The sudden arrival of Paul, his energy almost palpable as he rushed into our camp, immediately drew my attention away from the comfort of the bonfire. “Karen!” he called out, his voice carrying a sense of urgency that made me sit up straight. “I need a favour.”
“Sure, Paul. What’s up?” I asked, my curiosity piqued by the somewhat excited tone in his voice.
“We’ve got some new residents,” he began, the corners of his mouth curling into an odd smirk that momentarily filled me with unease. “A goat named Vincent and a bunch of hens from Yunta,” he clarified.
For a moment, I was taken aback. “You’re kidding!” I couldn't help but blurt out, my voice tinged with both surprise and a hint of amusement.
Paul’s response was accompanied by a wry smile that seemed to dance in his eyes. “I wish I was. Beatrix just brought them in. We need to get them settled somewhere,” he said.
A soft chuckle escaped me as I carefully set my mug down on the table beside me. The thought of welcoming a goat and a bunch of hens to our camp was both amusing and strangely endearing. For a brief second, my mind wandered to the drink I was leaving behind, considering the insects that might take the opportunity to dive into it. But then I remembered - Clivilius, with all its oddities, seemed to be devoid of such small pests. No ants to march into my mug, no flies to hover over our meal.
Energised by the task at hand, I rose from my seat by the bonfire. “Alright, let’s do this,” I declared, though a practical concern immediately came to mind. “But where do we put them? We don’t exactly have any secure enclosures.”
Paul’s eyes sparkled with sudden inspiration, a characteristic I was gradually getting used to. He was full of surprises, his enthusiasm seemingly boundless. “How about Glenda’s BMW?” he suggested with a hint of excitement. “It's secure, and it’s not like she’s using it right now.”
Under normal circumstances, the idea of using a luxury car as a makeshift animal enclosure would have seemed absurd. But in the context of Clivilius, with its unending surprises, it somehow made sense. I couldn’t help but laugh, a genuine chuckle at the oddity of our situation and Paul’s earnest suggestion. “A BMW coop? Why not!” I agreed, amused by the practicality of his idea. “It’s the safest place for them tonight, especially with no fences up yet.”
Together, Paul and I headed towards Glenda’s car. As we drove the vehicle over to the Drop Zone, curiosity got the better of me. “So, how did we end up with a goat and chickens?”
Paul launched into an animated recount of Beatrix’s unexpected rescue operation and the ensuing chaos that followed. I listened intently, my mind picturing the scene. Shaking my head in disbelief, I tried to comprehend the turn of events.
If Beatrix is going to rescue every animal she comes across, we’re going to need more than just the help of Grant and Sarah, I remarked to myself, half-jokingly. We’ll be needing an entire wildlife team before long!
Arriving at the Drop Zone, the sight that greeted us was almost comical. Vincent the goat meandered about, appearing quite content with his new surroundings, while the hens pecked at the dusty ground, seemingly exploring every inch of their newfound freedom.
The scene at the Drop Zone quickly escalated into a farcical display that would have given any seasoned comedian a run for their money. As Paul swung open the back of Glenda's BMW, converting the luxury vehicle into an impromptu chicken coop, I couldn't help but marvel at the absurdity of our situation.
The hens, sensing their impending relocation, seemed to have conspired to make our task as difficult as possible. Each time we thought we had one cornered, it would dart away with a surprising burst of speed, leaving us grasping at thin air and a cloud of dust.
“Got any experience with chicken catching, Paul?” I asked, my words laced with humour as I watched him lunge awkwardly at a hen, only to stumble forward as it nimbly sidestepped him.
“Not exactly part of my skillset,” Paul responded, a hint of amusement in his panting voice. “But how hard can it be?”
The chickens, however, seemed to take his words as a personal challenge. One particularly spry hen led Paul on a merry chase, darting between his legs, doubling back, and at one point even perching atop his head, leaving Paul spinning in circles.
I threw myself into the fray, determined to show off my hen-wrangling skills honed on my own land. But these hens were not the docile creatures I was accustomed to. They zigzagged across the Drop Zone with the agility of seasoned athletes, dodging every attempt at capture with an almost cheeky flair.
At one point, I managed to corner a hen against the car, only for it to leap over my outstretched hands, ruffle its feathers, and strut away, leaving me sprawled on the ground.
Paul and I exchanged looks of exasperation and disbelief, our efforts descending into fits of laughter. We must have been quite the sight, two grown adults engaged in a comedic battle of wits with a flock of hens.
