Short Screenplay Competition 2020 Challenge #2

The Short Screenplay Challenge is a competition that challenges writers around the world to create short screenplays (5 pages max.) based on genre, location, and object assignments in 48 hours. Each writer will participate in at least 2 writing challenges and as many as 4 depending on how well they placed.

Fantasy/Hideout/Spear

KEEPERS OF THE GARDEN

Written by Erik Garkain

LOGLINE: When reflected back are you any better that what you’ve learned?


FADE IN:

EXT. DEEP FOREST, CAMP HIDEAWAY – DAY

The shick, shick, shick of a blade against wood. Curls of bark flick and spin onto the forest floor, pale brown husks among the dense undergrowth.

RUPERT (glowering teen with a black eye, recently busted eyebrow and arms littered with scars of recent self-harm) is crouched on a fallen stump in front of a crudely assembled wooden hut. He is using a well-worn knife to shape the tip of a straight branch into a spear. Behind him, a sapling bleeds where the branch has been cracked off.

Rupert stands and holds the deadly spear tip up against the sun. He shuffles it from hand to hand before bringing it to his shoulder and pitching it forward.

It hits, and stays, in a tree only a few metres away.

EXT. DEEP FOREST, HIGH ABOVE THE TREETOPS – DAY

Trees sway and murmur despite the clear skies. Far below, Rupert yells and crashes through the undergrowth. THWACK! A triumphant cry echoes. Something screams.

EXT. DEEP FOREST – DAY

Half-caught glimpses of woodland creatures scurry out of sight as Rupert follows his spear.

The spear is anchored to the grotesquely swollen trunk of an ancient Boab tree, blood trickling from an impaled FINCH. Red, teal and black-faced, its purple and yellow chest is ruptured as green wings flap in final death throes. Despite the bright plumage the colour drains away as its blood soaks into the flaking bark of the Boab.

Rupert steps up to the finch, his hand on the spear, twisting.

RUPERT
(scowling)
How do you like it? Doesn’t feel good does it-
(his voice cracks)
-daddy?!

In a branch above, another rainbow finch dances, watching the scene below. It trills and Rupert falters, seeing it.

RUPERT (CONT’D)
Oh, I’m sorry!
(suddenly distraught)
I didn’t mean it!

Rupert pulls the spear, but the trunk is soft and spongy and it adheres to the flesh of both. The bark creaks but finally gives with a wet sucking noise and the bird releases. Rupert picks it up, cradling it in his hands.

High above, the finch’s mate twitters frantically.

EXT. DEEP FOREST, CAMP HIDEAWAY – DAY

Rupert settles the dead bird beside him underneath the shelter of his hut. He lays down next to it and sobs quietly, stroking one finger down its small head.

EXT. DEEP FOREST, CAMP HIDEAWAY – NIGHT

Rupert wakes with a start. He scrambles to his feet and climbs out from his hut. The moon is full and bright in the clear sky.

RUPERT
Oh, shit.

But Rupert knows the way out. Except the trees are thicker and more tangled under the cover of darkness. Night-time creatures sing, cry and moan.

A branch brushes against Rupert’s arm, wrapping around his wrist, leaves flattening against his skin, gripping him tight.

He attempts to dislodge the tree from his arm but as he does the branch transforms, slowly changing colour, softening to flesh. Branches now fingers, leaves now fingernails... restraining him.

Rupert yelps and rips away, the arm changing back, curled tendrils sprouting from the wooden flesh. A stray leaf descends slowly towards the ground.

The creature wavered somewhere between foliage and boy for a moment, then, FEY (treen, one arm torn at the elbow leaving jagged splinters, but otherwise a mirror image of Rupert), steps closer.

Rupert’s mouth opens and closes, unable to speak.

RUPERT
What? What are you?

FEY
You took my arm.

His voice is the rustle of the wind through the trees.

RUPERT
I-

Fey, with his remaining arm, raises the forgotten spear. Rupert stared at Fey’s arm – littered with scars, like his own, but they were carved like the whorls of an ancient tree – beautiful.

RUPERT
That’s not your arm! That’s just a stupid branch.

FEY
I am not a stupid branch.

RUPERT
But I didn’t mean it. I didn’t know!

FEY
(head cocked)
Your actions proved otherwise.

RUPERT
I’m sorry!

FEY
Blood for blood. It’s the only way.

Fey’s arm shoots out, extending like a fast-growing vine, but it slows and caresses his bruised eye. The loops and whorls fill with sap and mimicking the bleeding of a freshly cut wound. Sap spatters Rupert’s shoulder.

RUPERT
Me? Mine? What?

FEY
No. Why have you brought your pain here?

The word pain is the sound of a tree branch snapping. It is close and startles Rupert enough to make him shrink away.

RUPERT
I’m sorry. My dad, he was- I’m going to be in trouble! I’m sorry. I was upset. I didn’t mean-

He stops. His voice as he says it aloud morphs into an older huskier adult man voice. Familiar.

RUPERT (CONT’D)
I am sorry.
(weakly)
Please.

