Survival of the Fittest

by Jacqui Murray

  And Hawk’s Lead Warrior, Water Buffalo, watched Nightshade.

  Xhosa breathed out when the hunters returned, laden with meat.

  She approached Hawk. “The scouts are back. The invaders, they’re here.”

  “How many?”

  “They cover everything the scout could see.”

  “How far away?”

  “Less than a moon.”

  Hawk beckoned her away from the group until they were far enough, no one would hear or see their hand motions. “We are leaving. You must also.”

  Xhosa stared at him, digging beneath the worry, the stress of being responsible for so many, and his concern for her. There was something more he wasn’t telling her.

  “Hawk, why would this enemy risk their finest warriors for vengeance?”

  Hawk stepped closer to her, his back to the group. “After their defeat last time, we tracked them a Moon and another, to their homeland. Ice mountains covered the land like water fills a lake, and it was so cold, we couldn’t stop shivering even with our pelts. They either take our land or freeze to death in theirs.”

  “In my homeland, the Big Heads needed our land for the food. Without it, they would starve.”

  “Come with us, Xhosa. My People respect you. And Nightshade,” and Hawk dipped his head but not before Xhosa saw trouble in his eyes.

  “What happened on the hunt?”

  Hawk wouldn’t look up. “I suspect if not for my interest in you, Nightshade would be a loyal friend.”

  When he finally met her gaze, she saw what he didn’t say. He would give her up to protect his People.

  As she would him.

  Xhosa gazed across the lofty mountains, the sweeping valleys, and the mighty canyons that dwarfed the flat hills, nowhere seeing her boundless open savannas where mammoth's trumpet soothed her to sleep. Moreover, everything here was cold.

  She turned away, motioning over her shoulder, “I will convince my people.”

  From then on, building the rafts, collecting food and weapons became what the People did.

  That is, until they ran out of time.

  Chapter 47

  Xhosa bolted upright, eyes unblinking, senses alert. Around her were the gentle snores of her People but Nightshade was not by her, nor Hawk. That must be what awakened her.

  She rubbed her hands down her face, awakening from another dream of Lucy. Bits floated to the surface, of the ancient female running, her small pack—Garv, Voi, and the wolf Ump—frightened but hopeful, and then Lucy’s dream gaze met hers, conveying hope, energy, and confidence—

  Xhosa shook her head, ridding herself of sleep’s webs.

  Nightshade appeared, face grim, lips white. “A field of warriors, armed with spears and warclubs, advances toward us.”

  He spread his fingers to indicate how many more of the barbarians there were than the People.

  Xhosa’s head pounded, her ears ringing so loudly it was all she heard. As it used to be, Xhosa heard Nightshade’s thoughts. If the rafts are ready, we flee. If not, we fight.

  “Hawk’s warriors engage them now, to slow them so his females and children can escape with us.”

  Hawk had agreed to this, part of a much larger plan to ensure as many of the combined People as possible survived. Water Buffalo, familiar with the invaders’ strategies, would lead the group, thin the invaders’ ranks, and tire them out. Then, Nightshade’s warriors would take over, giving the exhausted fighters time to reach the rafts.

  They also had a few surprises the invaders wouldn’t expect.

  “Siri—get the females and children to the rafts.”

  Since arriving at the new homeland, she performed the duties of Primary Female well. Now, when it mattered most, Xhosa depended upon her energy, leadership, and support.

  Xhosa hurried to endless Pond, joined by Pan-do, Nightshade, Sa-mo-ke, and Hawk. If the rafts weren’t ready, everyone would die, but the shore was lined with them. Some bobbed as though eager to leave while others sat on the sand, waiting. The thunderous noise of the attack could be heard even this far away.

  Sun beat down but in the distance rose great black thunderheads, like mountains. Between them floated grayish-white, fluffy clouds. Still more flanked these, moving gradually and majestically but pushed away by some irresistible force.

  Xhosa strode toward Zvi. “We must leave.”

  Zvi’s face, always pleasant, was today grim, body tense, and there was an urgency in her voice that had never been there before. “Everything’s ready.”

