Three hours later, I opened my eyes. What pulled me from my slumber wasn’t discomfort but, rather, the lack of pain. My leg neither hurt nor was it stiff. I stood and pulled down my trousers. Gone was the golf ball sized edema and any sign of the puncture wound. But I was hungry for another portion of nadreddet. This time I tasted a slight fishy tingle on my tongue and added garlic.
I cleaned up, changed clothing, grabbed my ax, and headed outside. No beast would get that close to my home again. I’d build a solid picket fence around my compound. Then, I’d clear the land around the fence to form a circle. Let the nadreddets try and figure out who owned the serpent circle. That afternoon, as I cut poles and carried them from the woods, I envisioned a spiked trench circling the wall. A week later with the walls around my cabin complete, I drove to Crusty Boy to see the machinist about making knives. Amazingly, at no time during the building of the stockade did I feel any aftereffects of the venom.
***
I earned my forge time and access to scrap steel by helping the mechanics. Every evening when my time with the second shift ended, I fired up the furnace and hammered steel. In the back of my old truck, the fruit of my sweat and labor began to pile up. To break the monotony of creating razor sharp steel spikes, I made a couple of steak knives worthy of carving giant nadreddets. When third shift ended, I rode with the crew to Wakeman’s Lodge and had breakfast with them. After resting for a couple of hours, I rode back to Crusty Boy with the first shift. The weather was beautiful and the work satisfying but exhausting. I handled the shifts and work until the pace caught up with me.
***
The iron glowed as I pulled it out of the furnace and swung the hot metal to the anvil. Hammering it sent sparks flying and, as I shaped the point, a bulge formed below the tip. Rotating the piece of metal to its side, I raised the hammer preparing to flatten the wide section. Then I recalled the harpoon and the barb below the point I’d seen on my voyage to the islands. Instead of forging another spear point for my yard defenses, I laid the metal flat and began shaping a barbed tip. Hours later, the steel part of a harpoon was completed.
Excited to be making something that didn’t require me to stand over hot metal, I selected a long board and began shearing off the edges. Fitting the steel head to the pole was part of the shaping process. When I held the head up and attempted to insert it into the wood, I saw a problem. The end of the pole was too small and I had to cut off the undersized area and work a lower section.
It was early in the morning. I should have stopped and taken a break. But I felt strong and the harpoon was almost done. The bandsaw spun up and I placed the pole on the cutting surface. The wood slipped and I reached around the band saw blade with my left hand to steady the shaft. As the saw teeth cut into the wood, a shower of sawdust blew out in a spray of pale cellulose. For a split second, my mind wandered. Then the pale sawdust took on a red hue, pain shot through my hand, and up my arm. I screamed, dropped the shaft, and clutched my bleeding hand to my chest.
A mechanic heard my cry of pain and came running over with a first aid kit. He extracted a gauze wrap, pried my bleeding hand away from my body, and wrapped the wound. Close behind him was my forge instructor, the machinist. Rather than look at me, he searched through the sawdust until he located two items. After plucking them from the floor, he held up two neatly sheared off pieces of flesh.
“Looks like your little finger and the ring finger,” the craftsman announced. “Lucky for you, you can still grip a tool with three fingers. If it had been your thumb, then you would have a problem. Take Solomon to the clinic.”
Miners are tough and anything less than a life-threatening injury or a crippling wound was considered a hazard of the job. Their mantra; get it stitched; soak it in cold water and rest for a day; then get your butt back to work on the next shift. I had no intention of reporting for another shift. After treatment by the mine’s medic, I tossed the parts of the harpoon onto the load of metal spears in the back of the old truck, climbed in, and drove to my compound. My hand hurt and, I’ll admit, I cried all the way back.
***
A couple of days later, I grew bored lounging around and went outside to walk the perimeter of my fence. Seeing the brush only a few feet from the picket wall and realizing I didn’t have space for a trench, I retrieved my machete. With my left arm in a sling, it was the only tool I could handle. I cleared the vegetation growing near my wall. The next day, I cut it back further, leaving any trees or thick bushes until I could swing an axe.