Fey’s face mirrors Rupert’s, but it’s harder, less forgiving. His arm, still on Rupert, fades and disappears back into the foliage where it had come and slowly, so does the rest of him. His voice: whispers of shuffling leaves in a gentle breeze.

FEY (O/S)
Make it right. You need to make it right or it will be you. Maybe today, maybe tomorrow – you will not be at peace…

INT. CABIN AT THE EDGE OF THE FOREST – NIGHT

Snoring, Rupert’s FATHER (beer-bellied in a stained white singlet), sits slumped in a well-worn recliner.

Rupert stands in the doorway, the light from outside not lifting the shadows from the cramped room. The spear feels light in his grip. Powerful.

He steps forward, raises the spear, and points it towards the sleeping man.

RUPERT
(resigning)
I can’t.

The Man blinks awake.

FATHER
What’s that Boy?

Rupert gasps and desperately attempts to hide the spear, but his Father is rising.

And Rupert is fleeing.

EXT. CABIN AT THE EDGE OF THE FOREST – AFTERNOON

Rupert stumbles in his panic to get away from his pursuer. The spear is wrestled from his grip.

RUPERT
Please, no.

FATHER
You made this? What were you going to do? Stick me through the heart while I was sleeping? You man enough for that?!

He prods the spear against Rupert’s chest. Prodding again. Deeper. Digging into his flesh.

FATHER (CON’T)
Coward!

Rupert scrambles up, away from the deadly point. He gets to his feet and turns advancing on the edge of the forest.

The forest is within reach. He’s almost within its safety but his Father is coming. Heavy breathing right behind him. The spear hits him, like a slug to the side of the head. He drops, stumbling, tumbling. Stops.

DARKNESS.

Muffled sobbing.

FATHER (O/S)
(echoes)
I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.

A hand, reaching out from the tendrils of darkness.

FEY
That’s enough. Come.

FADE OUT.

THE END.

Judges Feedback:

''Keepers of the Garden'' by Erik Garkain -   WHAT THE JUDGES LIKED ABOUT YOUR STORY - {2035}  The scene with the finch just broke my heart. You did such a good job showing the way Rupert's father turned Rupert into an angry boy who lashed out when he felt small. The way he sobbed, stroking the dead finch's head was absolutely gutting. I think your last scene with the father echoing Rupert's words was made even more powerful because of the depth of Rupert's grief over the bird.  {2022}  Your visual storytelling is stellar, especially in the very first scene. Pairing Rupert carving the piece of wood with the sight of his arm (which he has also carved/ self-harmed) is powerful without anything needed to be said.  {1943}  You created a very strong, mysterious and unsettling tone with this script. Rupert was a well developed and compelling character. You portrayed his torment and emotions very skillfully. The transformation as he faced Fey was very disturbing - I would love to see this play out on screen. A great ending, seeing the father's diabolical character was a strong choice. I liked the way he echoed Rupert's words. Very well done.  

WHAT THE JUDGES FEEL NEEDS WORK - {2035}  The only character who confused me was Fey. I know he was a creature from the forest who kind of embodied the spirit of the woods, but his motivation in the final scene threw me for a loop. Rupert lashed out, but was hurting; what was the reason Fey wanted Rupert's blood, rather than looking at the bigger picture of the father? Maybe there was no point, but I think that exploring Fey's character or attitude a little more thoroughly in that Fey-Rupert scene might make his decisions more clear at the end.  {2022}  I got lost on page 4. What Fey threatens to do to Rupert or what he wants Rupert to do for him as compensation was not clear to me.  {1943}  The nighttime scene when the tree grabs Rupert and Fey appears was a little challenging to follow. As the tree that grabbed him was Fey, I would introduce Fey at the start, such as "A branch brushes against Rupert’s arm, wrapping around his wrist, leaves flattening against his skin, gripping him tight. This is FEY, a treen...." It would then be helpful to describe what a "treen" is, before describing the transformation.

I have no excuses :-P except... I frequently mix tenses when I don't properly proofread (and even when I do). Poor time management with this script - I thought I had an extra day and got mixed up with the timezones, had to cram in rough edits and send it in half done. Super chuffed with the positive feedback and not surprised with the constructive stuff. I might just rework this script :-)

Short Screenplay Challenge 2020

The Short Screenplay Challenge is a competition that challenges writers around the world to create short screenplays (5 pages max.) based on genre, location, and object assignments in 48 hours. Each writer will participate in at least 2 writing challenges and as many as 4 depending on how well they placed.

Thriller/Wave Pool/Lollipop

WAVE POOL WILLIES

by Erik Garkain 2020

LOGLINE: A trans guy experiences his worst nightmares come to fruition at the local pool.

INT. WAVE POOL ADVENTURE PARK, PUBLIC BATHROOM

Wide-eyed BILLY (25, transgender) stares at himself in the mirror. The bathroom is rust-stained, water dripping a steady beat in the background. Everything looks damp, the threat of mold lurks in each corner and crevice as if the room had been recently pulled from Poseidon's depths.

BILLY

(teeth gritted)

You pass. You’ve got this. No one can tell.

