Killer Pack (Dawn of Mammals Book 4)

by Lou Cadle

  Hannah was hanging back, watching the group dynamic, worried about letting herself open her mouth. She’d have to police herself to keep from unconsciously taking over from Claire. For now, she wanted to pretend to be a mouse in the corner, overhearing, but not drawing attention to herself.

  Nari fussed over Bob, who reassured her he was fine.

  Claire said to Ted, “How did Rex’s invention work?”

  “Great. He didn’t have to repair it but once, and that was minor, just shoring up the cross-bracing.”

  Claire said, “It’s so good to have you all back. To be together again.”

  Bob said, “Where are Jodi and Zach?”

  “Fishing,” Claire said. “And now that we can have fire again, we’ll smoke fish.”

  “Good,” said Dixie. “I’m sick of raw.”

  “Why no fire?” Hannah said.

  “We couldn’t get one started,” Claire said. “We got a bit of smoke from using Zach’s glasses to focus sunlight, but we couldn’t get it to burst into flame.”

  Hannah should have given them the fire starter. It had slipped her mind. But then she and Bob would have eaten raw food and had no protection. She wished they had two ways to start a fire. “I’ll try and teach myself how to start a fire from friction,” she said. “We can’t be so dependent on this one object.”

  Best to set herself some task like that and stay out of the way of the young people while they settled into the new hierarchy. In a way, it was good that she and Bob had been absent for a week. Claire already had established her command style. Sometimes things worked out for the best. Not Laina, of course—her stunt was nowhere near “the best”—but the rest of it had worked out, staying a month longer in the cabin, in a world they were familiar with, and letting Bob and Rex heal.

  For the next week, Hannah hung back and let the young people run their own lives. When Claire told her to do something, she did it. When Claire pulled aside and asked for her advice, she said little beyond, “You’re doing great. You decide.” At times it was hard, but she clamped her lips together and swallowed her opinions.

  And they survived. Thrived, even. She and Nari and Bob ended up partnered on a project to make leather clothes. They’d been tanning hides from their hunts with the males’ urine and the animals’ brains all along. But as the weeks wore on, their old clothing was getting more and more tattered. The single needle Hannah had in the first aid kit was so dull as to be nearly useless, and what sharpness was left in it seemed important to preserve for whoever next needed stitches.

  Small wounds were treated now with pine sap. Not only did it close the wound, like Superglue, but it seemed to have antibiotic properties. Hannah wasn’t sure if that was only because it kept out bacteria, or if it actually did have some chemical compound that fought off infection as well, but everyone had made it a habit to gather up a dab of pine sap on a stick and smear it over cuts and scrapes as soon as they occurred.

  As for the leather-making, they were progressing. Finally, some of the fossil-cleaning tools were perfect for a job. The dental picks, they used as awls, punching tidy holes along the side of the small animal hides. They cut the irregular bits of hide into strips, using a spiral cut so that a small irregular circle of hide might yield a yard of hide ties. Those, Nari pushed through the awl holes and then tied individually.

  At the same time, Ted honed his skill as a flintknapper, with Bob’s occasional assistance. They were re-inventing, Hannah suspected, the methods humans had spent hundreds of thousands of years figuring out. The advantage Bob and Ted had was that they knew it was possible. It had been done, and therefore it could be done again, and this time it wouldn’t take a million years to figure out.

  The two of them were making stone knives and trying to figure out how to set them in handles. But even without handles, the stone knives were sharp enough to cut leather strips. It took some practice to cut something as delicate as a spiral for hide strips, but practice did improve the technique over time. Hannah was getting halfway decent at it herself, but Nari was the star.

  “If I ever get back to modern times, I might hire myself out to Hollywood,” she said one day. “I could make really authentic costumes for caveman stories. Or post-apocalyptic ones, like Mad Max.”

  “You could do whatever you wanted when we go back,” Hannah said. “That’d be great, if it’s what you want.”

