by Sara Clancy
Like a boxing tape, she told herself. You’ve done this before, do it again. Observe. Think. How do they move? What do they think? Look for a weakness. Search for a pattern. Being resigned to death didn’t mean she was going to go easily. If she could, she'd give them hell, and take at least one of them down with her.
***
The sun seared Aleksandr’s back like burning embers. Sweat had long since turned his thin shirt damp, but it didn't offer any relief. It only added to the stifling humidity that hovered over the smoldering sand. He could feel his exposed shoulders cooking in the heat and spared a moment to rub a bit more dirt onto his skin. The particles clung to his beading sweat, creating a thin layer of protection. All the while, he continued to keep his eyes on the cougar in the distance. It continued to ignore him and prowl further along the edge of the canyon.
Straightening once again, Aleksandr followed the animal, careful with his steps. Small clusters of rocks rose up from the loose sand here and there, creating a broken barrier between him and the drop-off. Each footstep disturbed the sand, and when the wall wasn't there to stop it, the grains washed over the rim and dusted down the canyon. Aleksandr could barely pick up on the sound himself, but it put the cougar on edge. There was nothing but open desert between him and the animal he had been tracking for the past few miles. It seemed fine with Aleksandr keeping it company so long as he didn’t bother it.
With a vast distance between them, they had walked together into the wasteland of sand. Aleksandr had just been buying his time. Not for the shot. He’d had that for a while. This whole process was just about drawing out the experience, having an excuse to stray from the house, to keep away for a little longer.
Avoiding his parents was a dangerous game. The majority of the time, it was a matter of ‘out of sight, out of mind’. But then there were other days, when they felt restless, unfocused, or threatened. On those days, getting out of their way without raising attention was a matter of survival. That didn't make it any easier. Proper preparation and dumb luck were both needed to escape punishment. Hunting was one of the few things they allowed. For the twins, it was schoolwork. Aleksandr didn’t believe for a second that either of them cared about the twins’ education. They found the whole process tedious and left it for Aleksandr to deal with. Today was special. An opening that only came once a year. Today was his and Radmiar's birthday. They were twenty.
Aleksandr held an extraordinary hatred for his twin. From the moment they were born, Radmiar had strived to live up to the Sokolovsky family morals. He had been their parents’ most studious pupil and had graduated their hellish school with honors. To the point that their parents had unleashed him upon the world on his fifteenth birthday. Radmiar had left with a gleeful smile and a shiny knife, and had thrived. Aleksandr knew that it was a horrible situation for the general public, but he was just grateful that his demonic sibling was away from the twins. And he did serve his purpose. This day was devoted to Radmiar, and their dedication gave Aleksandr and the twins the perfect opportunity to slip away for the day.
Ivan and Nadya had been carefully squirreled away, hidden amongst the field of abandoned buildings, far enough that their parents would lose interest before they ever found them. There, they could safely catch up on the mountain of schoolwork they were behind on. Aleksandr was hoping that they would put it off for a while and take the opportunity to play, as children should. They had both been snickering as he had left their hiding place. So there was a decent chance that they were planning on putting their work aside for a while. A small smile played across his lips as he thought about it. His birthday had become the best day of the year. His parents were distracted, the twins could exercise a bit of independence, and he could catch his breath.
Wandering the desert helped to clear his mind. There was nothing out there to disturb the blanket of sand or mar the peaks and valleys of crimson stone. The utter isolation allowed him to indulge in one of his favorite fantasies. When he was younger, he had read a novel about aliens and far off planets. No matter how many times he wracked his brain, he couldn't recall the title, but the adventure had remained lodged firmly in his mind. And with it, the idea of being alone on a vast, desolate planet. Just him and the sheer nothingness of space. Alone in oblivion. There was such delightful, blissful comfort in that.
