by J. N. Chaney
Not long after, the clicking had become more of a wet grinding sound and my father held up a gloved fist to stop us. He pointed to his chest then waved a hand at the rock to say he would check it out first.
I tapped my own chest urgently, showing I wanted to go with him, but he shook his head and held up a hand. As much as I wanted to argue, this wasn’t the place, so I nodded curtly.
Seemingly satisfied that I would stay put, my father eased around the rock and disappeared from view.
I couldn’t help but be annoyed at being left behind, but I put it aside and focused on scoping out our surroundings for more threats.
Alma had a set of farfinders out and looked to the east. She and my father had already commented that the herd had been farther out than usual and we’d been lucky to get this straggler.
I checked the west for any sign of movement. If there was one Boneclaw, more were probably in the vicinity. Wind gusted by, its howl reminding me of a wolf baying.
Movement to my left caught my attention. Nero was crouched down digging in the snow, a concentrated expression on his face.
“Wolf scat,” he announced, then stood to study the icy landscape.
Maybe the howling hadn’t been the wind after all. I listened, this time turning my ear to the direction the wind had come from. I heard the sound again, but it was far from our current location.
Nero and I nodded at each other, acknowledging the information at the same time. A single snowfly buzzed in my face and I waved it away.
My father returned then, motioning us in close, and we huddled together in a tight circle.
“One Boneclaw. It’s eating the calf and distracted. Let’s go,” he ordered.
Each of us unsheathed our blades now rather than later, here where we could be quiet, masking our sound in the wind. We left the relative safety of the outcropping and rounded the rock shoulder behind my father. Alma was directly behind him, and I took the middle with Nero at the rear.
It didn’t take long to see what had taken my father so long to return. Once out of view from our previous position, I found that the path continued a fair amount before curving around again to reveal a deep gorge.
The sounds from the Boneclaw grew louder as our group moved closer. It was the terrible sound of flesh being ripped from bone, gnashing teeth, and wet chewing, and it turned my stomach. I found that my desire to see the creature up close evaporated rather quickly, but there was no going back now. Steeling my resolve, I gripped my spear and pressed forward, unwilling to let myself be controlled by fear. “Fear and bravery are two faces that every warrior should learn to wear,” my father had often told me. “Fear pulls you back before the fight, and bravery tugs you toward it. Without bravery, there is only the coward; without fear, there is only the fool. True warriors know which face to wear and which to hide. Embracing them both is how you stay alive.”
My heart thudded in my chest, and I wondered if the beast would hear its pounding and attack, but the squelching went on, uninterrupted by our advance. The noise seemed to fill my ears now, and I knew it couldn’t be far.
Large boulders littered the snow-covered rock floor, and at first I didn’t see anything. It only took a moment to follow the tracks and the path that the frost horn had forged through the drifts in search of food. From the opposite direction we had come, another set of tracks disturbed the snow.
These were from the Boneclaw who had undoubtedly caught the scent of the young calf and given chase. It was all too clear where the pair had collided; the area was marked not just by deep grooves, but by the bright red of fresh blood stark against the white surroundings.
I was thankful to have missed the scene. Though I’d taken part in my share of hunts, we always dispatched our catches as quickly and humanely as possible. The Boneclaws were not known to have such tendencies.
A smaller pair of prints caught my eye, and I realized they were my father’s. It awed me that he had come so close, and alone. I vowed to be better, more like him.
The four of us crept closer, wary of the increasingly large steaming patches of blood, and edged our way around a large boulder. Based on the sounds coming from the other side, we would be face to face with our quarry in the next few seconds.
I held my breath as, at last, the Boneclaw’s monstrous form became visible. It was hunched over the fallen body of the frost horn, its face buried in the corpse. The smell of copper was heavy in the air and filled my mouth with a metallic taste. It did, however, block our scent, and for that, I was thankful.
Our group fanned out slowly to surround the beast at strategic positions, just as we’d practiced. Alma and I circled around until we were behind the Boneclaw, while Nero took a position on the side not protected by the boulder.
Alma’s weapon had been modified with a fusion core like my father’s, but hers was what she called a glaive. It looked like a staff but had a long blade at the end, glowing blue in her hands as it powered up and she prepared to attack.
Our leader stood a few meters from the animal, his eyes fixed on the enormous claws. He had moved the rifle to his back, as it would be too loud in this gorge and draw other Boneclaws to us, trading it for a spear instead. The blade wasn’t as long as Alma’s, but it was certainly sharper.
We were at a critical point. If the creature heard us now, not only would it attack but it would try to alert others to the area. Taking down one was difficult but possible. Two, much less so, though not completely unheard of. More than that, however, and we wouldn’t stand a chance.
Nero signaled to me and Alma that he was ready, and we nodded the same. He lifted an arm, then dropped it to start the attack.
The Boneclaw’s head jerked up as we moved in unison. I heard my father’s spear tip sing across the neck of the beast, and I brought my own weapon across the tendon on the back of its left leg. Alma mirrored the move on the right, spraying blood in all directions.
