Survival of the Fittest

by Jacqui Murray

  Pan-do motioned, “Big Heads take Others as slaves, raising the children as their own, but this looks different.”

  Without warning, they seized the female. She flailed, scratching and slapping, kicking viciously. One Upright snatched her hand and bit off a finger. Her screams became howls which made him roar hysterically. The stump pumped blood and the others fell on her, ripping meat from every part of her body until all movement stopped. Then, they cut off her legs and arms, sharing them as Xhosa would a slaughtered gazelle. That done, they descended on the child. He had fainted and was easily dismembered.

  Xhosa swallowed her bile. “We must leave!” Death was noble, nothing like this ghoulish activity.

  Before they could, an ululating warble rose behind them. Xhosa leaped to her feet and spun, spear in hand, in search of a target.

  She need not look far. They were surrounded.

  Nightshade hunkered down, jaw set, head swiveling, doing what he could to protect her from the dense circle of spear-bearing warriors. The warriors barked while stabbing spears hard enough to draw blood, herding the small group down the hill toward the revelers.

  A hush fell over the people as the intruders came into view. Xhosa stood taller than the Upright’s warriors by more than a head with Nightshade more muscular and Pan-do more relaxed.

  Pan-do held his hands out, level and away from his body. “Do nothing. I have a plan.” Almost as an afterthought, he added, “Show no fear.”

  Xhosa nodded subtly.

  “Xhosa, if you can, slow down.”

  Xhosa had no idea what he had in mind but began to limp, as though her foot hurt. Pan-do reached out to help her but tripped and fell, hands catching his fall. As he pushed upright, he palmed a rock.

  No—it was a cutter from his neck sack. Was he going to try to slice the cannibals as they stabbed him? She huffed, distraught. I hope there’s more to it than that. Her head throbbed and her throat turned dry.

  As they entered the clearing, Xhosa rose to her commanding height, head raised, eyes hooded, anger shining through her gaze.

  “Who leads you?” She motioned, movements dripping with fury, but no one responded. She repeated her order using the gestures Koo-rag had recognized. This made them laugh.

  The warriors prodded the group forward. Soon they would be surrounded and Xhosa knew what happened next. These heathens might slay her but only after many of them died. Grunting and stomping increased, dull eyes fixed on the fresh meat, mouths open, saliva drooling over their lips and down their necks.

  “Stop!” Pan-do shrieked, louder than any sound ever to come from his mouth.

  Everyone did, more from shock than understanding. Within a breath, they all fixed on Pan-do’s hand, shaking in fear, over his head.

  With all eyes on him, he motioned, “Our people threw us out—we are sick!” He slyly sliced his lowered hand with the cutter and coughed violently into it. The entire group fell back as though frightened.

  “We seek a cure for the bloody cough,” and he held his palm up, dripping blood. He coughed again into his hand. This time, when he removed his hand, his lips were stained red. “Please help us!”

  The strangers babbled in their odd language. It didn’t take knowing their words to feel their horror. The warriors backed away from the group, yammering. The Leader shouted a panicked order and everyone threw rocks and dirt clods at the captives.

  They fled.

  When Xhosa felt they were far enough away to be safe, she looked back at the Uprights. Everyone was shoveling the dirt tainted with Pan-do’s blood into the fire.

  “How did you know they’re so frightened of the bloody cough?” Xhosa motioned, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

  “I didn’t. I guessed.”

  Chapter 39

  Moon appeared as Xhosa, Nightshade, and Pan-do reached their camp. Xhosa desperately needed sleep but first took the healing plant to Shadow.

  “Mulch the stems with the bark. It will slow the sickness, give us more time.”

  Shadow thanked her, tears rolling down her cheeks. Xhosa was so tired, her only response was a desultory wave of her hand.

  Sun finally woke Xhosa, her limbs stiff from the cold, fingers and toes tingling. Koo-rag had told the truth about the risk involved crossing the territory of the cannibals. No wonder he insisted they waste no time reaching the next river.

  The People surrounded the Leaders, eager for news.

  Xhosa motioned bluntly, “We must move quickly. These Uprights consider us food, as we do Mammoth and Gazelle.”

