COUGAR-BAT

An American legend has come to life & is killing people in Glen Hartwell

                   The Lingarde family were on their way for a day’s fishing in Lake Cooper outside Harpertown, in the Victorian countryside. It was Tuesday the 17^th of March 2026, and the sun was shining brightly, making a pleasant change from the cold and rainy February which Victoria had had that year. A warm breeze was blowing, bringing with it the sweet smell of pine and eucalyptus from the trees throughout the forest. Pine needles and dried gum leaves crunched under the tyres of the Lingardes’s i13 model, all-electric BMW.
         Behind them they towed a trailer carrying a ten metre yacht, the Annie Fanny, ready for the day’s outing.
         “Dad, was it really necessary to drag us out of school to go fishing with you?” asked Stephanie ‘Effie’, sixteen, a tall beautiful redhead.
         “I thought you’d love to have a day off school,” said Ferdinand ‘Ferdi’, forty-one, a tall redheaded man with wire-rim glasses and a receding hairline.
         “So we could spend the day nattering to our girlfriends on our phones,” said Cinnamon ‘Cinn’, fifteen, a short, plump brunette.
         “Or watching telly,” suggested Mitchell ‘Mitch’, fourteen, a tall raven-haired boy.
         “But not to go boring fishing,” insisted Effie.
         “Isn’t that just like kids,” said Annette ‘Annie’, thirty-eight, a tall honey blonde: “You make them go to school and they complain; you let them have a day off school and they still complain.”
         “We could always take you all to Glen Hartwell High and say you recovered from your forty-eight-hour virus,” teased Annie.
         “Could you just drop off back at home in Percival?” asked Cinn.
         “No!” insisted Ferdi: “It’s fishing or school ... Take your pick.”
         “Oh God,” said Mitch: “I suppose it’s fishing.”
         “Oh God, yes,” agreed the two girls.
         “Good, as long as we’re all happy,” said Ferdi, ignoring the glares that he received from his three children.
         “Happy!” cried Effie and Mitch.
         “Happy is not the word for it!” insisted Cinn,
         “Good, I knew you’d see it my way,” teased Ferdi.
         “Is he obtuse, or just being a smart Aleck?” asked Effie.
         “A little bitch of both, I think,” said Mitch.
         “A lot of both more like it,” amended Cinn.
         “Oh I do like to be beside the seaside,” sang Ferdi.
         
         Over at the Yellow House at 57 Rochester Road, Merridale they were sitting down to breakfast in the yellow dining room while behind them Deidre Morton the landlady and lover of the colour yellow prepared breakfast.
         “I’ve just had an idea,” said Sheila Bennett. At thirty-seven, Sheila, a Goth chick with black-and-orange striped hair was the Chief Constable of the local police.
         “Good on you girl, it had to happen one day,” teased Tommy Turner, a short chubby blond retiree.
         “He really doesn’t understand the irony of him, of all people, saying that, does he?” asked Natasha Lipzing a tall, lean grey-haired lady in her seventies.
         “How dare you?” demanded Tommy.
         “Face it Tom-Tom,” said Leo Laxman a tall black Jamaican working as a nurse at the local hospital, “you’re no Albert Einstein.”
         “How dare you?” demanded Tommy.
         “So what’s your brilliant idea, Sheila?” asked Colin Klein. At fifty, Colin was a special adviser to the police and was married to Terri.
         “Well, you know how Orville Trevane let us down in our last caper, when we needed to fire torpedoes at the Yemisch a week back, and the Yellow Peril didn’t have torpedo tubes.”
         “Because it was a scientific submarine designed for research, not for blowing things up,” suggested Colin.
         “Exactly,” agreed Sheila: “And you remember how I said that state government departments are desperate to get rid of any remaining cash in July, for fear that they’ll get less cash in the August budget, if the treasurer thinks they got more money than they needed the last financial year?”
         “Yes,” said Terri, “and I have a horrible idea what this brilliant idea is.”
         “Well, I was thinking, that if we wait till mid July, we can ask the Assistant Commissioner for the money to buy a navy surplus sub that holds half a dozen people and can fire torpedoes. He’ll be desperate to get rid of any remaining cash in hand by then and will probably thank you, Tezza.”
         “And I suppose you’ll get to pilot the sub?” asked Colin.
         “No, no, that will be your job; as the local expert on weaponry, and blowing things up, it will be my job to control the torpedo tubes.”
         “In fairness she did finish top of the class at police college at weaponry and blowing things up,” admitted Terri.
         “So what are we going to call this new sub if we get it?” asked Colin.
         “Orville Trevane called his sub The Yellow Peril, so I thought we could have our sub painted bright red and call it The Red Devil.”
         “Assuming the Assistant Commissioner doesn’t commit suicide when I ask him for the money to buy it,” said Terri.
         “No, no, that’s the beauty of asking him in July, he’ll be desperate to spend money at that time ... although maybe we should play safe and ask him in the first week of July while he’s still got plenty of money; in case other people get the same idea.”
         “Well, if you could think of it, anyone could,” said Tommy.
         “He really does not understand the brutal iron involved when he says that, does he?” asked Natasha.
         
