by David Boyle
“You have other illumination?” Wheajo asked of no one in particular. Hayden raised his hand. “You will retrieve and activate it.”
Hayden was shaking, and by the startled looks around the fire could see he wasn’t alone.
Mark turned to Wheajo. “I don’t understand what could be so important about the islands. They’re pretty and all, like I said, but—”
“It is not necessary for you to understand. What is required is for you to recall the details.”
Hayden hurried back from the tent, swishing to verify he had fuel. “Should be enough,” he said, settling beside the fire and rummaging for a twig. He found what he was looking for, and after turning the knob searched for the opening to the mantel.
Charlie saw how his hand was trembling. “No hair, right?”
“Just give me a second.” The mantel popped seconds later, a circle of light blooming beside the fire pit.
“Now,” Wheajo said, turning to Mark. “Show me your lake.”
They stood in a circle while Mark cleared away the leaves and, using a twig, traced a map of the river as he remembered it, the big deadfall, and finally the lake.
“You saw where the creek hits the river, and from there it’s a reasonably straight shot to the lake. Hard to tell how high the ridge is, but right about here is this huge, like knock-your-socks-off game trail.”
“Like the deer trails you guys are always talking about?”
“Yeah. Except lots bigger. And I mean lots with a capital L. Think highway through the forest.” Hayden asked where it went. “What I could see of it paralleled the river. Beyond that, I can’t say.”
Hayden snorted. “Yeah, that’s it. Been wondering how she did that.” Tony was staring across the river. He’d made the connection too.
“What do you guys know that I don’t?”
“That’s right,” Tony said. “You weren’t here when she came back.”
“You mean Sabrefang? Here? No shit…? When did that happen?”
“We’ll get to that,” Hayden said. “Right now I don’t want to lose my train of thought. That deadfall is two, maybe two and a half miles downriver.” Ron barked ‘three’. “Okay three. And it took you, what did you say, over an hour to get there?” Mark nodded. “Got to be it. Even she couldn’t have gone overland that far and that fast without an open route through the forest. If we’d have thought about it, we would have realized that earlier.”
“That’s why it’s called hindsight,” Mark said. “Still, it might not be a bad idea for somebody to take a run over and check.”
“Been to that side of the world,” Tony said, “and I’m never going back.”
“It’s just a suggestion, Delgado. No one has to actually—”
“I’ll go,” Charlie said, catching surprised looks from nearly everyone. “This place got to me. Got me good. Nothin’ like that ever happened to me before, and it sure as fuck ain’t gonna happen again. So if there’s any explorin’ that needs doin’, I’m the one who’s gonna do it. I got to or this place will drive me crazy.”
“You need a hand with that,” said a voice from the darkness, “I’ll join you.” Ron stepped into the light. “When the time comes, we’ll both go.”
“Thanks, McClure. That means a lot to me. Yeah, that’d be good.”
“You may continue,” Wheajo said, demonstrating that his patience had limits. “The islands, where are they?”
“Right about, oh… I’d say about here,” Mark said, scratching lines in the soil. “There’s like three or four of them. They’re sort of in a row, so there could be more.” He went on to describe their sizes, and their distance from shore. “Could be that the center one isn’t an island at all, and that it’s actually a peninsula.”
Wheajo next wanted information about the vegetation and its composition.
“They’ve all got trees, but the biggest ones are on that center island. Mostly the same as these, though there are types I hadn’t seen before. There’s one I’ll call a ball pine; real tall, skinny, with the branches somehow bunched on top like a ball. There’s a couple of those,” he said, massaging his side. “And there’s some regular pine trees, you know? Like Christmas trees? Some of them look pretty big. And a couple of different kinds of palms.
“Oh yeah, then there’s this weird kind. Can’t even describe it,” he said, scratching another picture in the soil. “The branches go kinda like this, with leaves only on the ends… like this….”
Ron was not impressed. “It’s a good thing you’re an engineer, Bennett, cause you suck as an artist.”