  A gasp rippled through the group. No one could imagine eating Uprights. As she, Pan-do, and Nightshade described what they saw, everyone drooped.

  “Did we make a mistake not going with Rainbow?” someone asked.

  “No. Koo-rag told us Rainbow is in grave danger.” Xhosa shared only that and just to quiet the people. “We are safer here.”

  A few of the People grumbled but Pan-do’s group never wavered in their trust for their Leader, nor did Nightshade’s warriors, content that their Lead Warrior had been anointed by one everyone respected.

  Nightshade motioned to the assembled group, “Carry spears at the ready. We must look too fierce to bother.”

  It didn’t take more than a handful of days to face another serious problem. Without the salt-rich meat that comprised much of their diet, the People began getting stomach aches, cramps, and fatigue. This was usually treated with the salt blocks everyone carried but they had harvested it only one time and that right after separating from Rainbow. Those supplies, though ample, had run out.

  One day, as they slogged ahead, a small herd of gazelle appeared, munching dispiritedly on the sparse dry grass, ribs etched like steps against their thin flanks.

  “Meat!”

  Xhosa grabbed Nightshade’s arm. “Wait. Let’s follow them, see if they will lead us to wherever they get their salt.” Animals that ate no meat found salt elsewhere.

  The gazelle moved as though each step hurt, clearly suffering from a lack of food and salt. While the People rested, Nightshade and Xhosa stayed downwind, letting the usual herd noise of crunching steps cover their sounds. The path steepened, winding among medium-sized boulders and stair-stepping hills and then into a narrow canyon.

  Nightshade’s face lit with excitement. “Do you smell it? Salt!”

  She sniffed and found the tantalizing tang but beneath it was an unmistakable dampness. “But there’s also rain. It could trap us in this canyon.”

  “There may not be rain but without salt, we know we will die.”

  Xhosa couldn’t deny that truth and they proceeded forward, into the canyon. A crack of thunder echoed in the distance. Somewhere it rained. The two hurried down the narrow chasm and out the other side to a broad flat plateau covered by the stark sparkling white of salt blocks. Both sprinted forward to collect as much as possible, quickly, and then get through the canyon before the rain hit. They slammed their warclubs into the jutting blocks, splintering them into portable pieces that were stuffed into neck sacks. The clouds thickened, the air cooled, and the growing menace of rain drove them.

  The first fat drops fell as Xhosa finished and raced back toward the canyon, Nightshade already on his way. Thunder boomed and lightning lit the sky. The few trees bent like grass in a storm, leaves ripped away by the blasting wind. If she and Nightshade could get beyond the canyon, they would shelter in a cave until the storm ended.

  The rain hardened to a deluge as she sprinted behind Nightshade between the tight rock walls. Cold pinched her skin like frigid fingers. She flew forward, ignoring a deafening crash behind her and a rumble that intensified with each step. Nightshade exited the opposite end of the canyon as another thunderous crack exploded.

  He gasped. “Xhosa, run! The cliff is collapsing behind you!”

  She dug her feet into the slippery dirt, pushing with every bit of energy that remained in her body. Abandoning the salt might save her life but would ensure everyone else’s
death. She tripped, plunged forward, caught herself and kept going. A deafening roar chased her down the canyon. She flew out of the narrow mouth and threw herself out of the way just as a boulder caromed off the walls, bounced out of the opening, missing her by a hand’s width, and exploded into pieces.

  Nightshade’s eyes glistened, his face white. “A landslide. It’ll block the canyon.”

  Xhosa knew what it cost Nightshade to show emotion.

  Safely inside the cave with her sack of salt, she curled into Nightshade, shaking with relief, sharing his warmth, and fell asleep.

  Chapter 40

  Morning brought clear sunny skies, the devastating storm a distant memory. Xhosa and Nightshade ignored their brush with death and ran hard to reach the temporary camp before Sun dropped from the sky. They passed the salt around, each member responsible for their own portion, and ate a meal of grubs, seeds, and salt.

  “Snake, any sign of those who watch us?”

