in the hell?” I spun around in my seat to watch them, my heart hammering.
“Flying foxes,” he said, voice clipped. “They’re a species of giant fruit bat. Largest flying mammal there is.” His gaze remained fixed on the road ahead, his neck muscles taut. “Bloody things started migrating into the region in swarms when some of the gums started to blossom early due to this weird hot weather. More than one hundred thousand at last count have set up camp in this area—like a fucking megabat epidemic.”
I blinked. I’d not heard Martin swear in casual conversation. Once again I noted the thickness of his Aussie accent, the changes in his features. Or was I seeing things crookedly through my haze of malaise? A thread of fear curled through me. Paranoia had been a side effect of my drug and alcohol abuse after I’d let Chloe slip through my hands and drown. I’d fought back from it. Maybe I should not have taken the sedatives on the plane. Maybe I would slip again.
“The shire has set up a task force to figure out how to deal with the buggers because they’re a protected species and you can’t just kill them. They shit over everything. Foul-smelling orange guano.”
I stared in horror as another mass of giant bats flapped along the line of gums where the trees had been cleared to make way for the road.
He slowed and put on the indicator as we approached a sign that pointed to the Agnes Basin. We turned off the highway and onto a smaller road that led toward the ocean. We passed a placard affixed to a post. It was torn and flapped in the wind. Letters big and black.
STOP AGNES MARINA!
“Martin?” I turned in my seat. “Is that aimed at us?”
“It’s nothing. It’s normal. Every development gets that stuff. Bloody greenies.”
I saw another poster, edges torn and snapping in hot wind.
NO! TO AGNES MARINA
A few hundred meters farther, several placards had been hammered into trees.
MAKE A PARK, NOT A RESORT FOR MILLIONAIRES,
SAVE THE ENVIRONMENT, STOP AGNES!
SAVE THE FISH EAGLE
SAVE OUR FISHING HABITAT
Martin took the ute onto a smaller side road. As we rounded a curve, we were warned by a forest of red signs planted like election banners into the dry verges.
STOP, STOP, STOP, STOP.
DEATH TO THE MARINA.
VOTE MAYOR OUT!
Kangaroos grazed between the signs, looking like giant rats with malformed hands. Wind gusted. Branches and twigs crashed down from the gums, and leaves dry from drought scattered across our path. My head felt thick, as though I weren’t really here and I were seeing all this through some viscous filter from far away. Pressure began to build inside my ears. A heavy sensation pressed down into my gut. My own words to my father when I’d told him about our venture filtered up into my memory.
Besides, how wrong can it go?
“Martin,” I said softly, trying to pull myself into focus, “this seems—”
“Most people in this shire, Ellie, including the majority of councillors plus the mayor, are more than pleased at the prospect of construction jobs,” he said crisply. “They’re pro the development. And new jobs mean more votes, and the new houses will bring more taxes for the shire coffers, and new houses will mean more residents for the constituency, and that means more state funds.”
Another tattered sign flapped on a fence.
SAVE THE FISH EAGLES, KILL THE MARINA
“But the environmental study is—”
“In the bag, dammit, I told you! The consultants were chosen because they’re on my side. They’ve promised it will be positive. It’ll be good.”
“I thought environmental consultants were supposed to be neutral.”
He swore under his breath. “You can be so naive. Don’t worry about it—I said it’s fine, okay? Everything is going to be okay.” His voice turned quiet. But his neck was corded and so were his arms. He flicked a glance at me, and he must have seen the extent of the shock in my eyes because his features softened almost instantly. He sighed. “Look, I’m sorry, El.” He took in another deep, regulating breath. “I realize this development stuff is all new to you, but every project has to jump through these hoops, and it always comes with bumps. And those bumps can be frustrating. Creating a marina that requires deep channeling into an estuary thick with mangroves where local fishermen hide illegal crab pots and do what in the hell they like—of course you’re going to get objections. But the bottom line is, approvals are on track, presales