Serpent Circles

by J. Clifton Slater

  From my back, I watched the huge head rise in the air. The nose rotated downward and the tongue flicked out trying to find me. Wet and smelling of the dead snake just a few feet away, the fourth nadreddet couldn’t separate the two. Unfortunately, while I was unmoving and at a constant temperature, the dying snake was motionless but, cooling.

  Reptiles were cold blooded without the ability to retain body heat. These four and the other nadreddets I’d encountered in the winter shouldn’t have been able to function, let alone be active enough to attack me.

  I thought of the black matter from the cavern as I eased my pistol from the holster. Slowly, I tilted the barrel up and clicked off the safety. Big mistake. At the click, the jaws opened and the mouth came down on me.

  The first bullet punctured the side of the nadreddet’s jaw. The next nine blew holes in the snake’s brain, nasal cavities, and head bone. While I squeezed the trigger, the shield protected me from the fangs which scraped the metal, again and again, trying to bite me and inject venom. With a last tap on the shield by the fangs, the serpent collapsed on me and died.

  It took a long time to crawl out from under the dead weight. Then another five minutes to sever the head, roll it out of the way, and retrieve my shield. I was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to sit down and rest. But the reptile in the small cave began to thrash around making its way out. I knew the drill and once again I was too tired to follow. Plus, I had a need and chose it over wasting time tracking dead snakes. Besides, I recognized the serpents and knew where they were going. They were twins of the little nadreddet I’d released at the rock fall.

  ***

  I cut long slabs off the two closest nadreddets and rolled them up to form logs of meat. As the four dead snakes wiggled and slithered erratically into the forest, I cut poles, used my shirt as a sling, and loaded up the carrier with my bounty. Then, I turned my back to the hauler, lifted the ends of the poles to my shoulder, and started walking. Behind me, I left a trail of snake blood between two tracks in the ground made by the other ends of the poles. While I had meat for the winter, I also had a problem, the four dead, identical nadreddets.

  ***

  Tim Constance turned off the recorder, stroked his chin, and squinted at the mountain man.

  “Four identical snakes?” quizzed the researcher.

  “Down to the shading of the gold and red scales on their heads,” Solomon assured him.

  “Are you trying to tell me they came from the same snake?”

  “They were identical to the little one I freed,” replied Solomon. “But four isn’t the problem.”

  “What is the problem?” Tim asked.

  “If the cycle continued, there will be eight snakes living in my backyard,” Solomon ventured. “And not ten footers either. They’d come back to Breakneck Holler much bigger.”

  “Surely you don’t believe this rebirth could go on forever?” Tim challenged.

  “I do and it’s why I did what I did next,” the mountain man responded.

  Tim switched on the recorder.

  “Alright, tell me,” he instructed.

  Chapter 10 – Avalanche

  The moon Tungsten had set hours ago leaving me in blackness as dark as my mood. When its sister moon Wolframite rose over the mountain and took its place, the trees around me seem to come alive in the glow. It should have been magical with the snow reflecting the moonbeams and a gentle breeze whistling through the treetops. But it wasn’t. I felt a little feverish despite the crisp night air.

  I was a nadreddet slayer, not a thief. The idea of stealing from Crusty Boy saddened me and the heat of my body was caused by a combination of nerves and shame. When the bus taking third shift to Wakeman’s Lodge passed, I slid off the hood of the old truck and climbed behind the controls. Once the transport’s taillights disappeared down the hill, I started the truck, drove it out of the trees, and onto the access road. Then I sped toward the deserted mine.

  ***

  Crusty Boy was dark except for a few safety lights. They were there for the first shift which would arrive before dawn. One at the maintenance building, another at the mine entrance, two at the trailers, and a final dim bulb glowed at the separator. More lights would be turned on when the first shift arrived to start their day. Once the sun came up, the exterior lights would be turned off and the lines of bulbs in the mine’s adit would blaze to life to guide the way into the mountain.