         “Oh, I do like to be beside the seaside, I do like to be beside the sea,” sang Ferdi for the umpteenth time as they arrived at the banks of Lake Cooper.
         “Dad, please, you’ve been singing that damn song for the whole trip,” protested Cinn, covering her ears with her hands.
         “Yes, you’re almost driving us mad,” agreed Effie, also covering her ears.
         “Well, I could always sing ‘What can we do with a drunken sailor’.”
         “Aaaaaaaaaaah!” cried Mitch: “Make it stop, make the pain stop.”
         “Yeah, I think my eardrums are about to burst!” cried Cinn.
         “You wish,” said Effie, “then you wouldn’t be able to hear him anymore.”
         “How dare you; I’ll have you know I seriously considered a career in music.”
         “What as, a square dance caller?” teased Mitch.
         As the three teens chortled with laughter, Ferdi glared at then for a moment then started to reverse the trailer toward the lake.
         “Who wants to get into the Annie Fanny first, before it’s in the water, so you don’t get your clothes wet?” asked Ferdi.
         “Who wants to stay in the BMW and natter to her girlfriends on her phone all day?” asked Effie.
         “Me!” cried Cinn and Effie.
         “All of your girlfriends will be at school, girls,” reminded Annie.
         “Oh damn, yes,” said Cinn.
         “Or better yet,” said Ferdi, “I could pick you two girls up and carry you across to toss you into the boat.”
         “You wouldn’t dare!” insisted Cinn; then seeing the hard look in her father’s eyes: “Come on you two, we might as well walk, rather than having him carry us.”
         Thirty minutes later, they were in the Annie Fanny slowly drifting around the first bend in the serpentine lake.
         “What shall we do with a drunken sailor, what shall we do with a drunken sailor, earlie in the morning?” sang Ferdi, stopping to have a long slug from a bottle of Canadian Ice Lager: “Ah, those Canadians sure make great beer.”
         “Watch out that you don’t become the drunken sailor,” warned Annie.
         “What shall we do with a drunken sailor?”
         “Push him over the side and hope he drowns, push him over the side and hope he drowns,” sang Cinn.
         “Earlie in the morning,” sang the three teenagers.
         “Now you’re getting in the spirit of things,” slurred Ferdi.
         “Looks like I’ll have to drive us home today,” said Annie.
         “Oh, yes you will!” shouted Ferdi as though meaning to disagree with her.
         “Definitely,” said Annie and the three teenagers.
         “If he drowns can we go home, Mum?” asked Cinn.
         “He’s not going to drown,” said Annie, hoping that it was true.
         “I fink I see a finch coming,” said Ferdi pointing toward the yellow-brown creature winging its way toward them.
         “That’s bloody big for a finch,” said Annie.
         “I think he meant a flying fish,” said Effie.
         “Fish can’t actually fly, they merely glide through the air for a few hundred metres to escape predators,” pointed out Mitch.
         “Well, whatever that thing is, it’s definitely got wings and it’s certainly flying,” said Cinn.
         “Maybe we should get out of here,” suggested Mitch.
         “Good idea,” said Annie, starting the Annie Fanny’s motor.
         “Aaaaaaaaaaah!” cried Ferdi, falling overboard.
         “Dad!” cried Effie running to the back of the yacht and almost falling over.
         “Honey!” cried Annie starting toward the rear of the yacht without bothering to turn off the motor.
         At that moment the Cougar-Bat reached them, hovering behind the Annie Fanny, it looked from the drowning Ferdi to the busty Annie a few times before making a low-pitched, guttural growl sounding very much like an overgrown house cat.
         “What the Hell is it?” asked Mitch, staring at the large cougar like wildcat, with huge fawn coloured wings swoops.
         Growling again, the Cougar-Bat swept down to grab Annie with the large eagle-like talons on the ends of its feet, before sweeping up into the air with its prey.
         “Mum!” cried Cinn ineffectually hurling an empty Canada Ice bottle after the rapidly departing monster.
         “Look out!” cried Mitch, pointing to the shore which was approaching rapidly. He turned off the engine, but not in time to stop them from crashing into the overgrown bank.
         
