The Last Neanderthal

by Claire Cameron

  If the sunbite came, the body was buried to get it away from the burning sun. This was the only way to put out the fire that burned the flesh. Leaving the body close to the camp meant either that her sister was the last to die or that the others had left her body because they had to. Girl fell back and closed her eyes and lay still for a long time. If her whole family was on the other side of the dirt, she wanted to go too. She felt the sun on her face and willed it to take her.

  But after a long time, she opened her eyes and saw feet. These were furry and there were four. They belonged to Wildcat, who touched her nose with the wet tip of his and then twisted up his face to say, Could I have some dried fish? Girl was busy leaving the land and had no time for such physical demands. She closed her eyes again.

  The next time she opened them, she again saw feet. These were not as furry. In fact, they were remarkably free of hair and there were two. They belonged to Runt. His face was long and sad, and he put his cheek down to hers and gave her the same kind of cat kiss on her nose. Even though they weren’t cats, they had learned from Wildcat that it was sometimes nice to kiss each other with their noses. Runt meant it as a way to cheer her up. She knew it also meant that he was hungry. It was these two mouths that made it impossible to stay on the other side of the dirt. The baby in her belly joined in, kicking enough to make her stomach rumble. She didn’t have enough energy to ignore the needs of all the small bodies around her. It felt easier to stand up.

  Runt built up a large fire in the hearth. Girl knew she had to first clear the danger of sunbite. She paced the outside edge of the camp and found a larger mound of earth with fresh growth on the top. She dug down with a flat stone far enough to find the bone of a finger. One scoop more and she found the bone of an arm. Given this shape of the mound of earth and how easy it was to turn, she knew her sister had buried the bodies to get them away from the sun.

  She dug down at the side and made a place for her sister. The bones weren’t easy to carry over. Each time she picked up part of the carcass, some of it would fall away. It took several trips to get the body into the shallow grave. She didn’t say good-bye to her sister as she pushed the earth over the bones and the last strands of red hair. She did place her finger at the front of her sister’s jaw briefly, letting the tip rest in the front gap where her teeth had fallen out.

  As it grew dark, the fire became a sort of company. The association of the fire with the warm feeling it had brought over the years soothed Girl. She stared into the flames and strained to see the shapes of the family dancing and swaying inside. She pointed out shapes to Runt. She knew he couldn’t see them, but he nodded anyway. He sat close to her and she put her arm around him while Wildcat snuggled into Runt’s other side. With these three bodies together, she could imagine that the shadows were the family dancing inside of the fire. At least they would always be warm and safe in there.

  When she missed the family, as she did then and many times afterward, she would lean in to encourage the flame. The warmth of the fire reminded her of the warmth of the family, which was not just that of bodies but of being connected to so many beating hearts, to ears that listen, and to all those extra pairs of eyes that would watch each other’s backs. It was how a body stayed alive. She had to find a new way. But just then she could only stare into the flame and remember. Warm.

  22.

  Girl tucked her spear under her arm. She waited for the bison at a river crossing below her sister’s land, where the water spread out in a broad, swallow pool. The hoofprints were clearly marked from the spring crossing. There was no narrow channel or strip of rock to push the beasts into a single line, so there was no way to use the shape of the land to her advantage.

  At this kind of crossing, the hunters must herd and corner the beasts. It was a dangerous way to hunt and one that needed many more than two bodies. She knew for certain that this was one of her sister’s hunting grounds. But her sister must have hunted bison the autumn before with her new family. Falling into the same pattern gave Girl comfort and a way to keep moving forward. Somehow she had to get them meat to sustain them through the winter. It took at least one large bison to feed an adult for that long.

