Caveman Alien's Trap

by Calista Skye

  Then I go to Roti’ax’s tent. “Roti’ax,” I call and knock on the wood that frames the entrance.

  I hear movement, and then Roti’ax opens the flap to his tent. “Xark’on? You here?”

  “I here,” I confirm. Roti’ax isn’t my favorite person in the tribe. But he makes very good skins when the mood to work strikes him. Which it rarely does. “Do you have the skin? The brak skin?”

  He rubs his eyes. “You want it now? It’s the middle of the night.”

  “Do you have it?”

  “Yes, yes. It’s the only brak skin in the village. Nobody has anything like it. I’ve cured it and softened it and everything. It’s as smooth as… as I don’t know what.”

  “Very good. Now may I have it?”

  “You may. If…” There’s a strange twinkle in his eyes.

  I frown. I’m not expecting any conditions attached to this. That’s not how the tribe works. A warrior is entitled to any product of the village when he needs it. There’s enough for everyone. “If what?”

  “That woman,” Roti’ax says, lowering his voice and looking around. “The trap…”

  “Yes?” I say impatiently.

  “I’d like to be there. When it happens. The trap. Troga. And the woman.”

  I don’t like where this is going. “The woman and the trap are separate. Caroline has nothing to do with it. She’s helped me make it. That is all.”

  He stares at me. “Separate? Surely, you must realize that…”

  “What?” I growl.

  “That she’s the bait for the trap! That was your problem, as you yourself stated when you started. How to lure Troga into the trap. Now the Ancestors have solved your problem by giving you that woman. You must see it, Xark’on. I know you do.”

  “I see nothing of the kind,” I seethe. “Caroline is an alien woman, not bait like the stinking, dripping carcass of a rekh. Now hand over the brak skin, or there will be trouble.”

  My tone scares him, and he goes back into his tent and returns with a white brak skin folded neatly over his arm. “Bait needs not be stinking. Certainly for Troga, it must be very special bait. It must be exquisite. She must be lured out of her trench, Xark’on! She must be blinded by desire. No carcass can tempt her! It must be live bait! It must be alive and young! It must!”

  I take the skin and stuff it into my bag. I know exactly what to do with it. “The bait must be special, yes. But it also mustn’t make Troga too suspicious. A woman hanging there helpless would seem too good to be true. You know that monster is wily. She’d know something very strange was going on.”

  Roti’ax leans in very eagerly. “No! The lure of something as rare as a woman here on Xren would make her too curious and too tempted! Xark’on, this is the only chance we’ll have. You mustn’t make a big mistake now, so close to the end! That woman is clearly, obviously the bait that the Ancestors have given to you! Don’t let her slit and round shape disturb your honor and your determination!”

  “She’s not disturbing anything. But right now, you’re disturbing me. Yes, we must use live bait. I agree. But I think a man would do just as well as a woman. Say, an elderly chief who’s outlived his usefulness and is now only a distraction to other warriors who are doing important work.” I look him up and down.

  He goes pale and takes a shocked step back into his tent. “I mean no offense, Xark’on. But you appear to be about to make a big mistake! It concerns the whole tribe. Remember the Treasure, Xark’on. And your share of it!”

  “I will do what must be done for the tribe, Roti’ax. And I will do it the right way. Goodnight.”

  I turn and walk briskly towards the gate, feeling the old man’s eyes on my back.

  Then, I’m back in the jungle, walking fast towards the treehouse and Caroline’s pleasant heat, her scent, her calm breathing, and her rapid heartbeat, even when she sleeps.

  My anger soon dissipates. It leaves a heavy, gray mist of worry.

  My steps slow as if by themselves, and soon I’m standing still in the darkness.

  I look back the way I’ve come, towards the village. I’ve spent my life there. The Lifegiver gave me that life. The tribe kept me alive, gave me shelter, food, a childhood. It taught me to hunt and to use the hammer when it turned out that the sword didn’t dance in my hands. I’m a product of the tribe. I belong to the tribe.

