by Joel Ohman
Hector continued. “So, basically you have an animal that is the king of the jungle and isn’t content to just roar; he wants to prove he’s the king of the jungle to anything that moves.”
“It’s a common misconception about bulls that they are incited to anger and will charge when they see the color red. In reality, even in the Old Days, all bulls are red–green color blind—the only reason they would charge a matador’s cape is just because of the movement,” Lila said.
Charley spoke up. “So, basically, we are hunting an enormously muscular lion that charges anything that moves.”
“That’s about it,” Lila said.
“Well, also, the people who have seen a bion—and lived, that is—say it looks very … unusual.” Hector looked around nervously.
“Unusual?” Hank asked.
“So, it’s scary-looking, basically, is what he is saying. No big deal. Rotthogs are scary, the lanther was scary. Whatever. Everything out there is scary,” Sandy said.
“Umm, yeah, it’s scary, but not just normal scary,” Hector said, glancing at Lila and then back at Sandy.
Lila paused but then began speaking in a pace much faster than usual. “He is referring to some accounts where people say that the bion looks like the Devil.”
“The Devil?” Hank repeated.
Charley suddenly remembered Abigail’s comment that Orson wanted him dead, and he laughed out loud—now it all made sense. Everyone turned to stare at him.
“We aren’t joking. A bion has a huge lion’s mane and pointy horns sticking right out of the top of its head,” Hector said.
“I wasn’t laughing about that. I was thinking about something else.”
“You were thinking about something else?” Sandy asked, incredulous. “What could possibly be more important to think about right now than the fact we’re going into the forest tomorrow to hunt … the Devil?”
“Never mind,” Charley said. Looking at Hector and Lila, he mused, “Next, I suppose you’re going to tell us the bion is red? With a long tail? And a pitchfork?”
The twins looked at each other uncertainly.
Charley’s smile slowly faded. “Um, you can’t be serious …”
“No pitchfork, but bions are red, and they do have a long tail,” Lila said.
All eyes were on Charley. There was a moment of awkward silence, as if Charley laughing in the face of this devil creature was akin to him farting at a funeral. Oh well, in for a penny, in for a pound. He laughed again—this time attempting a confident-sounding chuckle he didn’t really feel. It sounded a little flat to his ear, but, after all, Sandy was watching.
“If we are going into the forest to slay a monster; then why not go right after the Devil himself, right? No glory in just killing a pig or two.” His bravado rang false even to him, but it seemed to be helping Hank at least.
“Hah, that’s right! I’m going to kill the Devil with my bare hands if I have to!” The look in Hank’s eyes unsettled Charley. But aside from Hank’s absurd boasting, there was something about his exuberance—both in the rotthog hunt, and now in this prelude to the bion hunt—that gave the impression Hank actually liked the killing. Charley would have to keep a close eye on Hank tomorrow so that he wouldn’t get them all killed with his eerie bloodlust.
“Right, it’s all about the glory,” Sandy said, as she gave Charley a measured look.
He knew she wasn’t buying any of his false bravado, but there was something else in her look. Charley wondered if there was any way she could have known about Sven. That seemed unlikely; he shook the thought away. Maybe she was thinking about her old low-Score boyfriend. Charley wondered what had happened to him.
“Well, anyway, we had better get to bed. Grigor wants to guide us out bright and early tomorrow morning,” Sandy said, standing up from the table.
“Thanks, Mom,” Hank said with a smirk.
“Oh, you’re welcome, sweetie. You’ve got a big day tomorrow—you’ll be fighting the Devil with your bare hands. Maybe he’ll show up in your dreams and you can get a little practice tonight,” Sandy said sweetly.
Hank swallowed, muttered something unpleasant under his breath, and turned to leave.
Sandy pantomimed blowing him a motherly kiss. “Sweet dreams.”