“Like you could do better with a stick. And if you’ve got your act together, I could use another beer.”
Mark described the lake and its surroundings to Wheajo’s eventual satisfaction, who thereafter settled beside the hanger tree and away from the fire. Their beers now a strictly rationed commodity, they sat around the fire reliving the events of the previous two days. The fire was stoked many times, yet eventually, inevitably, exhaustion forced the men to their tents.
Far in the distance, the honks and growls of various creatures carried from the darkness, each struggling for its daily existence. To the south, flickers of a distant storm lit the cloud-darkened sky.
Kneeling in his peculiar stance, Wheajo had all the appearances of having again entered his trance-like sleep. Yet such was not the case. On this night their blue-suited companion was working to finalize the plan that if properly executed would end their imprisonment on a world where all of them, both human and Grotky, were aliens.
24
A dingy overcast was drifting swiftly to the northeast. Tufts were on the water, leafy shards torn from the canopy fluttering in the unsettled air.
A final adjustment and Wheajo redirected the dawzon. Screened by the forest, the noisy browsers were displayed as disjointed thermal images on the view screen. Ten animals were distinguishable, all similar in size and moving slowly south. He triggered the rangefinder. Range to target: 327.47 eckters.
The presence of herbivores was an encouraging sign as predators in the vicinity could well have necessitated a change in planning. He slewed downstream when the wind stilled and euphonic voices carried above the noisy rustling. Its source was situated well back in the forest, and Wheajo was trying to locate the animal when a much nearer image swept into view.
Steadily approaching the far shore was a canoe.
*****
Branches slapped his face one after another. “This wind sucks.”
“Sorry, Bull, that was my fault,” Ron said, stroking to clear the overhangs. “I need to watch more than listen.” The forest was a maze of swaying greenery, the bank bristling with roots and entangled driftwood. Fighting both the wind and the current, they skirted the maddening obstructions, searching for somewhere to land. Honks blared from the forest, the animals clearly still on the move.
“We find a way up soon or we’re going to miss them.”
Charlie craned up on his seat. “How ‘bout by that tree in the water?”
“Go for it. We don’t have time to be choosy.”
Twenty yards on and Charlie nosed the canoe alongside a set of flood-worn limbs. “This sucks too,” was his assessment, holding on, searching.
“And I don’t see anything better ahead. Any chance you can break them?” Charlie tried shaking one of the limbs, but succeeded only in rocking the boat. “Well, then that’s the ballgame. By the time we find another spot, our friends are going to be long gone.”
“Can you hold us here?”
Ron matched his strokes to the current. “Yeah, looks like.”
Charlie poked his paddle overboard and hit bottom with more than a foot of the shaft left above water. Honks sounded one after another, the wind rattling the trees. “Like the man said, game’s not over ‘til it’s over.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’m goin’ in.” Charlie slid his paddle under the thwart. “The bottom feels solid, and if I can get som
e leverage, I can make us a path.”
“Forget it. You don’t have to prove anything to me. We know what’s in here, so why risk it? We’ll have more chances later.”
“Maybe, maybe not. And as far as something to prove, let’s just say I gotta do this.” He caught Ron’s eye. “Be ready to stop it, okay?”
Ron reached out, his paddle just kissing the water. “Go if you’re going.”
Steadying himself on a limb, Charlie slipped his legs over, groping, and splashed overboard when water started over the gunnel, Ron countering when the canoe started back. “That went better than I expected,” he said, water sloshing at his feet. “Okay, time to see what you can do with these.”
Charlie grabbed hold, the lines on his neck showing the strain when he tried pulling. He let loose and reached shoulder-deep into the water. “Kinda what I figured. These are all part of the same tree.”
A gust rattled the nearby foliage. “That good or bad?”
“I’ll let’cha know,” Charlie said, snatching a breath before reaching below the surface.
Ron had heard the story about Charlie having pulled a signpost out of the ground to help someone free their mired truck, and envisioned the ‘signpost’ as nothing more than a weathered two-by-four—“Errr!” Charlie growled, jaw clenched and wrenching the log back and forth—and was now reconsidering.