  Xhosa and Siri thrust everyone aboard the rafts, shoved paddles in two sets of hands, and forced them to push away from the shore faster than should have been possible. No warriors boarded because they would fight when the enemy arrived at the Pond.

  Xhosa loaded the last female onto a partly filled raft as a bloodcurdling scream echoed, followed by the wet thunk of a spear penetrating flesh. Xhosa wondered who died. Nightshade, Snake, Stone, and all of the People’s warriors charged toward the sounds. Xhosa heard grunts of pain and screams of death just beyond the trees and brush that shrouded the coastline as the invaders were stalled by the fresh fighters, letting Hawk’s exhausted warriors stumble onto the rafts. Nightshade would withdraw before he lost too many. The People needed enough warriors to defend themselves wherever they ended up.

  The sky over Endless Pond darkened to slate, the clouds ominous, the chilled air making her shiver. Her pelt had been forgotten in the cave. Despite Seeker’s warning, the storm caught her by surprise.

  Another raft pushed off of the shore as Nightshade’s warriors burst from the edging trees, howling and shrieking as they fought, backs to her, withdrawing one bloody step at a time, giving ground only when they must. All suffered wounds, some limped, and many carried injured groupmates.

  Nightshade bellowed, “Hold on!” wanting to add, for the next part of the plan.

  Pan-do’s warriors were hiding to the side in the sedge grasses, their spears and warclubs unblooded. With a mighty howl, they drove into the surprised intruders, Sa-mo-ke the loudest, flinging his deadly cutter that never missed. They were fresh, the invaders tired and injured. Nightshade’s exhausted fighters staggered to the rafts, tumbled onboard, and pushed away. Xhosa would board the last one, with Hawk’s warriors.

  Lyta lurched toward her father but Xhosa stopped the girl. “He’s OK, Lyta.”

  Pan-do locked eyes with his daughter, brandished his spear in victory, as his group finished their part in the plan and raced toward the rafts, covered by the last squad of warriors, led by Hawk and a handful of the combined group’s best warriors. They had hidden along the shoreline, waiting to surprise an enemy that would think the People had been routed. The surprise was complete and many more were killed but the enemy flood seemed never-ending. Finally, Hawk’s small group raced for the final rafts.

  Away from the sandy shore, too far for swimming but close enough for spear throws, drifted the warriors’ rafts, ready for their next part in this drama.

  “Spears!” Xhosa howled at the same moment Nightshade did and every warrior who still held a spear flung it toward shore, protecting Hawk’s retreat.

  That’s when she saw that Shadow, her daughter, and Siri, had been left behind. They raced toward the rafts but were too far away.

  “They won’t make it!”

  Then, a yowl resounded over the battle, more of a savage roar.

  “Spirit!”

  There, amidst the fray, biting and clawing his way toward the trapped females, was the wolf’s plumed tail, broad furry head, and flat ears. No one expected the attack of a wolf.

  “Spirit is going for them! They’ll kill him!” Seeker wailed, the first time Xhosa had ever seen the boy distressed.

  Xhosa trusted Spirit to take care of himself and focused instead on Shadow.

  “Hurry! You’re almost here!” Shadow pushed harder, driving herself forward, hand gripping her daughter. The girl pitched forward, almost dragging Shadow down with her. Shadow screamed feroc
iously and yanked the child to her feet but the invaders snatched the girl. Spirit snarled a fulsome growl and bit the warrior’s arm so hard, the bone snapped. He yowled but grabbed with his other arm so Spirit mauled that one, ripping and shaking until the warrior had to drop the child. She scrambled to her feet and fled, Spirit with her. Hawk appeared out of nowhere, threw Siri over his shoulder, snagged the child’s hand, and raced away faster than Xhosa had ever seen him run. When a final warrior tried to stop them, Shadow jumped in front of him.

  It was a suicide move but bought Hawk the breaths he needed to escape with Siri and Shadow’s child.

  Shadow screamed as they hit her and Spirit stopped, confused. He looked over his shoulder when she screamed again. His tail stiffened, hackles up. He smelled his pack in front of him but the voice behind him—that too was pack.