Stalking along the rim of the canyon, he noticed that the massive cat had gained a greater distance than he had anticipated. He crouched low and lifted his rifle, lining the cougar up in the scope. Olga had a fixation with firearms. Even at the age of eight, he hadn't been surprised that his request for a hunting rifle had resulted in him receiving an AK 47 Kalashnikov. She didn’t care that the military-grade weapon was ridiculously ill-suited to the task. She liked her toys, so he had to make do.
His tight grip held the rifle as still as stone, tracking the cougar through its mounted scope. The brilliant colors of the desert made him wonder if he could get the twins interested in the games he used to play. The sunburnt red sands would be perfect for pretending that they were on Mars, Pluto, when the night came, and the temperature dropped. Or maybe they were still young enough to come up with an alien planet all on their own.
The twins hadn't taken to his first attempts to draw them into the world of make-believe. Logically, he didn't know what he had been expecting. They had their own games and tricks to serve as their coping mechanisms. Nadya adored the sea. Sharks, sunken ships, mermaids, and all of the mysteries that remained hidden in its depths. Ivan took more interest in ghosts and myths. Naturally, the Bermuda Triangle had become their common ground. Still, he couldn't entirely give up the hope that he could pass on something of value to them.
So far, his greatest success had been camping. Tonight, with their parents distracted by their traditional prolonged phone call with Radmiar, was the perfect chance for them to slip away. They’d be able to push further out. Find a place where no one else had ever been. Open fire cooking, Ivan’s ghost stories, and falling asleep under the stars. Aleksandr couldn't think of a better way to spend the first night of his twentieth year.
Something caught the cougar’s attention and instead of heading into the canyon, it began to turn in tight, restless circles. The motion quickly shifted from disturbed to distress. Aleksandr looked around them both with the scope and without, but he couldn’t find anything that would be terrifying to the predator. By the time he focused back on the cougar, its rapid movements had kicked up enough dust that it obscured his vision.
The canyon was full of carnivores. Not by natural design. They were attracted to the dumping ground and now the regular supply of corpses. An overabundance of predators made territorial disputes common, and Aleksandr assumed that he just couldn't see the second animal in the fight.
Deciding to keep his distance until this battle ran its course, he held the rifle’s scope level again and slowly sunk down onto one knee. Maybe this would spare him a bullet. He just hoped they didn’t fall over the edge. Since he didn’t have a car, getting the animal back to town was already going to be a nightmare. But dragging a few hundred pounds of dead muscle up a broke sheer mountain face was not how he wanted to spend the vast majority of his day.
Aleksandr aimed at the sights on the dust pile and curled his finger around the trigger. He didn’t fire. Not yet. Deepening his breathing, he adjusted his grip, preparing his body to take the recoil. The ball of sand and fur drifted back and forth a few feet. Aleksandr twisted his torso to follow it with the barrel. He was approaching an uncomfortable angle when he heard it. A dry, bony rattling.
Freezing in place, he looked out of the corner of his eyes, searching the exposed piles of rock and rumble beside him. The trail caught his attention first. Shit, he thought sharply. Although, as a part of his mind mentioned, it was probably a situation deserving of stronger language than ‘shit’. Still, the word repeated in his mind, both in Russian and English. He couldn’t berate himself enough for missing the snake trail. The soft sand had left a perfect
indent of the slithering path. All the while, the rattling continued without pause, drawing his eyes to a deep, shadowy cave formed by two piled slabs of stone. The rattlesnake’s forked tongue flicked out, tasting the air just a few inches off of Aleksandr's elbow. Well within striking distance, Aleksandr noted.
There was barely room for it to move within the tight confines of its hiding place. Still, its stony brown body curled relentlessly over itself. Aleksandr recognized its intent instantly. It was working itself into a better position, gearing up to strike. Aleksandr locked his arms, his joints, clenched every muscle in an attempt to remain perfectly still. Not fast enough to bring the barrel around, he thought, forcing his breathing to remain long and even, his heartbeat slow. Nothing to block it with.