My hand stopped hurting on the fourth day but the missing fingers under the bandage itched. It was time to change the wrapping and clean the wound. I tenderly peeled off the dressing. I was almost afraid to look at my mangled hand. But if I had to live with three fingers and scars on my left hand for the rest of my life, I might as well get comfortable with the sight. I lifted the gauze and stared.
Two stumps, thicker than the base of my index finger, had grown. Instead of scars, it appeared I had two new digits. They were nubs about an inch long but showed no sign of any open wounds. I made a fist and the stubs responded although there was a hole caused by the missing tops of my little and ring fingers.
In the afternoon, I took the axe to the trees. A couple of days later, there was a wide cleared area around my wall. Then, I dug a trench and lined it with the metal spears. To finish my defensives, I fixed the harpoon head to the shaft.
Let the nadreddets come, I thought as I hung the harpoon on the wall and flexed the new, stout, two-inch-long digits on my left hand. I wish I hadn’t challenged mother nature with those words.
***
Tim switched off the recorder, leaned forward, and pointed at Solomon’s gloved hand.
“You’re telling me the glove is to protect stumps that miraculously grew back?” inquired the researcher.
“Not at all,” Solomon assured him. “I wear the glove because the fingers that grew back are awkward. The glove helps with the symmetry of my grip.”
“Symmetry?” question Tim. “Whatever are you talking about?”
“Here, I’ll show you,” the mountain man offered as he yanked on each finger of the glove to pull them from his fingers. When the leather was free, he lifted the glove and wiggled four fingers and his thumb. “See, without the glove, the injured fingers tend to dominate my grip.”
Tim jumped to his feet with his mouth open. The mountain man’s left hand was unbalanced. According to the story, the little and ring fingers had been sawed off. But the hand being held up had those fingers except they were oversized. Almost as if the fingers belong to a man twice Solomon Cooper’s size.
“But you said they were cut off,” gasped the researcher.
“They were. But as you can see, they grew back,” Solomon responded. “In a big way.”
It could have been a birth defect, the researcher thought while attempting to wrap his head around the odd finger sizes. But if it wasn’t, what did cause the large and unbalanced finger display.
“How do you explain them?” inquired Tim.
“The only thing I can think of is infected nadreddet meat,” Solomon replied. “I stripped a lot and ate all of it.”
Tim’s stomach soured and he retched a little. After swallowing the bile which tasted of snake and garlic, the researcher sat and closed his eyes as if in pain.
“Like the meat you fed me?” he asked.
“Sure. It’s easy to get and delivered right to my compound,” Solomon said with a laugh. Then he pulled his hunting knife and indicated Tim’s hand. “I thought about cutting off my other fingers to see if they would grow back as big. To be truthful, I’m afraid to do it. But, if you’d like to volunteer, I’ll happily chop off your fingers as a test.”
Fear gripped Tim’s throat and he had a difficult time getting air into his lungs.
“I’m just messing with you,” the mountain man assured him as he slid the survival knife into its sheath. “Although I am, as you must be, curious.”
Hi
storical researcher Tim Constance had a lot of emotions racing through his mind. Curiosity wasn’t one of them. Escape was at the top of the list. He asked a question to restart the story and change the topic from amputating his fingers.
“What do you mean, having nadreddet meat delivered to your door?” Tim questioned.
“They keep showing up,” Solomon answered. “It seems my compound is winter quarters for their home range. And it’s why I had to do something about the pool in the cavern.”
“Tell me about the pool,” Tim requested as he turned on the recorder.
“First let me tell you why it had to be done,” the mountain man said. “Then you’ll understand.”
The researcher didn’t understand any of this but he nodded his head and smiled to hide his true feelings. Then he flipped on the recorder and sat back with the fake smile still on his face.