  Girl watched. To hunt was to wait. She had carefully sniffed and followed all the tracks around the camp, but they told her only a story of confusion. There were so many prints that they moved in circles and didn’t show a particular direction. It was hard to know when or if the bodies that had made the tracks might come back. But still she and Runt lived in her sister’s camp. The traces of live bodies, prints, scorched rock, hand-worn tools, were like an encouragement. The family had been here recently enough, whereas she knew there was no family left alive on the land of Big Mother. If she brought Runt back there, the journey would take a toll and would not necessarily give them better chances. No one would return there, while maybe someone would here. Her instincts kept her focused on that possibility, as a cold face turns toward the sun.

  Girl had kept up Runt’s education for that time of year and showed him how to find small pieces of meat and how to gather things that weren’t meat. She took him on a walk along the river and kicked at the downed logs as they went. After a few tries, she heard a satisfying scuttling and scurrying. In seconds, she was down on her knees with the log turned up. She stuck a length of branch down into the opening, waited for a moment, then pulled it up. The branch was crawling with black, shiny bugs. She held it up to show Runt, who gave her a broad smile. The bugs wore small plates like turtle shells on their backs. Their antennae brushed along the stick and they wiggled into each other. She put her lips around the stick and pulled it through her mouth, using her tongue to scoop the black bodies inside. She bit down with a satisfying crunch, then chewed. While they tasted good, there was also the sour taste of shame in each bite. Between her teeth, she broke the bodies of the scavengers. And in so doing, that’s what she became.

  The morning before, Girl and Runt ate and then dozed in a tree. After the sun moved a finger’s width or so in the sky, she woke Runt and they started foraging again. Girl was good at foraging. Even though she was on strange land, the skills that Big Mother had taught her served them well. But to feed their bodies this way, especially with her large frame and pregnant belly, she had to work all the moments she was awake. If she had a large hunk of meat to chew, she would have more energy to build a strong shelter, make lamps for the winter, and round out their tool kit to make it complete. As it was, she fell over exhausted at the end of each day. Food that was foraged came at a high cost compared to the energy she gained from it.

  At night, there were no dreams from the family to fill in the long, silent stretches of darkness between her sleeps. Instead of the comfort of family, her thoughts turned to meat. She wanted to sink her teeth into the pumping heart of a bison. She would put her mouth to a vein and drink her strength back. But like joy, meat was for the strong. She wasn’t the apex predator of this land.

  And even the season was turning against her. The fall colors tinted the trees and they released their leaves to the ground, like an exhale. The air turned a harder blue against her skin. The dirt started to pack down under her feet in preparation for the winter storms. And this reminded her of bison meat all the more.

  So on this day, Girl found herself behind a boulder at the crossing on her sister’s land. With Runt safely up a branch of a looking tree, she waited. Her luck turned. Snap. A sound. Where? Girl curled her top lip to feel the heat in the air. She twitched her head to the right, one ear out. In the distance, she saw a bison nose out of the brush. Then the beast spooked and cantered across the shallow opening of the crossing, the water only reaching its knees at the deepest point. The mud was thick and sucked at its hooves, but the passage was easy. There were many spots across the wide stretch of water for an animal to enter and leave. From the crossing, it could gallop off into the broad expanse of the plains, where she had no chance of running it down.

  Girl felt a thumping on the land in the dista
nce. Air billowed and hooves thundered. The familiar stink of bison shit came forward in a cloud. A herd of beasts was running for the crossing. It was a thin group—there were as many beasts as she could count on two hands—but it was a herd nonetheless.

  A clutch of Girl’s favorite food on legs was coming her way, but the problem was its speed. A beast that size expends the large amount of energy it takes to run only if it must. That many bodies taking flight meant one thing. Something, a predator, was chasing them. The beasts started to cross the river, and it didn’t take long before she caught the scent: wolves.

  “Aroo,” she called to let Runt know of the danger.

  The wolves tended to roam the lands where the families were not. Her family’s land had been too steep and broken for wolves. Though she didn’t have much experience of them, she had inherited a dislike. The family found that wolves were too loud and barked too much, crowthroats. They rarely challenged the family, but they would go after smaller beasts that the family sometimes hunted. The family had little respect for wolves and assumed that they hunted in such large packs because their jaws were weak. If they managed to down larger prey, it was only because they had used all the teeth in the pack to slowly rip and tear at a beast’s hide. Wolves were not strong enough to hold on to their own territory. Instead of staying put and commanding a piece of land, they were filled with distress and always on the move. From where she crouched, she could smell on their breath the persistent dread they lived with.