         “So who wants to go out for a nice drive?” asked Sheila as they sat around the large blackwood desk in the front office of the Mitchell Street Police Station.
         “If you mean, who wants to patrol, I’m game,” said Alice Walker.
         “Yes, it’s time we were patrolling anyway,” said Terri as the four of them set out for her white Jeep Cherokee outside.
         “I’m just glad that everyone has settled for the rota to work one day a week out at Morcambe Street,” said Terri getting into the Jeep.
         “Don’t take that for granted, Chief,” warned Alice.
         “Yes, I can see insurrection coming soon,” said Sheila.
         “Well, as long ....” began Terri, stopping as her phone rang.
         She spoke for a minute or two, then said, “Over to Lake Cooper, something has attacked the Annie Fanny and carried off Annie Lingarde.
         Thirty-eight minutes later, they arrived at the shore of Lake Cooper to see the Annie Fanny crashed close to the first serpentine bend. Cinnamon, Stephanie, and Mitchell Lingarde were standing in the long grass waving at them.
         “Okay, drive very carefully around to them,” said Terri.
         Ten minutes later they were back near the start of the Lake with Terri and Sheila in the Lingardes’s i13 BMW with the three teenagers, listening to and recording the children’s description of what happened, while Colin and Alice crouched outside the open rear windows.
         As Alice drove the children toward the local hospital, Terri, Colin and Sheila watched as two Air Ambulance Choppers searched the lake for the remains of Ferdinand Lingarde.
         “Any idea what this flying cat monster is, professor?” Sheila asked.
         “Sounds like the mythical Des Moines Cougar-Bat,” said Colin.
         “Des Moines in Iowa?” asked Terri.
         “Yes.”
         “So what’s a Des Moines’ Cougar-Bat doing in Glen Hartwell?” asked Sheila.
         “Why have any of the dozens of foreign legends we’ve had here chosen to haunt Glen Hartwell?” asked Colin: “Anyway, the Des Moines Cougar-Bat is described as a large cougar like wildcat, with huge fawn coloured wings, with eagle-like talons on the ends of its feet, and a snarl or growl similar to an oversized housecat.”
         “So what now?” asked Sheila.
         “Now we hire Louie Pascall and his chopper to start looking for a flying bobcat,” said Terri.
         “Des Moines Cougar-Bat,” corrected Sheila, drawing a glare from Terri.
         Half an hour later they were airborne scouring the length and breadth of Lake Cooper, then beyond it. By that time, the air ambulance choppers had located the corpse of Ferdi Lingarde and rushed it off to the hospital.
         “So what do we do, assuming we don’t find it?” asked Louie, a tall, bald man in his late forties.
         “Or if we do?” asked Sheila: “Since we didn’t bring our shotguns with us.”
         “Good point,” said Terri, “we’d better stop at Mitchell Street and pick up a few shotguns and cartridges.”
         Half an hour later they were loaded up with half a dozen shotguns and a dozen boxes of cartridges.
         “Please tell us that the Des Moines Cougar-Bat isn’t bulletproof, like the Yemisch was?” asked Sheila.
         “Not according to legend,” assured Colin.
         “Maybe we should keep some shotguns and cartridges in the boot of the Jeep permanently from now on,” suggested Terri.
         “Whacko the diddly-oh,” said Sheila.
         “Not so that a certain mad Goth chick can play with them!” said Terri pointedly: “But in case we need them quickly.”
         “I have to stay in practice.”
         “Sheils, you are a natural marksman ... markswoman ... marksperson ... whatever the Hell they say these days.”
         