  “Spirit!” Seeker yelled, voice breaking. Spirit turned to the sound and huffed. His legs spread as he sniffed again, listening. The screams he had heard, behind him, were gone.

  “Spirit—she’s gone! We need you!”

  The wolf whimpered and responded to his pack’s alpha but by this time, he’d been overrun. The savages rushed past the wolf, not recognizing the danger he presented, and lined the shoreline, hurling spears at the last of the People.

  “Spirit! Get over here!” This time, Seeker’s voice was commanding. Xhosa had never before heard him order Spirit to do anything but it worked. Spirit streaked through the savages along the shoreline, knocking several down, and flung his massive body into the water with a loud whump.

  “Can he—well, I guess so.” Spirit, among his other skills, could swim like a fish.

  The wolf locked onto Seeker like a biting insect does blood, legs paddling, paws churning the water to a frothy white. Shouts erupted behind him as the savages swung at him and missed. They finally recognized the People wanted this wolf so hailed spears on the fleeing animal. One tried to grab his paw and got a vicious bite for his efforts. A spear punctured the wolf’s rear leg but fell out, coloring the water red. A stone hit him in the temple and another above the eye. He whined and stopped, shook his head, and almost sank but pulled himself up.

  One leg dangled loosely, unable to paddle, and his eyes drooped. He whined again and then moaned, his body dead in the water. He was too deep for the attackers to grab him but close enough for their weapons.

  “Ant, paddle us back! We can’t leave him!” Xhosa motioned in between flinging stones at Spirit’s assailants.

  Suddenly, mammoth’s trumpet saturated the air followed by another and another. It seemed to come from beyond the trees. The battle seemed to have riled a herd of the behemoths and they did the only thing they knew how to do when attacked. They charged.

  On one of the rafts, Hawk roared a laugh. “Your Pan-do—he is as clever as you said, Xhosa!”

  As others joined Pan-do’s voice, the invaders screeched, flailing their arms, and fled down the shoreline away from what they thought were charging animals. Those in the water gave up their chase of Spirit and floundered away.

  Seeker dove toward Spirit calling him. That seemed to snap the wolf out of whatever confusion he was in. He whined with excitement at the sight of his packmate and paddled madly toward Seeker with his two working legs until the boy grabbed Spirit’s front paws, looped them over his shoulders, and dragged him to a raft. The sharp claws dug into his skin as he leaped onto the logs but he didn’t seem to notice. The wolf plopped onto the deck and panted happily, tail whapping, clearly saying nothing about life was wrong when he had his pack.

  They were safe from Other enemies but not from the thick dark clouds that covered most of the sky nor the light rain that now dropped constantly. Xhosa stroked the water but the logs moved slowly.

  “Seeker! We must move to land until this storm passes. How do we do that?”

  Xhosa waited for his answer and was dismayed to get only a shrug. “Those who guided them made it look simple so I thought it was.”

  “Did they go out in weather like this?”

  “Well, no. They waited for clear skies.”

  Within a finger of Sun’s passage, the soft rain deepened to torrents that pelted Xhosa’s skin in vicious, stinging slants. The sky fire boomed. Fingers clenching the paddle, Xhosa pulled with every ounce of strength she possessed. Ant on the opposite side did the same. With the two of them working together, the craft cut a jagged course forward through the churning water.

  “Like this!” Xhosa demonstrated to anyone who could hear over the crack of sky fire, her voice muted further by deafening explosions and torrential rains.

  “Pull like this!” Xhosa tried again but no one heard.

  She swiped at a lock of dripping hair as the connected logs bucked and dropped. Freezing waves sloshed over it, drenching her already frigid skin.

  As though sensing their weakness, the raging waves bounced the platform high above the Pond and then threw them toward shore. Xhosa snatched for her paddle but lost it when a swirling wet wall slammed against her, hurling her overboard. Her head broke the surface but just long enough for a quick gulp before being pulled under. The next time she clawed her way to the surface, someone called her name, a frantic voice, and then she sank again. By the time she surfaced again, the voice was further away, a squeak, and then another wave tumbled her down and across the Pond’s bottom. It seemed forever before her feet—really, her knees—hit ground. She crawled forward, sludge filling her mouth, until an arm wrapped her torso.