  Far from the face of the mountain, the mine’s entrance, and any of the other structures was the bunker. It had no light or electrical wires leading to the small building. I pulled up in front so my headlights illuminated the steel door of the entrance and I climbed out. In my hands were a flashlight and an empty backpack.

  My first crime was to break the lock and enter the bunker. Using the flashlight, I located the boxes of blasting caps and stuffed handfuls into my pack and then a detonator. It went against every safety rule to place the detonator next to caps but I didn’t have the luxury of following the rules. Then I dropped in a couple of roles of wire. To compound the hazardous acts and my crimes, I opened more boxes and stuff fifty pounds of high explosives into my pack on top of the detonator, wires, and the blasting caps.

  I parked back down the access road in a crop of trees. Then, I slipped on the pack with the explosives, hung a pouch of food off one shoulder, the rifle off the other, and began the climb to rock fall.

  ***

  I’d made the trip on the lower portion many times so I knew the trails and the best camp sites. The only thing slowing me was an awareness that nadreddets, small, large, and monster size, prowled the mountain’s forest. When I saw deer, fresh puma or wolf tracks, I increased my pace. Conversely, in the absence of game sightings, I slowed and kept an eye out. Twice I noticed serpent circles when the path crossed highland pastures. As always, there were no scraps of meat or bone left; a testimony to the voracious, coordinated attacks by the immense snakes.

  Two days later, after another night in a tree, I climbed down, geared up, and approached rock fall. A hint of light from the yet to rise sun allowed me to reach the first boulders. I moved quickly through the lower rocks and across the fall. By the time the snakes came out to warm themselves in the morning light, I was at the bottom of the shale slide.

  Locating the area above the crevice and marching off the estimated distance to the opening in the roof of the cavern should have been easy. From inside, the gap allowing sunlight and rain to come in seemed to be a wide opening. But from the outside, it was disguised by flat rocks and stones. Four times I walked from above the fissure and scurried up the loose shale. Four times, I failed to find the opening. Then I found a guide.

  A young hawk circled high above me eyeing the snakes on the rocks further down. Wisely, it remained aloft. The nadreddets sunning themselves outweighed the hawk. The bird of prey could easily become breakfast for one of them. But it was persistent and circled lower until it landed a few yards up the slope from me. No doubt to get a better look at the selection of reptiles. From a soaring master of the sky, the hawk hopped from rock to rock in a less than graceful manner. I started to laugh when the raptor jumped onto a large upended stone. The hawk briefly poked his beak down and out of sight on the far side of the rock.

  When the hawk jerked back, shook its head as if it smelled something bad, and immediately took to the sky, I went to investigate. There I found the gap leading to the cavern and the pool of black matter. I shrugged off the backpack and began sorting the wires, blasting caps, and packages of explosives.

  ***

  Precision blasting uses time delay fuses. Delays of milliseconds allow an expert to crumble the center of a tunnel’s face before the outer charges go off. With the center cracked and weakened, the blast effects from the perimeter charges tend to move inward. This reduces stress on the walls around the new tunnel which are needed to support the structure once the blasted material was hauled away. An explosives expert could set off delayed charges and leave an almost per
fect hollow rectangle. For the slate slide and cavern, I didn’t care about precision.

  I wrapped a bundle of explosives, shoved in a blasting cap, attached it to a wire, and lowered it into the gap. My plan wasn’t to place it on the floor of the cavern but to leave it suspended to weaken the roof and create an air burst over the pond. Then, I unwound the spools and walked more explosives and blasting caps up the slate. There I lifted rocks until I formed deep recesses. Heavy charges went in each recess and rocks were piled on top. Soon I had explosives set across the face of the slate slide. Each charge and blasting cap had a lead wire running to it. It required a lot of leads and, unfortunately, I was running out of wire.

  With stands separated between my fingers, I scrambled toward the side. A safe distance would be off the slate and deep in the woods. I tripped, stumbled, and crab-walked to where I could see the lower trunks of trees. Then I came to the ends of the wires.

