by Dan Alatorre
He held down the button on the phone and waited.
The newer cell phones did an even better job of resisting water than the old ones, but the key was still to get the water out of it as quickly as possible. Once dry, they had a fair shot at returning to normal.
The little phone showed a glimmer of light. Maybe it would work.
There was a crash above Barry’s head. He ducked, turning to see a giant female mastodon towering over him, pulling at the leaves on the tree he sat beneath.
He fought the impulse to run.
Don’t move. She might not see you if you don’t move.
He held his breath, watching her reach for another bunch of leaves.
Barry stayed frozen. Stray sections of broken tree fell around him as the female pulled at the more desirable limbs.
Easy. She’ll move to the next tree in a moment. If you scare her, she might trample you to death.
It was a rare combination of fear and humility, to be so close to such a massive animal. Heart pounding, Barry watched.
She ripped at a leafy branch, causing some others to drop. He closed his eyes and winced as they fell near him.
The female paused, scanning the foliage for her next bite, and moved to a young oak.
Barry took a slow, deep breath, watching her inch closer to the main herd. For whatever reason, she hadn’t noticed him; she was only interested in the next tasty tree. A trick of the wind. She had come up behind him, but the wind had shifted just enough to not let her catch his scent; her focus was on leaves above, not objects below. Pausing at the base of a tree to dig through the backpack may have saved his life.
He breathed a sigh relief.
He had not thought to take a picture while she was so close, but now that she was farther away he felt safer.
Let’s give it a try.
He raised the phone. The screen had come on, but there was no telling if any of the features would actually work. Barry pointed the lens at the female as the crunch and crackle of the feeding herd filled the forest.
Hold on. What will her reaction be to the noise it makes? He peered over his shoulder. What’s my escape route if this goes badly?
A few big trees had branches low enough for him to reach. He could definitely climb them, but the cast would slow him down, and the reach of the mastodon would require him to climb high as well. Like modern elephants, they could knock down a decent sized tree anyway, or shake him out of it by pushing and ramming it.
Beyond the trees was another tall outcrop of lime rock. That could work as a safe spot. High enough to be out of reach, and not anything they could knock over.
Besides, they don’t want to fight; they want to eat.
He heaved the backpack over his arm and turned to snap a picture of the grazing female.
Instead he was staring right at the massive male.
It was an enormous beast. Not twenty feet away, the mastodon’s head still looked to be five feet across, maybe more. His muscular trunk swayed back and forth across the tops of the grasses. His long tusks were even longer and more threatening close up.
He was not eating. He raised his trunk and sniffed the air, huffing loudly.
Barry’s breath caught in his throat. He clutched the tree and glanced around. Suddenly the lime rock outcropping seemed very far away.
The mastodon sniffed the air again. Flapping his ears and pawing at the ground, he looked over at the female. She had wandered another thirty feet or so. Beyond her, the other members of the herd continued breaking apart trees as they ate.
The male let out a low growl, fanning his ears again, but holding them out now. The breeze carried his stench to Barry, musky and thick like stale urine. The trunk went up again, sniffing loudly.
Barry held the tree, careful not to move. The tops of the distant trees swayed as the wind shifted.
The male’s massive head immediately swung around. Barry was staring right into the enormous eyes.
The mastodon pounded the ground with its front feet, letting out a deafening trumpet. Barry stood, frozen. It was a warning shot. The animal fanned its ears wildly. A massive foot pawed at the dirt, sending debris everywhere. It raised its thick trunk and blasted the air with a second, ear-piercing screech.
He’s defending his territory. He wants you to go.
Barry swallowed. So let’s fucking go.
He released his grip on the tree and took a careful step backwards.
Nice and slow. Back away. Show no aggression.
The mastodon charged. His massive steps shook the ground as he ran a few steps. Barry jumped back, losing his balance. The grasses had snagged his cast. He fell to the ground. The mastodon stopped, rearing its head and screeching again.