  “I have you,” Nightshade shouted in her ear as he dragged her to shore. “I have you, Xhosa. You’ll be fine.”

  “Nightshade?”

  “We made it.”

  Xhosa smiled to herself at yet another strange land to conquer in search of their new home. With her People safe, any challenge was doable. She was her father’s daughter. She would never give up.

  Then, she passed out.

  Preview of The Quest for Home

  Book 2 in the Crossroads Trilogy

  Chapter 1

  Northern shore of what we now call the Mediterranean Sea

  Pain came first, before Xhosa even awoke, a dull throb mixed with sharp stabs. Even barely conscious, her side burned as though on fire. In fact, moving any part of her body hardly seemed worth the agony.

  But that was the least of it. The pounding in her eyes and forehead threatened to blow her head apart. Blindly, she clawed for her neck sack which made her shoulder scream. A shadow fell across her face, blocking the glaring sun. Dark worried eyes relaxed as her lids flickered.

  “Nightshade.” His name was nothing more than a weak whisper. Even the movement of her lips hurt.

  Her Lead Warrior’s head hair dripped water, pooling at her side. He smelled of salt, rotting vegetation, mud, and blood.

  “You are alright, Leader Xhosa,” he motioned, hands erratic. Her People communicated with a rich collection of grunts, gasps, vocalizations, gestures, facial expressions, and arm movements, all augmented with whistles, hoots, howls, and chirps.

  “Yes,” she grunted. Of course Nightshade would be at her side, always exactly where she needed him. “I am fine,” even though the drum inside her chest pounded like it wanted to burst through her skin. That would have to wait. “But you aren’t.”

  Deep bruises marred large swaths of Nightshade’s handsome features, as though he had been pummeled by rocks. An angry gash pulsed at the top of his leg. His shoulder wept from a fresh wound that extended up his neck and disappeared into his head hair. His hands and arms were shredded.

  He didn’t bother to respond. Why would he? His job was to protect the People, not whine about injuries. He would do his job until he died, which hadn’t happened yet.

  He reached into her neck sack and handed her a root tipped with white bulbs. As Xhosa chewed, knowing soon the head pain would disappear, Nightshade searched their surroundings, never stopping and never staying anywhere long.

  Always returning to her.

  The sun was high, th
e sky cloudless, with no sign of the raging tempest that had almost destroyed her People. Heat hammered down, drying the remnants of water on her body and her tattered animal skin. Subtly, in the trees and tall grasses that edged the shore, birds and insects came out of hiding, adapting to the strangers.

  How long have I been unconscious?

  Her pain was overshadowed by the precarious danger of this unknown land. She sat up, shook her hair to shed the water and debris that clung to it and felt it settle in a thick pelt down her back, all the way to her waist.

  “Nightshade, what happened?”

  Her memories remained a blur. Screams. Flashes of people flying through the air, clinging desperately to bits of wood, grabbing drowning children. Sometimes failing. Rain pounded so fiercely, they could have been traveling through a waterfall. A glimpse of Hawk crawling, one arm clutching someone, his other clawing through the wet sand, dragging himself up the beach.

  Nightshade began, “The rafts—”

  “Rafts.” She shook, trying to dislodge the spider webs that confused her every thought.

  He cocked his head. Exasperation crossed his face and then disappeared. “The People made rafts.”

  Yes, the homebase—Hawk’s homebase, not where they were now—had been protected on one side by an endless pond of salty water so vast, Xhosa couldn’t see either end or the opposite side. When the invaders attacked, an enemy familiar to Hawk, they cut off escape by land. The only possible route was over the water.

  “The enemy was too many.” Nightshade opened and closed his hands over and over to show how many there were.

  Images of swinging warclubs slashed through her memories, flying spears, howling and grunting as warriors fought for the People. Many fell, beaten to stillness. Children were dragged away screaming while the massive female Zvi lumbered faster than Xhosa thought possible, a child under each arm, a spear lodged in her back not even slowing her down. Her size stunned the enemy, freezing them in place, giving the huge female time to reach safety.