* * *
George Jonas looked up from his post at the gates. Grigor was approaching from outside. Alone. Grigor trundled past with a nod. George didn’t dare ask for details, but he knew that when Grigor had left on the hunt that morning, he had taken three of the High Scores with him. He noticed one was that reckless boy, Charley, who had saved the little girl and was now the talk of Meritropolis. Well, it looked like the boy’s popularity was to be short-lived; if Grigor was no longer with him outside the gates, he likely wasn’t coming back.
Once Grigor had passed him, George lowered his head and silently calculated how many hidden explosives it would take to destroy this entire wall. Surprisingly few, provided the charges were placed exactly right—and if anyone knew where to place them, George Jonas certainly did. The longer he worked as a gate engineer, the longer he resented the very wall he was tasked with maintaining. It was as if he was safeguarding the very mechanism that could someday be used to zero his own children.
George ran his hands slowly along the wall’s smooth stone. The dichotomy of being head gate engineer and a father was becoming too much. Something had to give. The wall needed to come down; then maybe all of Meritropolis might be able to come together. He picked at a small seam in the wall that fissured like a spider web down to the ground.
Whether the boy Charley came back or not, George knew he could not rely on outside help to solve this problem. It wasn’t as if a young High Score had a real chance of affecting lasting change to the System, anyway. George had already come to the conclusion that even that crime boss Chappy, while powerful, wasn’t going to take down the System when he relied on it for his profit. George Jonas, head gate engineer, knew he had waited around as a good law-abiding citizen for long enough. He was, first of all, a father, not a gate engineer. He was resolved it was better just to handle this problem himself.
And he was the one with explosives.
* * *
The rustling grass shone golden in the sun, caressing Charley’s fingers as he parted his way through the immense field. The waist-high stalks whispered warnings in the wind.
Grigor had taken them this far. Now they were on their own.
Charley felt safe enough traversing the countryside behind Grigor’s muscular back; it was quite another thing to be the one cutting the trail, come what may. Grigor had led them along this path, skirting the woods they had been in just yesterday to hunt. Today, he deposited them in this same enormous tussocky grass field, on the other side of which was the last location bion tracks had been spotted.
Something up ahead smelled of death. Fresh coppery blood wafted on the summer breeze; the contrast between the idyllic view and the necrotic scent gave Charley the chills. It didn’t help that he couldn’t see anything from his waist to his toes because of the hay that rustled continuously. Whether that was because of the wind or something more ominous prowling close to the ground, Charley had no way of knowing.
At least the small group of Charley, Sandy, and Hank were better equipped than yesterday. Charley himself had twin swords strapped between his shoulder blades, plus a wicked little crossbow in a sling. His neck was already starting to chafe from the sling’s continual friction, but it was worth it. The smooth contours of the crossbow gave him a sense of power every time he let his hand wander down to touch it, which was often. He felt as if he had a security blanket made of deadly carbon fiber.
Charley had read about guns from the Old Days and had even seen one or two, but a lack of ammo or the tools to make it after the Event, meant that crossbows and blades were the deadliest weapons available in Meritropolis. And the way Grigor had handed the crossbow to Charley before parting gave him the distinct impression that this was Grigor
’s personal weapon. A gift not likely sanctioned by Commander Orson, but one Charley already felt might save his life.
Charley reached the end of the field and climbed the crest of a small hill patchworked with yellowish sand, sedimentary rocks, and scrub grass. The smell of blood was now overwhelming.
He paused with his front foot resting on a slate gray rock and looked over his shoulder at Sandy and Hank.
They both looked at Charley expectantly.
There was only one way to go. Up.
Charley put a finger to his lips and motioned for them to inch up the hill slowly. He could hear something in the distance.
Bear-crawling upward, Charley with the crossbow hot, and Sandy and Hank with their blades drawn and ready, they neared the peak of the grassy bluff. A cacophony of raucous whoops assailed their ears.
Peering over the edge, Charley immediately saw the reason for the absonant noise and the blood stench on the wind.