Billy reaches under a baggy t-shirt emblazoned with an illegible heavy metal band logo and adjusts his disguised breasts. From his neckline the peekaboo fabric of a binder – stretched tight and unforgiving.

He brushes down his chest, checks from the side – chest flat – and stares down the mirror again, eyes narrow.

BILLY (CONT’D)

No one sees a girl. You’re fine. Look, your five o’clock shadow is almost visible—

BANG BANG BANG.

Billy startles as offscreen someone pounds on the door.

MAN (O.S)

Come on man! Hurry up!

He returns focus to the mirror momentarily.

BILLY

I’m sorry, I’m done.

Hands stuffed down his shorts, he adjusts and finally turns.

MAN (O.S)

Are you—are you a girl?!

This stops him dead.

MAN (CONT’D) (O.S)

Why are you using this bathroom? You can’t—I've gotta get in there!

Louder knocks this time, more urgent. The door shudders.

Billy unhooks the latch and pulls the door open.

EXT. WAVE POOL ADVENTURE PARK, PUBLIC BATHROOM – DAY

Leaning against the door is a MAN (50s, massive beer belly, tiny red budgie smugglers). His torso is smeared in what looks like congealed tomato sauce – not blood, surely? Billy’s eyes are downcast as he exits through the door. He attempts to push past.

One fat, thick, heavy, tomato-stained hand, drops down on Billy’s shoulder. Billy freezes, blood running cold, deer in headlights. He slowly lifts his eyes to the Man’s.

MAN

(smiles slowly)

Oh, I’m sorry, dude. It’s just—you sounded like a girl.

(laughs)

Guess puberty’s not far off!

BILLY

(shocked)

Is that... blood?

Again, the laugh.

MAN

Yeah, I, ahh, cut... myself. Sure.

He pulls the door shut, his laugh echoing.

EXT. WAVE POOL ADVENTURE PARK, POOL – DAY

Bodies press and writhe against one another all crammed together like a giant undulating swarm. Pulsating waves push from the top of the pool and filter down where, spent, they can only lap gently at the shallows.

In the shallows people collect their breath, the waves are mere millimeters compared to the ferocity of their beginnings, and the space in-between -crowds of people float. Some in donuts, others on noodles, some clutching a thick floating rope down the middle.

Screams of terror rise as a huge wave is pushed out swallowing the bodies of the many floaters.

NATHAN (30, heavily tattooed, shirtless) ducks under the wave, his long black hair swallowing his head like an octopus as he emerges. A leg – seemingly disembodied – floats by and kicks him in the ear.

Someone shrieks but their cries are cut off by a muffled gurgle.

Bodies everywhere. Waves. Bodies smashing against one another. Waves. Limbs flailing, scrambling, grabbing. More waves.

BILLY, lost in the crowd, scrambles for purchase under the unforgiving water. He goes under.

EXT. WAVE POOL ADVENTURE PARK, UNDERWATER – DAY

Bubbles, bubbles. Blood swirling.

EXT. WAVE POOL ADVENTURE PARK, POOL – DAY

BILLY’s head explodes out from underwater, gasping for air. He desperately looks around, water in his eyes.

An abandoned pool noodle floats by, a ripped t-shirt caught on top washes away as Billy grabs the noodle. He pulls it to his chest – a life preserver. He doesn’t see the shirt.

Screams again. Another wave. This one larger than any before. Hysterical laughs morphing into terrified shrieks. Screams cut off abruptly. Silence. Water rising. The stinging of chlorine as he tries desperately to see.

Tiny red budgie smugglers. That heavy hand on his shoulder. And he’s drowning. Being held under. All that weight – so much strength. Bubbles. Air leaving. Bubbles. Blood.

A hand finds his waist.

NATHAN

You good?

Another wave looms closer and both guys stop to dip below it. People, limbs, bubbles.

BILLY

Who enjoys this?

Nathan’s laugh is cut off by another wave, but both guys hold onto each other.

Bodies mash together. Tumultuous waves tumbling them towards the shallows. Limbs fall with them. So many people – more limbs than possible.

Blood. This time unmistakable.

The MAN rises from beneath the water, a demonic entity come to claim its last sacrifice. Billy attempts to cry out but his voice is nowhere to be found. He flounders for his newfound savior.

Blood. So much blood. Pouring down the Man’s chest. And in his hand—

BILLY

He's cut somebody’s penis off!

NATHAN

What...?

Nathan pales.

Another wave.

EXT. WAVE POOL ADVENTURE PARK, UNDERWATER – DAY

Billy disappears beneath the water, his hand desperately reaching between his legs.

BILLY

(mouths)

Oh my god!?

Billy’s packer, a realistic rubber phallus used to give the impression of a bulge in his underwear, dances around the water around him. He grabs at it.

EXT. WAVE POOL ADVENTURE PARK – DAY

Billy stands up out of the water, his face flushed red. Desperately he searches all around.

Beside him, the Man heads out, a wet plaster flopping from an open gash on his forehead, blood dribbling down the side of his face and running in watery streams down his chest. His hands -empty. Billy stares after him.

