by Bill Schutt
“He means you’re not prone to exaggeration,” Nesbitt explained for Wang, shooting the captain a discouraging look.
“No . . . no, fisherman,” Wang responded. “No exaggeration.”
“I told you these creatures are real,” she informed the group, allowing some annoyance to creep into her voice. “What he’s telling us is simply more evidence.”
“Any birds?” someone asked, and eight heads, including that of the Chinese scientist, turned to him. It was Sergeant Juliano, the incongruous-looking weapons expert and old friend of the missing Captain MacCready. Juliano scanned the quizzical faces, then shrugged. “I hate birds.”
“No birds,” Wang replied, as they began the trek downhill. “Birds not the problem.”
Long after moonrise on the third of August, the strangest team of travelers since The Wizard of Oz was on the move.
Mac, Yanni, and the other two species had neither heard nor smelled any pursuing Morlocks. Nonetheless, the pair of humans snapped into hyperalertness as Alpha, up ahead, halted suddenly.
“Morlocks?” Mac whispered.
“Don’t think so,” Yanni replied, scanning the shadows and stony crevices, and listening intently.
While Mac and Yanni hung back, the little mammoth moved forward, brushed past them, and stood just behind the giant. Mac watched in fascination as the odd bifurcated trunk split at its base into a pair of arm-length appendages—each with a set of fingerlike tips, and each testing the air in multiple directions.
“Something’s got ’em worked up,” he said quietly.
“If either of those things sees us, take the shot,” Captain Pederson whispered to the man with the nightscope-mounted carbine. “Aim for the big guy.”
As if on cue, both of the strange creatures turned their attention directly at the sniper’s nest.
Pederson’s eyes widened in surprise. They can’t have heard me, he told himself. We’re a hundred yards away and downwind.
The beasts—one of the Chinese scientist’s “ape-men” and what appeared to be a miniature elephant sporting a shaggy carpet—continued to stare straight at him. Son of a bitch!
“Captain?” the sniper lying next to him said, under his breath.
Pederson shook his head slightly, before whispering a response. “Take the s—”
Yanni rushed forward, ahead of Alpha. Keeping one eye on the ice and bolder-strewn incline, she motioned for him to crouch down and for the little mammoth to remain still. All of their attention was focused on a rocky outcropping a hundred yards farther uphill. Then, just as Yanni was about to begin shouting, something unexpected broke the cold silence.
“Don’t shoot!” came a cry from behind the sniper. “That’s Yanni!”
Captain Pederson and his sniper turned to see the little weapons expert Juliano frantically waving his arms and running past them and into the line of fire. “What the hell is this?” the thick-necked officer muttered.
The two Devil’s Brigaders exchanged exasperated looks, then the sniper turned back to reacquire his target. The giant was gone, as was a creature that reminded him of an elephant in need of a serious haircut.
“Hold your fire,” Pederson said, just as Lou Costello’s twin reached Yanni and at least one of the others they had been sent to rescue.
The sniper reset the safety.
“Those Ruskie helicopters are trashed,” Sergeant Juliano told his friends. “Not even you could fly them out of here, Mac.”
R. J. MacCready shot his buddy an appreciative nod.
Captain Pederson peered over the table of rock and into a thousand-foot drop. “So, you know another way down from here, Captain? Besides the quick way?”
“We don’t,” Mac replied, “but Yanni’s friends might.”
“If they aren’t halfway back to that valley already,” Jack chimed in. He was referring to the fact that, by the time Sergeant Juliano threw his arms around Mac and Yanni, both Alpha and the little white mammoth had vanished.
“They wouldn’t do that, Jack,” Mac said, shaking his head, though his tone of voice expressed something less than one hundred percent certainty.
“They risked their lives to help us escape,” Yanni added, sharply. “I doubt they even have a home to go back to, anymore.”
“So . . . then why’d they run off?” the Devil’s Brigade leader asked.
