ZIGONG RHINO

A friend of Tung Wu Chiang comes to Glen Hartwell as does a lethal Zigong Rhinoceros

                   In Percival township, Mi Ling Cohen’s family were entertaining a Chinese friend, Zhang Jun Hie, whom they had not seen in over a decade. The house in 42 Cochran Drive was tastefully made out in all Chinese decor which was at odds with the white three-piece suit that Tung Wu wore. Although it fitted in perfectly with the red and gold-animal-specked floor-length dresses that Mi Ling and her mother, Swan Li, both wore.
         “It is so long since we have seen you, Chuyn-Hee-E,” said Tung Wu furiously shaking the tall, handsome Chinese man’s hand.
         “My, you have grown into a very handsome young man, a good catch for any young woman.” said Swan Li, bowing to Jun Hie, before kissing him upon the right cheek.
         “Mother, I know it is over two years since Barry died, but I am not ready to even consider remarrying yet,” protested Mi Ling.
         “Who said I was talking about him catching you?” demanded Swan Li.
         “Who said you weren’t,” said Tung Wu, coming to his daughter’s defence: “Swan Li’s usually very tactful, but not when it comes to trying to marry off poor Mi Ling.”
         “Well she is twenty-seven now,” said Swan Li, refusing to be put off: “A ripe old age for a widow woman.”
         “So, to change the subject, Chuyn-Hee-E,” said Tung Wu: “How is life in Zigong Province?”
         “Not bad ... if you don’t mind bumping into the occasional rhinoceros, they’re everywhere.”
         “That must be quite scary,” suggested Mi Ling.
         “Not really, they’re gentle giants as long as you don’t startle them ... The recommended procedure for having come face to face with a rhino, is to stand perfectly still until it loses interest in you and goes back to eating your crops, if you’re a farmer, then slowly back away, careful to stop again if it looks up at you, and never ever give in to the temptation to turn and run screaming away.”
         “I guess that would startle them,” conceded Mi Ling.
         The four people were seated upon traditional Chinese cane chairs, around a large round Chinese table with a rotating centre section containing plates with Chinese treats: tofu-based snacks, rice crackers, scallion-flavoured crackers, and localised, umami-rich potato chips in traditional flavours like roasted garlic oyster or hot-and-sour soup; roasted sunflower seeds and spiced peanuts.
         Picking up a few garlic oyster potato chips, Jun Hie said, “It is nice to see that you have not given in like so many Chinese expats to eating nothing but Western foodstuffs.”
         “We do enjoy fish and chips sometimes,” teased Mi Ling, making her father and houseguest laugh, while her mother tut-tutted.
         “You will never convince him to propose to you, if you say things like that,” insisted Swan Li.
         “Mother!” protested Mi Ling.
         “You have a very beautiful daughter, Mrs. Chiang,” said Jun Hie: “But I am not yet ready to settle down to married life.”
         “But marriage is the making of any man,” insisted Swan Li: “Isn’t that so Tung Wu?”
         “Yes it’s true,” teased Tung Wu: “We do have fish and chips sometimes.”
         As everyone else laughed, Swan Li glared at her husband.
         “Do you want your beautiful daughter to end up a spinster?”
         “She can’t be a spinster, she’s a widow,” said Tung Wu, silenced immediately: “I am so sorry, Mi Ling to be so heartless.”
         “That’s all right, father, after two and a bit years, the worst of the pain is over.”
         “So you are now ready to remarry and give us a dozen grandchildren?” asked Swan Li.
         “No!” cried Mi Ling and Tung Wu as one.
         To change the subject, Jun Hie said, “Try some of these garlic oyster potato chips, they are divine.”
         “Thank you,” said Mi Ling spinning the centre section of the table to help herself to a few of the chips.
         
