couldn't work out what the commotion was. Then her finger moved and he saw the angry, inflamed flesh on his daughter's inner thigh, similar to a boil. “Where’d she get that?” “Dunno, I just noticed it.” “It’s probably why she’s balling her eyes out,” he muttered. "Do you think it's a bite Ryan?” “From what?” But she didn’t reply for the subject seemed to dark to contemplate He shook his head and suddenly clenched his fists and screwed his eyes closed as a painful wave of cramps rolled through his abdomen, like a knife cutting open his belly. “It bloody could be,” she said. “Friggin’ old house in the middle of nowhere, walls are probably full of spiders. And snakes. I hope you mow that lawn today.” His heart thudded unevenly and a cold sweat broke out on his forehead. "Well, should we take her to the doctor?" “Yeah may as well, better to be safe than…” Suddenly the cramps tore through his insides like shattered glass and he grabbed her chair for support as his legs gave. “Oh s**t!” he cried, both hands grabbing at his shirt and scrunching it tightly. She whirled her head around and watched as her husband began to sink to the floor. “Ryan! What is it! Ryan!” He fell to one knee, eyes bulging from their sockets, face draining of colour. With a gasp, he moaned, "Jesus! Jesus f*****g CHRIST! Jacinta watched in terror as her husband lay on the floor, a full-grown, towering man with a beard reduced to tears and clenching his stomach for dear life. Finally, her mind screamed that she had to do something. She snapped from her daze and sprang to her feet. “I’m gonna call an ambulance!” she cried, hurrying into the living room where Steph’s coot was stationed against one wall. She lay the baby down and returned to the dining room table to snatch up her phone. By now he could barely breathe; it seemed that to exercise his diaphragm was to intensify the pain. “Call an ambulance,” he cried hoarsely. “Call an ambulance. I can’t move! I can’t breathe!” But she had already dialled the number and was working hard to stop the tears from welling. The phone rang twice before a male answered and Jacinta got to work, her words jumbling as she hurried to describe what was happening. On the floor, her husband began to move into the foetal position. She heard him lurch and the next moment he was puking on the floor. She glanced down and noticed the angry red welt on his elbow. The man on the other end had asked her something she had missed. "Ryan what bit you?" she said. It was almost identical to the one on Steph's thigh. “Ryan, love, what bit you?” she asked again. Ryan shook his head, his breaths no more than sucking gasps. “Excuse me miss, you there…” Jacinta told him that she was, and then hurried back into the living room, explaining that it looked like her husband had been bitten by something. “My daughter also has a bite. We think its a bite. I dunno where it…” The phone slid from Jacinta's hand and thudded on the floor as she peered into the bassinet and a scream rose from her throat, filling the house. The man on the line continued speaking, asking if she was okay, but Jacinta had forgotten all about the hospital and the ambulance and her husband who was now choking in the next room. Paralysed with terror, she watched as the thing climbed out of the coot and starting towards her. Her wails carried on the wind and became a faint note that nothing except the crows and perhaps the sheep in the paddocks heard. Soon it had stopped and an icy stillness settled over the house.