Dang looked down at the ground. His rig had a winch that would have lowered him to the ground, but without power it was just more weight. The hundred meters of thin cord might still be useful though. After climbing down the branches, stifling cries of pain, to the point where there were no more limbs, he found himself still looking at a twenty meter drop to the ground that had minimal snow cover. Pulling eighteen meters of line from the tiny winch, a cord that would cut through his hands if not for his gloves, Dang tied it around the trunk and belayed the rest of the line down. Next, checking to make sure none of the line contacted bare flesh, he rappelled down from the tree. Even with the nanite pain blocks, everything hurt. He almost considered ordering a complete nerve block, changing his mind as he thought about the trouble he would have with no feeling in his body. At two meters up one of his hands lost its grip, and he released with the other to keep from getting tangled up.
“Crap,” he yelled as he hit the ground, going into a roll to take up the shock, the pain from his left ankle and calf rushing up his spine. He lay there for a few minutes, collecting himself, using his implants and the nanites to search his injuries. He cursed under his breath as the break in his ankle appeared on the image in his mind. Sitting up, he crawled on his buttocks until his back was against the tree. Then ran his fingers down his boot to unseal it. The foot-gear opened up and slid easily off, and Dang ran his fingers over the ankle. The image had shown a break of a simple nature, and when his fingers ran over the tender outer flesh he verified what the internal diagnostics systems had told him.
The boot went back on his foot, and a little manipulation of the seam caused it to tighten around his ankle, forming a cast that would allow him to walk. That done, he limped around and gathered some dead wood, building a fire and pulling out the laser lighter that still sat in his upper jacket pocket. Soon there was a roaring fire going, warming at least the part of his body facing the flames. He then proceeded to go about checking the rest of his gear.
The battery pack had some claw marks in it, but no penetrations of the tough nanocarbon fiber box. The computer was the same. Most of his electronics were housed in black box type technology that would take a major weapon hit to breach. So the radio should have survived as well, and when he found it, he found that it had, to a point. The radio’s box was still intact, but the wire pack running out had been severed at its attachment point. The radio had been cut off from its power source, and now there was no power source to energize it. Two of the six lifting units of the rig had been crushed by the jaws of the bear that had mauled him. Their cases were made of much thinner material in order to save weight. Too thin, and though the unit wasn’t breached, the circuitry inside had been broken.
The last thing he checked was the first thing he should have. His rifle was gone, and the spare proton packs he had were useless without it. The pouch containing spare power packs was ripped open, and all the packs gone. So no way of using them to power the radio. His mag rail pistol was still in its holster, and the spare packs were still in their pockets, attached to the gun carrier. No spare batteries for it. It had been the plan to use the power packs for the particle beam rifle to recharge the pistol if necessary. He thought for a moment about trying to drain the pistol into the radio, rejecting that idea after a little thought. If something went wrong, he would be without both radio and weapon.
His backpack had also been ripped open, and much that had been in it was lost. He still had some rations and tools, as well as an emergency blanket of ultrathin hyper-insulating material that could come in handy. There were a couple of rips in the blanket, but not anything he couldn’t work around. Some of the backpack material could go to mending his mountain outerwear.
By this time his front was warm to the point of overheating. He stood to orient his back to the fire, then shrugged out of his clothing so he could take stock of it. The skinsuit was torn in a dozen places, but he thought he might have enough material to fix it. Finding the tube of nanogel in the repair kit attached to the suit’s left leg, he moved the skinsuit into position and squirted the gel on the exposed tears. Five minutes later that side of the suit was almost like new, and he repeated the process with the other side. By that time he had turned again, and his back was starting to freeze.
After getting back into the skinsuit, Dang draped his body with the insulating blanket, then shrugged back into his partially repaired outerwear. There were still some areas that were not adequately protected, but on the whole he would stay warm enough.
At least I’m not going to die of cold, he thought as he strapped everything he wanted to carry back onto his body. At least not yet, he amended as he caught sight of something moving in the tree line across a small clearing.
A head poked out of the forest, what would have looked like a carnosaur in the history books, or perhaps at the Imperial Zoo in Capitulum. It had a ridge of spikes running down the top of the head, and as it moved out into the clear, more spikes could be seen on its back. It’s whitish skin blended in with the snowy environment, even more so under the shadows of the trees.
Dang recognized it from the videos he had studied of dangerous life on Everest. Mountain Raptor was the official name, also called walking death by the people who lived on the planet. It was a warm blooded creature not at all related to the dinosaurs that had evolved ten thousand light years away. It was evolved for this kind of climate, with infrared vision and pits in the nose that allowed it to find and follow prey by their heat emissions. The biped stalked into the clear, a second following on its heels, most probably a mate. And they both looked directly at where Dang had built his fire, unerringly seeing it despite the obscuring trees.