His hunting knife felt heavy and useless against his hip. Close at hand but still too far to be of any use to him. It would strike before he could even brush his fingers against the hilt. As if sensing his thoughts, the rattlesnake shook its tail with renewed ferocity. Every other sound fell away until the clatter of bone-like scales became the only sound left in existence. Aleksandr glanced down at the bare skin of his arm. In a stained and torn singlet, there was nothing to stop the snake's fangs. Nothing to protect his dust smeared skin or the veins underneath. The venom will reach your heart long before you get back, a voice whispered in the back of his head. Careful not to move his head, Aleksandr looked around at the sun-drenched land. Sand and stone stretched out to the horizon. The sky was a brilliant, cloudless blue, disturbed only by the lazy swirls of a bird. All things considered, this isn’t that bad of a place to die.
Acceptance or not, Aleksandr wasn’t going to do anything to hurry the snake’s decision. There was still a chance that it would choose to let him be. Their stalemate stretched out until his joints began to protest the unnatural position. His legs steadily grew numb and filled with rolling currents of pins and needles. The Kalashnikov became a crushing lead weight. As time passed, it became impossible to stop the fine tremors from working their way along his arms. The movement was tiny. The rattlesnake spotted them instantly.
It moved faster, head weaving from side to side, tail rattling harder. Aleksandr clenched his jaw and held his breath, trying to master his body again. But his screaming muscles longed to be released. His vision narrowed down to only the snake. Death was looming ever closer, and it became harder to silence the part of him that relished the idea of leaving this life behind. Rattlesnake venom wasn't a pleasant way to go. But not the worst by far. He knew that from experience.
Six hours if the snake is mature and its bite true, he thought. If it’s not, the death time could take up to two days. That soured the thought. Not so much as the mental image of the twins. Whatever siren call death held for him, he knew that the end-result would always be the same. He would do whatever was necessary to stay alive. Because he couldn’t leave them alone. Not yet. Not when they were so unprepared to survive on their own.
None of that mattered. The decision wasn't his. It belonged to the little reptile with unblinking eyes and a tiny curl in its scales that looked like a mocking smile. Its tongue flicked out. The rattling sounded inside and outside of Aleksandr's head. Sweat rolled down his spine. Fire burned within his limbs. Suddenly, there was a crushing, consuming silence.
Aleksandr closed his eyes and prepared himself for the fangs to plunge into his skin. He waited. The pain didn't come. Releasing a long breath, he assessed his body, sure that his mind was just trying to protect him. Nothing.
The silence persisted, so he opened his eyes. Careful not to move, he flicked his gaze back to the little cave by his left side. Finding it empty left him brave enough to turn his head slightly. The snake was gone. He searched, not wanting to move if it had decided to curl a path around his legs. There was no retreating line in the sand. So it had to have gone over the solid stones. He looked back to the top of the tiny cave just in time to spot the upturned tip of its tail drop over the edge. It was the shortest path to the canyon but also a sheer drop for a decent distance. High enough to cause some damage.
Shocked, Aleksandr lunged for the edge. Blood swiftly flooded back through his legs, the sudden surge making him stumble. He scrambled up the cluster of rocks, flattening himself onto his stomach, and peered over the edge. The snake had landed on the nearest ledge, about half a mile down, its body easy to spot on the bright yellow stone. Its injuries robbed it of its grace, leaving it to move in jerks and twitches. Whatever pain it felt, it wasn't enough to stop it from rushing to the edge of the ledge and throwing itself off that one too. Aleksandr waited and caught sight of it, barely more than a little slip of a shadow, doing the same again. It propelled itself down the cliff side until it was too small to keep track of.
A clatter of stone snapped Aleksandr out of his shock. Instinct kicked in. He pushed up onto his knees, snatched up his Kalashnikov, and was ready to fire in an instant. It took another rumble of stone for him to think of looking down. The cougar he had been tracking had thrown itself into the open air. It landed on a far-off ledge with a solid thud. Crawling to the edge left a smear of blood on the stone. But, just as with the snake, it wasn’t deterred by its injuries. With unbridled determination, it crawled itself to the edge and hurled off again.
What the hell? The thought echoed in his mind as he looked out over the massive canyon.