Mac watched Yanni’s transition from defense to offense. “Probably because they were about to get ventilated,” she said.
Mac noticed that Pederson also sensed the icy reaction and, knowing she was right, he dialed back on his tone. “Well, Mrs. Thorne, saving you two was quite admirable of your friends, but can you get them back here?”
“I don’t know,” Yanni replied, still on edge. “Your men gonna shoot ’em?”
“Captain Pederson,” Mac said, “if anyone can coax them back, Yanni can.”
“It’s the guns, Mac,” Yanni asserted. “You know how they are when it comes to guns.”
Mac nodded; but he, Yanni, and everyone else present knew there was no chance that any of them would be giving up their weapons.
“Nobody’s going to shoot them,” Mac reassured her, while making eye contact with as many of the team as he could without being too obvious.
“It won’t matter,” Yanni continued. “If you’re holding a weapon, you’re goin’ over the cliff.”
“Excuse me,” Pederson said, “am I missing something here. Why do we even want those creatures back? We’ve rescued two of the people we came here to rescue, right?”
There were nods all around from the Devil’s Brigaders—but Mac, Yanni, and Jack exchanged looks.
“Whatever you need, I’m in,” Jack told Mac and Yanni. Then, turning to Pederson, he said, “You do understand Jerry and Mac saved my ass.”
“We know,” Pederson replied.
Jack let out a deep breath, then continued. “So, Mac, have you learned whatever it is you were sent in to learn?”
“That and then some,” MacCready replied, “as you might have noticed.”
At that, Dr. Nora Nesbitt became even more “on mission” than she had at the sight of little “Dumbo,” to say nothing of a living example of Pliny’s hairy bipeds.
“Well then,” Pederson said. “We’re mostly mission accomplished. Let’s find the quickest way out of these mountains—I’d start with downhill, no?”
Yanni gave a derisive laugh. “Look, Pally, Alpha knows the ins and outs of this region far better than we do,” she asserted. “Without him, I’m certain we’ll run into a slew of Morlocks.”
“Morlocks?” Nesbitt asked “Is that what you’re calling them?”
“Morlocks, Cerans, Yeren,” Yanni addressed the group. “Whatever you wanna call ’em, they’ll be happy to show you the quickest way down.”
“Oh?” Juliano interjected, hopefully.
Yanni gestured toward the ledge. “Sure. Screaming your lungs out and with your rifles shoved up your asses, sideways.”
“And don’t forget the killing snow cloud,” Wang added. “Only this Yeren will know how to avoid.”
“That’s right,” Mac said. “Without Alpha, we’re definitely not getting out of here alive.”
“And with him?” Nesbitt asked.
“We’re only probably not getting out of here alive.”
“Well there’s a convincing argument,” Captain Pederson said. Then he shot Yanni a look. “But we’re not getting rid of our guns.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Yanni said, throwing a dirty look at the holstered .45-caliber Colt that he was sporting. With no further comment, she headed off down the trail.
Mac’s expression of deep concern turned to a mixture of pride and worry. He did not try to stop her.
“Shouldn’t someone go with her?” Nesbitt asked.
“No!” Yanni called back without turning around.
Yanni Thorne turned the corner of a switchback and came face-to-face with the miniature mammoth. Taking her by surprise
, the creature rushed forward, its bifurcated trunk resembling a pair of welcoming arms. It gathered her in against its forehead for what her late husband might have termed a “slightly less than bone crushing” hug, while simultaneously, Alpha seemed to materialize from the face of a sheer rock wall into the predawn twilight.
Easy there, fella, Yanni told herself, trying to find the breath that the little pachyderm had just squeezed out of her.
Alpha’s reaction was far less friendly. By way of a greeting he drew back his considerable set of gums to reveal an even more considerable set of teeth. Then he hissed and gave a short whistling cry, which translated to, Do not even think of coming near me—a behavior that continued to leave Yanni perplexed.
