The Sting of the Bee

by K E Lanning

  Lowry and Ginnie rolled out their sleeping bags next to each other, and placed their pistols nearby, while John stacked more twigs on the fire. The fire sprang up as they snuggled into their sleeping bags. The howls continued through the night, but fatigue overrode fear, and they awoke refreshed in the morning.

  John slowly got up, stretched his sore muscles and slipped into the hot water to get his body ready for the day’s ride.

  Lowry brought him a mug of coffee and sat beside him, dangling her feet in the water. “I like that Camp-Brew coffee maker—really slick. Just throw a coffee packet in, dial in the strength and it brews a good cup.”

  “Yeah, I bought that and the Insta-Tea brewer in Amundsen.”

  Lowry tilted her head toward Ginnie, curled up in the sleeping bag. “Ginnie is something special. I’m sure you’re proud of her.”

  John smiled. “Yes, she’s been a delight. Helen and I taught her to think and not to just accept what was taught, but to understand why. Even as a child, we respected her views and wishes, but we also required respect in return. And she always had consequences to her actions.” He shook his head. “Some people seem to treat a child like a pet, and not expect them to do chores, but I don’t think that helps children become adults.”

  She sipped her coffee. “She’s very bright.” Her mouth twitched. “I will tell you that I felt a bit of resistance from her last night as we were going to bed.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Lowry shrugged. “She gave me one of those ‘I’m watching you’ kind of looks.”

  Ginnie stirred in the sleeping bag and sat up with a yawn.

  “We’d better eat a quick breakfast and get on the trail. Lowry finished her coffee and stood. One at a time, she stretched her arms upward. “We have a long day ahead to reach the Dry Valleys.”

  After breakfast, John cleaned up the campsite while Lowry and Ginnie tacked up the animals. Lowry filled their water bottles from the cold spring and slipped purification tablets in each one. They mounted and started out of the tiny oasis.

  John looked at Lowry and Ginnie silently walking the horses through the narrow canyon. No giggling, no teasing. The tension was plain to see. He sighed, wondering if he and Lowry had a future together. The tea leaves were pretty damn vague, to say the least.

  CHAPTER 23

  At a brisk trot, they crossed a long stretch of flat terrain before climbing the mountain range separating the wetter side of Eastern Antarctica from the Dry Valleys. Near a rock slide, they reached the trail heading up the mountain, and slowed to a walk, threading their way through large boulders piled up at the base of the slope.

  With a gasp, Lowry halted her mare. The colt threw his head up with a snort. John and Oliver came up beside her.

  Her face pale, she gestured to the ground in front of her. “Look.” Among the tumbled boulders and rocks, a human skull lay on the trail, its empty sockets staring casually at the sky.

  John grimaced. The rest of the skeleton was strewn like matchsticks on the rocky ground. He held up his hand. “Stay back, Ginnie, you don’t need to see this.”

  “What is it?”

  “Some kind of accident and someone died on the trail, I’m afraid.”

  Ginnie slapped her hand over her mouth. “Yeah, I’ll wait back here.”

  John dismounted and handed the reins to Lowry. He stepped carefully around the bones and squatted, studying the site. He stood and circled the area, then knelt and lifted up a rifle that had been half-buried in the dirt. “Maybe a hunter?” He opened the chamber and furrowed his brow. “Still bullets left.” He sighted down the barrel of the gun. It had a crook in the middle. “The barrel is bent, like he used the gun as a club.” He stepped a few paces from the human skeleton and kicked a jawbone laying near a pile of rocks. “This bone might be the jaw of a canine.”

  “Perhaps he had a dog?” Lowry asked.

  “Big jawbone for a dog.” John scratched his head. “I think he had a fight with a pack of wolves.”

  An involuntarily shiver hit Lowry, staring at the scattered bones. “And the pack was so close last night.” She clutched her stomach as she turned, then caught sight of a red knit cap nestled in a clump of tussock grass. Pointing toward it, she whispered, “John.”