         Over in the forest just outside Glen Hartwell, in the Victorian countryside that Sunday, the 29^th of March 2026, the local police were engaging in target practice.
         Walking across to the boot of the police white Jeep Cherokee Sheila Bennett, a tall bodybuilding chick, lifted out a bazooka and a box of a dozen shells.
         “So how many shells can I fire off?” asked the Goth chick with black-and-orange striped hair.
         “Three should be enough,” suggested Terri Klein, a tall beautiful blonde, Senior Sergeant of the local police.
         “What, but I’d hardly get started when I’d have to stop,” complained Sheila, Chief Constable of the local area: “I am the official police champion for the use of weapons and blowing stuff up.”
         “It’s true, she’s got a medal for that,” said Alice Walker, a tall athletic brunette in her mid forties.
         “And the Victoria Police Service Medal for ten years of diligent and ethical service,” added Sheila: “Plus a clasp issued for an extra five years of service, and by the end of this year I should get a second clasp. Although I am a little miffed not to have got yet the Australian Police Medal, awarded by the Governor-General on Australia Day or the King’s Birthday.”
         “The King’s Birthday is the 8^th of June this year, you might get one then,” placated Terri.
         “Haven’t you got the Australian Police Medal, Tezza?” asked Stanlee Dempsey, a tall raven-haired sergeant in his late forties.
         “Thank you, officer,” said Terri: “Feel free to call me Chief from now on.”
         “What?” demanded Sheila: “When did you get the Australian Police Medal, and why wasn’t I told about it?”
         “I got it soon after I was promoted to Senior Sergeant of the BeauLarkin to Willamby area, Sheils. I didn’t tell you, because I didn’t want to upset you.”
         “I don’t suppose you mentioned to the Governor-General that I started as a policewoman the same day you did, and have given just as distinguished and meritorious service?”
         “I meant to, but the opportunity never arose.”
         “A likely story,” said the Goth chick.
         “If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll let you fire four, no five shells at the trees.”
         “Make it six, and I might even forgive you,” offered the Goth chick.
         “Don’t push your luck, Sheils,” said Terri as they crunched across the carpet of dried pine needles and gum leaves.
         “Hey, look at that huge blue gum,” said Sheila pointing at it: “It’s already got a big red ‘X’ painted on it; a perfect target.”
         “Ah, ah,” corrected Colin Klein, a fifty-year-old redheaded Englishman, and Terri’s husband: “The big red ‘X’ means it’s an old-growth tree.”
         “And therefore cannot be used for target practice,” added Terri.
         “Damn it, that big red ‘X’ makes a perfect target.”
         “That red gum over there doesn’t have an ‘X’ on it, marm,” pointed out Stanlee Dempsey.
         “Oh, it’s a tiny thing, barely worth blowing up ... or down.”
         “Go on, Sheils,” placated Alice: “Blowing something up will make you feel better.”
         “Well, okay,” said Sheila, slamming a shell into the rear of the Bazooka: “As they say in Monty Python Movies, runaway.”
         Doing as instructed, everyone ran behind Sheila, careful not to stand directly behind the bazooka.
         Taking careful aim, she fired the bazooka, hitting the tree about halfway up. Upon the explosion, there was a spray of shattered wood and the top half of the gum tree plummeted to Earth, sending up a spray of pine needles and gum leaves.
         “Yatzi!” cried Sheila: “Cop that, young Harry!”
         “I knew destroying stuff would cheer her up,” said Alice. Then to Terri: “So what happens to the trees she fells?”
         “I’ll get George and Eunice duBois from Buildings and Works to chop them up for firewood, Mrs. M. has requested a tonne or so to feed into her stove.”
         “Have you meantioned to her that we now have electric cookers?” asked Alice.
         “She’s been using a wood-fired stove for forty years without burning anything yet,” pointed out Terri.
         “Clear!” called Sheila reloading the bazooka to aim at a beautiful flowering wattle tree.
         Seeing the beautiful sunshine yellow flowers, Alice said, “Ah, you’re not going to ....” Stopping as Sheila fired again.
         This time the tree split down the centre with one side crashing to Earth sending up pine needles and gum leaves, the other side broke off halfway up and the top section fell to ground.
         “We’ll have to get Eunice and George to cut down the rest of that,” said Colin.
         “Sheils, you really are a philistine,” protested Alice.
         “Don’t start bad-mouthing me when I’m carrying a bazooka,” teased Sheila.
         
         At 42 Cochran Drive, Percival the Coens, Chiangs, and their guest, Zhang Jun Hie, all retired to bed soon after 10:00 PM.
         Jun Hie waited till nearly 11:00 PM before going across to slide open his bedroom window. Although on the second storey, he climbed onto the window frame and leapt out.
         Landing on the overgrown grass in the backyard as the Zigong Rhino, or Were-Rhinoceros; standing upright like a man, the rhino was a pachyderm with thick grey skin, but its hind legs were long and shaped like a man’s, and it’s front feet were shaped like human arms, but with hard hoof-like fingers. His head was like that of a bull rhinoceros, with two great curved horns.
         Setting out at a run on its strong hind legs, upright like a human, the Zigong Rhino raced through the backyard to easily leap the deal wood fence into the back lane. Sniffing at the air, the rhino soon detected the scent of human beings in the forest nearby.
         