“Yeah, nice to see you, too,” she told him.
Adding to the peculiarities of the reunion, it was the mammoth and not Alpha who stepped forward to give Yanni an all-too-familiar “finger” poke. What made it even weirder was that the prod was in the wrong direction, toward the downhill portion of the rocky incline—away from Mac and the others. To emphasize the point, Alpha took a few steps, gesturing for her to follow.
“O-kay, I get ya. But I’m gonna need a little favor first,” Yanni said, then pointed uphill. The response was nearly as predictable as it was negative.
Yanni decided to try another approach. Kneeling in the snow once more, she drew a series of stick figures, pointed to them, then to herself. Finishing up, she gestured that the three of them should proceed back the way they’d just come.
Alpha gave the artwork a quick glance before obliterating it with a violent swipe of his foot—the little elephant following up with a nasal-powered exclamation point.
“I knew you’d see it my way,” Yanni said, then she smiled and started drawing again.
R. J. MacCready’s internal alarms had started going off before Dr. Nora Nesbitt got to the question she’d apparently been waiting to ask all along.
“The only sped-up evolution I saw was probably related to the extreme isolation these species are under,” Mac lied.
“You mean, like on an island?”
“Yeah, some species get smaller when there are less resources.”
“Like the mammoths?”
“Exactly,” Mac replied, knowing that at least this much was true.
“So this mist-covered valley—none of us gets to see—is really just a kind of island?”
“Right! Nothing magical going on. Just a series of small, isolated populations having no exchange of genetic material with the outside.” Mac was in serious lecture mode now. “That type of isolation can produce some weird-looking shit.”
“Like Morlocks and mini-mammoths with two trunks and legs adapted for climbing?”
“You got it,” MacCready said, trying to be nonchalant as he gauged Nesbitt’s response to what he was shoveling. And for her part, the invertebrate biologist simply nodded, appearing to take it all in.
Good, Mac thought, flashing her a smile.
“That’s interesting, Dr. MacCready,” Nesbitt replied, flashing her own smile. “I was just wondering—”
Her tone told Mac that the charade was over even before it actually was.
“—did you happen to run into any guinea worms that had been artificially selected to become biological weapons?”
Shit! “Guinea worms?” Mac asked, trying not to stutter.
“Yes, Dracunculus. Something very much resembling that very parasite was clearly depicted in the Pliny codex.”
“And?”
“And it looked like ancient Morlocks had been farming them.”
Jesus, Mac wondered, but said nothing. Were the grass mimics Pliny’s worms, two thousand years later?
“I see,” Nesbitt said, wearing a very different smile now, and reminding Mac a little too much of a cat who had just cornered a mouse.
There was a sudden commotion among the others and Mac took the opportunity to step away from what had turned into an uncomfortable grilling by Nesbitt. Two Devil’s Brigaders stationed fifty yards down the rugged trail were frantically waving their arms, signaling something important.
An out-of-breath Sergeant Juliano was suddenly at Mac’s side.
“You’re gonna want to see this one, Captain,” the man exclaimed, literally pulling MacCready by the jacket. And as usual, he knew that the little sergeant was right.
As they’d been ordered to do in just such an event, Mac saw that the two sentries had put down their rifles and were now stepping back against the rocky wall bordering one side of the trail. Yanni Thorne gave them a brief nod as she passed. Mac noticed that there was little response from the shaggy-looking miniature elephant that followed her. Offering what Mac considered a slightly less than friendly response, the Morlock flashed a toothy snarl before kicking the two rifles off into space.
“Bad Morlock,” Mac said to himself, then ran down to greet Yanni.
