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the air. Bluey uses his flame-thrower and wipes out hundreds at a time. Jay uses recycled shopping bags, lulling them in with the promise of a bargain, then does the bags up and watches them thrash about, airless and unhappy. They’ll never trust a Red Spot sale again. Cindii throws rocket fuel over them, which makes them shrink into nothingness like the Wicked Witch of the West, screaming for mercy.
    Spent, I hold a hand up. “It’s time, guys. You got the song?” I say to the pilot.
    He fiddles with the screen and says, “Yep.”
    We huddle close and I try my hardest to ignore the smell of body odour coming from the group. Don’t these guys know how to shower?
    The pilot hits play and, karaoke-like, we sing ‘Retrograde’ as loud as we can. Like some kind of magic, the wind slows down and the waves shrink back. The grey sky becomes blue again.
    The water that covered the land dries instantly, leaving red, dehydrated dirt.
    The fucking taipans blink twice and retreat. They scatter like marbles, travelling so quickly they look like dots on the horizon.
    The song ends. “Play it again,” I say. I’m heaving, my body pumping with triumph.
    My team-mates’ eyes crinkle with smiles and we sing again, just to be sure. Plus, I really like the song; the lyrics fit perfectly into our movie monster disaster. Cindii snuggles up to me and I kiss the top of her head without thinking. It just feels right. Maybe that’s our telepathy coming into play, again. Who knows, but I’m finding it hard to wipe the huge cheesy grin that’s plastered across my face. And all I can focus on is her shimmery plump lips. I’m so close that I can smell her strawberry lip gloss. I have an overwhelming urge to kiss her properly and taste the fruity goodness that coats her mouth. I guess disaster makes you realise what’s important in life. And, right now, all I want to do is be with Cindii. We whisper sweet promises to each other, and I restrain myself from jumping up and down on account of how happy she’s made me.
    My mobile rings. “This is Kez, from Zoologists R Us.”
    My boss’s raspy voice huffs through. “Kez, I see you’ve got it covered there.”
    “How do you…”
    “Google Earth. We’ve been watching you from the safety of the snake-proof bunker.”
    “Oh, the bunkers. Of course.”
    “Yeah, somehow you guys have managed to stop retrograde from rising, so the typhoon has completely vanished. It’s like it was never here.”
    The landscape in front of me is back to normal and the heat scorches our sweaty skin. “Yeah, we made it.”
    “Only problem is, you pushed it so far that the next disaster is imminent.”
    “What?”
    “Yeah, every two thousand and fifteen years, when mercury hits retrograde and Venus is rising, just after the super moon, spiders develop a unique ability to control the tectonic plates that make up the outer layer of the earth.”
    “So? Spiders are OK.”
    “No, no they’re not. Haven’t you heard of tarantula-quake?”
    Holy fucking shitballs
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CARINA™
    ISBN: 978 1 472 09095 9
    Snake Typhoon
    Copyright ©2014 Rebecca Raisin
    Published in Great Britain (2014)
    by Carina, an imprint of Harlequin (UK) Limited, Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR
    All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
    This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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