Hawk left the next morning. Svet would work closer to camp, spiraling out and back, mapping the area and collecting greens and information, while hunting with their newly made spears. Max was to start building weapons. His first task would be finding a piece of wood to make a bow, and then spinning enough sinew from one of their small kills to make the bowstring. They’d collected shards of bone from the carcass they’d found, and two round four inch rocks that he’d use to make a bolas.
Hawk struck out in a new direction on a virgin path, working his way under tree branches, through wide ferns, and over ant and insect infested mounds that were larger than any anthills he’d ever seen. He saw several small dinosaurs, but Max was the scientist, and Hawk was clueless when it came to identifying these less recognizable geniuses.
His bag of supplies hung from his waist on a vine belt he’d made, and he’d cut holes in his spacesuit boots, turning them into ugly sandals of a kind. He planned to travel two days before he turned around and headed back to camp, which meant he’d be gone three nights. Hawk hoped to make twenty miles in that time, though he had no idea where he’d sleep. He considered climbing a tree and securing himself to a bow with his rope, but then he remembered that wouldn’t provide any safety unless he went real high, and he wouldn’t be comfortable sleeping that far up with nothing firmly holding him in place.
The first day ended with a splash of rain, and Hawk was grateful for it. He was able to fill his water bottle by directing the runoff of a large leaf, while also drinking his fill as the water drops fell from the drenched tree canopy long after the short downpour ended. His neck hurt from catching drops in his mouth, but he felt better than he had in days.
No shelter like the fallen tree presented itself, so Hawk collected some dried branches and kindling and sparked a fire beneath the boughs of a thick conifer using dried leaves. He’d sleep with his back to the tree, and try and keep the fire going all night. He ate half a space ration, overloaded the fire, and settled against the trunk. Stars blinked through tiny gaps in the tree canopy, and the sound of the jungle’s roar was steady and mind numbing.
Hawk closed his eyes, but had trouble falling asleep. The night dragged on, the darkness so complete he couldn’t see anything beyond the ring of his firelight. He dozed several times only to be woken by a primal yelp or wail. The Viking rested in his lap, and each time he woke he grabbed it, panning it around like a flashlight, but there was nothing to be seen except the glowing orange eyes of the mouse-like creatures that came, discovered there was no food for the taking, and disappeared back into the jungle.
“Screeeeeeeeee. Screeeeeeeeeeeeee.”
Hawk’s eyes snapped open and he grabbed for the Viking, which had fallen off his lap and lay in the dirt. He snatched it up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Above, perched on a branch, a large yellow and red hawk-like bird the size of a pit bull with a long hooked beak and sharp black talons stared down at him with white-rimmed eyes. It flapped its wings in protest of his presence, and let loose with another, “Screeeeeeeeeee.”
“Easy. I got nothing,” Hawk said to the bird.
“Screeeeeeeeee.”
“Quiet, before you bring every creature in the jungle.”
“Screeeeeee. Screeeeeeeeeee.” Louder this time, as if the animal understood him and was saying screw you.
Hawk lifted his gun and trained it on the bird, but it stared back with its glassy eyes. Hawk got up, and that movement was enough to propel the bird into flight. It climbed upward, its wings pounding as it navigated the close confines of the forest.
He kicked dirt on his coals, ate the rest of the ration he’d opened the prior night, and plunged back into the jungle.
He looked back and the metallic pouch that had contained his food was on the forest floor. He was the first litterbug in history. He went back and stuffed the wrapper in his pocket. That piece of trash made him think of the coke bottle that fell from the sky in The Gods Must Be Crazy, and then his mind skipped to the Bradbury story, The Sound of Thunder. Could what he and his shipmates did change the future? He didn’t think so. Earth was headed toward an extinction event, and Hawk didn’t think anything they did here would survive that, let alone a hundred million years. Hawk reminded himself that it didn’t really matter. If they wanted to survive they had to interact with their environment, because there was no shiny path that let them move about without touching anything.