  “No, but,” and he paused to grin at Sa-mo-ke, “We found a mastodon just before Sun went to sleep. Its leg is broken.”

  The next morning, he led Xhosa and the hunters to the injured animal. Its piteous bellows soon stopped and the group chopped it into cartable pieces, eating as they worked. Its tendons were looped around necks and the stomach and bladder were stuffed into neck sacks for later use. That night, the People ate well for the first time in a moon.

  As they finished, Snake asked, “When do we hunt Gazelle?”

  Nightshade shook his head. “A rock slide blocks where they are.”

  No one questioned the decision and the People left the next day, carrying what remained of the mastodon, avoiding the caves of the cannibals and anywhere they might gather. That night and every one after, they slept where dark was deepest, where bodies weren’t silhouetted against the moon’s shine, and with guards posted.

  Finally, as Koo-rag told her, the scent of fresh water became stronger than the salt of Endless Pond. After a handful of days, each colder than the last, Xhosa saw green trees on the horizon.

  Water was close.

  As Sun dipped, Xhosa shivered. She had never felt such cold.

  They set out when Sun awoke, drawn to the strengthening scent of water. By the time Sun hung directly overhead, the People were splashing and cavorting in the river while scouts watched for crocodiles.

  A hand slower than everyone else, Shadow finally caught up, supported by Rainbow’s former pairmate Siri. The female seemed to have boundless energy—first, caring for Ant and now Shadow, all while completing her usual duties.

  Many of the People couldn’t swim, including Pan-do, so Xhosa found what she hoped would be the shallowest path across the river. One step in and she jerked back, shocked by the coldness. After a moment, skin numb, she shuffled forward. It wasn’t until her position was as close to the opposite shore as where the People waited, with the water only to her hips, that everyone followed.

  The current was strong, the bottom slick and muddy so Pan-do plopped Lyta onto his broad shoulders. From there, her view extended far in both directions.

  “Look for anything dangerous, Lyta.” He hadn’t told her about Koo-rag’s warning of crocodiles. Why worry her if it wasn’t necessary?

  One hand gripped her father’s hair and the other his wrist as she searched the river. Pan-do grabbed for fish one-handed, catching one almost immediately, and grinned.

  Which was when Lyta screamed, pointing toward what could be mistaken for floating logs—if logs could change direction.

  Pan-do bellowed, “Crocodiles!” In fact, a flood of them, all headed toward the group.

  Nightshade roared, followed by Sa-mo-ke and Snake, and with the combined warriors, charged the reptiles, stabbing throats, eyes, and heads, trying to drive them away. These crocodiles were smaller and darker than those in Pan-do’s homeland with longer snouts and more teeth—and they swam faster. His first thought was Lyta’s safety so he churned forward, strong legs plowing through the shallow water, fish forgotten, both hands now firmly around his daughter. To his side, a child screamed as one of the monsters wrenched him from his mother’s hand. Another boy shrieked as jagged teeth sunk into his body and whipped him around until he stopped screaming. An older child stabbed his spear so far into a croc’s eye, it came out his neck. The crocodile hissed and sank as the boy sloshed toward the shore.

  Pan-do dropped Lyta on the soft grass edging the river and jumped back into the fray.

  Fire knifed through Xhosa’s side as one of the beast’s slapped her with his spikey tail, trying to unbalance her.

  “No, you don’t!” She anchored her toes in the muddy bottom and stabbed, her neck tight, arms bulging. Only after blinding both unblinking eyes, its throat bleeding red into the river’s current, did it back away. In the corner of her eye, she watched another child lose his life. His mother would have joined him if Pan-do hadn’t wrenched her viciously by an arm to drag her away from her child. The female’s shoulder would hurt but her life was saved.

  “Go!” she shouted, pushing everyone in front of her toward the shoreline. When finally safe, she turned and pulled elders and children from the water, sometimes bodily tossing them out of the water. Shadow huffed her way to Xhosa, swinging a warclub at any crocodile that approached, and then stayed to help. Xhosa couldn’t help but be impressed by her indomitable spirit.