         Sleeping in one huge tent, five kilometres outside Percival, the Shockley Family were struggling to get to sleep.
         “Dad, can’t we go home to our own beds,” nagged Claire, fifteen, a tall girl with long flowing red hair.
         “Then we wouldn’t be camping out,” pointed out Jaye, forty-three, a tall balding redheaded man with wire-rimmed glasses.
         “That’s fine with us,” insisted Coco, fourteen, a short honey blonde girl with braces.
         “You’ll all get to sleep soon,” said Ada, thirty-eight, a tall honey-blonde with her long hair in a ponytail.
         “But, Mum, I can only sleep in my own bed,” insisted Julia, twelve, a short brunette who looked like Jaye.
         “You’ll have to sleep in another bed when you finish school and leave home,” said Jaye.
         “I’m planning to take my bed with me if I ever leave home,” said the brunette: “Although, I was thinking that after I leave school I could stay home and start paying rent to you.”
         “Little chicks have to leave the nest eventually,” insisted Ada.
         “Actually the Aussie term is Sheilas, not chicks,” corrected Coco.
         “I meant ...” began Ada stopping at the sound of running feet off in the distance: “Now what can that be?”
         “Water buffalos, or moose, or bears,” suggested Claire.
         “We don’t have any of those in Victoria, and only Buffalos up North,” corrected Ada: “What do they teach you girls at school these days.”
         “How to use Negative Action to steal jobs away from boys who might be smarter and more qualified than us,” answered Julia.
         “How to lie to CentreLink, so that it will look like we’re really trying to find work,” added Coco.
         “How to trick our parents into supporting us rent free well into our forties,” said Claire: “Uh-oh, I probably shouldn’t have told you that one.”
         “No, you shouldn’t have,” said Jaye, distracted as the sound of galloping got louder: “Could that be brumbies?”
         “Wild horses, perhaps we’d better go and check?” suggested Ada.
         The two adults picked up thirty-centimetre long U.S. Military-style torches to go outside to check.
         “You girls stay in the tent,” advised Jaye.
         “Nah-ah,” said the three girls, picking up much smaller torches to follow their parents out into the sweet smelling pine and eucalyptus forest.
         Switching on their small traditional torches, the three girls were able to see only a few metres into the forest. Then Jaye and Ada switched on their large military-style torches and the forest was lit up brightly for more than half a kilometre.
         “Wow those torches are great,” said Julia.
         “Now I know what I want for my birthday,” said Claire.
         “Same here,” agreed Coco.
         “What the Hell is it?” asked Ada, vaguely seeing the approaching creature, just outside the full beam range.
         Then the Zigong Rhino came into full view charging upright toward them.
         “A rhino,” said Jaye: “But we don’t have rhinos in Aus.”
         “And the last I heard, rhinos can’t run upright on their back legs,” said Ada.
         As its heavy feet crunched across the pine needles and gum leaves, Jaye called, “Get into the car, girls.” Then when they failed to move, “Now, dammit!”
         Waking from their reverie, the three girls turned and raced across to climb into the back seat of their yellow, late 1990s Mitsubishi Magna, where they crouched down, lying across each other in the hope of remaining unseen.
         Seeing the two adults standing as though awaiting their doom, the Zigong Rhino let out a loud unearthly scream followed by a strange, breathy trumpet call.
         Seeing the creature lower its head to bring its curved horns into played, Jaye grabbed Ada and said, “Run for it.”
         He started to drag her toward the Magna, but then his left foot caught in a large hole and he heard a loud snap and screamed almost as loudly as the rhino as his ankle broke and he fell to the soft forest floor.
         “Jaye!” cried Ada, stopping to try pulling him to his feet.
         “Run to the car, honey!” cried Jaye, too late, as the charging Were-Rhinoceros reached them.
         “Aaaaaaaaaaaaah!” shrieked Ada as the rhino’s larger horn passed right through her chest, narrowly missing her heart.
         “Ada!” cried Jaye.
         Raising its great head, the rhino lifted up Ada who was still impaled upon its larger horn.
         Trumpeting its fury, the creature began shaking its head furiously, widening the rent in the woman’s chest, allowing her lifeblood to fountain out, as it continued shaking its head, until the remains of what had been Ada Shockley went flying to land upon the bonnet of the Mitsubishi Magna, making the three girls inside scream.
         “You evil bastard!” cried Jaye, trying to climb to his feet.
         He was halfway to his feet when the Zigong Rhino impaled him right through the heart, this time careful to retreat to allow the lifeless carcase to fall to the pine needles and dried gum leaves.
         The monster let out its strange, breathy trumpet call again, then dropping to all fours raced across toward the Mitsubishi, where the three girls were hiding.
         Trumpeting again, the creature charged the rear left-hand door of the Magna, making it buckle but not open.
         It charged it a second then a third time, only ramming the door in more tightly, making it less likely to fall off.
         Trumpeting one last time in frustration, the rhino turned and raced off into the forest to return to the Chiang family home.
         In the back seat, the three girls huddled together crying for nearly eight minutes, before reaching for their mobile phones to ring Triple-O.
         