“Wait,” I said, stopping abruptly, a new idea of my own arriving. “What if we lure them in with some food?” I suggested.
Paul nodded.
The brief walk back to camp was almost a relief. It gave me a moment to gather my thoughts and a much-needed break from the comedic chaos. I scavenged for seeds and leftover food scraps, gathering an assortment that I hoped would be irresistible to our feathered escape artists. Additionally, I grabbed a makeshift fire torch, acutely aware that our prolonged efforts might extend into dusk, and the last thing we needed was to be caught in the dark with a flock of uncooperative hens.
Returning to the Drop Zone, I laid out a tempting trail of food leading straight into the back of Glenda's BMW. Paul and I then stepped back, crossing our fingers that our plan would work.
To our delight and slight amusement, the hens, ever curious and perpetually hungry, began to take notice of the food. One by one, they pecked their way towards the car, lured by the promise of an easy meal. Their heads bobbed inquisitively as they approached the car, and then, almost tentatively, they hopped inside.
Paul's comment, delivered with his usual good-natured grin, brought a smile to my face. “Looks like we’ve found our chicken whisperer,” he said, looking at our accomplished task with a sense of pride.
I watched as the last hen cautiously made its way into the luxury coop, the strange reality of the situation not lost on me. We carefully shut the doors of the BMW, taking extra care to leave the windows cracked open just enough to ensure good air circulation, yet narrow enough to safeguard our feathered guests from any potential predators lurking in the night.
“This has got to be the most expensive chicken coop in history,” I joked, my laughter echoing our shared amusement over the absurdity of housing chickens in a high-end vehicle.
Paul's smile faltered slightly. “I hope Glenda has a sense of humour,” he mused thoughtfully.
“We’ll clean it up before she finds out,” I assured him, though a part of me couldn't shake off the uneasy feeling that Glenda’s absence might extend longer than any of us anticipated. As much as I tried to maintain a light-hearted approach to our situation, the reality of our predicament in Clivilius often loomed in the back of my mind.
Deciding to end our chicken adventure on a high note, I added with a chuckle, “Let’s just hope the chickens don’t go for a joyride.” The image of chickens behind the wheel of Glenda's BMW, cruising around Bixbus, was amusing enough to momentarily distract from the more serious undertones of our conversation.
The sudden appearance of a car emerging from the Portal instantly drew Paul's attention away from our previous conversation. “Beatrix!” he shouted as soon as she stepped out of the vehicle, and he dashed towards her with a sense of urgency.
Grabbing the fire torch, I trailed behind Paul, my curiosity piqued by his sudden excitement. "And hopefully it’s not more hens," I murmured to myself, only half-joking given our recent escapade.
Reaching Beatrix, Paul wasted no time. “Did you find her?” he asked, his voice filled with hopeful anticipation.
Beatrix's response, however, was a shake of her head accompanied by a somber, “Sorry, Paul. I couldn’t find her.”
Standing next to Paul, I felt somewhat disconnected from their conversation. I wondered who 'her' referred to and why Paul seemed so invested in Beatrix's search.
Paul’s reaction was one of immediate disappointment. “Really?” he said, his voice deflating.
It was then that Beatrix noticed me and asked, “Is everything okay here?”
“We've been chasing those blinkin' chickens of yours,” I said to Beatrix, a hint of humour in my voice but underscored with a serious undertone. While I tried to keep the mood light, I couldn't mask my feelings of frustration about the situation she had inadvertently created.
Beatrix’s decision to bring a goat and chickens to Clivilius, although well-intentioned, seemed to lack practical forethought. She had introduced these animals into our already complex environment without considering the essential resources they would need for their safety and sustenance. I glanced at Beatrix, hoping she would understand that while her heart was in the right place, her actions had consequences that affected all of us. In Clivilius, every decision, no matter how small, could have significant implications.
A look of confusion spread across Beatrix's face. For a moment, I questioned whether Paul had confused Beatrix with Luke, but before I could voice my thoughts, Paul stepped in with an explanation.
“You gave me an idea earlier. I was going to wait for your return, but then I figured that they’d probably be better in separate cars anyway,” he explained.
However, Beatrix remained blank.
“The chickens,” Paul reiterated.
“Yeah, I got that part,” Beatrix replied sourly. “What about the chickens?”