  One hundred twenty feet more and I could hide behind a tree when tons of stone launched into the air and came rocketing down to impact the mountain. I didn’t want to be anywhere near the rain of stone and broken rock. Realizing there was no choice, I squatted down and attached the wires to the electronic detonator. Forty yards on flat land would take about five seconds. On the loose shale with the ankle breaking gaps and the sharp pointed rocks, it would easily take a full minute or more. Compare that to the millisecond from activation to boom and it left the odds of me surviving at too small a margin to calculate.

  But I was a committed nadreddet slayer. I twisted the handle to send the electronic charge down the wires to the explosives. Jumping to the first rock, I vaulted to another, then the shale slide lifted into the air and the rock I was on vibrated violently and shifted. I lost my footing and lurched forward. A force punched me in the back and suddenly, I was airborne.

  ***

  As if shot out of a cannon, I spun as I flew. Pieces of rock slammed into me but I was moving in the same direction and none of them impacted with anything vital. The shale and I reached the forest and the flying debris ahead of me chopped the tops off the first trees. Most of the stones’ velocity was spent on decapitating the conifers and only a few traveled with me toward a sycamore.

  My body hit and bent the treetop. It leaned over under my weight but I managed to grip an upper branch to keep from sliding off. When it slung upright, I was almost catapulted back the way I had come. Later I estimated the height at thirty feet. A fall that would have killed me. And a climb I couldn’t make at the time. I ached all over and only manage to crawl onto several limbs. I must have passed out because everything went black.

  ***

  It was mid-morning when I set off the explosive charges. The sun was setting when I awoke in agony. At that point, I’d been in the tree about half a day or so I thought.

  I attempted to reposition but neither shoulder moved to support my weight. Stuck and injured in the upper branches of a tree, I figured on a slow, agonizing death. Between the aches and the helplessness, I surrendered to my destiny as food for birds and bugs.

  I remembered nothing until sunlight filtered through the branches and disturbed me in my sky-high grave. Forgetting for an instant that I was injured, I reached for a branch. To my surprise, I grabbed and shifted my body to a more comfortable position. Then tempting fate and the strength of the branches around me, I got to my feet and peered through the leaves.

  Rock fall was gone. As if a stone mason had used a trowel to smooth the shale slide, the large boulders, caverns, and crevices had been whisked away. Now, small rocks and stones gently followed the curvature of the mountain slope.

  Looking up, I noted the sun was directly overhead. The last time I recalled it was setting. A quick glance at the cracked face of my watch showed I’d been in the treetop for three days.

  I found my sword on a lower branch and my food pouch a few limbs below it. Once on the ground, I searched for my rifle. It was nowhere to be found so I made lunch and consumed all of my supplies in one sitting. Then I rested my back against the tree trunk and went to sleep. If a snake wanted to eat me, it was fine. I was too tired to care.

  ***

  Tim Constance stood, stretched his back, and glared at the mountain man.

  “You were blown off the side of a mountain. Landed hurt in a treetop and in three days you were fit enough to climb down,” the researcher challenged. “This isn’t history, Mr. Cooper. This is a fable that stretches the imagination beyond the breaking point.”

  “I barely believe it myself, but it’s the truth,” Solomon stated. “Hold on a second.”

  The mountain man went to another trunk, lifted the lid, and pulled out two shirts. Back in the sitting area, he tossed one to the researcher.

  “This would almost fit you. A little big but you could get away with it if you avoided the fashion police,” Solomon teased as he held the other one against his chest. His deltoid muscles and clavicle bones extended beyond the width of the shirt.

  “I agree these are shirts,” Tim shot back. “But what do they have to do with this fantastic story.”

  “Those were my shirts before I demolished rock fall,” Solomon explained. “Afterward, I had to get new jackets and shirts. The old ones didn’t fit me any longer.”

  “What are you claiming?” question Tim. “That your shoulders healed like your fingers?”

  “I must have broken or at least dislocated both shoulders in the blast or when I hit the tree,” Solomon replied. “And yes, like my fingers, they healed bigger and stronger than before the injury.”