         Terri and Colin were snuggled up together, sound asleep in their room at the Yellow House in Rochester Road, Merridale, when Terri’s mobile phone started shrilling.
         “Switch off the alarm honey, so we can sleep in,” muttered a drowsy Colin.
         Terri slapped at what she thought was the alarm clock, and hit her phone instead. Reluctantly turning on the bedside lamp, she sat up bleary-eyed and looked around to see why the alarm was still ringing. Realising at last that it was her phone, she picked it up and talked for a moment or so.
         “Wakey, wakey, eggs and baccy,” she said, pushing at her husband.
         “Ready if you are, babe,” said Colin pulling her down onto the bed.
         “Not now honey, that was the Shockley girls, they say their parents have been killed in a rhinoceros attack.”
         Sitting up in bed, Colin said, “It’s funny how your hearing is off when you just wake up, I could have sworn I heard you say there has been a rhinoceros attack in Glen Hartwell.”
         “Outside neighbouring Percival actually,” said Terri, hammering upon the wall to Sheila’s room before hurriedly dressing.
         Nearly an hour later, Sheila Bennett parked the white Jeep Cherokee next to the crumpled remains of the yellow Mitsubishi. The three girls had already been sedated and were being lifted off in air ambulance helicopters when Terri and the others arrived.
         Daniel Pakenham an Air Ambulance paramedic said, “We’ve dosed the girls already, so you’d better wait till the morning to talk to them.”
         “Hey, Sheils,” called Derek Armstrong, a tall black, American-born paramedic whom Sheila was dating, “how about taking the crime scene pix so we can take away Jaye and Ada Shockley?”
         “Okey doke,” said Sheila going across to do just that; then seeing the two gored corpses: “Yeech, maybe it really was a rhino attack.”
         “That’s what the girls insisted,” said Cheryl Pritchard, a tall athletic brunette close to retirement age.
         Terri and the others stood around kibitzing while the medics did their best to make sense of the gored bodies.
         Finally Sheila asked, “So, to coin a phrase, what’s up, Docs?”
         “For all we can determine at the moment, it could have been a rogue rhino that killed them,” said Jesus Costello, a powerfully built fifty-something man, administrator and head surgeon at the Glen Hartwell Hospital.
         “Although rhino attacks are incredibly rare in Australia,” said Tilly Lombstrom, a tall, attractive fifty-something brunette, Jesus’s second in command: “Simply because, we don’t have rhinoceri in this country.”
         “We don’t have vampires, werewolfs, or zombies either,” teased Sheila: “But we’ve had attacks from all of those over the last couple of years.”
         “I really hate it when she’s right,” teased Tilly.
         “Fortunately, it doesn’t happen very often,” appeased Colin.
         “Well, we’ll have a better look at them in the hospital morgue tomorrow,” said Jesus, signalling to the paramedics to collect the corpses.
         “So it’s back to beddy-byes for us all,” said Sheila, leading the cops across to the Jeep Cherokee.”
         
         Around 8:30 the next morning, Terri, Sheila, Colin, and Alice were standing in the cold basement morgue at the hospital, watching on as Tilly, Jesus, and Elvis performed the autopsies upon Ada and Jaye Shockley.
         “How long will you be?” asked Sheila.
         “Sheils, you’re as bad as my nieces, ‘Are we nearly there yet, Aunty Tilly? Are we nearly there yet?’!”
         “So, are we nearly there yet, Aunty Tilly?” teased the Goth chick.
         “No, dammit, we’ve barely started!”
         “Perhaps we’d better go back to the camp site and see if we can follow the rhino tracks, or whatever they are?” suggested Colin.
         “Good idea, honey,” agreed Terri; then to Alice and Sheila: “Come on little girls, follow after Mummy and Daddy.”
         “Do we get a wolly-pop?” asked Sheila as they headed out into the corridor.
         Forty-seven minutes later they parked the Jeep Cherokee beside the wreck of the Shockleys’s late 1990s yellow Mitsubishi Magna.
         “Wowsers!” said Sheila: “The rogue rhino or whatever it is sure did a number on the Shockley’s Magna.”
         “They should have updated it decades ago,” suggested Alice as they started looking around for rhino tracks.
         “How dare you,” said Sheila, almost falling over as she trod in a rhino footprint: “The late 1990s Mitsubishi Magna is a classic car ... Well, maybe not that one anymore ... But in general they are.”
         “Sheils, I hope you’re not destroying evidence,” said Terri, going across to examine the print Sheila stood in.
         “They lead off toward the tent,” said Alice pointing.
         The four cops followed them up to the tent, at which point Sheila stopped, puzzled:
         “There’s something different about the prints.”
         “What?” asked Colin.
         “I’m not sure.”
         Turning, she raced back to the crushed in left side of the Magna, to examine the prints, then returned to the others to say:
         “I thought so, back where it attacked the car the rhino was on four feet.”
         “As you would expect a charging rhino to be,” pointed out Terri.
         “Except that at the tent and going into the forest, it was walking upright upon its back feet only.”
         “What?” demanded Terri, Colin, and Alice as one.
         They examined the tracks carefully and discovered that Sheila was correct.
         “Well I’ll be buggered with a broomstick,” said Colin.
         “Honey, we only do those things in private,” teased Terri.
         