There was a herd of at least 50 creatures, maybe more, caterwauling and prancing around the remnants of a large carcass of some kind, mostly picked to the bone. The creatures sounded like monkeys, but they looked much more graceful. The animals cavorted energetically around a dry dust-bowl of a valley, alternating between what seemed to be almost ritualized fighting behavior and fastidious grooming of their neighbors.
“Chimpanzelles,” Sandy said in his ear.
Charley turned to look at her, hoping for more information.
“Hector and Lila told me, of course. They said we would probably run into them. At least one of us was smart enough to stay up late and pump them for more information on animal combinations. After dinner I followed them to their dorms and asked them for some help. They were only too happy to oblige: I could hardly peel myself away to get a few hours of sleep.” She rolled her eyes and smiled.
“So, a chimpanzee and gazelle hybrid …” he said as he watched them cavort around the great pile of bones. He could definitely see it now: they had long, curved slender horns above delicate, highly intelligent-looking faces sitting atop almost entirely chimp-like bodies. Besides their appearance, the most discomforting thing about them was what Charley noticed grasped in their hands: crude little sharpened spears that they were using to poke into the bones.
“I guess even animal combinations that involve two primarily herbivorous creatures have become carnivorous,” Sandy said.
“Yep. Looks that way. Even something seemingly as gentle as a gazelle, a classic prey animal, has descended into an aggressive carnivorous beast …” Charley mused.
“At least these aren’t as big as the rotthogs. They look pretty small. Maybe 50, 75 pounds, tops. Except for that big one over there on the left—probably the alpha male,” Sandy said.
“They might be small. But they are also smart enough to use weapons.”
Sandy squinted to look more closely, and Charley thought he saw her blanch slightly.
“Hmm, yeah, I guess I missed that. We definitely want to leave them alone.”
“Umm, yeah … That would be a good decision,” Charley replied with exaggerated slowness.
Charley looked rapidly to his right and left and then behind him. “Where is Hank?” he asked.
“I thought he was right here beside …” Sandy’s voice trailed off. “Oh no, what is that idiot doing? Look, he’s already over the hill.” She inclined her head to the left, where Charley caught a glimpse of Hank’s hunched shoulders as he made his way toward the chimpanzelles.
“He’s headed right for the alpha male,” Charley said, his stomach sinking.
“I think he wants to show you up. He was happy about killing the rotthog yesterday, until you killed two.”
“Maybe, but I think he also just likes killing.”
Sandy looked at Charley for a split-second before looking back intently at Hank.
“So, what do we do?” she asked.
Against his better instincts, Charley groaned, then forced himself up. “We go down there and try to save his bacon, I guess. And ours.”
The closer they half-crawled, half-wriggled their way toward Hank and the chimpanzelles, the louder the caterwauling grew and the sharper the scent of blood that assaulted their nostrils. Charley knew it was only the combination of noise and scent that kept them from being noticed, but they couldn’t remain undiscovered much longer.
Unslinging the crossbow from his neck, Charley handed it to Sandy and took off at a dead run toward Hank. Staying low to the ground, he angled himself in and launched himself at Hank’s ankles, tackling him to the soil with a quiet grunt. Charley brought him down cleanly but received a reflexive sharp elbow to his shoulder before Hank realized what was happening.
“Charley! What the—?”
“Shh, put a lid on it, you idiot,” Charley said. “Over here.” He motioned toward some mounds of dirt farther away from the chimpanzelles.
Sandy met them at the dirt bank and hissed at Hank, “What is wrong with you? What are you doing?”
“What? I was going to bag me one of these weird little guys. Why not? We’re on a hunting trip, aren’t we?”
“In case you’ve forgotten already, we are on a bion hunting trip. Those are chimpanzelles. We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves, so just leave them alone,” Sandy said.
“We might not have a choice,” Charley said.
“Not you too!” Sandy said, turning toward Charley.