It was midday when a clearing in the trees appeared ahead. He checked the Viking, and inched forward, gun before him, scanning the forest. He found the glade so out of place within the lush jungle that Hawk marveled at its existence. There were no signs of fire, or lightning, and as he scanned the area his heart leapt in his throat.
Nine round polyhedron shapes spanned the clearing. Hawk looked side to side in disbelief. The edges of the multisided objects were sharp and clearly cut. Someone had made them, even from thirty feet away that was obvious. Viking held before him, Hawk made his way across the odd clearing. The ground was hardpan and hard as rock.
The nine polyhedrons appeared to be made of stone, but closer inspection revealed they were made of a plastic-like material Hawk had never seen before. They were smooth to the touch, and had no discernable markings. Each different shades of slate-gray, the objects ranged in size from a golf ball to an elephant, and were arranged in a line with a tip that pointed north-east, the largest piece being at the south-western end.
Hawk examined the markers. He’d already decided that’s what they were. They weren’t natural formations, and their spacing and the existence of the clearing were evidence. But who had put them here? And when? What was their purpose and what did they point to?
The sun was past noon, and the sky was a clear blue, not a cloud in the sky. A flock of birds circled overhead, but nothing predatory, and Hawk flashed back to the huge dragon-thing with sail wings they’d seen when they’d crash landed. Insects chirped and buzzed so loudly it sounded like the hum of a small motor. Hawk took a pull of water and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.
The markers were in a perfect line, arranged to look like an arrow. Three half size markers formed a triangle on the north-east end. He’d thought the arrow pointed in the direction of the light beacon, but now it was clear it didn’t. Still, hope swelled in him. Was the clearing a landing marker? If the ground hadn’t been free of plant life, the markers would’ve been consumed by the jungle long ago, but something kept that from happening and Hawk had a feeling it was more than hard packed dirt.
He took out his copy of The Martian and added the location to the map as accurately as he could. If he was right, they’d probably find more markers and perhaps the others would reveal more. He repacked his bag, and ran his hands over each marker, looking for notches or indentations he might have missed. In his wildest fantasy he’d find an activation switch that, when initiated, would show some sign of technological advancement, but he found no such thing.
There was a rustle of branches and Hawk looked up to see a gap opening in the leaves of a massive fern. A horse-like head covered with brown scales and feathers poked through the leaves, its thin snout filled with razer teeth, its eyes yellow pits of aggression. The beast howled, and pushed through the trees into the clearing. It stood a foot taller than Hawk, and reminded him of the fictional raptors in the first Jurassic Park.
Hawk hid behind the largest marker and drew the Viking. He fired once into the air and the beast stopped short, its head bobbing as wet eyes focused on him. The surrounding trees exploded as every creature capable of flight burst from the canopy like a cloud of gnats, and fled squawking, tittering and screeching.
Hawk used the distraction to make a run for the tree break, knowing the sudden movement might spur the beast forward. When he’d almost reached the trees, he looked over his shoulder. The dinosaur hadn’t moved, but it tracked him, seemingly uncertain if this creature without much meat on its bones was worth the effort.
The dinosaur decided he was and
bounded forward.
8
Hawk pivoted and pointed the Viking, firing three shots in fast succession, each striking the raptor-like beast in the chest. The dinosaur came on, its large glassy eyes bulging from their deep sockets, jaws open, blood spurting from the wounds. The animal was almost on Hawk when it slowed, stopped, and fell on its side with a crash and a puff of dirt.
Hawk leaned against a tree and slid to the ground. His heart pounded in his head, his stomach a pit of ice. The jungle had gone quiet, the gunshots as foreign in these parts as a Starbucks. The fallen dinosaur spasmed, and Hawk jumped and smacked the back of his head on the tree trunk. The ground shook slightly, and Hawk got to his feet.
Rumble.
Rumble.