         Over at Jacobson’s Lake midway between Wilhelmina and Perry Township, the Hooten family were settled in for a day’s fishing and in the case of the women, being bored shitless. They had parked their co-owned blue all-wheel-drive BMW M2 with M xDrive twenty metres from the lake, and had set up a top of the line Webber barbeque ready to cook their breakfast ... if the managed to catch it. Although an inland lake, Jacobson’s is stocked with fish every couple of winters when the lake floods and meets up with the Yannan River, which in turn leads out into Port Phillip Bay many kilometres away.
         “So when will breakfast be ready?” asked Dolores Deidre ‘Deedee’, forty-nine, a tall, curvaceous brunette.
         “As soon as we catch it,” said her husband, Oswald ‘Ossy’, fifty-two, a tall, redheaded man, a self-employed actuary who could take off the odd day whenever it suited him.
         “Oh, God, I knew we should have steamed those mini dim-sims to eat before coming out here,” said Beverly ‘Bev’, fifty-two, a tall, slightly chubby brunette wearing a thick green and gold tracksuit despite late March still being quite warm.
         “Relax,” assured her husband, Isaac ‘Issi’, fifty-five, living on the Disability Support Pension due to having severely damaged his spine falling from a moving car when the door fell off: “All men are natural fishermen.”
         “No, all men think that they are natural fishermen,” correct Bev, “in truth most couldn’t catch a goldfish swimming around in a bowl.”
         “That’s not true!”
         “I’m afraid he ain’t much of a fisherman.”
         “You’re lucky,” said Deedee, “mine ain’t much of a man, but he sure can fish.”
         “How dare you, Hotstuff,” teased Ossy, “I’ll show you how much of a man I am tonight.”
         “Oy vey, another night of disappointment,” teased Deedee, making everyone laugh.
         “How dare you, I’ll tell Rabbi O’Shane what a bad Jewish wife you are if you don’t mend your ways.”
         “Uh-oh,” said Bev: “The last thing you need is one of Rabbi O’Shane’s three-hour lectures on how to be a good Jewish wife.”
         “Oy vey, yes,” agreed Deedee.
         “Okay, enough nattering, now be good silent Jewish wives, while your mucho-men Jewish husbands catch your breakfast,” instructed Issi.
         “All right, but if you haven’t caught anything by nine o’clock, we’re being bad Jewish wives and taking the car into town to buy some Kosher fish and chips,” instructed Bev.
         “Oy vey, women,” said Ossy: “You can’t live with them, and you can’t fuck without them.”
         “Thank you Don Juan,” teased Bev.
         “Actually, my man can’t fuck with them,” teased Deedee making both women laugh, despite their husbands glaring at them.
         
         Returning to the police-white Jeep Cherokee, Terri and the others had started to track the rhino footprints deeper into the forest, before, they reached Chesterton Street, the main street of Percival Township; at which point the prints vanished amid the dust of footprints and tyre prints across the concrete road leading into the town.
         “Either it’s a Were-Rhino which lives somewhere in Percival,” suggested Sheila: “Or it risked running straight through the township in the middle of the night while everyone was sleeping.
         “Wouldn’t the sleepers have heard it?” asked Alice Walker.
         “Not necessarily,” said Colin: “Some people can sleep through anything.”
         “And with the number of people in the area who ride horses,” added Terri: “If they did hear it, they would have assumed it was someone out late riding home.”
         “So what now, babe?” asked Colin.
         “Now we drive right through Chesterton Street, in the hope of finding the prints again at the other end of town, leading back into the forest,” suggested Terri.
         “Sounds good,” agreed Sheila as they climbed back into the Jeep.
         
         “First fish ready to be cleaned by our hungry Jewish wives,” teased Issi, holding up a large snapper.
         Sighing as she walked over to collect it, Bev said, “Typical, they do the easy part, and we get stuck with the gruesome part.”
         “Well, if you want to eat a fine Jewish breakfast,” teased Issi, throwing the fish at his approaching wife.
         Despite shrieking, Bev managed to catch the fish in her rubber-clove clad hands.
         “Is freshly caught fish even kosher?” asked Deedee hopefully.
         “As long as it has fins and scales, yes,” assured Ossy.
         “Sadly, this one has both,” admitted Bev carrying it across to the Webber to start preparing it.
         “Ready to catch the next one, honey?” asked Ossy, getting ready to throw it.
         “Absolutely not!” protested Deedee: “Flying fish is definitely not on the menu; just wait till I get there.”
         She crunch-crunched across the pine needles and dried gum leaves to take the fish from her husband; like Bev careful to put on rubber gloves first.
         “It’s a big, juicy looking mackerel,” assured Ossy: “And they’re definitely kosher.”
         “Sadly enough,” said Deedee shrieking, and almost dropping the fish as it started flapping about in an effort to escape capture: “You just be a good breakfast and accept your fate.”
         “Elisa Doolittle, it can’t talk back to you,” teased Issi.
         “It wasn’t Elisa Doolittle who could talk to the animals,” corrected Deedee racing across to hand the flapping fish to Bev.
         “How come I have to clean it?” asked Bev.
         “I’ll collect the disgusting things and you can clean them,” said Deedee heading back to the lake: “Why couldn’t they have been lobsters?”
         “We’re not allowed to eat shellfish.”
         “I know!”
         