NATHAN (O.S)

Looking for this?

A pale pink phallus is flopped in front of Billy’s face. He closes his eyes wanting to disappear into the waves again, but he doesn’t. That packer was expensive. He grabs it and hurries away.

EXT. WAVE POOL, EXIT – DAY

Nathan leans against the doorway, a towel wrapped around his waist, his damp hair blowing in the gentle breeze. Billy approaches, no way out but forward.

NATHAN

Hey.

Billy looks up, cheeks flushed. Nathan winks at him.

NATHAN (CONT’D) 

Wild ride, ‘ey?

Billy stares waiting for the punchline. Nathan smiles, the corner of his mouth twisting up just a little as he brings a giant round multi-colored lollipop to his lips. A pierced tongue snakes out and tastes the lollipop exploringly. Billy shifts uncomfortably unable to look away.

NATHAN (CONT’D)

I’m Nathan.

He grins.

JUDGES FEEDBACK (to which I agree completely):

WHAT THE JUDGES LIKED ABOUT YOUR STORY - {1774}  This is so odd it's wildly amusing. The strange man, who always seemed to be bleeding, and a floating phallus were surely among the wildest things in the wave pool this day. Nathan's and Billy's unexpected connection felt interesting, offering hope of exploration.  {1997}  A surprising blend of reality with fearful hallucinations. The main character is set up well, which gives us something real to hold on to as we are immersed in this surreal scenario.  {1701}  “The threat of mold lurks in each corner and crevice as if the room had been recently pulled from Poseidon's depths.” This is a great bit of description. The fear of discovery and the terrifying symbolism that Billy associates with being found out is potent and thought-provoking, and the ending serves as a lovely, hopeful affirmation.  

WHAT THE JUDGES FEEL NEEDS WORK - {1774}  Share if the bleeding man had targeted Billy on purpose. Also, clarify the source of the man's bleeding and what had happened or kept happening to him. Reveal why Billy had come to the water park at all; he didn't seem at all comfortable.  {1997}  The blending of the surreality is so seamless it can be more than a little confusing at times. This screenplay attempts to pull off a difficult feat, and it's pretty successful, but even more massaging could help with clarity and thus help give the reader more investment the drama taking place.  {1701}  “Pulsating waves push from the top of the pool and filter down where, spent, they can only lap gently at the shallows.” … “the waves are mere millimeters compared to the  ferocity of their beginnings.” While your descriptions are lovely, some of the material may fit more comfortably in the realm of prose, as there’s quite a restrictive page cap and space on the page is precious. These details don’t necessarily add anything substantial to the story, and can likely be trimmed to make room for passages that develop character or further the action of the story.

“Billy, lost in the crowd, scrambles for purchase under the unforgiving water. He goes under.” I had to rewind at this point because I felt like I’d been thrown for a loop. We see Billy exiting the bathroom where he has his encounter with the beer-bellied man, but then our attention zooms out for a substantial bit of time while you set the scene of the wave pool at large. Then suddenly Billy is amidst the crowd and pulled under. There’s nothing necessarily wrong with the way it’s structured, I just wanted to bring to your attention that it may be a bit jarring for the reader as it feels like we left Billy behind in the previous scene. Perhaps tightening up the scene-setting at the wave pool will keep the reader “zoomed in” and focused on the action at hand so that Billy’s appearance in the water feels more organic.

The passages at the end of page four get a bit confusing, as some of the material here seems to be thoughts and imaginings that Billy is experiencing, but things that wouldn't translate to the screen so that a viewing audience would experience them in the same way that a reader would.

4WD Episode 1

Ngarkat Conservation Park

A bit of background: We’ve both been avid campers since way back. Early in 2018, we bought our first 4WD – admittedly for the Hippie’s gardening requirements, but hey, why not make it worth it? Second-hand, already lifted, the D40 had huge tyres (which we later found out were rubbish for off-roading), black rims, a snorkel, and bull bar. It looked mean, and it drove well, so we signed the dotted line… only to discover that like many pre-loved vehicles, it was full of problems. It’s been an absolute headache to restore to good working order (neither of us knows anything about cars), but it has opened up a brand new world. And after all my car-related research, I’m convinced it’s better the devil you know: at least we know what has been done on this vehicle. It’s a good, sturdy Ute – it just needs some tweaking.

To satiate Hippie’s need for instruction, we enrolled for First Time Out (FTO) 4WD training with David at Adventure 4WD only a few weeks after purchasing the Nav. The experience was incredible. At an evening theory session, David talked us through fundamental 4WDing concepts such as part-time vs full-time 4WD, wind up, traction, ABS, ETC, ESP, crawl control, stability control disengagement, dealing with mud/water/sand/steep grades, choosing tyres and correct inflation, and the mechanics specific to our vehicle (I’m convinced he knows everything about everything). To be honest, a lot of this went over my head. I’d only had my ‘regular’ car license for about two years, so I’m still learning (and understanding), but David had a way of making even the ridiculously un-car-ish people (me!) understand what he was talking about. A few days after digesting theory night, we ventured out on a day trip to his purpose-built 4WD training track to put our driving, and our cars, to the test. The first pothole challenge looked terrifying - but with David’s jovial and encouraging voice guiding us on the UHF, it was easily conquered. We had so much fun! 