“Keep it up! It’s coming….”
Pausing to let the current eat away at the muck, Charlie let down, then pulled again, veins bulging as the limbs rose six inches, then eight, then a foot, the trio rising as Charlie applied a furious burst of power, muddy swirls blossoming on the surface as the limbs became the better part of a tree.
Ron angled into the current, Charlie pushing off like an Olympic shot putter when the thing started to tilt, the muddy hulk splashing down and vanishing in the river. “Good going! A couple more like that and we’d have enough for a dock….”
“Only if you get the next one,” Charlie panted, rinsing his chest and arms on his way to shore, Ron jockeying the boat between the overhangs while he climbed the rooted incline.
“Check your leg. Looks like you picked up a passenger.”
A shapeless whatever squirmed in a sloppy clump of mud when Charlie slapped the thing away.
Ron grounded the Discovery. “What was that?”
“I’m thinkin’ leech,” said Charlie, hiking his cuffs, searching.
“Guess that makes sense. Just keep your eyes peeled. Leeches aren’t the only things you need to worry about.” Ron got out and tied the painter to a root, trumpets sounding, the dinosaurs clearly on the move. “You okay?”
Charlie flicked something into the ferns. “Yeah,” he said, and stuck a hand out. “Pass that stuff over.”
The gun case went first, then the dry bag, Charlie busy buckling the gunbelt by the time Ron scrambled up the embankment. He got the rifle and chambered a round, he and Charlie following the calls to get a lock on the herd’s speed and direction. The dinosaurs weren’t all that close, then again….
Ron shifted his gaze from the forest to the swiftly moving monotone sky. “Damn.”
Charlie’s hand went to his hip. “Whatdya see…?”
“Not a frickin’ thing. I mean, look at this shit,” he said, staring about the greenery. “Once we’re in there, how do we find our way out again?”
Charlie sighed, then reached to a hip pocket. “We were supposed to be bear huntin’, remember?” he said, dangling his compass.
“You had to be a way better Boy Scout than I was,” Ron chortled. “Mine’s in the tent.”
The needle settled. “Crazy, huh?” said Charlie, aligning the dial to 172, then rotating the base to point at the river. “Fuckin’ needle pointin’ south and all?”
“You can say that again. Mark showed me that a couple days ago. Said we’re in a magnetic reversal.” Ron slung the rifle. “What got me was the way he said it, like it was no big deal. ‘Happens all the time’ according to him. Weird shit if you ask me.” A flurry of calls sounded, Ron around and staring into the forest. “You scared?”
“Fuck yeah.”
“Me too,” said Ron. “And stay close, okay?” Charlie nodded. “Alright, let’s get dinner.”
*****
Mark zipped the tent closed, trumpets sounding across the river. He got to his feet, rubbing his side, and smiled at how easy it was to identify parasaurs by their calls. Mike strutted along the clearing, Charlie’s not quite domesticated pet clearly more interested in breakfast than the ill-tempered animals across the river.
Tony was up, and considering how many boughs he’d heaped on the fire seemed determined to smother whatever coals there were from last night’s fire. “Any ideas why Wheajo got us up so early?”
Tony poked at the mounded boughs. “Not a one. All he said was that we have lots to do today.”
“Think it could have anything to do with last night?”
“I’d like to think so.” Wheajo was by the landing and giving Charlie’s boat a thorough examination. “I still can’t get over how easily he took down McClure.”
Mark glanced at Ron’s tent. “I don’t doubt that he was surprised too. Only I wouldn’t say that so loud if I were you.” He looked to the Tripper. “You got water in the pot?”
Tony stood, “Yes”, and headed for the landing. “And if I could get the stupid fire started I’d try to heat it.”
“Uh huh,” Mark muttered. “Mind if I take a whack at it?”
“Not at all. Please do.”
Sparks were flying, the fire gaining strength minutes later, Mark busy adjusting the position of the rock used to hold the coffee pot when Tony called from the landing, clearly excited. “Let me guess. You found a stash of buried Twinkies?”