         After reaching the opposite end of Percival, the four cops failed to find any rhino tracks leading back into the forest.
         “Does this mean we’re looking for a were-rhino?” asked Alice.
         “I doubt it,” said Terri.
         “Why not?” demanded Sheila: “We’ve had were-every-other-kind-of-creatures in the area over the last few years.”
         “God, don’t you hate it when Sheils is right?” said Colin.
         “Yes!” said Terri and Alice together.
         “So what’s next?” asked Colin.
         “Now we get our indigenous Elder mate to try to sift through the various footprints to see if he can distinguish which set started as rhino prints.”
         
         The Hooten family had finished their kosher fish breakfast and the men had returned to fishing, while the women went across to sit in the rear of the BMW M2 to read women’s magazines.
         “What do you even see in those magazines?” demanded Issi.
         “They’re a Hell of a lot more entertaining than fishing on the sandy bank of a lake,” insisted Deedee.
         “Why are you even catching more fish,” asked Bev.
         “For lunch, of course,” said Ossy.
         “Oy vey!” said both women.
         “Seriously, we’re staying here for lunch too?” asked Deedee.
         “Natch,” said Issi.
         “I’m really missing those mini dim sims,” said Bev.
         “Here, here,” said Deedee.
         “If you’re good Jewish wives, and stop complaining, we might shout you tea at that new kosher restaurant in Rosanna Road,” offered Issi.
         “Morty’s Kosher Cuisine?” asked Deedee: Why am I not jumping for joy?”
         Before either man could comment, they heard a loud unearthly scream from nearby in the forest.
         “What the heck was that?” asked Bev.
         “Probably just a bear in heat, having smelt you two ladies,” teased Ossy.
         “There are no bears in Australia,” pointed out Deedee; however, the two women pulled their feet into the car and closed the doors to be on the safe side.
         At that moment, the unearthly scream rang out again, followed by a strange, breathy trumpet call, as the Zigong Rhino charged into the camp site.
         “What the heck?” asked Bev: “Leaning over the front seat, she honked the horn to get the two men’s attention.”
         “What the Hell are you ...?” began Issi, forgetting that he wasn’t supposed to believe in Hell.
         Turning the two men saw the slightly strange looking rhinoceros; although on all fours this time, it’s arms and legs had a distinctly human look to them, despite being in grey pachyderm form.
         “What the fuck is it?” asked Ossy.
         Ignoring the two men, the rhino raced across to head-butt the right rear door of the BMW, making Deedee scream and almost jump into Bev’s lap.
         Backing up, the rhino charged the door again, making both women scream.
         “Get away from them, you freak!” shouted Issi, charging the rhino with no weapon except a fishing rod.
         Opening the window a little, Bev shouted, “The filleting knife, honey, get the filleting knife.”
         Obeying his wife, Issi raced across to the small table beside the Webber BBQ and grabbed the knife. However, as he turned with it, the rhino charged and head-butted him in the stomach before he had time to stab it or throw the knife.
         Screaming as the head-butt shattered his pancreas Issi went flying over the Webber to crash headfirst into a large blue gum tree, breaking his neck with a loud snapping.
         “Issi!” shouted Bev, drawing the rhino’s attention again.
         “Oh, no you don’t,” cried Ossy, having thrown down his fishing rod, he grabbed a large fallen tree branch and raced across to whack the rhino repeatedly about the head and neck with it.
         Screaming again, the rhino reverse direction and charged Ossy, who managed to leap aside just in time, sending up a spray of pine needles and gum leaves as he belly-whacked the ground.
         Letting out its breathy trumpet call, the rhino skidded to a halt, however, Ossy had raced across to climb into the front seat of the BMW.
         Screaming in rage, the rhino turned and head-butted the side door again; this time there was a great rending sound as the right-side door buckled inwards and also the larger horn on the rhino’s head broke off at the base.
         Screaming in pain and frustration this time, the rhino reluctantly turned away and raced back into the pine and eucalyptus forest.
         