 A day trip was not nearly enough of an adventure and we instantly wanted more. Check out the photos on the Adventure 4WD Gallery page and look at all the smiles. Honestly, go see David, he is the best!

At Bendelby Ranges (photo by David Wilson)

That’s all it took; we were hooked. We immediately enrolled in Adventure 4WD’s Weekend Walkabouts – tackling beach driving and slushy sand dunes in the Limestone Coast the very next weekend, and steep rocky ridges in the Southern Flinders later on in May. These adventures were definitely a step up from the beginner's track, and full of learning opportunities. We discovered some vehicle limitations (we definitely need a diff locker), weeded out some driver problems (note to self: take foot off accelerator, learn left and right), and some mechanical faults (damn suction control valve!). Some of these we overcame on our weekends out, and some had to be investigated further.

After painful dealership warranty repairs, we wanted to return to the Limestone Coast to tackle Little Dip Conservation Park on our own. We’d acquired some basic 4WDing paraphernalia: brand new Toyo OPAT LT tyres; second-hand CSA alloy ‘Monster’ rims in a size more appropriate for off-roading; Maxtrax and a long-handled shovel for self-recovery in the sand; and a compressor and tyre gauge for the necessary pressure adjustments. We’d borrowed a makeshift sand flag from a dog with disabilities, and ventured out. The weather and conditions were near perfect for driving and camping, and Little Dip was rated highly by the Hippie. The highlight of this trip: coming across a convoy of 4WDers having trouble making it up a particularly tall and soft sand dune. We wandered over and had a quick chat. They had tried several times and decided it impassable. They weren’t going to persist; they were going back to the beach.

Hippie and I considered each other for a moment. ‘It doesn’t look so bad. I think you can do it,’ I said.

‘I think I can do it, too.’

So we did it. Up and over with barely a struggle. Tyres and momentum! 4WD training fools! We wanted our cloud of dust to advertise Adventure 4WD and a contact number for the ones left on the beach. I wish I knew what car they were driving – it’s now a battle of the brands.

Still, we wanted more. We felt we needed a club. We loved camping and 4WDing alone but were far from capable off-roaders. We didn’t have the equipment or the know-how to tackle much more on our own, especially as we wanted to (eventually) get remote. So, the search began.

We quickly found a suitable group willing to let us riff-raffs into their midst. Over pub meets and dinners we began to know our new group of like-minded adventurers. Slowly we added to our 4WD toolbox - recovery kit with snatch straps and bow shackles; off-road First Aid Kit; UHF radios; a more reliable tyre gauge and speedy deflators.

Since joining the Club, our convoy (damn, I love a convoy!) has been to Loveday 4x4 Adventure Park on the River Murray (we LOVED IT and will be going back), Deep Creek Conservation Park on the Fleurieu Peninsula, and Bushy’s 4x4 property near Coonalpyn in the South East. Next year brings many more adventures, and we can’t wait.

The Club was a lifesaver when we “blew our clutch to shreds” (the mechanic's words). We knew it was on its way out, so it had only been a matter of time. We managed to pick a vehicle renowned for its terrible clutch. And although this traumatic event could have broken our 4WD spirit if we were on our own, we were rescued, towed into the nearest town, accompanied during RAA arrangements, and then ferried back to camp to share another night with our Club. Whatever we needed (or had to leave in the Ute) they provided without having to be asked. Who would have thought two weirdos could have been welcomed so wholly into a group? We’d found our community. The next morning we were driven back home, leaving our broken Ute in safe hands at Tinty Auto & Ag, awaiting a new clutch, but saving us a $1k tow fee back to Adelaide.

This misfortune brought us our opportunity to see Ngarkat Conservation Park, which had been highly recommended by 4WD instructor David and had been on Hippie’s hit list for some time. Our trip was a brief one: a weekend to take advantage of us having to travel to Tintinara and back to pick up the Ute. Instead of a boring 6-hour drive on the highway there and back, we would camp overnight and go 4WDing through Ngarkat – a place we knew we would have to come back to for a longer trip, especially when the famous Border Track reopened after fire danger season. With over 270,000 hectares of vegetated sand dunes, Mallee bushland, an array of flora and fauna and an extensive network of tracks, this is somewhere to spend an extended weekend at the very least.

We left home just after midday and arrived in Tintinara around 3pm and swapped cars. I had to sing the entire Moana soundtrack on repeat because the battery had been disconnected and we didn’t have the code to reset the stereo. The Ute, however, sang beautifully. Finding the clutch point was like relearning to drive. Much appreciation to the folks at Tinty Auto & Ag for finding time for us in their busy season.