The animal reared and tried to take a step but fell immediately forward from the wounds we had inflicted. A strange gurgling sound followed as it began to choke, and the creature’s long arms came around as if to clutch at its neck.
Alma and I got out from behind the flailing animal in case it fell, and now I could see how well our tactics had worked. Nero’s attack had severed the right arm, leaving it a bloody mess. The appendage flopped uselessly to the side of our circle, rolling in the snow.
My father’s spear dripped with warm blood, creating condensation in the cold as the Boneclaw staggered from the wounds, its monstrous size still looming over us.
I launched the spear, praying that my aim would be true just as Nero flew by me, sword raised high. The spear found its mark, and the Boneclaw jerked as its arm was pinned to the torso, giving Nero time to reach my father and bring the blade down to cleave the arm in two, spattering blood on the white snow. The three-clawed hand fell to the ground and Nero moved forward to behead the Boneclaw, bringing his blade straight through the creature’s flesh in a hard, clean slice, finally putting it down for good.
My father was breathing heavily, steadying himself. “Let’s take care of this and get the hell out of here,” he said. “I’m letting the shuttle know we’re ready.”
Almost nothing from the frost horn was left, but the remains of the Boneclaw would suffice. It didn’t take long to dismember it and prep the harvested parts for transport. When they were ready, we placed them in tarps that would be attached to the underside of the ship.
The shine of new experience wore off and disenchantment set in as I took in the gore that now covered me from head to toe. Somehow only Nero and I had ruined our hunter’s garb. My father and Alma barely had a speck of blood between them.
They had a saying, one I’d never understood when I was younger but had grown all too familiar with in recent months.
The best hunters need only one set of fresh clothes.
When the transport arrived, we secured the load and climbed in, shedding our outer layers before sitting down in
the beat-up chairs.
As the ramp closed, a faraway roar echoed through the cliffs, loud and close. We all knew that sound, and we knew what it brought.
I looked sharply to Alma. The older woman’s face was tense but devoid of fear. She had always been that way. Always so calm, as though nothing in the world could get to her.
I would never be that way, not when the sound of monsters made me squirm. I looked down at my hands, still trembling from the fight. There was fear still in me.
Alma leaned over and said something to my father, who nodded in response. “Get us out of here, Slates,” my father ordered, tapping the back of the pilot’s chair. “We don’t want to be here when the pack shows up.”
“Working on it,” Slates grunted, lifting the small ship into the air.
I stayed quiet, but a scan of the landscape gave me pause. Four more of the creatures were running toward the gorge.
The lines went taut when it came time for the load to leave the ground, and the vessel rocked hard as it was met with the resistance. I gripped the straps of my harness and pressed my feet into the floor to keep from tossing side-to-side.
Our vessel was old and well past its prime. Despite how well our ancestors had made these ships, time had gotten the better of them all, and each had begun to show signs of disrepair.
All the seats were worn, the padding sticking out from the ripped seams. None of the display screens were without cracks, nor did the engines run as smoothly as they once had. No matter how many fixes our engineers made, the ships always felt like they were on the edge of breaking down.
One day, my father would often tell me, these ancient machines would stop working completely. We would have to find a new way to hunt and bring our kills home.
But everyone else would say that this was a problem for later. There were too many things to worry about today, and we could only do so much.
For now, we worked with what we had available.
Not wanting to distract, I turned on the built-in display and brought up the external feed. The view was grainy, but I could see the cargo as it swayed gently below us. It was steady enough for now, but a hard and sudden gust of wind could always change that. The ship struggled with the weight of the Boneclaw, the landscape below getting smaller, meter by meter.
The engines screamed in protest, pushed to their limit in our effort to move higher, faster, and with too much weight. The creatures roared again, audible despite the engines, and their call echoed through the valley and into the gorge.
The cargo cleared the large boulder and scraped the top of it, sending vibrations up the lines and into my seat. At the same time, the group of Boneclaws broke into the gorge and galloped on all fours to our position.
They barreled toward us, close enough now that I could see them through the cockpit window. Then I lost sight of them and I had to use the feed again.
Upon reaching the body of their packmate, they stopped and sniffed the ground, finally rearing up to let loose a scream that sounded like a terrible mix of agony and rage.
The largest of the four climbed up the boulder, his eyes fixed on us, and it leapt into the air in a show of power, its claws outstretched and reaching for us.
It was in that moment that I caught sight of the creature’s face. One side of it bore a horrible scar from forehead to cheek, crossing two milk-white eyes without pupils. I felt the creature’s claws scratch the bottom of the cargo box, causing the entire ship to tremble, and I instinctively stiffened.
We were moving away, however, and climbing out of reach enough for me to let go of the breath I’d been holding.
“It… it had eyes,” I muttered, confused as to how that was possible. Boneclaws never had eyes. They used sound rather than sight.
Alma smirked. “Ah, yes. A defect that shows up occasionally. Like how Leif Tarcher has a third nipple. Completely useless.”