“No, I mean, I think we’ve been scented. Look.” Charley gestured towards the chimpanzelles who were now sniffing the air and moving slowly toward them.”
“Quick, into these burrows—let’s go, let’s go!” Sandy herded Charley and Hank back against the dirt and into one of the narrow holes sunken into the face of the bank.
“Quit pushing me!” Hank elbowed Charley. Again. In the same shoulder.
“Shut up!” Sandy said. “You’re the moron that thought it was smart to go right down into the middle of these creatures.”
“Whatever. They aren’t that big. I’m not scared of them, even if you and Charley are.” Hank turned to Charley with a haughty expression on his face. Charley just shook his head, disgusted.
“Shh, they’re getting closer,” Sandy said.
Charley noticed a sheen of sweat was breaking out on her brow. He unsheathed his blade. The crossbow would do him no good at this close range so he left it slung around Sandy’s neck. Things were about to get ugly.
He peeked his head out and then back in very quickly.
He looked at his companions. “Well, they don’t just look smart—they are smart. They’re working their way down the dirt bank and jabbing their spears into each burrow, one by one.”
Sandy looked panicked. “They’re hunting us just like a chimp hunts bush babies.”
“Uh, what?” Hank said.
Sandy mimed a jabbing motion with her hands. “They poke a sharpened stick into each hole and then sniff the tip to see if it has any blood on it.”
Hank swallowed, and asked hesitantly, “What happens if they smell blood?”
Sandy grimaced. “If they smell blood, then they cluster around the hole, yank the bush baby out, then crack its head on a rock. Easy bush-baby dinner. And just so you know, we’re the bush babies in this scenario.”
“Well, I’m not waiting around to be dinner for anyone,” Hank said. “Hiding’s not my style. I can’t kill anything in here, so I’m going out there and getting as many as I can.”
Charley agreed with him. They had to move.
He shrugged at Sandy and then whispered in Hank’s ear, “I bet I can get more of them than you.”
That did the trick.
Hank blasted out of their hiding spot: a bottle rocket screaming out of its tube. Charley and Sandy followed right on his heels.
The herd of chimpanzelles turned as one and looked directly at them. This close, Charley was struck at once by their eyes. They were highly intelligent, hardened, and cruel. These were certainly not passive, harmless creatures.
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The herd began stotting up and down in an excited manner, some of them on all fours and others on their hind legs, but all grasping their sharpened spears. Charley eyed the spears carefully; he hoped that they didn’t have the skill to throw them with any kind of accuracy.
Hank bellowed, “Come and get it, freaks!” A slight pause and then the yammering began again in earnest.
The herd charged.
Hank charged.
Charley charged.
Sandy screamed.
And then all hell broke loose: the Devil was here.
The bion ripped through the herd with brutish aggression, scattering the terrified chimpanzelles like so many grasshoppers flung to the wind.
The beast was blood-red and coated in thick curls of spiraling fur. The enormous bull-like horns sprouting from its mane gave it an otherworldly look: one that was just close enough to the devil caricature that Charley had always envisioned that it sent a cold shudder down his spine, causing his left leg to spasm and twitch as he found himself slowing to a stop.
To his credit, Hank continued to charge. He was not the smartest and probably a borderline psychopath, but no one could ever call him a coward.
The bion’s eyes glowed red: blood-red, just like his fur. It was real.
It was hard to hate something as nebulous as a concept. The System was nothing more than that. But it had taken Alec. Then it had taken Sven. Now this red monster was the only thing in Charley’s way to getting what he had always wanted: revenge. And this red monster was a very real and tangible thing. To get what he wanted, Charley just needed to attack.
So Charley continued to charge, too.
Charley angled himself away from Hank and in the direction of the thing’s flank. He hoped to give Sandy a clear shot with the crossbow, but he honestly wasn’t sure if it would do any good. The thing was a brute, and short of a miraculous shot into one of its ruby-red eyes, the arrow would probably glance off its pelt, making it even angrier.