It was a longer drive than expected from Tintinara to the Ngarkat Highway, but when we turned off the bitumen onto sandy Pertendi Track, we finally engaged 4WD. We erected our new (actual purpose-built) sand flag. We hadn’t seen any signage indicating we should reduce our tyres pressures, and the track didn’t seem conducive to stopping, so we decided to leave them until we reached camp. We’d only travelled the track for about 10 minutes before changing our minds. It would be safer, and more comfortable, to let some air out. We stopped in the middle of the one-lane track stretching to the horizon and lowered the Toyos to 20psi. Much better.

The tracks in the north-east corner of the park were simple and fun. We stayed in 2nd gear high range from the bitumen to the camp, giving it some gas for the taller dunes, letting off the gas for a few jiggly patches, but mostly staying at 40kph as is the speed limit in National Parks.

We finally arrived at camp around 6.30pm. WTF?! Should have stuck with the passenger car? The long drive, encroaching darkness, and lack of water (guess who shittily packed the back of the Ute? Both 15L water containers had rattled around, upended and broken, the water mostly gone), left me feeling exhausted. We had about 7 litres remaining - 6 litres per person per day when camping, they say! The rule ran through our heads as we eyeballed each other. Perhaps one of us could survive in this inhospitable environment? This was our first time 4WDing to our campsite. Previously, we’d always had smooth, flat roads to the camp, unpacked our gear and then gone off-road. Another lesson learned in ensuring gear is appropriately secured in the back. Neither of us had to cannibalise the other for their fluids.

We had the campsite to ourselves, and seemingly, the whole park. The adjacent campsite had water (not suitable for drinking) and an immaculately maintained long drop (seriously excellent). We set up camp. It was a very nice spot under shady trees, with a picnic table and a campfire ring, though fire danger season eliminated the possibility of a campfire. I washed all the dishes gone mouldy after 2 weeks in the back of the Ute, while Hippie attempted the new JetBoil for the first time. At dusk we set out to do the quick Nanam Well bush walk, hoping to catch a glimpse of goannas, pygmy possums or hopping mice. We saw tracks and traces of wildlife, but only saw kangaroos. We reached the creepy well right on sunset and wandered back in the torchlit dark to the eyeshine of a billion spiders. My light ran out of battery, and I was actually thankful. So many eyes!

           

We heard one vehicle as we were venturing off for our bush walk but we think that was the park ranger. The campsites themselves were huge; ours, as one site, had enough space easily for four or five tents. We ate late and crawled into bed.

Overnight, we only heard one formless monster making noise outside of our tent. Then it was morning.

We ate breakfast, packed up, and drove the Pine Hut Soak Track where we had to stop and collect the top of our flag from an overhanging tree. Hippie’s plans to do the Orchid Hike were foiled by high temperatures and strong winds. Not pleasant weather for a bush walk, nor safe with our dwindling water reserves. 

By 11am we were back off of the sandy tracks and onto the Ngarkat Highway (with tyre pressures back up) until we reached the South Boundary Track, where we had to stop and let them down again. With irrigated and weed-infested farmlands on the left and dense Mallee heathland scrub on the right, it was a stark picture of food production versus conservation. We were escorted down the length of the track by clouds and clouds of psychopomp—wrens. We encountered emus, kangaroos, dragons, and wedge-tailed eagles. The tracks in the south-west corner were mostly sand interspersed with rocky patches, just as the ranger had informed us when we’d called up for some advice the day before. It wasn’t particularly challenging, but engaging, fun, and stress-free.

With scenic Mallee vegetation, attractive campgrounds, and sandy winding tracks, Hippie told me it was “better than Little Dip”. I agreed, though it definitely needed a longer, more thorough exploration.

We drove Gosse Hill Track, Buck’s Camp Track, and a bit of Jimmy’s Well Track, but then we took Mount Rescue Track back towards Tintinara, as severe weather was heading our way and we still had 3 hours of highway driving before we got home. Our 4WDing had come to an end for this weekend. Sadface.

Also, while we’re here, check out the free LOADED 4x4 online magazine.

Oneiroi Zero-Eight

Written by Erik Garkain ©  2018 

(Approx. 32,000 words)

Chapter 1: Life is Elsewhere

Mica joined the queue for the Firefly coach from Sydney to Adelaide, all his worldly possessions in his tattered backpack. At the front of the line, the ticketing lady looked at him twice before asking if he was sure, was that really where a nice boy like him wanted to go?

‘Yes, Ma’am,’ he said with a polite smile.

She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘You one of them, then? Those infected, those—Volatiles?’ She growled the slur at him. ‘That’s all Adelaide’s good for anymore. No more City of Churches, it’s City of Freaks now!’ she spat.

Mica’s heart pounded as he snatched the ticket away rougher than he’d intended. ‘You see anything freakish about me, lady?!’ he managed. Mica knew there were limited outward physical signs of his mutation and he’d almost perfected the art of pretending there were none. He turned his back with more confidence than he felt, then boarded the bus to the sounds of her incoherent grunts. The curious gazes of his fellow passengers, who all looked as normal as him but could quite as easily be hiding their own secrets, followed his steps.