  “Just for a minute, suppose I believed your tale,” Tim inquired. “How do you explain the miraculous healings?”

  “Don’t forget about the snakes coming back to life,” Solomon reminded the researcher. He put his elbows on his knees and cupped his chin in his hands. For a moment, Solomon Cooper appeared to be a normal man in his late twenties. Then he reared back, expanded his chest, and locked the researcher with a fiery gaze. “I’m no scientist but, the nearest I can figure is the black matter from the pond is a type of parasite. A species of parasite that protects and enlarges the host to protect both of them. In the nadreddets with the black matter, they return bigger and stronger each time I kill them.”

  “You mean they had returned bigger,” Tim suggested. “They died in the explosion. Didn’t they?”

  “Some did but I’m not sure how many,” Solomon informed him. “For the last several years, I’ve searched for the black matter. All I could find was a gray smear on some slabs of granite on the other side of the mountain. Plus a few snakes with the black matter inside. But none came back to life or attempted to crawl up the mountain. Although they were hard to kill.”

  “So, in spite of your insistence that the story is true, you have no proof of this myth,” accused Tim.

  “There is proof all around you. If you know the signs,” Solomon stated while pointing toward the walls of his cabin. “But you wanted to know about Crusty Boy. Let me tell you.”

  “It’s why I drove up here,” Tim responded. “And please, don’t tell me it concerns giant snakes.”

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you but it does,” Solomon stated before leaning back and continuing his story. “There I was sleeping against a tree trunk with my sword in one hand and the pistol in the other.”

  Chapter 11 – The Demise of Crusty Boy

  The crunching of leaves jolted me awake. Expecting to find a snake, I rolled to my knees and swung the barrel of the pistol in manic arcs. My aim was low seeking a slithering body. When none came at me from under the trees, I remembered to inhale. Once sure the ground was clear, I raised my eyes and peered at a buck standing in the forest. He seemed calm which helped me get my heartrate under control. I hoped its appearance meant none of the massive nadreddets were in the vicinity.

  I climbed to my feet and stood straight as if to show the buck I wasn’t afraid. It was a pitiful display trying to counter the fact I had been so exhausted, I’d given up, and slept
in an exposed position. The buckle on my sheath had snapped so I tied it on and holstered the pistol. Then I realized my coat and shirt were not only tattered and torn but they no longer fit over my shoulders. With the buttons undone and my chest exposed to the cold, I started down the mountain.

  After a hard day of traveling, I climbed a tree and spent an uncomfortable night in the branches. In the morning, I set off again. My routes through the mountain had varied especially in the higher elevations. Late in the day, I stumbled down an incline and found myself on a familiar trail. Not wanting to spend another hungry and sleepless night in the forest, I decided to push on to Crusty Boy. With Tungsten full and basking the wide path in broken moonlight, I hiked at a steady pace. If the mine manager pressed charges for my theft so be it, at least I’d be fed and sheltered. And I had the pleasure of knowing the black pond and the cavern had been swept off the mountain.

  ***

  From a high ridge, I caught a glimpse of the lights at Crusty Boy between the trees. The sight invigorated me. If I hurried, I could catch a ride with the third shift to Wakeman’s Lodge. Visions of syrup drenched pancakes, spicy sausage, and hot coffee lightened my mood. In anticipation of a big breakfast and out of fear of missing the bus, I increased my pace.

  The rapid walk raised my body temperature but the heat was offset by the cold air forced through the gaps in my clothing. With my arms wrapped over my chest and my hands tucked under my arm pits, I attempted to keep the jacket closed and stay warm. I descended hunched over with my chin tucked into my chest. Between the angle of my head, the pounding of my heart, the chattering of my teeth, and the sound of my own breathing, I failed to hear the siren.

  It was such an unexpected tone in the forest, I didn’t place the wailing as it grew and faded. But after I took a switchback and dropped to a lower trail, the chirruping came clearly through the trees.