         It was a little after four PM and the Elphinstone family were sitting on blankets and pillows on the banks of the Yannan River outside Bromby Township where they lived. Beside them was parked their rusty 1980s yellow Ford Falcon.
         “Dad, can we at least sit in the car while you’re fishing?” asked Dawn, fourteen, a medium height honey blonde, with her father’s facial features: “It’s cold.”
         “What’s cold?” teased Brody, thirty-eight, a tall fiercely blond man, and former champion surfer.
         “If she told you, Mum would slap her,” teased Lance, fifteen, a tall strawberry blond with his mother’s facial features.
         “I might slap you, if you’re too cheeky,” warmed Bethany ‘Beth’, thirty-six, a short strawberry-blonde.
         “But I thought he was your favourite,” teased Fawn, thirteen, a short, attractive redhead with wire-rim glasses.
         “That won’t stop me from slapping him for his own good.”
         “For my own good?” asked Lance.: “Isn’t that what the Nazis said about burning six million Jews?”
         “How dare you compare me to the Nazis!” cried Beth, running at her son.
         “Catch me if you can, Mum,” teased Lance starting to run as he sang: “We would run with all of might, catch me if you ca-a-an, catch me if you can.”
         “Mum, you do know that he’s the captain of the high school’s running team?” asked Fawn.
         “Oh, yeah, I forgot,” said Beth, starting to wheeze.
         Giving up, she headed back toward where Brody had set up his fishing line and was happily sitting upon the bank.
         “So Dad,” how long are we stuck here while you fish?” asked Dawn.
         “Until I catch us enough fish for tea, or else we’ll have to eat pine cones.”
         “Pine cones? Yuck!” said Fawn.
         “Squirrels eat them,” insisted Brody.
         “Firstly, we don’t have squirrels in Australia,” said Fawn: “Secondly, I’m fairly certain that squirrels do not eat pine cones.”
         “No, squirrels famously eat acorns,” said Dawn: “Or walnuts, or almonds, or Hazelnuts.”
         “Don’t we have two clever girls?” asked Beth.
         “Just so long as we have two quiet girls so that I can catch our tea.”
         “See Lance, you’re not Mum’s fave anymore,” teased Dawn.
         “Nah, nah na nah na!” called Fawn, thumbing her nose at him.
         “Even if they can be a bit sarky on occasions,” added Beth.
         “Well, they are girls,” called Lance, still keeping out of his mother’s range: “So you have to expect them to be sarky; it’s in their DNA.”
         “How dare you?” cried Dawn.
         “Is not!” protested Fawn.
         “Girls, girls, a bit of quiet, while I’m trying to fish.”
         “Or finch as he says when he’s had a few,” teased Lance.
         “Yuck, I’m not eating finches,” said Fawn.
         “Nah-ah,” seconded Dawn.
         “Don’t worry girls, I’ll soon have us some nice trout, or salmon, or barramundi, or flathead.”
         “Flathead? He’s standing over there,” said Dawn pointing at Lance.
         “Very funny, Bimbostein!” called Lance.
         “Come here and say that,” teased Dawn, careful to stand near her mother.
         “Ah, here comes the first beauty,” said Brody, pulling a large and incredibly ugly fish out of the river.
         “If that’s your idea of beauty, Dad, you must be a Picasso fan,” teased Dawn.
         “Can the sarcasm and come to take it for cleaning.”
         “Ooh, you expect us to touch that thing?” asked a horrified Dawn.
         “Like no way, Dad, it’s yucky,” insisted Fawn.
         “I’ll take it, Dad,” offered Lance. Picking up the fish, he walked across to his sisters and teased, “Who wants to see me to do the Monty Python Fish Slapping Dance?”
         He waved the fish around as though going to slap Fawn and Dawn, who ran away squealing.
         “They can dish it out, but they can’t take it,” agreed Beth, taking the fish from Lance to clean it for cooking.
         “Ooh, Mum, you’re touching it with your bare hands!” called Fawn.
         “Yucky,” cried Dawn.
         “Believe it or not, girls, this is what fish look like before they are cleaned and soaked in batter,” said Beth.
         “Ooh!” said Dawn and Fawn.
         
         Terri and the others looked around for the Cougar-Bat as the Bell-Huey helicopter swept the area around Lake Cooper.
         It was nearly two hours later when they saw something white sticking up from the long grasses on the far bank of the Lake.
         “Taking her down for a looksee,” said Louie Pascall, a tall bald man in his late forties.
         “A little lower and I’ll jump out,” offered Sheila.
         “There will be no jumping out!” ordered Terri: “Put on your safety harness, and we’ll lower you down.”
         “I almost fell to my death just once, and you won’t let me live it down, will you?” asked the Goth chick, nonetheless putting on the safety harness.
         Louie lowered the blue and white helicopter to within ten metres of the marshy ground, then Sheila climbed down to where she found the half eaten remains of Annette Lingarde.
         “Yeech, he’s really done a number on poor Annie,” called up Sheila: “He’s concentrated upon eating the soft, round bits: breasts, buttocks and belly, and for good measure ripping away her skull to feast upon her juicy brain.”
         “Thank you for the graphic details,” teased Terri: “Now stand aside while I chunder.”
         “Ah, ah, don’t soil the death scene,” called up Sheila as she took the death scene photos.
         Half an hour later an Air Ambulance helicopter had arrived and taken away the half-chewed remains of Annette.
         “Okay, let’s go kill ourselves a Cougar-Bat,” said Terri after Sheila had returned to the chopper.
         “A Des Moines Cougar-Bat,” corrected the Goth chick, ignoring the glare that the blonde gave her.
         