The bus was at near capacity for the overnight trip to Melbourne, but most people disembarked into the first flush of morning at Southern Cross station. The city was already bustling, and the aroma of coffee wafted through every street. This metropolis was mostly unchanged, still home to people unaffected by the Oneiroi Zero-Eight virus that had spread throughout the country. People who didn’t want to know freaks like him. People like his family, those unaffected by the retrovirus. Apparently, Adelaide was an entirely different story.

There were only a handful of people still aboard when the bus passed through Ballarat, and after the drivers changed at Horsham, Mica was the only passenger left. He was the only one to see the illuminated billboards in the night. Not the path you seek. Turn back and find the light: A message brought to you by the Anti-Oneiroi Community. And another one not even half a kilometre down the road, a desperate last plea by the same community who were petitioning for mandatory testing and isolation of the infected. There is life elsewhere. Call us today. Concerned citizens spreading the words of their God; ignorant of the increasing statistics of scared young people killing themselves because of that same hateful propaganda and fear mongering bullshit. The same support ‘community’ that his parents had contacted after he’d come out to them when he received his blood test back. The ones that had influenced his parent’s views on his affliction, made him appear like a predator to his kid sister when Mica refused to attend their internment ‘camp’… and his father’s belligerent last words to his firstborn.

Mica turned away before his rising hatred had time to get the better of him, but the next billboard pulled his attention back. Two people, seemingly in full body makeup rivalling the best prosthetic special effects in the industry, dressed to the nines, their top hats dipped low. Their arms were held back like a private welcoming ceremony to the greatest show on earth. And the words, quoted from one of his favourite superhero films, Hellboy: All us freaks have is each other. And, Welcome home.

Mica grinned and settled more comfortably in his seat.

#

In the early hours of the night, almost twenty-four hours since he’d boarded, they stopped outside of a place called ‘Sweeties Bakehouse’ in the small country town of the unambiguously named, Bordertown, though it was almost twenty kilometres from the actual border separating Victoria from South Australia. The deli was a dimly lit weatherboard shop sporting two large wagon wheels. Here the bus keys exchanged hands once again. Fuzzy with perpetual dozing, Mica peered out of the window at the two drivers who conversed and traded satchels. Lights from the neighbouring Shell service station didn’t penetrate the shadows enough to see the pair clearly beneath a gently swaying tree, but the new driver glanced up and directly at Mica. What light there was reflected from his eyes and Mica shrank back. It must have been pitch black on the bus, only the headlights and safety lights around the outside were lit up – there was no way he could have seen in, could he?

Mica sank away from the window and deeper into his seat, his eyes bleary from sporadic sleep and his mind still vague from dreams, or so he convinced himself. The new chauffeur boarded and stood glancing down the aisle at his single silent passenger. Mica feigned sleep but swore the driver’s eyes gleamed red beneath his hood for only a second or two. He clutched his backpack closer to his chest and calmed his breathing. The bus rumbled into ignition and sat idling for a moment while the driver sorted himself out. Mica breathed a sigh of relief as the bus rolled down the quiet street and back onto the highway.

Weathered signs were highlighted by the bus’s high beams. Some of these vandalised, ripped down, but their messages were all the same: Road Closed Ahead; No Access; Restricted Area; Quarantine; Do Not Venture Beyond This Point; Oneiroi Zero-Eight Infected Zone. Mica stared. 

The bus slowed to a stop. Were they going to be turned away? Mica sat taller, his head swivelling, searching for danger. 

The driver didn’t appear worried. He stood up casually and stretched rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck from side to side. ‘Pit stop,’ he called down the aisle. ‘Won’t be a moment.’ The front door yawned open, and the driver disembarked. 

He reappeared moments later strolling towards the shell of a long since abandoned single brick office building. Colourful scrawls of graffiti and the charcoal stain of fire were visible through a single busted window. A huge weathered sign labelled it ‘Checkpoint Zone 6’. The driver walked straight up to the checkpoint, shuffled around in the front of his pants and started pissing on the remains of the building.

Mica jerked his eyes away. Six-foot fences topped with razor wire surrounded them and disappeared into the darkness beyond – how long did they go on for? Once in, was he trapped? But it had been damaged, and there wasn’t a single person to enforce the quarantine. No doubt, when the virus has been new and scary, these gates would have been heavily restricted. He’d heard about the testing measures to ensure only the infected were allowed to pass. Nowadays people were free to make their own decisions whether to come or go. What uninfected person would want to cross this border? And who of the infected would think it was a good idea to leave? Or perhaps, did too many people carry latent versions of the virus making any control unenforceable? It was hard to believe anything mainstream media said of the virus.

The lights, only a few of which remained, lit up the surrounds like daylight. The gate ahead of them had been ripped from its hinges, laying bent across one side of the road. So, it had been busted open? Not freely opened? Since when? A single tank upended onto its side, the continuous tread stripped from the wheels, the turret ripped clean from the hull – what could do that? Behind it an emu lay decomposing, one toe twisted between two lengths of wire fencing, its other leg snapped under its heavy body.

Mica startled as the driver reclaimed his seat behind the wheel. ‘Tradition,’ he laughed. 

