by Louise Wise
She began to walk back the way she’d come muttering angrily under her breath. Despite Fly’s eagerness for her to “get to know” the honnards, she’d not made any effort. She’d immersed herself in the baby; making its clothes and blankets and thinking up names. Calling it after her mother, Diana, was the obvious choice for her.
There was a loud squawk behind her, and she stopped and looked back. Strange noises were plentiful on Eden and she was cautious of being lunch for animals they hadn’t encountered. There was a strange beat of wings, and Jenny shielded her eyes to get a better view as she peered into the sky.
On the cliff, where she’d tried to climb, was lots of activity. Rising dust spiralled into the sky, and stone and rock tumbled over the edge, and carried in the air was the sound of flapping wings.
‘What the—’ she began but her words were cut short as Bo toppled off the cliff with a too-human yell and lay unmoving on the rocks below.
She didn’t have time to react as a huge black bird rose from the top of the cliff, and flew down and landed on top of him. It began to pull away at his hair until its beak found the soft flesh beneath.
There was nothing she could do for Bo. He looked very dead. She edged backwards until the cold sea told her there was no more land.
Jenny began to move along the sea-edge, her hand gripping the gun. The bird hadn’t seen her. It folded its large wings away, instantly becoming smaller, but no less dangerous. Its long beak was hooked at the tip, and it pulled at Bo’s flesh, tossing its head back as it swallowed.
Jenny continued edging along the shoreline, trying to get as much distance between her and the bird as possible without it seeing.
It squawked, its wings extended again, and it hopped to the other side of Bo and began tearing chunks off him. The gun felt incredibly pointless in her hand. The bird, its wingspan eight metres from tip to tip, she quickly deducted, danced around Bo’s body, squawking and flapping its wings. Jenny felt very exposed. She looked at the cliff face; its wall held many cracks and crevices she could hide in, but she had to cross the beach to get to it.
The whistle was around her neck but she daren’t blow into it to alert Fly. The bird would hear also—and it was closer.
She had two options, she thought, keep edging along the shoreline until she was out of sight, or shoot the thing. The gun only had two bullets—three if she was lucky, and it was tricky to reload.
Keeping her eyes on the bird, she crossed the beach at an angle; away from the creature yet moving towards the cliff face. The bird had a long tail speckled with yellow, and black clawed feet, which it used to anchor itself on Bo’s body as it pulled at the flesh. Bo, Jenny realised now, had been protecting her. He’d seen the bird, and was trying to tell her not to climb the cliff.
The bird spotted her, and Jenny stopped all movement; her senses dancing to attention.
As it took off towards her she dropped to her knees and took aim: steadying her firing arm with the other.
She waited until it was level with her and then fired. The bird squawked and turned in mid-flight, and seizing her chance, Jenny ran towards the cliff and ducked her pregnant body into a crevice.
She heard flapping wings as the bird came back. She held her breath and tried to make herself as small as possible in her hiding place.
‘Shut up!’
She peered out of her hiding place, looking for the speaker of the words but her startled gaze only fell on the giant bird pecking in the sand.
‘Shut up,’ it said again, then disappeared from view.
The bird had either not seen where she’d gone or it’d lost interest. Jenny peered from her hiding place and saw it waddling back towards the bloody heap of poor Bo. It pulled at the honnard’s body, trying to get to the flesh beneath the hair.
She thought about shooting it again, but if she missed it’d only succeed in drawing its interest. She peeked in the other directed, towards the next crevice in the cliff. Maybe she could edge her way home ducking in and out of crevices until it was safe to run. Holding her breath, she stepped out of her hiding place and inched along the cliff face before slipping into another, knowing the next one was a few metres away.