         Over at the Yannan River outside Bromby Township they had all settled down to eat different types of fish cooked on a small propane BBQ from the boot of their yellow Ford Falcon.
         “Ah, there’s nothing like home-cooked fish,” eulogised Brody.
         “Yes there is, fish and chip shop fish with chips,” insisted Dawn.
         “Hence the name ‘fish and chip shop’,” added Fawn.
         “We would have had to pay for those,” insisted Brody.
         “You get what you pay for,” pointed out Lance.
         “For once he’s right,” agreed Dawn.
         “Yeah, they do say that ‘nothing ain’t worth nothing’,” reminded Fawn.
         “But it’s free,” finished Beth.
         “I’d rather pay and get something,” said Lance.
         “Here, here,” agreed the two girls.
         “Just enjoy your fish and stop nattering,” said Beth.
         “We’d enjoy it more if it were battered with a mountain of chips,” insisted Fawn.
         “Here, here,” said Dawn and Lance.
         “This is pure home cooking,” insisted Brody.
         “No, Dad, we don’t live in the forest,” pointed out Dawn.
         “We live in Bromby township,” insisted Fawn.
         “And you’re a bank manager, not a great white hunter, Dad,” reminded Lance.
         “Very funny kids,” said Brody, not sounding even remotely amused.
         They had finished eating and tossed any leftover fish and bones into the Yannan River.
         “To help feed the remaining fish,” said Brody.
         “The Yannan leads right down to Port Phillip Bay,” pointed out Lance: “I’m fairly certain new fish swim in all the time.”
         “Yes, well ...” began Brody.
         He stopped as he saw the large fawn-coloured creature winging its way toward them.
         “What the Hell kind of bird is that?” asked the fiercely blond man.
         “I’d say a bob cat or something if it wasn’t flying,” said Lance.
         “More likely a vulture,” said Dawn heading back toward the Ford Falcon.
         “Maybe we should leave,” agreed Fawn.
         “Do we even have vultures in Australia?” asked Beth.
         “That’s no reason to run and hide,” chided Brody: “I’m sure it’s more afraid of us, than we are of it.”
         “Then why is it winging straight toward you two?” asked Fawn.
         “What?” asked Brody staring as the Cougar-Bat came into view;
         A large cougar like wildcat, with huge fawn coloured wings, with eagle-like talons on the ends of its feet.
         “What the fuck?” asked Beth: “Maybe we should ...”
         She stopped as the monster let out a loud growl similar to that of an oversized housecat.
         “I really think ...” began Brody....
         Stopping as the Cougar-Bat soared straight at his head, the blond man ducked, not quite quickly enough and then screamed as the creature’s eagle-like talons ripped apart his face, causing blood to fountain out.
         “Brody!” cried Beth.
         She started to run to help her husband, and then screamed as the Cougar-Bat grabbed her in its claws, before circling around to wing away, without stopping.
         “Help me!” cried Brody, desperately trying to hold his face together, blood gush through his fingers.
         Screaming in horror, Lance and the two girls grabbed blankets from behind the rear seat and raced out to help their father.
         