The door closed. Off they went, unhindered. 

#

Four hours later they reached Adelaide.

Mica hadn’t slept since the drivers swapped. He watched the darkness lift and the city lights approach, his mind filled with anticipation and a dreaded fear. Would he be any more welcome here than he had been at home?

The driver was standing at the doors when Mica disembarked. His hood pulled back revealing his face to be unshaven, but otherwise unremarkable. No visible sign of mutation, but Mica knew that meant little.

He held out a perfectly regular hand to Mica. ‘Welcome to the city of Adelaide,’ he greeted with a warm smile. ‘May you find what you’re looking for.’

Mica hesitantly clutched the man’s hand, thrown by his sincere welcome and the intrusion into his soul. Was he that obvious? ‘Thank you,’ Mica mumbled unable to find any other words. He moved off, his legs humming with the relief of activity. He could feel the bus driver’s eyes on him until he found the foyer of the bus station and finally disappeared out of sight into the restrooms. He splashed the sheen of sweat off his face with cold water and stared at his haggard reflection. No regrets.

The young lady behind the counter this time was friendly and helpful. She called him ‘bloke’ and told him not to take attitude from anyone; that the people around here could be aloof at times, but generally, they had good intentions. She directed him to cheap accommodation just around the corner.

‘Good luck finding what you’re after,’ she called after him.

He stopped. ‘Why do you think I’m looking for something?’

She smiled. The tattoos down her neck swirled and morphed like Rorschach blots when she moved. ‘We’re all freaks here. All outcasts. No one comes to Adelaide these days unless they are looking for something; somewhere to call home, somewhere to fit in, someone to love; hey bloke?’ She suggested. ‘I hope you find your happiness.’

‘Thanks,’ he mumbled. So his journey here hadn’t been original? The double doors slid open and warm air burst in drying out Mica’s already tired eyes. The sun was only just on the rise and already the day promised to be a warm one.

On the corner, only a hundred metres from the bus station he found ‘Sunnies’, what he’d been told was the friendliest place to stay for those with little to spare. Tourists were up and sharing a pancake breakfast, so he joined them with minimal persuasion. Although they included him, Mica was too tired to hold any conversation for long. He retired to a newly purchased bunk in a shared room and collapsed. His bones creaked and popped in relief as he stretched out for the first time in what felt like aeons. Suddenly the weight of the past week, his recent journey, and his full belly overwhelmed him. He couldn’t even find the energy to make it to the shower before the need for sleep defeated him. He closed his eyes to the tune of his father’s angry mantra: Get away from my daughter. Get out of my house. Go away!

I made a short list!

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Update (late September):
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Ready Player One by Ernest Cline

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/9969571-ready-player-one

Ready Player One is like being immersed in an awesome massively multiplayer online role-playing game (MMORPG) and reading a wonderful book simultaneously.

On a dystopian Earth, destroyed by a global energy crisis, the only thing left for people is the online utopia of the OASIS, where you can do anything, be anyone, where the lines of distinction between a person’s real identity and that of their avatar begin to blur. When the creator, James Halliday dies, he leaves behind the biggest Easter egg hunt the world has seen. The prize: ownership of his vast fortune and total control of the OASIS.

Wade Watts is just one of the many ‘gunters’ (those who have devoted their lives to Halliday’s hunt) and since it was announced five years ago, he’s learnt all he can about the god among geeks, the nerd uber-deity on the level of Gygax, Gattiott, and Gates: James Halliday.

When Wade deciphers the location of the first clue and is awarded the Copper Key, the first of three, his avatar ‘Parzival’ shows up as the first name on the scoreboard. Passion for the hunt reignites. Hot on his heel are thousands of competitors including the Innovative Online Industries (IOI) who, in Wade’s words, want to turn the game into a fascist corporate theme park where the few people who can still afford the price of admission no longer have an ounce of freedom. Wade soon realises that the IOI will stop at nothing to control the OASIS, and when he can’t be bought to their side, everything he has is threatened.

I was late coming to this book, originally published in 2011. It was the name that drew me in, and the frequency in which it was appearing in recommended read lists. I was not disappointed.

It’s not science-fiction, it’s not fantasy, but it is. Think ‘Enders Game’, think ‘Surrogates’, ‘Gamer’ and ‘Westworld’. The front cover quote says; ‘Enchanting. Willy Wonka meets The Matrix.’ It’s all comparable, but nothing I know is like this book.  It’s a smorgasbord of ‘80s pop culture. There were so many references it didn't matter that I didn't get half of them. Joss Whedon eat your heart out.

It’s not a hard read, it’s a simple plot – good versus evil. Moving from the real world into the action-packed OASIS is seamless. The descriptions of the world outside leave me wanting more, in a good way. I was genuinely anxious when I had to close the book because I was invested in the lives of these characters.

I haven't been this excited over a book since I read Transformation by Carol Berg. For me, like that book, this one is a game changer.

This book was amazing. I read it in a few days. I didn't want to let it go. I can't wait to hand it around to my friends and family so they too can share my excitement.

Read this one.