Free Snake Typhoon! by Billie Jones

Chapter One
    The gossip is impossible to believe, but I pack my backpack and ready myself to head to the airport. My office had been abuzz with the news of some kind of freak storm heading towards the Northern Territory and, wait for it, raining snakes. So far there was no footage, and no one really believed it, but when a call came in from someone high up in a secret government department, my boss’s mouth pinched tight like he was sucking lemons and,
finally
, I got the nod. I’m new to the team, in an office full of zoologists all vying for the top spot. I hope I can prove I’ve got the nous to head a mission, even one as crazy as this purportedly is. At least they’re taking it seriously enough that I’m going to fly in a chopper from Brisbane to the Red Centre. The snakes wanted to see Uluru, apparently.
    Fresh out of university, and labelled the ‘new girl’, a few months in the field and I’m still the lackey. Getting flung from one snake-containment disaster to the next,
to bring the crew coffee
. It’s not fair, but I don’t complain. Let’s face it, it’s only a matter of time until someone picks up a snake the wrong way, and I’ll move up the hierarchy. Between us, I hope it’s Cindii, who started a day before me, which somehow translates to her flicking her glossy too-blonde hair in my face and acting superior. I mean, she started a mere
twelve hours
before me. And, to be honest, anyone who spells their name with two i’s like some kind of Barbie doll shouldn’t be handling snakes and cane toads, anyway. She might break a nail, or ruin the blood-red varnish she insists on wearing. She’s like Ranger Stacey on Botox.
    I suit the job description much better. Long brown hair, always tied back in a ponytail for safety reasons, khaki shirt and shorts – regulation length, steel-capped boots, a smothering of sunscreen, and super-fit physique. Just as the manual stipulates. Cindii wears tight shorts and a teeny tiny singlet which leaves her well open to being the most likely to get bitten. She can’t run, or pivot, without hoiking the shorts from whichever crevice they creep in to, and in the heat of the moment when it’s us against snake, you simply don’t have time for shorts hoiking. You just don’t.
    Shaking the vision of Cindii from my mind, I rush to the car, giving myself a silent pep talk.
Secure the area, lead civilians to a safe place, contain flying snakes, save the world
.
    This time it won’t be my team that pushes their shiny faces in front of a TV camera to report that disaster has been averted. It will be me. If I stay focused, I can do this.
    And let’s face it, raining snakes? Usually, there is some simple ecological reason for something extraordinary and I’ve no doubt it’s been exaggerated. Cindii said half the inhabitants of central Australia, the human ones, wake up with a beer in their hand, which they continue to drink like water throughout the day to deal with the unrelenting heat. She says it’s probably just a heatwave with the locals wearing beer goggles, and that can only mean one thing. A group of inebriated men standing over a colony of centipedes, claiming their, er, worm is biggest. But I won’t get anywhere with an attitude like that. If a secret government department says they need my help, then they’ll damn well get my help.
    I gun the engine and pull out of my driveway. My rusty old car whines as I pop her from first to third. I don’t have time for second gear, it’s a waste of energy. And the car can cope with the extra revs. Smoke billows behind; I really must remember to get the old girl serviced. Even though my job seems glamorous – nice uniform, travel and the added bonus of snake-wrangling – it’s not really all that well-renumerated. I’d get more at a fast-food outlet. But you can’t put a price on passion, and I am passionate about my job.
    Especially working so close to Jay. I nearly run a red light thinking of him. It’s just…Jay.