  John walked over and untangled it from the snarled grass. He turned it over and looked inside, but there was no identification in the cap. He walked around the site, but only shreds of clothing remained. “I don’t see anything to identify this poor guy.” He shrugged. “I guess I should bury what’s left of him, at least.” John reached into his pack and grabbed a portable shovel.

  A wave of dizziness hit Lowry as she stared at the red cap. “John, let me see that cap.”

  He handed it to her. Lowry held her breath as she turned it around. It had a black bear embroidered on the front—and more importantly, the shredded hole from the bullet she had shot. It was the same cap that Daddy had worn the day he and Jake broke into her home. With a tilt of her head, she exhaled. “Apparently, that pack of wolves became judge, jury, and executioner. This is the cap that ‘Daddy’ wore the day they broke into my house.”

  John shook his head in disbelief and nudged the skull with his boot. “Hope you enjoy hell, asshole.” He met Lowry’s eyes. “Thank god that line of DNA has been exterminated.”

  Lowry felt faint. “John, I think it would be better if I stay with Ginnie.” Clucking to the colt to follow, she moved her horse and John’s mule back to where Ginnie was waiting.

  Ginnie asked, “The wolf pack killed one of the men who attacked you?”

  Lowry nodded.

  “Good riddance. But scary at the same time.”

  John dug a hole away from the trail, then gathered the bones.

  Lowry flinched at the clacking sound of the bones as he dropped them in the hole. He covered the remains with dirt and pushed a rock on top of the makeshift grave.

  He stuffed the red cap into a pocket of his knapsack and tied the rifle behind his saddle. “I’ll drop these by the authorities.” He pulled out his canteen and washed his hands. He dried his hands on his shirt and glanced at Lowry. “You don’t look so good. Are you okay?”

  “Not really. All this brings back too many memories.” Lowry poured water into her kerchief and wiped her face. “We should get started up the trail, we still have a long way to go.” She pointed up the mountain. “The trail is well marked to the top of the pass; would you mind leading the way, John?”

  “Sure, Lowry.”

  They started up the mountain trail and Lowry tied the wet kerchief around her neck. Dalal’s head bobbed in cadence as the ascent steepened. Staring vacantly ahead, the rocking motion of the horse lulled her into a daze. No one spoke as they moved along the faint trail; even the birds were silent. In the pale sky a flock of vultures circled above the valley waiting out the death of an animal.

  Lowry felt bile rise in her throat.

  ***

  At the summit, they stopped. The animal’s sides heaved, recovering their breath from the climb. With haggard faces, John and Ginnie turned to Lowry.

  Lowry waved toward a tiny stream of water flowing down the face of the rock. “Probably the last water until the Bedouin encampment and it’s getting late. We’d better spend the night on this side before we head into the desert.”

  “Hurray.” John dismounted. When his feet hit the ground, his legs buckled, and he leaned against Oliver. “What would I do without you, buddy?”

  They unsaddled the mounts and hobbled them near the spring. The equines picked at the scant grass, while Lowry and Ginnie groomed them with a rag. John rolled out their sleeping bags near a scrubby pine tree and set out the dry dinners. Lowry filled the water bottles, dropping a purifying tablet in each, and joined the other two sitting on the sleeping bags.

  Worn out, they chewed the dry meal methodically, listening to the distant hoot of an owl.

  After dinner, they cleaned up and hung the saddlebags from a rock knob. As the fire
crumpled into embers, they watched the sun approach the horizon. From their perch, they had a spectacular view of the valley.

  A herd of caribou bedded down for the night, and across the river, a family of arctic foxes trotted along the bank in search of a meal. A torrent of bats rushed out of a crevice, darting and dipping through the crisp air. The sun’s last rays spilled across the winding river, and for a breathtaking instant, the surface of the water shone like a brilliant gold necklace tossed onto the earth.

  Life, intensely beautiful and horribly cruel. The cycle of birth and death never ceased. It was the one constant on Earth.

  Lowry peered over the valley to catch sight of the slow wheeling vultures she had seen earlier on the trail. The sky was empty. They had descended to their meal.