  “I think I could even manage to—you know—push myself forward. Sell myself. I’m not as afraid as I used to be.”

  Hannah still thought of her as the shy one, but she probably had changed. They all had. “Anyone would be lucky to have you work for them. If they’re too stupid to figure that out, you wouldn’t want to work for them anyway.”

  Nari laughed at that. “Do you think this knot will hold up to pressure okay?” She handed over a moccasin she’d been working on for Dixie. Dixie’s clothes were the cheapest, thinnest, and least suited to rough living. They all went barefoot half the time, but Bob had pointed out they wouldn’t always be living in such warm weather. One day, they’d need their boots or replacement footwear.

  Hannah examined the knots Nari had tied along the toe of the moccasin. She gave it a light tug, and then a harder one. “Seems strong. And it’s pretty.”

  “It should be possible to do both. Make something functional and attractive. Like the pots. They have a sort of natural beauty as they are, but I bet we could figure out how to decorate them too.”

  “There seems to be time now,” Hannah said. “And with the experience of this one behind us, we might be able to build a cabin in only a week in the next place. So the last two weeks of next month, we’ll also have plenty of extra time to continue to get better at these crafts.”

  “Do you think Laina will be there? In the future?”

  “I don’t know,” Hannah said.

  “I hope she’s okay.”

  “So do I.” Hannah returned the moccasin to Nari. “You’re doing a terrific job. I guess I’m the cutter and you’re the sew-er. Seamstress? Tailor.”

  “I’ll answer to any of those. That’s how people got last names, isn’t it, in England?”

  “Some of them. Like Cooper; that’s a barrel-maker. Or Smith, which is a smith, a metal-worker. Do Korean names have meanings like that?”

  “No. Either dynastic names or nature names. Like ‘plum tree’—that’s a common Korean name. Or ‘mountaintop’ or so on.”

  “What’s your name mean?”

  “‘Field of grass,’ basically. Sometimes there is a second meaning too, because of the ideogram. I’m not good with those. I can speak a little Korean but not read it.” She tied another knot. “What’s your last name mean?”

  “I have no idea. I think it was Scandinavian. I’ll have to Google it.”

  “Ha. Wish we could!”

  “Then you’d be able to look up the ideal knot for moccasin-making.”

  Nari worked at loosening her last knot, turned the hide strips so that the strips all lay down the same direction, and tightened the knot again. “You know,” she said, “I think I prefer working it out on my own. It’d be faster to look up directions. But I don’t know that it’s better.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “When I work it out myself, I learn more. I know more about knots now than I ever did, but it’s not like I memorized six knots. I can see how they work. So if I need to invent one for a specific purpose, I think I can.”

  “That’s a really good point,” Hannah said.

  “Do you think we’ll go back to being who we were before?” Nari said. “I mean, if we’re back in the time of computers, will we forget how to be like this? I like being this way. I like—I’m not sure how to put it. Circling around understanding something before landing on it. I don’t want to just Google something. Or to pour a bag of salad mix into a bowl. I’d prefer to collect leaves. You know what I’m saying?”

  “I know what you’re saying. And I agree. But I wouldn’t mind having modern me
dicine. For Bob and Rex.”

  “Rex is getting better.”

  Too slowly for Hannah’s peace of mind, but he was. He could hear better now than the day of the lightning strike. And he’d doubtless hear better in another week.

  Bob came up—he was able to walk around the cabin without distress—and handed Hannah a new knife. “Try this one.”

  She took a thumbnail-sized scrap of hide and cut through it. “Sharp!”

  “Yeah, don’t cut yourself.”

  “Good job.”

  “Ted asks if either of you wants to go out on a hunting party.”

  Hannah said, “I will. I need the exercise. And the practice.”

  Nari smiled and shook her head.

  Bob dropped into a cross-legged position beside her. “I’ll be your assistant then.”

  “Are they organizing for the hunt now?” Hannah said.

  “Yeah. Right now.”

  Hannah said goodbye to them both and went to find Ted.