“No… but close. Wheajo says he’s got a plan to charge the brizva!”
“You’re kidding…? Really? That is good news.” Mark suddenly had more questions than answers. “How you going to do that? And why the change of heart all of a sudden?”
“I will explain in depth once your friends have returned. For now I will ask that you endeavor to repair this vessel.” The Rockfinder was belly up, the pattern of holes a chilly reminder of how big its attacker had been.
“Okay, I’ll see what I can do. And what do you mean, ‘returned’. Where are they?”
Wheajo glared across the river. “There.”
*****
Grazed preferentially, the forest was a storied mix of the same vegetation as on the island, though with the less palatable and fastest growing varieties in greatest abundance. Nubs were everywhere, the new growth speaking to how recently the last wave of plant eaters had passed. Deadfalls lay scattered and decaying, most adorned with ferns and moss, the ancients little more than frangible ridges being slowly incorporated into the forest floor.
They slipped between the trees, trumpets blaring as they searched the leafy understory for gaps. Within range since the moment they’d stepped ashore, the dinosaurs had yet to be seen directly, the congregated animals sounding vaguely like pigs as the herd browsed through the forest.
Ron could feel his every heartbeat, his senses heightened. The pressing foliage, the smells, the effect the wind had as it swirled about the leafy ensemble. Still with a ways to go, he and Charlie were closing on their quarry, the dinosaurs clueless about their presence. The rush he felt while stalking had very few equals, and it struck him as sad that so many people focused on the kill while leaving to others the task of taking lives as if domesticated animals were somehow less entitled than the critters that nibbled tulips in their yards. And why wouldn’t they, surrounded as most were by concrete and glass and fed their morning pabulum by the always talking heads.
Poor bastards, Ron thought, leaning close when he spotted twitching in the trees ahead. “There they are.”
Charlie stared for long seconds before simply shaking his head.
The easiest way was to just get closer. But that wasn’t the point, not now at lea
st. Ron directed his companion’s gaze to a particular patch of trees.
“What am I supposed to be lookin’ for? All I see is trees.”
“That’s because you’re focused on the rapids as opposed to the rocks. Start with the branches, then watch how the leaves are moving.” The trees, the bushes, everything was in motion; the grunts as much a part of the background as the rapids up and downstream. The creases in his face softened as Charlie began recognizing the subtleties: the twitch of a branch in the wrong direction, a leafy cluster moving when the wind momentarily stilled. Ron smiled when he saw Charlie nodding.
“Huntin’ and paddlin’…. Never woulda guessed they had anything in common.”
“It’s all in reading the signs. You just have to know what you’re looking for.”
They pressed ahead, weapons ready, the air on occasion carrying a distinctly musky scent. Their path dead-ended into a deadfall, the grunts filtering through the trees ever less blended.
“Which way?” Charlie whispered.
Ron peered about the trees. “Fuck, let's see if over here works." They moved quietly along the deadfall, sweeping away the fronds, twigs and old limbs crunching underfoot as they angled across the maze of moss covered limbs. Too high to risk being seen while going over, Ron went to a knee, checking, then scuttled under the trunk.
Charlie was quick to follow, rotted bark raining along his back when he heard what sounded like a blowtorch. He stopped, listening, and realized the hiss was coming from just above his shoulder. “McClure…?”
Ron turned, a determined look in his eyes when he knocked a lizard from its perch with the butt of his rifle, six feet of reptile skittering away while Charlie scrambled to his feet. Ron motioned to the rotted limbs poking from the trunk. “Watch your head getting out of here.”
They high-stepped through the maze of dead branches, then hurried away on a course to intercept the oncoming herd, Ron slowing to a stop when he spotted flecks of tan moving in the trees. Browsing casually, the leader would soon offer the perfect broadside. Wait. Squeeze the trigger. Kills didn’t come any easier. He checked nearby. “How about it, Bull? Want to take him?”