  CHAPTER 24

  They reached the top of the pass. Lowry shielded her eyes against the sun and watched a dust devil skate across the valley floor. The foreboding Dry Valleys were the driest part of Antarctica and for most settlers, a no-man’s land, but for the Bedouin tribe who had been so bold as to immigrate here, this was home.

  The desert wind sucked the moisture from her skin. She pulled out her water bottle and shook it. They had filled up at the spring this morning and the purification pills should have done their job by now.

  Lowry drank, then held up her water bottle. “Everyone take a drink before we head into the valley. This is the toughest part of the trek, but if all goes well, we should meet with Sheik Sahail before dusk.”

  After the water break, they checked their gear and the girths of their saddles, then descended onto the steep slope. With no trail to follow, the animals lowered their heads and tucked their hindquarters under them, sliding around rocks and small brush. Lowry glanced back; the colt followed the horses without too much cavorting and Ginnie seemed to be fine. But she chuckled at the sight of John and the mule with the same grim expression on their faces, edging their way down the incline.

  As they neared the desert floor, they paused on a ledge and rested, peeling off their outer jackets with the rising temperatures.

  Lowry strapped her jacket behind the saddle. “We’ll stop for a short lunch break when we reach the valley floor, then a couple more hours until we reach their camp.”

  “Only a few more hours, the woman says,” John grumbled.

  Like a solar oven, the air temperature became oppressive as they reached the valley floor. Lowry led the way toward a rock overhang for shelter against the sun while they rested. They dismounted, loosened the girths, and led the animals into the shade.

  Lowry petted her mare’s neck. “Sorry, no water for you yet, but soon enough.” She got apples out of her saddlebag and fed them to the animals, then left them to pick at the dry remnants of grass leftover from the spring rains.

  John pulled out the dry lunch packets and handed them around. He eased onto a rock and rubbed his sore legs. “That was quite a descent. Maybe I’ll get into shape before the end of this trip. Probably on the last day.”

  After lunch, they stretched out in the shade to rest. John and Ginnie soon fell asleep. Lowry stayed awake to watch the animals. She closed her eyes and listened to the sounds of this barren land. This was all new territory for her. The wind moaned through the rock formations with a sporadic clatter of rocks tumbling down the slope they had traversed. She opened her eyes and scanned the landscape for desert creatures, but none were out today. The UN wildlife release program had introduced high-desert species into these Dry Valleys, but most of them were nocturnal.

  The sun started its downward path, and she roused the others. They tacked up, mounted, and started across the desert floor.

  They approached a tall formation of rocks, covered with vultures leisurely flapping their wings—a fitting welcome to hell. As they passed, the flock of vultures took flight over their heads and the downdraft from their wings blew over them. The awkward colt jumped in fear and bucked next to John’s mule. To avoid the youngster, Oliver leapt to the side, and into the flight path of the last vulture. The vulture careened away, but the tip of his wing hit one of Oliver’s long ears. The mule shook his head in terror and pinned his ears back to his neck—and then bolted across the desert floor at a dead run.

  “Oh, my God!” Lowry screamed. “Hold on, John!”

  Lowry could see John pulling back on the reins, fighting to control the mule. He had Oliver’s neck bent like a bow, but the crazed animal ran as if his tail was alight.

  Lowry yelled at Ginnie, “Let’s go. I’ll see if I can catch up to that stupid mule and stop him.”

  With the colt trailing behind, they dodged rocks and jumped brush, gaining on the mule.

  In front of them, the terrain was flat and wide. Lowry yelled to John, “If you can turn him in a circle, it will slow him.”

  John twisted Oliver’s neck to the side, forcing him into a wide circle, and the mule slowed and broke into a trot. As Lowry and Ginnie reached them, Oliver halted, his sides heaving, struggling to catch his breath.

  “I hate this animal,” John snarled, keeping the reins taut until the mule relaxed.

  Lowry sighed. “I’m sorry, he’s usually very calm.”

  “Sure, on the farm, I’ll bet he’s a delight.” John glared at Lowry. “I thought mules were supposed to be steady Eddies?”