  Chapter 9

  Claire had decided to come along, but she said, “The hunt’s all yours, Ted. Tell us what to do.”

  He moved them out and directed them over the hills at an angle. “Keep your eye out not only for herds but for fresh dung. And let’s pick it up to a jog, if you’re all up to it.”

  The hunting party was Ted, Dixie, Claire, and Hannah. Though he had volunteered, Rex’s hearing made him a less than ideal member of the hunt, and Claire had asked him to stay in camp. Ted had developed a simple set of hand signals for the hunters to use while stalking prey, but vocal communications were still important, especially once a herd knew it was under attack and silence was no longer helpful.

  Hannah could also too easily imagine a scenario where Rex was alone, facing the wrong way, and someone screaming, “Look out behind you!” would not be heard—and a hell pig or some other predator would get him. No, Claire was right. Better that he stay at the camp, working on designing another useful tool.

  They jogged down a second hill and walked up a third, taller than the rest. In the distance, they saw a small group of animals munching at a patch of bushes. There were a dozen of them, no more, about the size of dogs, with square heads. All four of the humans dropped to their bellies at Ted’s signal to spy on them.

  Dixie said, “Are they dogs? Bears?”

  “Something else, I think,” Claire said.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Ted said. “They look edible. And big enough to be worth the hunt.”

  Dixie said, “But how do we sneak up on them?”

  It was a good question. The patch of bushes was in the valley between two hills. No trees or rocks or other cover suggested itself. No matter from which direction they tried to approach, the animals would see them coming from a long way off.

  Ted said, “They seem pretty intent on eating. We might be able to get close before they notice.”

  “But they’ll eventually see us. And they’ll turn and run,” Dixie said.

  “So we need to split up,” Ted said. “Come at them from two sides.”

  Hannah didn’t point out that there were more than two escape routes. Even with twenty people, they’d have a hard time cutting off every one.

  “Or maybe we need to herd them,” Ted said.

  “To the camp?” Claire said.

  “No,” he said. “Toward a hunter. You, I think. No offense, but you’re a little slower than the other three of us.”

  “No offense taken,” she said.

  “So Dixie, Hannah, and me, we’ll detour way around, over that way, I think.” He pointed. “We’ll cross over, stay behind the hill, and run down it, spread out with like, I dunno, twenty yards between us. If they try to run between us, we can close the gap and maybe get a lucky spear throw in. But what we’re trying to do is drive them up this hill toward Claire, who will be waiting for them just over the ridge. Sound good, Claire?”

  “Sure. Waiting is the easy part.”

  “And if they skew to one side or the other, you can adjust. Stay low, move to meet them, and they won’t know you’re there.”

  “Got it,” Claire said. “Look, I think they have fingers, not paws.”

  One of the animals was balanced on rear legs to reach to the top of a bush. Though it was too far away for Hannah to see for sure, Claire was probably right.

  “Definitely fingers,” Dixie said. She had the best vision of the whole group. “I think maybe they’re picking berries.”

  “Let’s get going,” said Ted. “It’ll take a while, and I don’t want them to be moving on before we have a chance to get one.”

  At a slow jog, they ran behind the ridge of the hill they were on for several minutes. They were nearly a mile away, Hannah thought, when Ted allowed them to cross over the valley and climb the next hill, walking slowly, trying to look like no threat at all to the distant berry-eaters. Then they jogged again, back in the direction from which they’d come, hiding themselves by keeping well beyond the crest of this hill.

  Ted slowed them to a walk after ten minutes. “Save your wind for the final sprint.” He kept checking their position against the animals and, after a short time, stopped them. “They’re down there.” He pointed. “Hannah, you go from here. Dixie, come ahead.” He led Dixie another couple dozen yards and then stopped her. Ted went on to the last position. He raised his hand, made a fist, and then yanked his arm down, the signal to run.

  Hannah took off, crested the hill, and ran down the slope, gaining speed with every stride. Ted and Dixie were pulling ahead of her, and she put on another burst of speed to try and catch up, to keep their line straight.