The man knew he had to get away from the fire. Right now the fire was obscuring his own heat signature. Once the creatures had gotten closer they wouldn’t have a problem picking him out. He pulled his pistol at the thought, then shook his head. He was sure he could hurt the predators with the high velocity rounds of the pistol, maybe even both of them. Killing them both? Of that he had no doubt. He would be walking death shit on the snow in a couple of days.
The creatures separated and started in a run in his direction. Their heads moved back and forth suspiciously, always reorienting back in the direction of the fire. Dang thought it was time to get out of the area. A quick look showed him the best path, running away deeper into the woods, then taking off at a right angle to get away, using the fire for cover.
The raptors rounded on the fire, coming in from opposite angles, trapping their prey. The predators were about as intelligent as Earth wolves, meaning they were intelligent indeed, not merely depending on instinct. They recognized the fire for what it was when they got close, not something they could eat, something that could hurt them. They sniffed for a moment, then turned their heads to track in on the path of something. With a grunt from the larger of the two animals they both headed off onto the scent trail, their eyes soon giving them another sign of the prey’s passage in the prints in the snow.
Dang struggled to run through the snow, his feet going twenty centimeters down before he could pull each out. The lift rig had been intended to allow people to walk over the snow without sinking deep, something it could do with minimal energy expenditure. While the snow was not so deep in the woods as it had been out on the high mountain plateau, it was deep enough to make the man struggle. He wished he had brought configurable boots that converted to snow shoes, but with the lift harness, it had not seemed necessary. The large creatures tracking him had been made for this environment, their clawed feet splaying out like snowshoes to distribute their weight. That and a gait that compensated for their feet sinking somewhat into the soft surface despite that weight.
The man felt the cold air rasping through his lungs as he fought to keep going. He was still well short of a hundred percent, tired, hurting, with two beasts chasing after him that would make short work of him if they caught him. He looked back, not able to see the predators due to the trees, hearing their
huffing breath as they moved through the maze of trunks. He looked back ahead, searching for something that would provide safety. A glance at the trunks showed that all the trees were of the same type, with no low branches that would allow him to clamber up.
One of the hunters roared behind him, a sound that sent shivers up his spine. He turned to see one of the predators standing fifty meters away, looking right at him, while the partner grunted in the near distance. The death walker took a step forward, then another, before taking off into a hunting charge straight at the human.
“Shit,” yelled Dang, fumbling for his pistol, finally getting it out when the creature had closed the distance. He flipped the selector to full automatic, looking up in time to what seemed like the creature towering over him, though it was still twenty meters away. He aimed center mass and pulled the trigger. The magrail bucked in his hand as it sent a stream of high velocity rounds into the chest of the predator. Hot blood splashed onto the cold snow, and the death walker let out a screaming roar. The pistol ran through its magazine in less than two seconds, releasing seventy pellets, each traveling six thousand meters a second, pushing the man back.
The predator roared again, then fell over onto its side, legs thrashing, blood dripping from between its sharp teeth. The mate came running, its gaze shifting from Dang, to its partner, and back again. The man backed away, hand fumbling with the magazine release, dropping it from the gun to the snow. He tried to pull another magazine out from the holster, fumbling it with his fingers, then turned and took off in a panic.
He could hear the footsteps of the second predator coming after him, squishing through the snow. He frantically searched for someplace to go, but there was nothing. Could he feel the breath of the predator on his neck, or was it his imagination? Either way, it was closing. He had almost resigned himself to turning and facing the monster while he tried to reload, when the wounded beast let out a plaintive roar, and the monster chasing him stopped in its tracks and turned, hesitated for another moment, then ran back to the injured mate.
Dang turned and stopped, his breath ragged, trying to regain his wind. The one beast was still on the ground, struggling to get up and not succeeding. The mate sniffed at the fallen predator, then tried to push it up with its nose. Dang took one last look, then stumbled away, hunched over, still trying to catch his breath. He kept looking for someplace to hide, some kind of shelter, because he was sure the healthy predator would soon be back on his trail.
The sun was starting to go down behind the high mountains to the west, the shadows growing in the forest. Dang was surprised that what had seemed like an endless day was finally coming to an end. With it would come freezing temps he wasn’t sure even his makeshift winter protection could handle. He needed a fire, but he couldn’t stop and build one with the potential of predators resuming the hunt.
He stumbled on. Ahead, beyond a stand of trees, shadow loomed. Not sure what it was, he continued toward it, hoping it might be some kind of shelter. Coming out from under the trees and finding himself on a small open plateau, he could finally make out what it was. A drop off, a cliff, going down who knew how far. He turned away and was ready to walk further up the forest when the form of the death walker came rushing out from under the trees, jaws wide and headed straight for him.
The pistol was in the holster. Dang had been afraid of dropping it, so had put it in its secure sheath. And he had forgotten to reload it when he had the chance. Now he had only one choice. He turned to the right, took three quick steps, and launched himself into the air. He last thing he heard was the roaring of the frustrated predator, and then he hit the snow at the bottom of the drop.