  “This one’s name just got changed to Lightning.” She tilted her head in the direction of the Bedouin camp. “Let’s keep them walking, so they cool out.” Grinning, Lowry said, “At least ‘Lightning’ was going in the right direction.”

  Lowry nudged Dalal next to John and Oliver. “That was impressive riding, John—you did a great job stopping him. Where did you say you learned to ride?”

  “I had an extended Boy Scout summer camp one year and horseback riding was a part of the package.” With a frown, he added, “But there wasn’t a Runaway badge.”

  The valley narrowed and near a hillside, they crossed a worn path. They followed it to the other side of the hill and found a sea of Bedouin tents. Herds of sheep and goats grazed behind the camp, while Arabian horses and cud-chewing camels lounged near a small pond ringed with pearlwort and tussock grass.

  A man in Bedouin robes shouted to the others, leapt on a waiting mount, and galloped up to greet them.

  John mumbled under his breath, “I hope Lightning doesn’t entertain our new friends with another display of speed.”

  Lowry raised her eyebrows. “Bedouins love a good race.”

  The Bedouin halted his horse in front of them. With a sweep of his arm, he said, “As-Salaam-Alaikum!”

  With a smile, Lowry gestured with her hand. “Wa-alaikum-salaam!”

  The Bedouin turned and waved for them follow.

  Ginnie asked, “What did he say?”

  “‘Peace be unto you,’ and I replied, ‘And unto you peace.’” Trailing the Bedouin to the camp, Lowry whispered to Ginnie, “Don’t touch their left hands, or show the bottom of your foot to anyone. We don’t want to insult them. Follow my lead.”

  They reached the main tent and a tall Bedouin stepped out, bowing to them with a smile. He gestured for them to dismount, and spoke in perfect English, “Welcome! Please come have tea with us.”

  Lowry dismounted and bowed to him. “Salaam, Sheik Sahail.” She presented John and Ginnie. “Let me introduce you to my friend John and his daughter, Ginnie, who were gracious enough to accompany me on this trip.” She gestured toward the colt, nibbling dates out of the hands of Bedouin youngsters. “And here is your new colt.”

  Sheik Sahail bowed to John and Ginnie. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He glanced at the colt with a smile. “I hope you’ll excuse me for a moment so I can greet my new stallion.”

  With a date in his hand, the sheik slowly approached the colt, murmuring to him. He stretched his hand out, with the date in his palm. The colt sniffed the date, gently picked it from his palm, and gobbled the treat. Then the colt sniffed his hand again and licked it, while the sheik rubbed his neck.r />
  Sheik Sahail turned back to Lowry. “A fine young stallion for my herd. Thank you very much for delivering him.” He turned to his servants and clapped his hands for them to take charge of his guests. The colt reared up in terror, but the sheik laughed. “He has a fine spirit.”

  The boys led the colt away, coaxing him along with more dates. Several men came up, offered to care for their mounts, and led them away. One of the sheik’s servants approached Lowry, John, and Ginnie, and with a bow, waved them toward the large tent. They entered the cool shade under the awning and sank onto exquisite rugs, set with a fragrant tray of tea and sweet cookies. The sheik sat across from them, motioning them to enjoy the refreshments.

  John sipped the hot tea and asked Sahail, “How is your tribe faring in Antarctica?”

  Sheik Sahail smiled. “It has been a struggle to adapt to the cold, but we winter near the city of d’Urville. We immigrated here to keep our way of life pure; in this new world we can stay away from the devastating influences of civilization.”

  Sheik Sahail discussed the history of their tribe until a huge dinner arrived, with fresh-baked flat bread and a roasted lamb on a bed of rice, covered with a sauce of yogurt and butter, sprinkled with pine nuts. After days of camp food, it smelled delicious.

  Lowry whispered to Ginnie, “Only touch the food with your right hand.”

  After dinner, the servants took away the platters and they lay back on the rugs, listening to a musician play a flute. Sahail asked Lowry, “How many Arabian horses do you have?’

  “We have five broodmares and use imported semen from stallions around the world, but at some point, we’ll have stallions here to breed with our mares. Perhaps you can come for a visit if you find yourself near Amundsen.”