  Girl’s nose wrinkled up when she saw the leader dart toward the crossing. He was gray with patchy, mottled fur and eyes that slanted with distrust. She gave a click of her tongue but Wildcat was already long gone. He had tucked himself into the hollow crook of a tree.

  “Aroo,” she growled.

  She wasn’t filled with fear of the wolves, but with her large belly, she knew it was wise to stay out of their way. She went to the looking tree, and Runt began to climb higher to make room for her. She quickly caught up with him and had to wait for him to pull up to the next branch. His movements were slow, and for a moment she questioned his health. But that concern was soon replaced by another. Her pride sank down as she climbed up. The wolves were weaker animals, but they might glance over and feel satisfaction that they had caused the family to flee.

  The true insult was still to come. The wolves didn’t bother with Runt and Girl. The two of them apparently presented no threat at all. The wolves had eyes only for the bison. They ran around and around and nipped at hocks to drive the small herd into a tight bunch. They drove the beasts in a clump through the water at the crossing. The wolves had enough numbers that they were able to herd the group and easily select the weaker beasts. A few of the slower bison got separated from the back of the pack. The wolves soon isolated an older female bison. She was gray around the muzzle and moved as though her shoulders were stiff. Runt tapped Girl’s arm and pointed to the old cow. He touched his nose knowingly.

  Twelve snapping jaws worked together. They nipped at the old cow’s hocks three at a time to stop her from rejoining the others. Girl could imagine her own family doing the same to the bison. She knew that they shared certain traits with the wolves. A grudging kind of respect was due, though it took these weaker beasts twelve bodies to do something that the family could do with fewer.

  When it came to the kill, there were differences too. The wolves lacked large spears to make the dying more peaceful and quicker. Instead they tore and ripped at hand-size clutches of flesh, all the while yipping, barking, and carrying on in a frenzy that made Girl put her hands over her ears. Although she didn’t dwell on it, she could see that the death scene in front of her was slow and tortured, and the cow bellowed in fear and dismay. Girl found it hard to watch.

  When it was over, the wolves continued to bark and yip in their noisy scrum. They chewed and bit one another as they fought to take a turn at the carcass. It was a mess of a way to eat, but it got the job done. In time, the wolves had their fill and retreated into the shade of trees and brush to rest. They would stay near the carcass and feed again if they could, but a large bison was too much meat for a pack this size. They didn’t cache their food. Instead, they would sit and pant and digest while they watched the weaker beasts feed. Girl knew the feeling well. She had once done the same.

  The crows cawed in anticipation overhead. A vulture swooped down and landed nearby. A small coyote darted behind a far-off bush. One by one, they all took a cautious peek at the carcass, testing to see if it was their turn.

  After time passed, with red-faced shame, Girl climbed down from the tree. She motioned for Runt to climb down and onto her back, as she didn’t want his thin legs tempting any jaws. Slowly, they walked up to the carcass. Eyes were all around, and she could feel the heat of the wolves’ eyes on her skin. She kept her lip curled up to feel for any change in their pulses, but the throb stayed even and she knew they weren’t about to pounce.

  She carefully put Runt down next to her, making it clear that he was with her, not a part of the carcass. She removed her stone tooth from her belt and cut a chunk of bison meat that was left dangling from the ribs. It was not the fatty meat from the heart or the large stretch of flesh that comes from the hindquarters. Those were long gone. She looked for the parts that had the most fat. Those creatures farther down the line must take a lesser cut, full of gristle. She cut meat and cracked bone, taking as much as she dared. She would use her stone tooth to get into the middle of the bone and suck at the marrow, like a hyena. She kept her head lowered and her eyes down to show respect as she did it, and the wolves let her.