         They had already reached Chappell Street, Harpertown, when Terri’s phone rang to tell her of the attack upon the Hooten family.
         Seeing the Jeep pull up outside his grocery story, Bulam-Bulam an Elder of the Gooladoo Tribe outside Harpertown came out to investigate.
         Tossing open the front passenger door, Sheila called, “Get in, mate, we’ll explain on the way.”
         By the time they reached Jacobson’s Lake, they had filled in the tall, grey-haired man on what had happed to the Shockley family the night before and where their investigations had led them.
         At the lake they found three Air Ambulance Choppers taking off with Deedee, Ossy, and Bev Hooten aboard.
         Before climbing into the last chopper, Daniel Pakenham pointed to where the shattered remains of Issi Hooten lay:
         “That one’s yours, Sheils.”
         “Yeech, thanks, mate.”
         “And there’s an interesting souvenir near the crashed in rear door of the BMW.”
         “Yeech is right,” said Colin looking at the crushed in door.
         “Why does it always seem worse when it’s a BMW or Bentley or something that’s had a door crushed in, rather than a common Rolls-Canardly?”
         “You’re getting snobby in your middle-age,” teased Sheila.
         She snapped off the death scene photos then walked across to the BMW, where Colin and Terri were examining the broken rhino horn, which was coated in blood. As Terri reached to pick it up, Sheila called:
         “Ah, ah, Tezza let me photograph it first.”
         She raced across to snap off a couple of pictures, and then Terri picked up the large curved horn.
         “Well, if that’s not a rhino horn, I’ll go he,” said Colin.
         “And the bugger seems to have lost a lot of blood from the horn breaking off,” said Terri.
         “Yes,” said Colin: “Unlike cattle or antelope horns, rhino horns are made entirely of compressed keratin. They’re more like giant, solid outgrowths of skin and hair rather than true bone.”
         “So what do we do now?” asked Sheila, “put out a rogue rhino alert?”
         “Yes, but I’ll ring Suzette Cummings our computer genius to do that,” said Terri as they returned to the Jeep.
         “Should one of us stay here with the corpse?” asked Alice Walker.
         Before Terri could answer, however, they heard the shrilling of a siren as a land ambulance approached, driven by Cheryl Pritchard.
         As they set off, Colin said to Bulam-Bulam in the shotgun seat, “We’ll follow the rhino prints from here, and hopefully you can follow them once they turn to human footprints as we’re sure they did.”
         “Last time they led us to Chesterton Street leading into Percival,” said Sheila.
         “With all that blood it’s leaking, that should be the easiest to follow,” said Bulam-Bulam.
         “Then let’s go,” said Sheila starting the Jeep.
         They were a little more than half a kilometre outside Percival, when the blood trail suddenly stopped, and the rhino prints turned into human footprints.
         “That seems to confirm the were-rhino theory,” conceded Terri.
         They followed the tracks into Chesterton Street, until reaching Cochran Street where the prints turned left, and then vanished into a mire of hundreds of other footprints.
         “I’d better get out and take some photos of the footprints, before they’re all obscured,” suggested Sheila, doing just that.
         “Could you see anything useful on the tracks?” asked Colin.
         “They say size 10½, and made in ... But I can’t work out the rest.”
         “Let me have a look,” suggested Bulam-Bulam.
         He checked the picture on Sheila’s phone, then got out and examined the tracks on the road. Returning to the car, he said:
         “It definitely starts with ‘CH’.”
         “Well, that means Chad, China, or Chile,” said Colin: “So we’ve narrowed it down to just three countries.”
         “Assuming the were-rhino comes from one of those countries,” pointed out the Aboriginal Elder: “Australia has imports from most countries in the world.”
         “Still, let’s return to Mitchell Street, and see if Suzette can clarify the pix, after loading them onto the PC,” suggested Terri.
         An hour later they were seated around the blackwood desk in the front room of Mitchell Street Police Station while Suzette finished cleaning up the pictures.
         “It definitely says Made in China, and Fuzhou,” said Suzette, a short eighteen-year-old, with long raven hair.
         “Check out Fuzhou and Shoes on Google,” suggested Colin.
         Doing as instructed, Suzette said, “Fuzhou Heva Shoes Co., Ltd. is an expensive high-quality shoe brand in China.”
         “They make expensive high-quality goods in China?” asked Sheila: “Then how come they only export shoddy crap to Australia?”
         “Good question, but not relevant at the moment,” said Colin: “More importantly, how do we check out any new arrivals from China in G.H.?”
         “Tung Wu Chiang might be able to help us,” suggested Sheila: “He’s one of the most senior members of the local Chinese community.”
         “And the Coen-Chiang family live in Cochran Street Percival,” remembered Terri.
         “I think we have our first clue,” said Bulam-Bulam as they five people raced outside to climb back into the white Jeep Cherokee.
         Fifty minutes or so later they were knocking upon the door at 42 Cochran Street, Percival.