Chapter 9 – New Score
Snow fell overnight turning the mountains into white frocked steeples stretching toward the sky. After morning coffee, I pulled on a glove, laced up my boots, dressed in a heavy coat, and slipped on my right-handed glove. I left the house with my hunting rifle, the sword, and the shield. Since the surprise attack, I carried the long blade and guard with me everywhere. According to the textbooks, reptiles weren’t active in the cold season and I didn’t anticipate needing them. But, I hadn’t expected to fight two nadreddets in my own yard. That negligence almost cost me my life and I wouldn’t be caught without a snake chopper and a defense against fang strikes again.
The edge of my porch was outlined by fresh snow. I strolled to the gate in the picket wall and kicked an area clear so I could open the gate. Once opened, I gazed at the flat white expanse from the wall to the curved line of snow heavy branches and trimmed bushes. Seeing no tracks, I ambled out and began to walk the perimeter looking for signs of deer. They had occasionally cut across my property and if I located fresh hoof prints, I’d follow them. It would make the hunt easier.
I stayed away from the trench and the steel spikes. One trip and a tumble into the trench and I’d be severely wounded or dead. When a person installed defenses, it was a good idea not to accidently fall prey to their own safeguards.
The snow was pristine until I reached the vehicle gate at the rear. I missed the disturbance in the snow at first because my eyes and mind were taken with the lower valley and high mountains in the distance. It was a spectacular vista and I considered putting a second porch on the house so I could sit and enjoy the view. Then, I walked further and glanced down. At the edge of the cleared area, two wavy ruts in the snow marked the passage of serpents. One was stained yellow-brown. I didn’t know which direction the wounded snake and its companion traveled but I recognized nadreddet blood.
I advanced around the curved wall and more of the bloody rut came into view. It seemed two snakes had crossed my circle and approached the picket wall. One had slithered into the trench and encountered the steel spikes. Both, I could see now, had slinked back into the woods. I couldn’t have a pair of nadreddets living that close to my compound. Not only would it be dangerous for me, but the enormous serpents would devastate the game in my hunting area. My deer stalk had just changed to a nadreddet hunt. After slinging the rifle on my shoulder, I fixed the shield to my arm and drew the sword. Although I preferred venison, a freezer full of snake meat would keep me fed through the winter.
***
The ruts intertwined mixing the blood trail with the second serpent’s path. While they gave me a direction, I couldn’t get a feel for the size of the nadreddets because of the smeared ruts. After ducking under the low branches at the edge of my property, I moved cautiously into the forest.
Above me, the trees spread and trapped the snow leaving the dried leaves on the ground exposed. I might have lost the reptiles deep in the forest but for the wet, yellow-brown markings. They took me up a rise and, as the land at the top leveled, I noticed a rocky area off to my right where the mountain began to climb in elevation. I didn’t need the blood trail any more. I knew where the snakes were wintering.
Rocks had fissures and serpents liked crevices to squirm into to get out of the cold. I crept forward as I scanned the shadows between the rocks. When I located a wide gap, I approached from the side, leaned around the granite, and peered into the crevice. The little sunlight making its way through the trees gave me just enough illumination to see reflections of gold and red in the dark.
Snakes were lethargic in cold weather. I still believed it even if my recent experiences had begun to disprove the theory. With confidence that sleepy reptiles moved slowly, I stepped in front of the opening, raised my sword above my head, and stepped into the gap.
I was aiming for a coiled body. The blade descended and cleaved into a nadreddet’s head that suddenly appeared. Some species have a pit between their eyes that acts as a heat sensor. Just as infrared sensors detect heat, a snake can identify prey by separating a creature’s body temperature from their surroundings. But a sluggish and cold serpent should not have been alert and identifying prey, or in this case me, as I approached.
Under most circumstances, splitting a head would be a great way to start a snake hunt. In my case, it wasn’t. While I yanked and attempted to free my blade from the bony nasal cavity and the skull of a head as long as my forearm, three other heads with dripping fangs lunged at me from out of the dark.