Barry scrambled to his feet, not taking his eyes off the huge beast. The mastodon pawed the ground and snorted. Again, the ears fanned out, a sign of aggression. The next charge might not be a scare tactic.
Barry stared at the huge eyes. The mastodon huffed, emitting a low, guttural growl.
It charged again. A tree splintered as the mastodon’s massive head pushed it aside. As Barry turned to run, he was immediately jerked backwards. The backpack had snagged on a tree limb. The mastodon closed in, crashing through the brush and shaking the ground. Barry wiggled free as the tusks reached the tree. He sprinted for the lime rock, each step shooting lightning up his leg from the broken ankle. As he neared it, the mastodon roared.
The backpack dangled on the tree limb for an instant before the mastodon’s enormous trunk snatched it up, throwing it to the ground and tearing it to pieces. The contents flew everywhere. Barry made his way up the rocks. The mastodon heaved and screeched, ripping apart the backpack. Bits of white fluff—the padding in the shoulder straps—drifted upwards into the trees. The massive animal thrashed his tusks and pounded his feet, obliterating the bag and its contents.
Barry watched in amazement as the mastodon finished its work. The stuffing fragments floated out from the edge of the forest. The winds had shifted again, carrying Barry’s scent in the other direction. With a few final snorts, the mastodon swung his massive head around and walked back to his herd.
Catching his breath, Barry sat. The mastodon moved through the forest like nothing had happened. The encounter was an amazing and deadly experience he’d never forget. He took a moment to calm himself, wiping the sweat from his brow and feeling his heart ease back into his chest.
The faint rumble of distant thunder rolled through the forest.
Barry sighed. It would rain soon. He needed to build up the embers from his fire or there would be no fire tonight. The heavy summer rains would make everything too wet to burn. With a strong fire going first, there was a chance to keep the flames alive until nighttime. Fire was the only defense from predators at this point.
He wiped the sweat from his forehead and massaged his throbbing leg.
There might be some kind of painkiller plant around here, but I sure don’t know what it is.
His gaze returned to the mastodon herd. They had made their way downstream. Barry slid down from the rocks and walked to the backpack.
Almost nothing remained of it. The debris from its contents had been pummeled. Whether the mastodon had been distracted by it because it smelled of food or humans, the backpack had saved Barry’s life. Anything with the scent of a human had been destroyed. He bent down, picking up a piece of the cell phone. It was scattered everywhere. Whether it had taken a picture or not, there would be no evidence now.
Barry sighed. His crutch had been demolished, too. A large limb had been knocked from the tree in the encounter. He bent over and picked it up. It was heavy, but it would make a decent replacement. He leaned his sore armpit onto it and hobbled back to the campsite.
The embers from last night’s fire were still hot. With a little effort, they would start a new fire. Shelter might now move up in priority. The stream would provide plenty of fresh water, and he didn’t plan on searching for food sources because he hoped the
time machine would charge up fast enough to not require it.
He poked at the embers. Time for more firewood.
A cool gust of wind whipped across the grassy meadow, tugging at his muddy clothes. It was refreshing, but a clap of thunder followed it. Barry squinted up at the sky. “It’s gonna rain soon, Min. You should have collected that firewood like I asked.”
He tucked the new crutch under his arm and headed out to the trees.
Chapter Thirty
The storm front would move in quickly, as they always did in central Florida. The brutal afternoon air temperature dropped ten degrees or so and the wind picked up—a nice change from the stale humidity—but it was deceptive. It signaled a fast-moving thunderstorm that would soon drop torrents of rain like they’d sprung from a giant fire hose. The pounding downpour might last twenty minutes or it might last all day and into the night.
Barry mumbled to himself as he moved along. “No telling how much rain we’re in for. I’d check the weather radar on the cell phone if that big hairy elephant hadn’t destroyed it.” He chuckled. “That intern—Gina, she’ll appreciate that. ‘Thanks for letting me borrow your phone, but I’m sorry—a mastodon ate it.’ ”
He neared the trees. “Think that’s covered under her cell phone insurance plan?”