  And the Ancestors are watching me, guiding me, and giving me all I need to complete my sacred mission.

  Roti’ax can be coarse and direct and cowardly. But he’s no fool.

  And I’m pretty sure he’s right.

  I turn around and retrace my steps back to the village.

  28

  - Caroline -

  We take a final look at the trap. The whole site is completely indistinguishable from any other spot in the jungle. The dragon will be subtly led to the trap by the terrain that Xark’on carefully changed in the days when I was spying on him. It seems like years ago.

  “I think it’s going to work,” I say and squeeze Xark’on’s hand. “Now all we need is some bait.”

  “Yes,” Xark’on says tightly, and his face darkens. He’s been weird all day since he went to his tribe and came back early this morning. Quiet and deep in thought.

  He came back with a new dress for me, white and soft and extremely smooth. It reminds me of extremely fine leather. The dress fit me okay, a little loose here and there maybe. But I showed my ecstatic happiness and threw myself around his neck, shedding tears of happiness. It’s one of the finest pieces of clothing I’ve seen on this planet.

  I squeeze his hand. “Can you tell me your secret plan now?”

  He sighs heavily. “Not here and now. Back at the house.”

  “Oooh-kay. Do you maybe not have a plan for the bait? I’m sure we can come up with something.”

  He takes my hand without a word, and we walk to the pond in silence. Our cleaning up routine is a lot less fun today. It’s as if something has happened inside Xark’on, and he’s not the cheerful caveman I know and love.

  Heck, he’s only a man. He’s entitled to his mood swings, just like I am. But if this continues all night, then the thing I was going to tell him will have to wait.

  We trudge back to the treehouse, no longer holding hands. It’s cute, I guess. Our first fight.

  When we get to the treehouse, the rope is gone, and the counterweight rock hangs overhead.

  Xark’on’s face gets even darker. Then he draws a mighty breath and lays his head back, and I instinctively hold my hands over my ears.

  “Xark’on demands entrance!” he yells so my chest trembles with the bass tones.

  Soon after, the rope comes dangling down and the rock goes up. He checks the hammer in his belt. “I’ll go up. You stay here.” He looks around quickly. “And hide. Get out of sight.”

  Okay, now I’m scared. “What’s going on, Xark’on?”

  But he’s already climbing the rope like before.

  So I’m supposed to hide. Somehow, I don’t think that’s a bad idea.

  I find a suitable bush and get down behind it so I can still see the tree.

  I hunker down and wait, just listening to the sounds of the jungle, hoping to hear what’s going on up in the treehouse. I can only assume it’s more men from Xark’on’s tribe up there. They may be wondering how far he’s come with the trap. And they’re afraid of coming to the trap site now since he told them to only go there if invited.

  Then why didn’t he just tell them last night when he went to the village?

  I’m getting more tense with every second that goes by. I don’t think Xark’on being gone for a long time is a good sign. He’s always nervous when I’m down here by myself, and if everything up there in the treehouse was okay, he’d come down here to get me immediately.

  Shit, he’s been in a weird mood today. Quiet and short-tempered. Which is weird on the day when we finally finished the trap. I’d think he’d be really happy.

  Maybe it’s the thing abou
t the bait. Maybe he really doesn’t know what it should—

  There’s a roar from up there, suddenly cut off.

  I freeze. That sounded a lot like Xark’on. What the hell is going on up there?

  Then, the rope starts dangling, and then someone is crashing down through the treetops around the huge trunk.

  It’s not Xark’on. It’s the young man who came to see the trap many days ago. Yru’zan, I think his name is. And he’s followed by two others. Yru’zan has a sword, and the two others have spears with iron tips. They all have green stripes so clearly are Xark’on’s tribesmen.

  I clench my own spear in my hand and duck down behind the bush, waiting for Xark’on to come down there on the heels of the others. But he doesn’t.

  The three men are on the ground, and Yru’zan yells, “Where is she, Prun’tax?”

  Then, a caveman stands up from behind a bush right next to me, so close I could have reached out and touched him.

  I yelp and fall backwards from the shock then get to my feet and run.