  The berry-eating animals didn’t see them at first, so intent they were on their meal. But one finally looked up to gaze around, caught sight of the humans and visibly started. It began running, but not straight ahead. It was taking an angle to its left, toward Hannah’s side, but up the other slope.

  She willed more speed from her legs and let out a whoop, hoping the noise would startle it back to its fellows. The downslope under Hannah’s feet grew steeper for a stretch, and she took advantage of it. Almost off-balance, she pinwheeled her arms to stay upright. It slowed her down, but her flailing must have looked weird enough to the animals that they all veered away from her. Ted had put on a real burst of speed, and with his long legs he was nearly to the valley floor. The animals veered back in Hannah’s direction, climbing the hill where Claire waited.

  The zigzag had slowed the animals and let the three runners catch up. The animals were well beyond weapons range, and Hannah was no good at throwing the spears anyway. Ted could hit hard enough with a thrown spear to kill an animal, but no one else in the group had his skill yet. He was closing in on the hindmost animal.

  Hannah’s lungs were begging her for more air, but she forced herself to keep running down the slope all the way. She had no spare breath for yelling, but she could still wave her arms to keep the animals from thinking of dodging beyond her flank. Up the slope the small group of the creatures ran. A youngster fell behind the crowd. Somehow, Ted put on even more speed and caught up with it. Deftly, he skewered it with his spear, pinning it to the ground. Hardly breaking stride, he let go of the spear and kept running, driving the other animals up toward Claire.

  The animals were slowing as they neared the crest of the hill. They were not long-distance sprinters. Though neither am I, thought Hannah, her lungs and throat burning. Each step was harder than the last. Dixie and Ted were several yards in front of her.

  The animal that had seen them first was nearly at the top of the hill. Claire popped up in front of it, and it dodged to the side, but too late. Claire’s spear thrust was fast, hard, and deadly. The animal screamed once, then fell.

  This made the rest of them angle right, but Ted was there, and he ran down the next slowest, jumping on it. He’d done that before, jumping onto an animal. But he’d gotten better at that too, and he had this animal’s head in his arms in a split second and twisted sharply. Hannah heard the ne
ck snap.

  Dixie heaved her spear at another animal, but the throw went wide as the animal shifted its direction. Claire was sprinting for another creature cresting the hill, but that animal, no longer fighting the upslope, was able to put on speed and stay ahead of her. It disappeared from Hannah’s sight.

  Hannah ran for Claire’s downed animal. Still alive, it kicked weakly, and Hannah ended its pain with her spear. She took out a stone knife and slit its throat, and she pushed it around so the head was downslope and the blood would drain away from the force of gravity. For the moment, she left it and looked to see what the others were doing. Dixie had trotted back downhill to start to process Ted’s first kill.

  Ted was still running, chasing the animals, but Claire had given up. She was moving toward the animal with the broken neck. Hannah walked over to join her and started in on the cleaning of that animal immediately. With both of them working at it, they had it gutted in no time.

  By the time they were done and ready to move on to Claire’s kill, Ted had returned. He stayed at the crest of the hill. “I’ll keep a watch out for predators and scavengers,” he called.

  Dixie had slit the smallest animal’s throat and dragged it up the slope. “Here. You can clean this one too,” she said.

  Claire said, “You can do it.”

  “I’m no good with the stone knives.”

  “Then truss up the gutted one we just finished and put it on your back. Don’t forget the heart. You get to carry that one,” Claire said. It was the biggest of the kills. Claire picked up the small animal Dixie had dragged up. She hefted it and carried it back toward Hannah without another glance at Dixie.

  Hannah realized that Claire had found her own way of dealing with Dixie’s act. Dixie stared at Claire’s back in irritation for a moment, but then she obeyed the order.

  As they worked side by side, cleaning the other two animals, Hannah said, “You were a good choice of leader.”

  “I’m not sure, tell you the truth, that it was any sort of gift, that election.”