She settled back in her seat and closed her eyes as if this was no more exciting than plain oatmeal day.
I said nothing to her, choosing to accept what she told me as fact. Alma had always known more than most others. If she said something was true, then it probably was.
I wondered if the Boneclaws might try to follow us, but the more I watched them from the viewscreen, the more secure I grew. They didn’t move from their spot, staring out at us with their heads tilted, listening to us as we flew. After only a few moments, all four surrounded the dead remains still on the ground and leaned over it.
As one, the group reared up and released a sad, keening wail that left me shaken.
“Do they grieve?” I asked my father, perturbed by the idea.
He shrugged. “Even frost horns will leave the herd to find lost young and cry out if a member of the herd dies,” he told me. “It means nothing.”
My discomfort at that revelation must have showed on my face because his voice took on a stern tone.
“It’s nothing more than a primal instinct to survive, Lucia. Every loss weakens their numbers. They know that, but not on the conscious level that we do. Don’t make the mistake of humanizing them. Others have tried and to no good end.”
“Aren’t they made from humans?” I asked. “Doesn’t that mean that they’re more than simple animals? At least partially?”
“No. They’re experiments created by arrogant people who should have known better,” he countered. “Now, I will hear no more of this. Trust in my words. I have seen enough of them to know the truth of this.”
My mouth snapped shut at that, and I nodded tightly. Clearly done with the conversation, my father turned and began speaking to Alma.
I stayed silent for the rest of our short trip across the valley, but I couldn’t get the image of the mourning Boneclaws out of my mind.
2
As we neared the cliffs on the opposite side of the valley, the pilot pulled the transport up. Part of the wall slid back and out, creating a wide landing space and revealing the hangar inside. To anyone who might pass, if there had been someone else on the planet to see, it would have looked sheer, all the way to the top.
The Eternals, our ancestors, had done this on purpose, though it seemed odd to me. Janus, a holographic intelligence known as a Cognitive, had taught us many things about our ancestors, although his older memories were becoming less reliable in recent years.
Still, the Cognitive said that the scientists were operating here covertly in an attempt to hide their work from the public eye. The Eternal leaders were afraid that if the public discovered how severe the degeneration had become, panic might arise, and so this research outpost had been built. The scientists needn’t have worried, though. In the two thousand years since their arrival, no one else had ever come.
There were many theories about why this had occurred, but the most accepted was that the rest of humanity had likely watched our ancestors lose control over these facilities and opted to forget them. We had no evidence of this, of course, but it certainly made for a good story.
It didn’t take long for the rock to finish its transformation, and almost at once, a group of people came out with a large hover cart. They guided the cargo onto it, released the straps, then signaled Slates to retract the lines before going inside.
The hangar was huge, built to house more than ten times our current number of vehicles. I had seen holo pictures that showed what it looked like back then, all those centuries ago.
Neat rows of all-terrain hovercrafts, indoor explorers, and ships of varying sizes, all lined up neatly. Now the room stood three-quarters empty, the working vehicles taking up only a small portion. There used to be more people here, too, Janus had told me. What an age that must have been, I remembered thinking, that they could live in such luxury and comfort, going about their daily work, never having to hunt for food or struggle to stay warm in the freezing cold.
Next to the operational vehicles, several more remained broken and in need of repair. These outnumbered the others by at least double. Beyond that, broken down and scrapped
parts had been meticulously organized into their places. Our mechanics, what few there were, intended to fix all of these vehicles, but it was difficult enough to keep our existing machines in working order, so I had no illusion of the rest ever seeing repair.
On the other side of the hangar, the harvested remains of the Boneclaw were being unloaded at the makeshift processing center. It had been erected to make things cleaner and easier.
We also used the space for large community meetings and ceremonies. The next event coming up was the selection ceremony, when the new leader would be chosen from a group of six prospus, of which Nero and I were two.
Thinking of the ceremony made me nervous, so I let my thoughts wander back to the Boneclaws and their odd behavior.
Records and stories passed down through the generations told of how, not long after the Boneclaws had been created, they had broken free of their cages. The animals had fled the facility, leaving chaos and destruction in their wake.
In the early days, the scientists tried to retrieve their experiments, but those efforts had failed. The Boneclaws attacked, destroying the Eternals’ vehicles, and killed anyone who approached. Eventually, all attempts had been halted and efforts were redirected to repairing the damage, which had been extensive. Some areas were beyond maintenance, particularly the section dedicated to powering the main facility. The colonists were forced to move deeper into the compound, closer to the core, shutting down unnecessary sections to conserve resources.
This had marked the end of their history, and the beginning of ours.
Within the first century, one of the three facilities had gone dark, its tritium core offline.
Once the power systems began to fail, it had become increasingly apparent that the colonists would have to find a way to supplement their resources.
That was when the hunts began.
The ramp opened and I left the ship, heading to the work areas. I saw my friend Karin Riddell, one of the other prospus, working alone at one of the stations. She was already covered in gore.