  When the water was clear of the People, Xhosa looked around, seeing where else she might be needed, but everyone was secure. Nightshade was the last out of the water, just behind Sa-mo-ke and Snake. All had gashes on their arms and legs and Sa-mo-ke’s warclub was missing a maw-shaped chunk but they grinned, happy with one more successful battle.

  Well away from the river, Lyta shook uncontrollably in Pan-do’s arms, tears rolling down her face, her mouth open in a silent howl.

  Xhosa moved among her People, checking injuries, passing out herbs for cuts, moss to stuff gaping wounds. Only when all were cared for did her attention turn to her own wound.

  “Xhosa—come!” Nightshade beckoned from the bluff of a nearby cliff.

  Time later for what surely was nothing more than a scratch. With a huff, her feet shuffled toward her Lead Warrior, forcing her thoughts to what undoubtedly was the next threat to the People. Ascending the last of the slope took most of her remaining energy though not without several stumbles and a litany of scrapes to her knees and hands. She rose, gaze reluctantly looking out over what had cost them so much to find.

  After a moment, tears flowed unbidden and her voice called to those behind her, “Come, everyone! Come see your new homeland!”

  Chapter 41

  Below spread a lush, navigable valley more beautiful than any Xhosa had ever seen. Sparkling lakes and profuse shrubs spotted the landscape. The swaying grass, dotted with flowers and sage, stretched across. The earthy smell of loam, sweet berries, and fragrant herbs assaulted her. Twisting ravines broke the terrain, their channels hidden beneath the tan-green layers. Elephant, Giraffid, okapi, gazelle, and ostrich wandered a mosaic of forest and savanna—more food than the People could ever eat.

  Pan-do gasped while Lyta bounced and waved her arms. He stifled a laugh which made Xhosa smile.

  "The animals that left our homeland came here," he breathed. "This is more than I hoped for."

  Xhosa shivered, chilled as much from the freezing water as Sun’s nearness to its sleeping nest. The surging wind rolled over her as silently as a hunter.

  “There, Xhosa,” and Pan-do pointed to a soaring craggy wall a short distance from the trees. "We will find warm caves there."

  Xhosa awoke the next morning sore and stiff, taking a moment to stretch before opening her eyes. Her younger self would feel no after-effects from yesterday’s skirmish.

  “No wonder my father settled,” she chuckled to herself.

  Sun was already fully awake. Outside the cave, bustling morning noises greeted her. The grass was bright with morning dew and crunched under her feet as she trundled out to relie
ve herself, far away and downwind from the camp. Pan-do waved but didn’t stop

  Nightshade motioned, “Scouts are exploring. Then, we hunt.”

  The day would be full.

  As Xhosa lay down that night, a handful of days into their new life, rain fell hard, whipped into a frenzy by the chill wind. The People curled against each other, safe and dry in the cave, and her thoughts drifted into darkness.

  Sometime later, the rain stopped, Moon bright enough to light the cave’s interior, something awoke her. Even asleep, every noise registered. The familiar and safe were ignored but this one blared danger.

  “Over here,” Nightshade’s voice came from outside the cave, tense but commanding.

  She hurried over and he pointed a direction they hadn’t yet explored, heading out after shadowy smudges in the distance—Pan -do and a group of warriors.

  Moon shone softly, Sun already dispersing a muted glow over the landscape. The trail of the sound led up hills, narrowing to a steep curving descent toward the valley she’d seen in the distance. White crust cold to the touch covered everything. Her feet stepped in Nightshade’s tracks, squeezing through a narrow wedge between boulders. As Sun splashed across the peaks of the distant mountains, they crested a hill only to drop, pressing themselves against the cold ground.

  When it seemed safe to peek out, it was to see Uprights packed together in the clearing below, more than fingers on both her hands. They were neither attentive nor alert. In fact, they reminded her of Rainbow’s warriors—oblivious to what stalked them. On second look, these were Others but with more hair, squatter bodies, wider noses, and lighter skin than the People. Most wore some sort of animal wrapped around their chests. Xhosa shivered and thought these strangers must be warm—and smart.

  She sniffed but caught none of Big Heads’ distinctive reek so backed down the hill with Nightshade and Pan-do. Lyta materialized by her father.