The bird continued to peck and tear at Bo just like a crow on a grub in a field. Treading as lightly as she could, Jenny ran, following the line of the cliff. There were a lot of rocks and boulders to scramble over, and she did so as quickly and as quietly as possible. There was a squawk behind her and a flurry of wings, glancing over her shoulder she saw that she’d been spotted. She took out her gun and fired, but her aim was erratic and it missed. She grabbed the whistle from around her neck and blew it as hard as she could. She made the next crevice and flattened herself against the wall as shadow blocked her only light, and she realised too late that the bird had her trapped. She scrambled as far back as she could, ducking beneath an overhanging rock and using that as a shield as the bird followed her into the cave. She looked up to see if there was any place she could climb to, but the cave’s roof appeared solid.
The bird cocked its head, and then stabbed away at the rock. She pressed herself further back and turned sideways; her hands cradling her stomach. She could have one bullet left, or she could have none. With shaking hands, she raised the gun and peered out from behind the rock. With a flash, the gun fired and the bird retreated with a scream, and daylight flooded back into the shallow cave.
But before Jenny could act the bird returned, and she shrank back behind the overhanging rock again. The bird hopped further in and stabbed at the rock she sheltered behind. Stones rained down on the bird’s head, but it appeared not to notice. She clawed her throat, grabbing the string and finding the whistle, she blew. The bird cocked its head at the noise but it didn’t retreat.
‘Shut up!’ the bird screeched. ‘Shut up!’
Chapter Twelve
Fly tipped the fish into a water-filled trough alongside the barn and watched as the fish began swimming again; they’d kill and eat only those they wanted for today. He was looking forward to eating the first fresh food of the season.
A gust of wind jangled the seashell wind chime that Jenny had made and he almost didn’t hear the gunshot. He turned at the noise feeling the pulsing sensation of adrenalin as it activated the arteries in his throat that fed his venom. The netting, wet and slimy with seaweed, was on the floor and became tangled around his feet. Jenny was more than likely shooting because she’d gone into labour, he told himself as he tried to kick the net away, but then there was another gunshot followed by the shrill call of Jenny’s whistle.
Fly grabbed the net and shredded it with his claws, then ran towards the walkway. He barely made the beach when another whistle came—and another. They were coming shorter and sharper as if Jenny was running, and with every breath, she was blowing through the whistle.
He ran towards his boat, and back up along the shoreline in the direction where she’d walked. There was something black in the distance and it was running from the sea towards the cliff face but there was no sign of Jenny.
Fly ran towards the creature and as he neared, he saw that it was a huge bird. Its beak was stabbing at the rock face and its wings were raised high on its back in aggression. Fly’s throat expanded with venom but he resisted on spitting until he was certain of Jenny’s position fearing that she could run out into his line of fire.
‘Shut up,’ the bird squawked and Fly skidded to a halt in shock. The bird smashed into the rock face headlong and began pecking away at the rock, and Fly realised that Jenny had huddled herself inside the small crevice away from the scavenging bird’s beak.
‘Jenny!’ he yelled, scrambling to his feet. His voice was hoarse because his throat was contracting with venom.
There was no answer from inside the cave. Jenny was still blowing the whistle; its call shrill and panicked as the bird pecked at the surroundings. The bird heard him though, and hopped out, turning and cocking its head at him.
‘Hello,’ it said.
Fly’s venom receded in his surprise. He stepped back, tripped, and fell on his rear. The bird turned back towards the cave, dismissing him, and continued with its hammering.
Fly spat his venom from where he sat, and the bird seemed to deflate as it fell dead at the cave’s entrance. Fly clambered to his feet and pulled the bird away by its tail feathers. Jenny was still blowing the whistle. It wasn’t until Fly was crawling inside did she stop.
She fell into his arms.
‘Oh my god,’ she repeated over and over. ‘Oh my god.’
He had to crawl out backwards because of the lack of the room. He wondered how Jenny had managed to squeeze inside; her stomach was so large now.
They hugged beside the dead bird; Jenny shuddering in his arms.
‘Did it hurt you?’ Fly asked.
She shook her head. ‘I-I’m fine. Jesus Christ, the mountain birds… they’re moving coastal.’