Hawk didn’t know how he was going to survive in this version of Earth. It seemed like every step he took there was something waiting to bite, stab, or crush him for food. The ground stopped trembling, and Hawk pulled his knife.
“Time for you to learn about the food chain, bitch,” he said to himself. He went to the fallen dinosaur and examined the corpse. The legs were all muscle, and the short arms were skin and bones. A thin layer of muscle and fat covered the beast’s back, and it looked like the breast area might provide some quality meat.
He plunged the knife into the creature’s chest, and red-brown blood pulsed from the wound and the stream caught Hawk in the face. The astronaut fell back and dropped the knife. A bird squawked, and to Hawk it sounded a little too much like laughter. He got up and wiped the blood from his eyes with the back of his hand, got the knife, and went to work cutting himself a steak. The sinew beneath the skin was thick and tough and would be perfect for making bow strings. The scent of raw meat filled his nostrils and he stepped back, jerking his head side to side. The carcass would bring others.
He wrapped the meat in a giant leaf and stowed it. As he traversed trees and knifed through huge ferns he wondered how dangerous the meat might be to his system. So far, nothing he’d eaten had affected him. If he cooked his kill well he’d probably be fine. He had to get used to the idea that there’d always be the possibility of microbes that could prove problematic and potentially fatal. As with the terrestrial water, they didn’t have much choice.
Then there was the primal urge to eat the beast that had tried to kill him.
The jungle thinned, the trees becoming more spaced out, giant ferns covering the forest floor and filling most gaps. He was starving, so when he judged he was far enough away from his kill, he kindled a fire and cooked the fresh meat. It smelled delicious. The steak was thin, and only took a few minutes to be charred brown all the way through.
Hawk ate greedily, fat dripping down his face, which was already caked with the animal’s blood from his butchering job. He was licking his fingers and pushing dirt on the fire when he saw the large mound of leaves.
Sunlight filled the jungle, the tree canopy not as close and tight as it had been. The pile stood three feet high, and looked like a landscaper had raked the area and went off on break before the ritual bagging. A gentle breeze floated through the jungle, pushing around leaves both alive and dead. There was no cleft in the land, the pile wasn’t against a tree or other natural gathering point. It stood alone in a small clearing drenched in sunlight.
Hawk wiped his hands on his pants and went to the pile. It reeked of rotting vegetation and all the leaves had turned a deep shade of brown. If it wasn’t for their coarse texture, Hawk might have mistaken the pile for dinosaur scat.
He picked up a stick and stirred the leaves, probing for anything hidden within. He paused, his mind warning him there could be giant ants, snakes, an entire animal kingdom could be hiding beneath the leaves and stirring them to life might not be the smartest thing. Then again, Hawk knew he wasn’t the smartest person. He resumed prodding the pile. The stick knocked on something hollow and he cleared away the remaining leaves.
Six eggs the size of squashed basketballs sat mounded within the nest of leaves. They were brown with streaks of yellow and black, and had coarse shells that looked like sandpaper. He picked one up, turning it in his hands and holding it up to the sun. It was warm to the touch and as the sunlight shone through the egg he saw the baby dinosaur within.
Hawk smiled, caressing the egg. Then remembering where he was he put it back down on the pile and backed away. Where there were eggs, there were mommies, and judging by the size of these eggs, mommy and daddy would be big. Unfortunately for Hawk, that thought was late in coming.
A triceratops poked its armored head through the ferns, thick horns curved to the sky, its eyes dark baseballs. The three curved horns were the size of a man’s arm and protruded from the dark green shield that surrounded its head. Thick legs supported the huge torso, and the beast towered over Hawk.
Mommy.
This time Hawk didn’t panic. He stayed still, making no erratic moves. The dinosaur shrieked, the piggish sound ending in a high-pitched wail that sounded like a horse whinnying. The beast jerked its head up and down, stomping its right foot as if preparing to charge. It roared again, inched forward, and threw its head in the air and snorted.