Captain Don Pederson called a “humans only” meeting on a barren outcrop some thousand feet above their “thrown overboard” rifles. The focus of discussion was how, exactly, they might avoid dying in one of the various ways that had been recently enumerated by Mac and Yanni. On that topic, had anyone been acting as meeting secretary, he would have noted that even the Chinese biologist had gotten into the act, chipping in—repeatedly—with a rather squirm-inducing method of demise involving some rather badly behaved snow. And had the meeting secretary taken shorthand notes, the exchange between the parties would have read something like this:
“Alpha says there’s only one way to get down from here without getting killed.”
“And what’s that?”
“He says we need to follow him.”
“Where?”
“Up to a place where none of the other Morlocks will come after us.”
“And where’s that?”
“Ummm. . . . Alpha won’t say.”
“I still can’t see why we don’t just head downhill. Whether your big pal there likes it or not, we’re not completely defenseless.”
“Just keep your sidearms hidden.”
“Look, there’s a valley full of Morlocks waiting for us to head in the wrong direction. And your little handguns won’t matter for shit once they’ve pulled your balls out through your mouth.”
“That sounds painful.”
“But that’s not going to happen, Sergeant.”
“That’s good, sir.”
Chapter 23
When Three Worlds Collide
Change is the law of life. And those who look only to the past or present are certain to miss the future.
—John F. Kennedy
I don’t try to describe the future. My business is to prevent the future.
—Ray Bradbury
In the Valley of the Cerae
Summer, a.d. 67
As the days passed, Pliny came to realize that Severus was falling even more intensely under Teacher’s control than he thought imaginable. At present, he could not determine who the man was anymore: Severus the involuntary traitor or Severus the Roman centurion who was now actively assisting in preparations against the Scythian invasion.
“So you think their main force is still spread over a wide area?” Proculus asked.
“I believe so,” Pliny said. “Becoming familiar with the terrain and drawing up their plans.”
There was no question that the Cerae too understood what was happening—and how their every effort must be directed against this latest race of intruders. In fact, Pliny’s captors were so preoccupied that it was deceptively easy to imagine that he and Proculus could simply retrace their steps to the glacial valley, past the ruins of Pandaya, and all the way to Rome without being captured—at least, not by the Cerae.
Pliny noted that on most nights, Teacher and Severus never returned to their chamber. Doubtless making more catapults, he concluded. And more canisters.
Nearly two weeks after the weapons test on the Scythians, Severus was finally allowed to speak with his two countrymen
—an exchange that took place across adjoining balconies.
“Are you with us?” Severus asked. The sound of the centurion’s voice surprised them at first.
“And are you helping our enemy design new weapons?” Proculus snarled. “The same enemy who butchered and desecrated your own men.”
“I wasn’t talking to you, Cavalryman,” the officer replied.
Pliny suppressed a smile. A trace of the old Severus, he thought. “How are they treating you, my friend?” Pliny countered.
There was no response to the pleasantry, so Pliny resolved to answer the man’s question. “I suppose if it is a choice between the Cerae and Scythians, we shall live longer among the Cerae.”
“No doubt about who you will be serving,” said Proculus, still agitated from the scolding. He pantomimed an obscene act.
Pliny scarcely noticed the gesture, deciding instead to offer Severus some advice. He turned his gaze outward, as if he could stare a thousand stadia through buildings and across mountain passes. “From what we know of the old Scythian predecessors, they like the dark,” Pliny said. “They’ll probably make their next move under the cover of a new moon and thick clouds.”
Only after he finished his pronouncement did Pliny discover the centurion had gone.
When the Scythians did march against the valley, they struck during a cloudless night, with the full moon glowing balefully overhead.
It was plain that Severus had communicated to Teacher and her brethren, whether he believed it or not, that his two fellow travelers were on the side of the Cerae. On the night of the Scythian march, Pliny and Proculus had an extraordinarily clear view from the great pinnacle—which towered over the cloudy sea like a dark sentinel. The Scythian invasion force entered the valley of the Cerae from five different directions.
“Medusa’s eyes!” Proculus said. “It’s like watching five rivers pour in.”