         “Well, it looks like nothing else is going to happen tonight,” said Louie.
         “Yes, we might as well go home,” agreed Terri.
         “And I was so looking forward to blasting the murderous sucker out of the sky,” enthused Sheila, nursing her shotgun as though it were a baby.
         “Well ... “ began Terri, stopping as her mobile phone rang. After talking for a minute or so, she disconnected and said: “That was Lance Elphinstone. It seems the bloody thing as struck again, tearing off most of Brody’s face, and flying off with poor Bethany.”
         “Well, let’s get going,” said Colin.
         Louie put the chopper into high and headed for the Yannan River outside Bromby township.
         Twenty minutes later they arrived at the fishing site to see Daniel Pakenham, an Air Ambulance paramedic, attending to Brody Elphinstone as best he could, before helping him into the helicopter to be whisked away to the Glen Hartwell Hospital.
         With difficulty, they managed to interview Lance and his two hysterical sisters while Sheila recorded the interview, before three more Air Ambulance Choppers arrived.
         “Okay, Colin, can you drive the Elphinstones’s Falcon to the hospital and wait for us, while we go after this overgrown buzzard-cat,” said Terri.
         “No sweat, babe,” said Colin.
         “Let’s go kill us a buzzard-cat!” said Sheila as they climbed back into the blue and white Bell Huey.
         They continued to search in the general direction that the Cougar-Bat had flown, according to the three teenagers, but by ten PM decided to call it a night.
         “You know,” teased Sheila: “If in July we also asked the Assistant Commissioner for our own helicopter, we wouldn’t need to keep paying Louie to rent his Bell Huey.”
         “Sheils, how dare you,” complained Louie as he dropped them off outside the Yellow House: “And I thought you were a friend of mine.”
         “She’s only hoping that we’d be silly enough to let her fly it,” appeased Terri: “And, to coin a phrase, that ain’t gonna happen.”
         “Why not, I’m a good driver.”
         “At ground level, where we can always jump out if need be,” teased Terri: “But we can hardly jump out of a chopper if you look like crashing it.”
         “Yes, I already tried that,” said Sheila, remembering when she had recently fallen out of the Bell Huey, but with a safety harness attached, so that she bungeed back up to the chopper.
         “Besides the Assistant Commissioner is never gonna let us have both a mini-sub and a helicopter, it’s one or the other.”
         “I suppose so,” said Sheila as they headed toward the Yellow House: “And I can hardly fire torpedoes from a helicopter.”
         “Even if you could, with you piloting the chopper, someone else would have to fire the missiles, slash torpedoes.”
         “Oh, that’s right, when they send the R.A.A.F. chopper down here, Jenny pilots, and Babs fires the missiles,” said Sheila. She considered for a moment, before saying, “I suppose Colin could pilot it while I fire the missiles?”
         “No!” insisted Terri.
         
         The Gooladoo Tribe were based about ten kilometres outside Harpertown. Once a small tribe of barely forty members, their numbers had grown over the last few years when they had taken in members from other tribes twice. The second time from the now defunct Mulla-Mulla tribe after American werebison had devastated the tribe. That morning they were seated around a cook fire, finishing the last of their breakfast: fish and chips bought from Eduardo's Fish and Chips in Chappell Street, Harpertown.
         “They do great fish and chips at Eduardo's,” said a young buck, Winston Wulumu savouring his last bite of flake.
         “None better,” agreed Agnes Wandin-Din, an elderly lubra, who went around topless, pretending not to notice that the young bucks could not keep their eyes off her huge pendulous breasts. Until 2024, Agnes had been the Chief Female Elder at the Mulla-Mulla Tribe, based about twenty kilometres outside Glen Hartwell. Until most of the Mulla-Mulla people had been slaughtered, and the remainder had been invited by Bulam-Bulam to join the Gooladoo Tribe.
         “That’s for sure,” agreed Thomas Muda-Muddi.
         “Never seen better,” said Winston Wulumu unable to take his eyes away from Agnes’s huge, opulent breasts: I wonder what they would feel like in my hands? he thought: Or those thumb-sized black nipples taste like?
         Gunawadi, Muladan-Dan, Tommi-Tommi, three eighteen-year-olds were also gazing lasciviously at Agnes Wandin-Din.
         Now they’re what I call finger-licking good, thought Gunawadi, gazing dreamily at the massive pendulous breasts.
         “Yes indeed,” muttered Muladan-Dan, as though hearing Gunawadi’s thoughts.
         “Enjoying the view boys?” asked the sixty-eight-year-old lubra shaking her chest slightly to make her pendulous breasts sway from side to side.
         “What’s not to enjoy?” muttered Gunawadi, making Agnes giggle like s schoolgirl in delight.
         The young men’s heads also swayed from side to side as though they were rabbits entranced by the swaying of a snake hunting them.
         “Why must you always flaunt yourself to the lust-mad teenage bucks, Agnes?” demanded Suzie Warrabutta a tall, busty, twenty-something lubra. Unlike some of the older women in the tribe, Suzie did not go around topless; however, her clothes left little to the imagination.
         “How do you mean, Suzie?” asked Agnes, swinging her upper body again to make her massive breasts sway from side to side.
         “Tommi-Tommi and the others,” said Suzie: “You’ve got them entranced like rabbits in a spotlight, or attracted to a big-breasted serpent.”
         “Do they have big-breasted serpents?” teased Agnes.
         “I’m looking at one right now,” replied Suzie: “Or perhaps a Lamia from Irish legend.”
         “You’re just jealous of my huge tits as white people say.”
         “Why should I be jealous, mine are just as big?”
         “Get them out and show everybody then,” teased Agnes.
         “Let us be the judge,” suggested Gunawadi having to hold down his loin cloth so that his erection was not too obvious.
         “Yes, let us be the judge,” agreed Winston Wulumu, to cheers and wolf-whistles by Muladan-Dan, Tommi-Tommi and half a dozen other young bucks.
         “No, I am not an exhibitionist like that old trollop!” insisted Suzie Warrabutta, getting up to walk away from Agnes and the teenager bucks.
         “Nice arse on her when she walks,” teased Gunawadi, making Suzie squeal and run away as Agnes and the boys chortled.
         