  “There!” He points to me then jumps on me, grabbing my upper arm. I flail wildly with my spear, which I’m still clutching, and I can feel it hit something.

  The caveman lets go, and then I’m running wildly through the jungle, branches and bushes whipping around me as I try to find my way through the dense underbrush.

  And the cavemen are coming after me, crashing through the bushes and getting closer fast. One of them reaches for me, and I jump to the side, but then I realize that this can’t work. I stop abruptly and hold my spear out in front of me. The first caveman is still running when he sees that sharpened dactyl tooth pointing right at him and drops to the ground to avoid it. But the next one just grabs the shaft, easily yanks it out of my hands, and tosses it away. I try to run again, but now he grabs me with both hands, holding me so tightly I can’t move. The cavemen tie my hands behind my back then turn me around.

  Four large caveman are staring down at me.

  “What are you doing?” I cry. “Xark’on will kill you for this!”

  “The voice,” one of the men marvels at last. “So thin! And yet, it is a fully grown woman.”

  “That chest… Just like the shaman’s doll! But larger.”

  “There are no stripes!”

  “The face is so round!”

  “The hips… Did you see how she runs? The hips are so wide!”

  “Turn her around, Yru’zan. Let’s see the other side.”

  I’m forcibly turned around.

  “So round!”

  “The legs… so smooth!”

  “Yru’zan… the slit. Show us the slit.”

  I’m turned back. And now I’m resisting with all my might, kicking and yanking and hissing. “You let me go! Xark’on be very angry!” I’m even forgetting my cavemanese grammar, I’m so panicked.

  Yru’zan grabs the hem of my new white dress and lifts it up to my waist then stands back.

  And all four cavemen stare at my crotch with large eyes and dropping jaws.

  I turn away, or try to, but I’m being held very securely.

  “Xaarrkk’oooooon!” I scream at the top of my lungs. “Xark’ooooon!”

  “Yru’zan,” one of the men says. “That slit… It can be mated with.”

  I yank and spit and hiss, but it’s as if I’m not even alive for all the reactions it gets me.

  “It can,” Yru’zan says, and I can’t help noticing the bulge in his loose-fitting pants.

  “Can… Can we?” the other man asks, uncertain but eager.

  Yru'zan rubs his bulge and grins with stained teeth. “Why not? Me first.”

  Another caveman comes through the jungle. It's Chief Roti'ax, who came to see Xark’on’s hole.

  “No, no,” he says, with a hint of command in his voice. “There shall be no mating with that woman. She’s sent by the Ancestors. To Xark’on, not to any of us. We will do what he says, and then we’ll all have women to mate with. Today even. This one has a very specific purpose. We must do nothing to risk it before the Treasure is ours.” He holds up a net of the same type that Xark’on used to trap me that first day. “Let’s go now.”

  “Xaaaark’ooooon!” I scream, losing hope that he’s coming. That Roti’ax guy is so calm.

  Do what he says? Are these guys doing this because Xark’on told them to? No, ridiculous. He’d never allow this.

  Yru’zan reluctantly lets go of my dress, and then I’m being dragged off. Not to the treehouse, but towards the trap.

  I drag my feet, but it’s better to walk by myself than to be carried on someone’s back. Unless it’s Xark’on’s.

  Shit! What’s going on here?

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “To your purpose,” Roti’ax says, walking beside me while Yru’zan drags me along. “Xark’on’s trap is wonderful, but it’s incomplete. Troga will surely die when she falls in it, but something will have to lure her out of her trench and over the hole. Something very tempting.”

  “Bait,” I state with a voice that trembles.

  “Yes. And not just anything will do. It has to be special bait. For Troga and the special Treasure she’s guarding in her domain. It’s obvious to anyone what that bait has to be.” He looks me up and down.

  Yeah, I get it. The bait is me.

  “Xaaark’oooon!” I yell again with a voice that’s going sore. But I want him to know that I need him. If he’s still alive…

  The thought sends icy knives to my stomach. Could they have killed him up there in the treehouse? “Where is Xark’on?”