I groaned loudly at the over complicated turn of the conversation.
“I’ve taken Glenda’s car…” Paul began.
“You mean we,” I interjected, not letting Paul take all the credit for cleaning up Beatrix’s mess.
“Of course,” Paul corrected himself. “We’ve taken Glenda’s car to the Drop Zone and decided to turn it into a hen house.”
“You’ve put the chickens in a BMW?” Beatrix exclaimed, her voice echoing her disbelief.
I couldn't help but chuckle, even as I recognised the ridiculousness of it all. “I take that back,” I said with a smirk, turning to Paul. “The idea was all yours, Paul.”
Paul, for his part, seemed a little defensive. “It’s not as though we really had many options,” he protested. “We can’t very well leave them running freely around camp. They’re a threat to all of us.”
I nodded in agreement with Paul. “He’s not wrong,” I added.
“We can’t risk them attracting more wild creatures,” Paul reiterated, trying to justify our unconventional decision.
Beatrix’s frown deepened. “So, you’d rather sentence them to a torturous death out here… alone?” she questioned, her tone laced with accusation.
I felt a wave of frustration wash over me. “Beatrix, don’t be so foolish,” I retorted sharply, my eyes meeting hers with a stare that underscored the potential consequences of her actions. “You know as well as I do that we can’t let our love for the preservation of nature surpass the logical faculties that the universe has bestowed upon us.”
For a moment, both Paul and Beatrix just stared at me, as if trying to process my words. The silence was suddenly broken by the synchronised rumbling of our stomachs.
“I’m so hungry. I don’t think I’ve eaten today,” I admitted, surprised at myself for having overlooked such a basic necessity. The day’s events had been so consuming that eating had slipped to the back of my mind.
“You’re in Broken Hill now, aren’t you, Beatrix?” Paul asked, his eyes lighting up with the mention of food.
“Yeah,” Beatrix responded, her reluctance fading as the topic shifted away from chickens and toward something more mundane.
Paul’s enthusiasm for food was almost infectious. “I think there is some food being prepared back at camp, but…” he trailed off, his expression turning dreamy as he thought about the culinary delights of Broken Hill. “You must get us some Rags chips. They are simply divine,” he said, almost moaning at the thought.
“Rags?” Beatrix echoed, her confusion evident. The name didn't seem to ring a bell with her.
“They’re on Oxide Street. Simply the best chips you’ve ever tasted!” Paul declared with a fervour that made me chuckle. His passion for food was a pleasant distraction from our usual discussions about survival and logistics.
“Sure,” Beatrix finally acquiesced, perhaps more to appease Paul’s enthusiasm than out of any real interest in the chips.
As we waited for Beatrix’s return, Paul and I found ourselves engrossed in conversation about the day's events. The topics meandered from the chickens and their luxury coop to more pressing matters we faced daily in Clivilius. It was a peculiar, yet comforting, bonding experience. Sharing our thoughts and reflections on the day’s adventures, absurdities, and challenges had a way of bringing us closer. It was moments like these that underscored our shared human experience in this strange new world – a world where each day was as unpredictable as the last, yet filled with moments of camaraderie that made it all bearable.
As Beatrix approached, the enticing aroma of freshly cooked chips wafted towards us, instantly making my mouth water. But it wasn't just the chips that caught my attention. Beatrix was also carrying a container brimming with something unfamiliar.
“This,” Beatrix announced, her voice tinged with excitement, “is cheeseslaw. Apparently it's a game-changer.”
I watched as Paul eagerly reached for the cheeseslaw. Curiosity getting the better of me, I grabbed a chip and scooped up a generous portion of the cheeseslaw. The moment the combination touched my taste buds, I was pleasantly surprised. The cheeseslaw, a delightful twist on traditional coleslaw, but with an added cheesy richness, complemented the salty crispness of the chips perfectly. The unique flavours melded together in a way that was both satisfying and unexpectedly delightful.
“Wow, this is amazing!” I couldn't help but exclaim, my initial skepticism vanishing with each bite. The chips were indeed divine, just as Paul had promised, and the cheeseslaw was an excellent addition.
Paul, still enjoying his mouthful of food, asked between bites, “Should we share this with the rest of the camp?”
I considered his question for a moment. But as we both reached for more chips and cheeseslaw, our actions spoke louder than words. We continued to indulge in this rare treat, our collective silence confirming that, for now, this was our little moment to enjoy.