         As they set out in Louie Pascall’s blue and white Bell Huey that morning, Sheila asked:
         “So we’re all agreed, in July we ask the chief commissioner for the moola for a military-style chopper that fires rockets.”
         “Sheils, I thought we were mates,” complained Louie, “and you’re trying to do me out of work.”
         “Mateship only goes so far, when the fate of Glen Hartwell and the surrounding towns are at stake.”
         “In other words she enjoys blowing things up,” teased Terri.
         “So I’m not allowed to have fun now?”
         “Not when it comes to blowing things up, or shooting things,” insisted Terri.
         They continued to look for the Cougar-Bat until almost noon.
         “Maybe we should stop for lunch,” suggested Sheila.
         “I’m sure Mrs. M. will have enough for you, Louie,” invited Colin.
         “Yum, yum,” said Louie: “I’ve heard of Deidre Morton’s diving cooking, but have never tasted it.”
         “Well, I’m sure ....” began Terri, stopping as her mobile phone rang.
         “Uh-oh,” said Sheila as Terri spoke on the phone.
         “That was a bushwalker, Miles Rockwell,” said Terri: “It sounds like he’s stumble across the remains of Beth Elphinstone, in the forest, outside Elroy.”
         “Yeech!” said Sheila forty minutes or so later as they looked at the remains.
         Bethany’s face, skull, and brain, breasts, buttocks, thighs, and stomach had all been eaten away, leaving little more than a skeleton with human arms and lower legs.
         Sheila had finished taking the death scene photos when two Air Ambulance choppers arrived, one for Beth Elphinstone, the other for Miles Rockwell, a tall athletic looking man in his thirties, who was flushed ghostly white.
         
         At noon, the Gooladoo tribe was having lunch in the camp site with Agnes Wandin-Din, Gunawadi, Muladan-Dan, Tommi-Tommi, and Winston Wulumu all huddled together upon a fallen gum tree used by the tribe as a bench. From time to time one of the teenagers could not resist feeling one of Agnes’s huge pendulous breasts, or rubbing a hand against her prominent backside.
         “You five make me sick!” said Suzie Warrabutta.
         We’re in for a wild ride tonight! Wandin-Din thought, openly rubbing Agnes’s full opulent breasts to the disgust of Suzie.
         Tommi-Tommi rubbed one of Agnes’s full buttocks, unable to resist giving it a hard pinch.
         “Oo!” cried Agnes” “Patience boys, there’s plenty to go around.”
         “And we’re all planning to have second and possibly even third helpings ... tonight,” insisted Gunawadi.
         Agnes giggled like a schoolgirl, while Suzie glared at all five of them.
         They had almost finished eating when Suzie spotted the fawn-coloured object winging toward them.
         “What is that?” asked Suzie.
         “What is what?” asked Bulam-Bulam, a tall, grey-haired Elder.
         “That,” said Suzie, pointing, “I can’t tell if it’s a bird, or what?”
         “Let me look,” said Agnes, not concerned as the four young bucks continued to take liberties: “My eyes are sharper than yours.”
         She turned round to look at the approaching creature, her brows soon wrinkling in astonishment.
         “Well, Madam Know-It-All?” teased Suzie Warrabutta.
         “I don’t have a clue what it is,” admitted Agnes Wandin-Din: “But I think we should all run for our tents or huts.”
         So saying, she started running toward the rear of the village, followed by the four horny teenaged bucks.
         As the other tribal Aborigines staggered to their feet, the Cougar-Bat swooped down toward Suzie Warrabutta.
         Shrieking, Suzie leapt to the ground, almost escaping the long Eagle-like talons of the creature, which ripped open her shirt and bra at the back, leaving deep, gouges across her back, from which blood fountained.
         Forgetting his own safety, Bulam-Bulam raced across to place his coat against the screaming lubra’s back, trying to staunch the flow of blood.
         Ignoring the two Aborigines, the Cougar-Bat sailed after Agnes Wandin-Din and her all-male harem.
         “Get into my tent,” called Agnes.
         She raced into the tent, followed by Winston Wulumu, Gunawadi, and Muladan-Dan. Unfortunately, Tommi-Tommi was just too late, screaming in terror as the Cougar-Bat wrapped its talons around his shoulders and swept up into the air, soon above the reach of the Aborigines’s spears, even thrown by woomeras.
         