  After she left, the other solitary carnivores would approach, the striped hyena and the jackals. After that, the raccoon-dogs and even badgers might have a try.

  With meat and two leg bones in hand, Girl swung Runt onto her back again and pulled him close. She slowly returned to the camp. There was no triumph in the small victory. Their place in the order of things settled on her. Instead of facing forward to pinpoint prey, her eyes kept darting behind to watch her own back. Everything had changed.

  23.

  The next morning, Girl looked over to see Runt’s bottom waving in the air. He breathed heavily and huddled up so close that she was reluctant to get up. It was later than she usually woke. Runt had begged for the bison meat the previous night, but she did not want to eat it yet. She saved it for a few days by curing it on the fire and storing it in a tree cache. She doubted that they would come across another carcass soon and they would need the energy of the meat to gather pieces of smaller meat and as many roots, berries, and nuts as they could. For food that day, she had killed a few red squirrels with rocks in the way of Big Mother. She stuck them on a stick to roast.

  Girl nudged Runt and rolled her own body off the hide they’d slept on. The air was colder that morning and nipped at her nose. Her lips were dry, as her body required large amounts of water to keep it happy. She also worried about their shelter. She heaved her body out of the broken hut and turned an eye up to the sky. A thin layer of rippled clouds stretched over the trees. They were the same pattern as the sand at the bottom of the river shallows. The weather was about to change. The storms were coming.

  The days would be spent making this hut smaller. That way she could use the hides they had brought to provide better cover. She started the fire and melted water to chug. She called to Runt to wake up, then sized up the poles that had been used in the broken hut. The problem was one of heat. If she made it a quarter of the size it currently was, they could keep warm with just two bodies. She could then double the thin hides and stuff in as much insulation as possible. She reached through to nudge Runt to get him up, then pulled up a small hide that had been left behind. There was something odd about it. She tugged at an end, assuming it would come off in two pieces, but though it was ripped in the middle, something held it together.

  Girl examined the seam. It was like the foot coverings her sister had worn. Two pieces of hide were attached with sinew that had
been punched through holes and pulled in and out. She wrinkled her nose. There was something slightly revolting about it. She imagined two bison bodies tied together this way. They would resist and struggle to pull themselves apart. It was a change of state; the animal had a form it had not had before. One life tied up with another. Her stomach gave a small heave.

  At the same time, Girl could see that this attachment was practical. It made a small hide useful on a larger structure.

  “Runt.” Never one for volume control, she hollered at him to wake him; she knew he would be interested in what she’d found. But the boy didn’t sit up. He lifted his head sluggishly and his eyelids drooped. Something was wrong with him.

  Girl picked the boy up. His body felt smaller than it had even the day before. She thought of her sister and the sunbite and a panic hit her. Leaning in, she smelled his breath. There were no red spots or blisters and no whiff of the disease, not yet. She checked his back, neck, and arms. What was wrong? She sat him up, put a hand on each shoulder, and looked into his eyes. He licked his lips and put his hand on his small belly to say he was hungry.

  Hungry? It didn’t make sense. She was hungry, but she had a much larger body. He had eaten almost more than she had the night before. She gave him water and thought back to what they had eaten. Was there anything risky that could have made him sick? They had eaten all the same things—bugs, chanterelles, red squirrel that was cooked, that sour-tasting badger a few days before. She could only think his cloudy eyes and listlessness were signs of the fat sickness. Their bodies relied on protein, but fat was just as important.

  Girl bundled up Runt in a hide to fend off the cold and sat him by the fire while she built it up and heated water to drink. She pulled the foreleg of the bison from the cache and put it in the fire. Runt’s eyes bulged at the sight of it. She cut off the cooked meat and stuck the stripped leg back into the flames. Once the bone was hot through, she placed the foreleg on a rock, turned it on end, and hit it at an angle with a splitting stone. The force sent a perfect crack down half the length of it. She did this again from the other side and pried the two halves apart.