Barry gathered some pine cones and a handful of pine needles for kindling. They burned quickly, but they would work well to help turn the embers back into a flame. Then the thicker sticks and limbs would catch fire. With a little luck, he’d have enough wood for the night in just a few trips.
He pulled at his t-shirt. The makeshift crutch had worn his armpit raw again. Red stains grew on the white cotton.
Barry sighed. Maybe some Spanish moss could work as padding. The early Conquistadors had used it as bedding. It was usually full of bugs, though, and he had enough bites from the mosquitoes. It also burned well, compared to other things that got wet every day in the summer rains. Spanish moss dried out quickly, burned slowly, and smoked a lot, but it would keep the fire going and keep the mosquitoes away.
He scanned the trees. There was plenty of moss hanging from the oak branches. It swayed in the wind like tattered sails on a shipwreck, making the tree appear haunted and inviting all at the same time. A well groomed lawn with an oak tree full of Spanish moss was a southern tradition and a welcome sight. That same tree in a dark forest would look like something straight out of Grimm’s fairy tales.
Barry lifted his crutch, trying to reach some of the lower hanging bunches. A few heavy drops of water splattered on his outstretched forearm. He peered out over the meadow. The first wave of rain had begun to fall.
The wind gusted up again, making the hanging moss move and dance.
This is no use. I can’t grab any from here.
He stared up at the tree. There was plenty bunched up around the trunk.
I can reach that.
Leaning on his crutch, he worked his way over to the tree. He grabbed a thin vine and stripped off its leaves, fashioning it into a simple loop for the crutch, and tied it on.
Now I can climb with you.
Slinging the crutch over his shoulder, he put a foot on the tree trunk.
As long as I don’t put too much direct weight on my ankle, I should be able to use my arms and good leg to help lift.
He hugged the tree, working his way up a few feet.
I think this will work.
Even where branches had broken off, enough of a nub remained for a foothold or handhold. The climbing was almost easy as long as he clung to the tree hard enough to keep pressure off the bad foot.
He stood, balancing, and looked for the moss. Some was near the trunk, so he grabbed that first.
Dropping the batches down by the base of the tree, he glanced around for more. Better to have too much than too little. The next clumps were a little too far to reach. He lowered his shoulder and let the crutch slide down to his hand. Hugging the tree, he propped the makeshift appliance under his forearm and leaned out to snag the swaths of hanging moss.
He checked the balance, eyeing his forearm to make sure the thick crutch didn’t get too heavy and make him drop it.
Beyond his eye line, something moved in the grass. A jolt went through him. The big cat had returned.
From the ground, its graceful motion would have been undetectable. From the tree, it was a barge cutting through a sea of grass. Rain glimmered in the light. The slick, shiny grass parted as the tiger slinked toward him.
Barry’s breath hung in his throat. There was nowhere to run. He pulled his crutch in and slid it back over his shoulder, staring up at the tree. Lightning had taken the top off, but it was still big. He could climb higher if necessary.
So could the tiger.
The rain fell harder. Barry wiped his eyes and glanced around. He could not climb down and get anywhere safer. There was no place safer.
There’s no safe place at all.
Rain pelted his face and arms, loosening the mud. It softened and washed off, carrying his scent and traces of blood from his raw armpits down for the big cat to find. His wet shirt clung to him; he clung to the tree.
He watched as the tiger raised its head to sniff the air, looking for him. It was only a matter of time. The cat would smell the blood and come right for him. The tree would barely slow it down; saber toothed tigers were excellent climbers.
Barry watched as the cat’s pink tongue whipped over its face. Lifting its nose into the rain, it smelled for him. Thunder rumbled overhead, but this was a noise the cat knew well. No flash of light would scare it this time. Hunger drove this pursuit, and a bleeding animal was a wounded animal—slow to run, easy to kill. The storm was not a deterrent.