         Swan Li, still dressed in a traditional red and gold-animal-specked floor-length dress, open the door and smiled in surprise.
         “Terri, Colin, I haven’t seen you since your wedding last December; the same with you Sheila, Alice, and Bulam-Bulam. Please come in, Mi Ling and Tung Wu will be delighted to see all of you.”
         Seated around the large black Chinese table in the dining room, with the golden revolving centre, Mi Ling said:
         “It is wonderful to see you all, please help yourselves to snacks.”
         “Ooh, thank you,’ said Sheila: “I wouldn’t mind a few roasted garlic oyster potato chips.”
         “The rest of us might play safe, and stick to rice crackers,” said Colin.
         They quickly filled in the Coen-Chiangs on what had been happening around the area lately.
         “That’s a co-incidence,” said Tung Wu: “Our house guest, Zhang Jun Hie, said that there are rhinoceri everywhere in Zigong Providence, where he comes from.”
         “Is he around at the moment?” asked Colin.
         “Upstairs in his room I think,” said Tung Wu leading them to the staircase.
         “I just love this traditional Chinese red and gold decor,” said Terri.
         “Thank you,” said Swan Li as the two women of the house followed them upstairs.
         Inside the bedroom, they found no sign of Zhang Jun Hie, however, the sliding window was wide open. Sheila strode across to the window and took a picture with her camera.
         “What is it, Sheila?” asked Terri.
         “A shoe print, which clearly says Mad in China, Fuzhou Heva Shoes Co., Ltd., Size 10½.”
         “That sound like our bebe,” said Bulam-Bulam before Sheila could.
         “Hey that’s my line, mate.” Looking out the window she said, “And there are a set of rhino tracks outside, starting with deep ones just below the window.”
         “But what does that mean?” asked Swan Li.
         “It means that your friend leapt from the window as a man and landed as a were-rhino,” explained Sheila climbing up onto the window ledge.
         “There are legends of the so called Zigong-Rhinoceros or Were-Rhino around Zigong Province,” said Tung Wu: “But I’ve never taken them seriously.”
         “Ah, ah, Sheila, what are you doing?” demanded Colin as he and Alice raced across to grab the Goth policewoman to pull her back into the bedroom.
         “I figured if the Zigong Rhino could leap down from two storeys so could I.”
         “He had strong rhino feet to land upon, you don’t,” explained Terri, “so I think we’ll use the stairs.”
         “But I’ve known Chuyn-Hee-E all of his life,” said Tung Wu: “How could he have become a Zigong Rhino.”
         “Don’t know, gotta stop him,” called back Alice as the cops raced back down the staircase toward the front door, then out toward the Jeep.
         “What street is behind Cochran Street?” asked Terri as they took off.
         “Cochran Lane,” said Sheila heading the Jeep back to Chesterton Street, to turn right into Cochran Lane.
         “Wrong way, Sheils,” said Bulam-Bulam.
         He pointed to where the Zigong Rhino could be seen running on its back feet behind them.
         “Shit!” said Sheila.
         She did a high-speed reverse into Chesterton Streets, then skidded the car to the left to reverse direction as they started back into Cochran Lane.
         “Try not to roll the Jeep,” begged Terri: “I haven’t had it very long.
         “When chasing down a marauding Zigong Rhino, one has to take risks,” insisted Sheila.
         To prove her point, she accelerated up to seventh gear and they were soon overtaking the were-rhinoceros.
         “I hope you’re not planning to ...?” began Terri.
         Cut off in mid sentence as the Jeep collided at high speed with the Zigong-Rhino.
         “Cop that, young Harry!” shouted Sheila as the were-rhino went flying through the air, to crash face first upon the ground.
         This time both of its long, curved horns broke off allowing blood to flow freely from both stumps.
         The Rhino let out one last unearthly scream, before falling silent.
         Leaping out of the Jeep as the bonnet shot up and steam started gushing from the engine, Sheila went around to the boot, to get a shotgun and some shells. Although, the rhino seemed dead, the Goth police woman made certain of it by firing half a dozen cartridges at its neck and head.
         “Now that’s what I call a good job, well done!” boasted Sheila.
         “And how the Hell are we suppose to get home, now that you’ve blown up the engine of my Jeep?” demanded Terri.
         “Don’t worry, Tezza,” soothed Sheila: “I’m sure Ed Bussy will give us a lift back to Mitchell Street, when he comes to collect the Jeep for fixing.”
         “There are times when I wish I were a Zigong-Rhino so I could stampede Sheila to death.”
         “Don’t be like that, Chief,” said Sheila.
         She walked across to pick up the two broken rhino horns, saying: “Hey, I thought the big horn had already broken off?”
         “Rhino horns can grow back,” explained Colin: “Although usually not that quickly.”
         “Anyway they have to go into the evidence room,” said Terri.
         “Oh, I wanted to keep them as souvenirs,” complained Sheila.
         “Ask her again later, when she’s not seething with rage at you,” suggested Colin.
         

         THE END

         © Copyright 2026 Philip Roberts

         Melbourne, Victoria, Australia