  “He’s where he’s supposed to be,” Roti’ax says calmly. “Don’t worry. You’ll fulfill your purpose. Soon. There’s no reason to wait.”

  “Did Xark’on tell you to do this?”

  “Xark’on needed some help with the last part of his plan. He had developed too strong feelings for the bait, it seems. Well, he’s only a tribesman with a simple mind. And you are quite alluring, which I think it is very appropriate for bait to be. So, he can’t do this last part, himself. That is no problem. He has done enough. He will always be revered as the greatest hero of our tribe. And I’m sure he’ll greatly enjoy his own part of the Treasure.”

  “Is he dead?”

  “Dead? Holy Ancestors, of course not. No, he’s awaiting the Treasure as eagerly as any of us. If not more so. He’s very strong and energetic in everything he does. He’s the one who discovered the Treasure, and it fired him up so much, he started work on the trap immediately. He claimed to have been given a sign from the Ancestors to rid us of Troga and make the Treasure available to the tribe. He never told us what that sign was, but these things are known to happen. Indeed, the sign was confirmed when he was discovered to be in the company of a woman while digging his trap. We in the tribe were perhaps somewhat skeptical before we discovered you. But then it was clear. The Ancestors had given him the bait he needed. And he knew it.”

  Fuck. This sounds really fucking bad. These guys will use me as bait for the dragon. On Xark’on’s instructions, sounds like.

  Shit. Was he planning this all along? Did he intend to use me as bait from the start? And then all through everything we did together? Did he know all along that when the trap was ready, he’d dangle me in front of Troga to lure her into his trap?

  The more I think about it, the more sense it makes. He was so weird today, as if he knew that this was going to happen.

  But then… all those nice things he did for me. His appreciation for what I did for him. Being so touched about the blue paint. Being so concerned about my safety. Those gentle touches and sniffing my hair and bringing me out of my shell. Joking with me and taking me into his confidence. Was it all an act? Did he see me as totally expendable, a convenient cum dump for him while he was working on the trap that would be my death?

  Acid tears are burning in my eyes. He watched me help him make that trap…

  No, no. This isn’t the time for that. I’m about to be sacrificed to a fuck
ing dragon. And I’m not even a virgin.

  I try the strings that bind my hands. They’re not too tight. These guys were pretty stunned about being around an actual woman, and I can only assume they got lax. Not that it helps me much. They’re still holding my hands together, and I’m surrounded by cavemen that tower over me and could catch me in two seconds if I somehow manage to escape.

  “You can’t do this,” I try, panic starting to grow. “I wasn’t given by any Ancestors. I’m a person. It’s murder if you do this to me.”

  “We won’t kill you,” Roti’ax says. “Troga will.” He’s completely unconcerned, even excited.

  So are the other cavemen, visibly so. Their bulges are nowhere near as large as Xark’on’s was, though.

  Where is he now? Sitting safely in the treehouse, letting his friends do the dirty job of giving me to Troga to burn? He didn’t even have the decency to say it to my face.

  Not that it would have made this any better. He’s clearly betrayed me, and now he’s waiting for this mysterious Treasure.

  I remember some of the things he said to me. ‘Things will get better for my tribe.’ Or something like that. I should have asked what that meant. I should have asked a lot of questions. But I trusted him.

  And I loved him.

  I thought he loved me, too.

  He must have. When he called me 'my love', he probably meant it.

  And then the next moment, he couldn’t wait to give me to Troga.

  We’re getting closer to the trap site, and I have to fight myself to not break down in tears. What will the dragon do to me? Will she cruelly toy with me? Burn me a little at a time from a distance?

  Maybe she’ll come right for me and fall into the trap before she can hurt me at all.

  It’s a thin hope to pin my continued life on. But it’s all I have.

  And then? If I miraculously survive the trap?

  No, I can’t think that far.

  And before I can assemble my stunned thoughts into any kind of actual plan, we’re there.

  It looks like any patch of random land in the jungle. But to the right is one end of Troga’s trench, and straight ahead is the trap.