Lightning rippled through the clouds, illuminating the meadow. Its tall grass waved in the wind; its limestone boulders stood like sentinels. They would watch this kill but not interfere.
The cat followed its instincts. Its huge teeth gleamed as it licked its lips and opened its mouth to embrace the aroma of him falling down around it.
There was nothing to do but watch. Barry stood, unmoving, in the tree, seeing the big cat inch toward him, wishing it away.
But kitty being kitty, it wouldn’t take no for an answer—damned cat. In the distance, Barry saw a thin trail of smoke rise up as the rain doused the embers of his campfire.
Lightning cracked again. Something nearby had been hit. Probably another tree; half of the oaks in his mother’s yard had lightning damage.
Maybe staying in this tree wasn’t the smartest idea after all.
Water ran down Barry’s face and dripped off his nose. The tiger raised its head again. This time, their eyes met. Fear shot through his body as Barry saw the method of his death.
The big cat growled, creeping up to the tree. Streaks of rain fell down around it as it looked up at him. The huge canine teeth seemed even more massive.
The cat slapped a paw onto the tree trunk. The vibration shivered its way up to Barry. Such power in one fist.
It shook the rain from its head, staring at him.
The paw hit the tree again. This time, the claws extended. They were huge. Barry hugged the tree a little tighter.
The cat jumped. It was a smooth, effortless motion, landing it halfway up the tree. It growled, baring its giant teeth. The enormous claws ripped into the tree trunk, holding its massive body weight right in place.
The cat moved another paw, driving its claws into the bark. Muscles rippled under its wet fur. It pulled itself closer.
Barry readied himself. He firmed up his footholds and hugged the tree, reaching back with his free hand for his crutch.
The cat raised up its hind legs, pushing forward. It swiped at Barry’s broken foot.
The heavy cast took most of the blow, but the pain from the impact shot through him. Barry cried out, hugging the tree harder. He gritted his teeth and raised the crutch up.
He swung. The cat reared back, letting the crutch pass, then opened its mouth wid
e and growled at him.
Barry was unbalanced by the momentum of swinging the crutch without making contact. He regripped the tree and raised the crutch again. Lightning flashed. The eyes of the cat grew wide as it pawed at his cast again.
Barry swung the crutch down, striking the big cat’s paw. It recoiled with a growl. He gripped the crutch tighter and swung again, missing.
Keep swinging, keep swinging. It’s staying away.
The tiger swiped at Barry’s foot again, working to knock him from the tree. Barry glanced upward, trying to find another branch to climb to.
The cat snarled, raising its paw. Barry plunged the crutch downward. The tiger flinched but remained undeterred. Barry grabbed the nearest branch and raised himself, pulling his cast away from the tiger’s reach.
It followed. The big cat stuck two paws into the tree trunk and pushed upward at him. The tree shuddered with the heavy cat’s motion, nearly shaking Barry loose. He turned again and swatted at it, then glanced upwards for the next branch
The cat climbed just as fast, pausing only long enough to get a firm grip and stay out of Barry’s reach.
The big drops pelted them. The tree swayed with the strong winds. Barry blinked the rain out of his eyes. There was nowhere left to climb. The tiger growled again, working its way up for the kill.
Barry pulled the crutch toward himself, grabbing the vine he had tied onto it. He quickly wrapped it around his wrist, then lifted his heavy cast. He stood there, poised and ready, waiting for the cat to make its move.
The tiger complied. It pushed forward again, and when it did, Barry dangled the heavy cast in its face. As it raised a paw to swipe at him again, Barry lowered himself and kicked with all his might. He struck the cat in the face. It recoiled. Barry raised his foot again, a shock wave of pain coursing through his body. The cat shook its head and Barry plunged his cast into its face again. He gritted his teeth and swung the crutch with full force, landing it on the side of the big cat's head.