Dozens, hundreds of shadowy figures were completing the same suicidal leap. Animals of all species desperately throwing themselves into the canyon, sacrificing their bodies to get into the recesses of the earth as quickly as possible. Disbelief left him numb.
Nature itself fears the sisters.
The man’s warning pressed to the forefront of his mind like a branding iron. Stop it, he commanded himself. You cracked his skull open like an egg. He wouldn’t have known what he was saying. It was gibberish. All of his logic didn’t change what he had just witness. He knew what he had seen. They would rather die than face the Furies. Angry at his roaming thoughts, he lumbered to his feet, barely able to keep his grip on the rifle as his arms slackened and watched it all unfold.
A tarantula scurried over his boot. Snakes he could handle. Spiders, however, made his skin crawl. Sharply kicking it off made his body twist, the motion moving him just out of the way of a charging desert ram. The very tip of its curled horn hooked onto one of the holes of Aleksandr’s shirt. One hundred and thirty odd pounds of compact muscle wasn’t a match for the crazed ram. The momentum alone knocked Aleksandr off of his feet, and he would have been dragged right over the edge if the old threadbare material hadn't ripped.
He hit the ground hard and rolled, the rifle clashing against his chest as dust filled his lungs. The ram leapt over the edge and Aleksandr felt that he was about to follow. One hand clutched his rifle while the other snapped out in search for a handhold. Finally, his desperate fingers latched onto the cave the snake had occupied.
Pain exploded within his shoulder joint as his grip wrenched him into a sudden stop. His legs flung around until everything below his hips dangled over the edge. Hooking one leg up onto the solid stone and shifting his weight was enough to make sure he didn't fall to his death. Huffing out a sigh of relief, he dropped his forehead to the ground. His military style desert sunglasses dug into the bridge of his nose and the hard body of the Kalashnikov was now painfully trapped between his arm and his stomach. His arm, in turn, wasn’t doing so well with his body weight grinding it into the uneven stone. In all, he was uncomfortable, sore, and still unwilling to release his grip on the tiny cave that had saved his life.
His relief died the moment of the first traces of vibration. Small pebbles trembled across the ground, and a fine sheen of dust rose up to create an artificial fog around him. Aleksandr snapped his head up then instantly shoved his head back down. He barely had enough time to release his grip on his rifle and pull it free from under his body before the first of the razor-sharp hooves crashed down around him. The wild desert sheep stampeded around him like a storm
. Not a single one of them hesitated to perform their deathly leap. The ground rumbled underneath him as smaller animals crawled over his back.
Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. The final, agonizing cries of the animals faded. The last dull thuds of impact shook the ground.
And it was done.
Choking on the dust that still hovered in the air, Aleksandr scrambled across the small clustering of stones, not stopping until the burning sand was under him. There, he braced his right foot, rose up onto his left shin, and snapped his rifle to the ready.
Russian born and raised, Petya had completed his mandatory military service. He had been a horrible soldier but an excellent drill sergeant and had taught all of his children well. So much so that taking the shooting position and carefully scanning the impromptu sandstorm was a task Aleksandr completed without thought. The dark, curved lenses of his sunglasses protected his eyes from most of the floating debris. For the first time, he was grateful for his parents’ love of army supplies. Specially designed to endure sandstorms, the sunglasses gripped his face, clutching like a second skin and enduring the rough treatment without a scratch. The lenses muted the colors around him, turning the bright crimson sand cloud into a murky blood red. Here and there, he thought he spotted shadows. Something shifting through the churning haze. But he never got a clear sight. Whatever provoked the animals into a suicidal rampage kept itself out of sight.
The particles of sand invaded his lungs on every breath. His heartbeat filled his ear. There was little else to compete against the noise. It was quiet enough that Aleksandr could swear he caught the soft, almost chime-like sound of the sand returning to the earth. It settled over him, leaving a thin layer over the top of his weapon. A few of the tiny particles toppled off of the barrel as he panned it back and forth across the desert mist.