* * *
When he opened his eyes, Dang thought he might be dead. Everything was still black, and he was freezing cold. That last settled that he was alive. Dang was not a religious man, but he was sure that when he died wherever he ended up would not be cold. The thought of Dante entered his mind for a moment, that Hell might actually be cold. He dismissed that thought as he pushed with his hands and felt the snow overhead.
When his head broke the surface he looked out over the field of snow, the moonlight reflected from it lighting up the night. Turning his head. he saw the cliff he had plunged over, wondering that he was still alive. The cliff had to be over thirty meters high, and only the deep snow at the bottom had saved him. The man crawled out of the snow, then trudged to the nearest trees. Soon he had a fire going and was warming himself. He belatedly reloaded his pistol, cursing as he only found one magazine. The other had fallen out somewhere along the way, probably into the deep snow.
Animal sounds came to Dang as he sat there gathering heat. He didn’t know what most of them were, with lent a frightening aspect to almost all of them. He was determined to stay awake through this night, sitting there with his pistol in hand. He was surprised when his eyes popped open and his implant indicated that over four hours had passed. The last images of his dream, he and Dallas in better times, was still in his mind, quickly dissipating. He blinked a couple of times and looked down, to see something long and thin crawling over his boots.
Dang cried out and kicked, and the long furry cylinder crawled off in overdrive, making a hissing sound. It stopped a couple of meters away, rearing up about a third of its three meter length, mouth open to expose long fangs, dripping with some viscous looking fluid. He really didn’t like the looks of that stuff, and he aimed the pistol at the creature and thumbed off the safety. His implant linked with the gun and lined up the shot perfectly. A squeeze of the trigger and the head of the snake was gone. The body fell to the surface, orange liquid flowing onto the frozen water and melting down into the packed snow.
And another dozen heads popped up, looked over at the murder of their fellow, and immediately headed that way. Dang jumped to his feet, took aim, and started firing while he backed away. It was almost like being in a shooting gallery, picking targets, aiming, shooting. The hissing of the mammalian snakes competed with the hiss of high velocity pellets cleaving the air, and the smack of them hitting their targets. Dang almost set his pistol to full auto as the creatures seemed to crowd in, as if he had settled in for the night within a nest of them. He resisted the urge. Ammunition was scarce, and when this magazine was gone, the pistol became nothing more than a not very good club.
A sharp pain ran up his left leg. Dang looked down to see one of the snakes had sunk its fangs into his calf, right through a seam that was a repair. The seam did not carry the same toughness as the rest of the suit, and the fangs had penetrated through and into the flesh and muscle beneath. The sharp pain of the bite was immediately subsumed under the agony of venom injected into the muscle. The fangs, or at least one of them, must have entered an artery, because the pain swiftly ascended his leg and spread through his torso. Along with the agony came a numbness that threatened to make Dang fall to the ground.
The man fired down at the snake, cutting it in half. The head dropped from his leg, and he staggered back, unable to feel his feet. His vision was blurring, and he was having trouble aiming. He continued to fire, but many of the shots were missing their target. The pistol went dead the next time he pulled the trigger, and looking down at the counter through the blur his sight had become he saw the ammo counter was at zero. And there were still snakes heading at him.
Dang stumbled into a turn and started away at the fastest pace he could manage, a jog. The forest was blurring around him, his heart beating like a hammer in his chest, and he wondered if his internal nanites would be able to handle this poison. Breath was rasping in his lungs, and he felt like he wasn’t getting enough oxygen, despite the link with his implant letting him know that he had sufficient O2 in storage.
The tree seemed to come out of nowhere, and he smacked into it face first, falling back into the snow, his vision going from blurred to black as consciousness left him. His last thoughts were that the snakes would find him, and he would become their dinner. And would the poison in his veins kill him whether
or not the first thing happened.
When he woke the sun was high in the sky, and his implant was telling him it was midday. A search of his internal systems showed that, while there was some minor deterioration, everything was working the way it was supposed to. And the nanites would take care of the remaining damage shortly. He sat up and checked over his clothing. He still had his knife, but the bag he had made of the parts of the backpack he hadn’t used for patching his clothing was gone. And with it the last of the food. He still had his laser firestarter, and his knife, but the pistol was nowhere to be found.
Not really a disaster, he thought of that last. Without ammo it was really of no use. The knife now. The knife had a monomolecular blade that would cut through just about anything. A sturdy branch would make it a spear. Enough of a weapon to hold off some of the smaller animals haunting the mountains. Enough to handle the larger? Probably not. Finding a branch that seemed to fit his purpose, he trimmed and smoothed it with swift motions of the knife, then secured the handle to one end with the line from his rig’s winch. At the end he had a spear just over two meters in length.
Exodus: Tales of The Empire: Book 2: Beasts of the Frontier. Page 2