I slammed the shield at one and felt the fangs rake down the metal. While shifting my body sideways, I swung the shield over my arm that still gripped the sword, and slammed the edge into the side of another nadreddet’s head. My pulling and dancing pried the blade free and the sudden release sent me stumbling back and away from the small cave. I landed on my butt. Jarred and shaken from the close encounter, I momentarily lost focus. The nadreddet’s didn’t.
***
They slithered out of the cave and began to circle me. I recognized this game and already knew the final score; prey zero: nadreddets undefeated. I wasn’t waiting for the three, ten feet long reptiles to divide the spoils. I came up swinging my sword as I ran at a gap between the reptiles. As I witnessed with the wolves, the lead serpent raised his head up and twisted back. The next move was to drop fangs down on me and break my back. I had a different outcome in mind.
The nadreddet flexed its powerful physique. As if imitating a whip, it snapped the tail and let the motion travel along the length of its body until the upper section lashed back. Then, the head shot downward toward me. But I wasn’t a herd animal paralyzed with fear or a predator standing and seeking an opening to attack. I had a brain, a long sharp blade, and I used both.
I ran under the big head and jumped on the snakes back. It wasn’t a safe place as the tongue followed me and the nose attempted to change the trajectory of the fangs. The massive serpent did adjust but not before it received a glancing blow to the side of its head and lost scales as it scraped along the ground. All of this took a full second before the reptile doubled back over itself and the fangs struck where I landed. But I had already moved.
When my feet touched the scales, I drove the tip of the sword into the raised quadrant of the snake. With half my blade buried in its flesh, I jumped off the other side letting the blade rip open the nadreddet. I landed as the fangs flew by me. Then I spun around and stabbed again. This time, the snake’s entire body twisted and rolled.
The sword was jerked into the air and, with my two-handed grip, I followed. The serpent rolled and I was tossed up and over. Before the reptile completed the roll and crushed me, the torque overcame the viscosity of the muscles, bone, and skin. The blade slit the monster open in a second location. The sword and I tumbled clear of the lurching body.
I rolled and came up with the blade extended in front of me looking for the other two reptiles. New score: Solomon Cooper one: nadreddets zero.
***
Eyeing the circling snakes, I spotted the one with the gash in its side. Following a rule of nature, I charged at the weakest of the pair. W
olves lived off the slowest member of a herd as did big cats. If I could kill or disable the wounded nadreddet, it left me free to focus all my energy on the last one without worrying about a flank attack.
Beyond the crushing body weight and sweeps from the tail, the head contained all of a snake’s offensive weapons. Hard bone, fangs, an expandable mouth, and sensors for tracking were all located on one end. I charged at the least lethal end.
The nadreddet curled around bringing the mammoth head toward me. As if I was a frightened mouse, it flicked the forked tongue in front of me trying to make me change course and run toward the fangs and mouth. I hacked with the sword as I leaped the wrist size appendage. The blade hung for a moment as I continued forward. When the snake snapped back the injured tongue, it almost pulled the hilt from my hand. But I held on and dragged the blade free in time to raise it over my shoulder and chop off the reptile’s tail.
No matter the size of the beast, when you drain enough blood, it will falter. The reptile had lost a lot while traveling from my compound. Now with its lower section opened, the rest of its yellow-brown blood flowed over me and onto the forest floor. While it still wiggled and shuddered, the nadreddet was no longer a threat.
I vaulted over its back using the body as a barrier between the last snake and me. As soon as I landed, I stooped down and peered over the scales searching.
***
With my breath coming hard, sweat dripping in my eyes, and my heart pounding in my chest, I fell into a psychological trap. I expected to see a serpent slithering towards me from the other side of the body. I frantically hunted for it, wasting time looking in one direction for the last living nadreddet.
Then hissing came from above me. I raised the shield over my head and the shield was hammered down driving me to the ground. Rolling to the side, I bumped into a wall of scales as the tail swished back and forth over my shield. Unnoticed by me, the snake had coiled up beside its dying companion and I’d jumped into its kill zone.
Serpent Circles Page 6