         “Maybe we can now go to the Yellow House for lunch?” begged a starving Sheila Bennett as the Air Ambulance helicopters took off.
         “I don’t see why not,” agreed Terri as they returned to the Bell Huey.
         “Take us to Merridale,” Colin said to Louie, seconds before Terri’s mobile phone rang.
         “Oh no!” said Sheila as Terri talked on her phone.
         Disconnecting, Terri said, “That was Bulam-Bulam, the Cougar-Bat has gored Suzie Warrabutta’s back with its talons and flown off with Tommi-Tommi.”
         “Oh, no, he’s a mate of mine,” said Sheila forgetting her hunger.
         Less than ten minutes later, the Bell Huey met up with the large cougar like wildcat, with huge fawn coloured wings, and eagle-like talons on its feet.
         Snarling its oversized house cat snarl, the creature continued toward the chopper.
         Sheila opened the door to step out onto the helicopter’s skid.
         “Ah, ah, put your safety harness on first, Sheils!” ordered Terri.
         “Yes, Mummy,” teased the Goth chick putting on the safety harness, before opening the door again.
         “What a minute,” said Colin: “If you shoot that thing out of the air, poor Tommi-Tommi will fall to his death.”
         “Damn, yes,” said Sheila standing upon the skid, but holding onto the helicopter door with her right hand.
         Terri thought for a moment, then said, “Louie, try to push the Cougar-Bat a few metres further to the west, toward the Yannan River. With Buildings and Works having deepened it a year or so back, Tommi-Tommi should be able to survive a fall into it, even if he breaks both legs.”
         “Will do,” said Louie as Sheila climbed back into the chopper.
         For the next ten minutes or more the Bell Huey and the Cougar-Bat engaged in a dogfight of sorts, in which gradually they managed to force the creature the way that they wanted, until it was directly over the river.
         Climbing out onto the skid again, Sheila shouted across to the Aborigine:
         “Don’t panic when it drops you, bend your knees just as you hit the water.”
         “Okay,” said Tommi-Tommi weakly.
         Careful not to shoot the young buck, Sheila fire both barrels of the shotgun at the creature, narrowly missing it with both.
         “Try hitting it, Sheils,” advised Colin.
         “Thank you, Professor Know-It-All,” said the Goth chick firing both barrels again.
         This time some pellets hit the Cougar-Bat, making it snarl at them, but still it clung onto its intended prey.
         “Oh, a stubborn moggy, ah?” said Sheila.
         Reloading she fired again, this time making the Cougar-Bat screech in agony and drop the young buck, who fell screaming into Lake Cooper. After a few seconds he returned to the surface of the lake, and struggled unsuccessfully to climb up onto the bank.
         Sheila fired two more shells at the Cougar-Bat, sending it crashing down to also fall into the cold water.
         “Take me down, so that I can help Tommi-Tommi,” said Sheila, before jumping off the skid to bungee down closer to the lake.
         “Will do,” said Louie.
         He took Sheila down to less than five metres above the water, then she unharnessed and dropped into the river, to swim across to pick up the young buck who was screaming in agony, having shattered both lower legs.
         “Easy, easy, mate,” said Sheila carrying him up to the shore: “The Air Ambulance will be here soon.”
         Seeing the Cougar-Bat still flapping about in the river Colin and Terri walked across to the edge of the bank and opened fire upon it with their shotguns.
         After the Air Ambulance chopper had taken Tommi-Tommi away, Sheila said, “I’m getting pretty good at this shooting monsters out of the air, without killing their captives.”
         “As well as bungee-jumping from the helicopter,” said Colin, making everyone laugh.
         

         THE END

         © Copyright 2026 Philip Roberts

         Melbourne, Victoria, Australia