To Hawk’s left the trees got thicker, and the massive dinosaur wouldn’t be able to fit through the filter of tree trunks. He bolted, heading for a thick section of tall, full conifers. The triceratops hesitated, stomping its feet and kicking up dust. Hawk was in the trees before it gave chase and a cacophony of cracking wood and exploding earth passed over him like a gust of wind as the creature slammed into the woods.
Hawk looked over his shoulder and saw the triceratops’ massive shield was stuck between two thick tree trunks. The beast churned forward like a machine, digging into the wood and tearing up the ground. The conifer bent and swayed, but didn’t break.
Another triceratops blocked Hawk’s way as he ran, this one dark red with streaks of black. It was smaller than mommy, but had bigger horns and large battle scars on its shield.
Daddy.
Hawk juked left into a stand of stunted palms, fronds lashing his face and arms, causing small paper cut-like gashes that leaked blood. The thunder of the triceratops faded, and the ferns thinned as he ran blindly through the underbrush. The land opened into a large path that appeared to be the main animal trail he’d seen to the east of the lake. Claw prints large and small marked the packed dirt, and several smaller animals paused in their journey as Hawk burst out onto the natural thoroughfare.
The was no sign of his pursuers. Hawk figured daddy had gone to see what mommy was screaming about, and upon finding the eggs undamaged decided pursuing him wasn’t worth the effort. He panted and sucked for air, his chest heaving, sweat dripping down his back and forehead.
He slipped back into the tree break and followed the path. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself, and strolling down the regions equivalent of I-95 wouldn’t be the best way to accomplish that. Pterosaurs soared overhead, their sail-like wings snapping in the wind like tent flaps, their shrill cries drawing his attention. Something big circled above the flock of pterosaurs, a massive thing that looked three times the size of the rest, but it disappeared into the oncoming clouds.
He hiked the remainder of the day, and as the sun reached for the horizon he could just make out the lake across a thin savannah pocked with trees that ran around the dark blue water. Hawk climbed a tree and searched the plain, looking for a safe path, but animals of all sizes and shapes covered the savannah.
To the north two massive tyrannosaurs fought over a decayed carcass, and smaller beasts covered in feathers and scales chased each other about while birds fled from flying reptiles that plucked the birds from the sky. Everything roared, chirped, or brayed, and the odd sounds created an eerie tune that sounded like grunge metal without the thumping bass. There was no way he could get to the lake’s shore. It was too dangerous.
With no safe place to hunker down for the night, Hawk decided to start back. He walked until dark, then went without a fire and lay beneath a fern with l
ow hanging branches and covered himself with leaves to hide his scent. He slept undisturbed and was famished when he awoke. He ate some breadfruit, and drank the last of his water. If he hiked the entire day, only stopping for short rests, he should make it back to camp by nightfall. Hopefully Max and Svet had stockpiled some chow.
Back in the thick jungle the temperature dropped, and a chill ran though Hawk. He was weak, his lack of food and water taking its toll. The insects were back in full force, and they buzzed his head and bit any exposed skin. The black gnats were the worst. They flew into his nose and eyes, and their bites left little red itchy welts. They were impossible to see, and Hawk smacked himself in the face more than once as he swatted at the things.
He encountered no dinosaurs or other large beasts, but he heard them. Cracking wood and crunching vegetation, braying, shrieking, and growling provided a constant reminder of the dangers that lurked around every curve in the path. Ants and insects seemed to rule the world, and more than once Hawk had come upon a shifting pile as ants devoured something unrecognizable.
The smaller lizards and marsupials appeared content to leave Hawk alone. Most spied him with curious eyes before disappearing back into the camouflage of the jungle. Large flying beetles dive bombed him, but Hawk had gotten adept at swatting them before they landed on him. The mosquitoes were particularly large and harsh, and Hawk worried about the diseases they might carry. In his time the little vampires were the number one cause of disease proliferation, and if there was a harmful virus prowling this version of Earth, the mosquitoes were the most likely delivery service.
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