In answer, he hugged her again. He could feel her heart racing; only outdone by his own. ‘Come on, let’s get you home.’ He scooped her up in his arms.
‘I can walk.’
‘I want to carry you.’ He stopped as something caught his eye. ‘What’s that?’ He nodded his head towards the lifeless body of Bo lying at the base of the cliff.
‘Bo,’ Jenny said. ‘He was throwing stones to prevent me from climbing.’ She rubbed her nose. ‘The bird knocked him off, and then began eating him. Pecking him and—’ she couldn’t finish.
Fly began striding along the beach with Jenny in his arms. His thoughts were retracing his moments at the honnard settlement and the lookout guard in particular. The impaled native and the cub with its hands sliced off still didn’t make sense, but the honnard watching the sky did—and it wasn’t so they could worship spaceships as he’d thought.
‘We don’t know anything about this planet,’ Jenny was saying. ‘There could be many more birds. They could be migrating back from somewhere and drifted off course and that’s why we haven’t seen them before apart from the odd feather.’ She looked up at him. ‘And we mightn’t ever see them again.’
He looked back, her face was worried and her eyes were full of knowledge that he’d protect her no matter what. He looked away. They both knew the real reason they were worried and it wasn’t because of the presence of the birds.
‘You weren’t the only survivor of your spaceship, Fly,’ she said. ‘The bird spoke Jelvian.’
He felt no excitement or happiness at the possibility of finding his own kind, only worry and fear. Jelvias weren’t friendly. They were a war-torn race and a shipload of criminals carted off to die on an unknown planet.
He held Jenny close and felt her hands circle his neck and her cheek press against his shoulder. What would happen to her and the baby if something happened to him? If Jelvias found them? He looked down at her. Colour was returning to her cheeks, but she was looking over his shoulder—peering hard at something. He swung round, causing her to gasp.
‘Bo?’ he said. He dropped his gaze to Jenny. She looked up, and then turned her head towards the struggling figure of the honnard as it began to drag its battered body towards the cliff face.
‘He’s alive! Fly we have to help him.’
‘I need to get you home first.’
‘I’m fine.’ She struggled in his arms and he lowered her down reluctantly. ‘Come on,’ she said and began walking towards Bo.
Fly followed, his eyes seeing Jelvian figures in every rock structure and hearing their shouts in every crash of wave.
When Bo heard their approach his head whipped around baring teeth. As soon as he recognised them, he whimpered and lay down. His hairy body was matted with blood and his head was wet with gore.
‘He must’ve just been knocked out,’ Jenny said.
Fly approached Bo cautiously, but the honnard was silent as Fly knelt beside him. His yellow eyes held nothing but trust as Fly gently reached out a hand and parted the hair to see a jagged wound on his chest.
‘Bad?’ asked Jenny.
‘Hard to tell—’
‘Don’t kill him!’
He turned his head and looked at her.
‘He deserves our help.’
‘We have our own problems.’
‘One bird,’ she said. ‘One bird after all the time we’ve been here and you’re acting as if it’s a major catastrophe.’
‘I don’t care about the birds. I can deal with them.’
She stepped forward and put a hand on his shoulder. She squeezed it reassuringly. ‘And we can deal with Jelvias too.’
He could fight countless giant birds and honnards, but his own species? They’d kill her in seconds. They were venomous. He was equally venomous and immune to the toxin but Jenny was not.
He raised a hand and trapped hers still on his shoulder. He squeezed her fingers, and turned to look up at her.
‘I’m scared,’ he said.
Chapter Thirteen
‘I’m scared’, he’d said.
He was never scared. He was her hero. Her rugged hero made up from all the romance books she’d read. Big, bold and beautiful—in an alien kind of way. Jenny turned the pebble over in her hand thinking about his words, and then dropped it to land on a carefully collected pile.
She’d collected a stone for every day since she realised she was pregnant. Despite this, neither of them knew how close she was to the birth. Her ‘simple’ collection had amounted to over two hundred stones, grouped into twenties, around the back of Bodie and Matt’s old house. They equated that she was approximately thirty-two weeks pregnant—Eden had a longer rotation than Earth. She could be further along.
Since the bird attack, she’d been getting a few niggles and was worried about going into premature labour. Fly divided his time between her and Bo, and his fussing was almost unbearable, until she lied and told him the pains had stopped.
Strange as that may seem, as soon as the lie was out of her mouth, the pains ebbed away and she relaxed. Fly still fussed, but his mind focused on Bo and his wounds.
A howl from inside the house made her jump. She stepped towards the plastic-covered windowpane and gingerly peered through. Bo was standing in the middle of the room, his back to her, and seemingly staring at the door. He walked forward and sniffed the thick wood. He obviously smelt the outside.
Fly had lifted the honnard and carried him as tenderly as he had carried Jenny, and the caveman hadn’t resisted, although he didn’t hold on either, but lay limp in Fly’s arms. His small eyes flickered from Fly to Jenny, and every so often, the honnard grunted.
The bird had made many stab-like wounds in his body, but his worst injury was his head wound. It had taken a long time to stop bleeding even after Fly stitched it up. Although she feared the honnard, she was pleased he’d survived the attack. She felt choked that he had risked his life to warn her about the bird; it was the first time she admitted to herself that Fly was right about these primitive people and she was wrong—they meant her no harm.
Jenny studied his back. Like all honnards, it was stooped. His arms were long and strong, and his legs were bowed as typical of his race. His head was seemingly attached to his body, without a neck, but then he tipped his head back and howled long and hard.
Jenny ducked down, scattering her stone calendar in her rush. She swore and built it up again, cursing her nervousness.
She had nothing to be nervous about. Bo had saved her life. All along Fly had said the natives had been acting strangely. And since the bird attack they’d revisited every past and present movement of the honnards and they’d come to the startling conclusion that the honnards, while protecting themselves from the birds, had been trying to warn Fly and Jenny of their presence.
Her calendar built, she rose and began to walk across the grassy pasture towards home. There was no chimney smoking from the little house.
‘What’s happened?’ asked Fly as she came towards him. His black brows were knitted together as he studied her face for signs of pain.
He was outside their house whittling arrows and shaping bows. His response to his unwillingness to leave her and search for Jelvias was to make more bows and many arrows to boost the small arsenal they already had—the gun wasn’t reliable and could prove dangerous in its inadequate state. He had made spears and swords and crafted locks for the shutters he had installed on the windows.
He had also taken their boat from its mooring on the river and concealed it in the barn, and hid any other evidence of their presence. Their house was out of sight where it stood over the hill, and could not be seen from across the river, but a boat tied neatly to a post (which had now been pulled up) would have been a signpost to their whereabouts.
Their buggies had been taken as far into the dense wood as possible and covered with greenery.
He took his foot from the pedal that activated his self-made lathe and took a step towards her, an arrow he was making still in one hand.
‘Nothing. Why?’
‘You’re breathing heavy and you look frightened.’
‘I’m not. Not frightened, that is. Bo howled and startled me, that’s all.’ She scratched her bulging stomach. ‘He isn’t happy though, is he?’
‘No pains?’
‘No.’
He watched her face so intently she was sure he could read her thoughts, but then he went back to the lathe. He blew sawdust off the arrow and lay it down alongside the collection of others. ‘I want to take him back to his clan but I don’t think he’s strong enough for the walk along the beach.’
‘Given up on the thought of getting him into the boat?’
‘He has too many wounds that could reopen in his struggle.’
An eerie howl, which seemed to split the atmosphere in its intensity, caused her to look across at Matt and Bodie’s old house. It was hard to imagine that the beast who made the noise was Bo. She felt Fly looking at her.
‘That didn’t scare you?’
