“I didn’t work them,” I said tersely, glancing up at the sky for signs of a plane or helicopter, “I played with them. It was just a hobby, Harper. They were dangerous, sure, but their primary instinct wasn’t to look on me as an entree. Those animals hadn’t been trained to kill, and they certainly hadn’t been specifically primed to kill me.”
“My money’s on you, Mongo,” Garth said, and I didn’t have to look around to see the grin on his face; it was in his voice. The more I think about it, the more I like the idea. I’d love to see the look on Luther’s face if you brought his pet back to him. The son-of-a-bitch would probably have a stroke.”
“I’d love to see the look on his face just before the lobox he trained bites his face off,” Harper said. She no longer sounded sleepy.
“I don’t have the time or inclination to explain to you people the dozen or so good reasons why it can’t be done,” I said impatiently. “You’re both out of your minds.”
Garth had been right about the grain elevators. When we were still at least two miles away, it was possible to see not only that the complex was abandoned but that it hadn’t been used in years. Half of the enormous silos were crumbling or had holes in them. All the windows in the various buildings had been boarded up.
We came out of a field onto what had once been the main access road to the complex; it was now mostly washed out and filled with potholes. Mabel rambled up the road, and we entered the complex at almost the same time as a black speck that was a small airplane appeared on the horizon, to the south. The plane could have been a crop duster, but somehow I doubted it.
We moved around a network of dirt roads through the complex, past broken ramps and conveyor belts leading into broken silos, rotting buildings, rusting equipment, enormous chutes hanging uselessly in space. It was beginning to look as if the grain elevator complex, which looked so promising from a distance, was a false Eden. It would, of course, be rather foolish to try to hole up in a building pocked with holes that the lobox could come through anytime it chose.
Mabel seemed to be having some racial memory of her own working for her; she apparently sensed that the lobox was an enemy. The lobox, for his part, seemed to be suffering from hubris; it had been following us at an ever-decreasing distance throughout the night; since there had been no consequences, it had decided to close that distance even further. It was now trotting alongside Mabel’s left flank, occasionally looking up at me as it raised its ruff and bared its teeth. It’s a mistake to threaten an elephant’s mahout; without warning, Mabel abruptly stopped, pivoted to her left, swinging her trunk and murderous tusks around. The lobox, despite its lightning reflexes, was caught off guard. First, Mabel’s trunk whacked the creature hard on the right shoulder, and then one of her capped tusks caught the lobox in the ribs, the force of impact lifting it off its feet and hurling it through the air. It landed hard on its side, twenty feet away. It immediately got to its feet, but it swayed unsteadily for a few moments. I hoped to see it start coughing blood from a punctured lung and go down, but it didn’t happen; the lobox was shaken, but not severely hurt. It shook itself, moved off even further, then raised its head and screamed in fury and pain. When it looked at me, I thought I detected something new in its expressive, golden eyes—fear. The lobox wasn’t going to come too close to Mabel again, and that was to our advantage.
But that was all the good news there was.
We could survive without food for a few days, but lack of water was entirely another matter. Mabel could always wander off on her own to forage for food and water in the elephant heaven that surrounded us, but we would essentially be stuck in the place we set ourselves down in. Neither Garth nor Harper had said anything, but I knew they had to be as thirsty as I was—and I was very thirsty. Aside from an occasional spray from Mabel, we hadn’t had any water in hours; we’d all been dehydrated by the physical and emotional stress of escaping from the circus, and we would be in deep trouble very soon. We not only needed a hiding place big enough to contain an elephant, but one that had water, and I wasn’t at all sure we were going to find it in the grain elevator complex. I just didn’t savor having to choose between dying of thirst, in a hail of bullets, or under the fangs and claws of a lobox.
It appeared that all of the water for the complex had been supplied by wells, and there were plenty of these around—but the electric pumps that had driven them had been shut off long ago; even if they could be manually operated, we didn’t have any water with which to prime them. To make matters worse, almost all of the pipes leading from the wells into the silos and buildings looked to be broken. It was not a happy situation.
Twenty minutes later we came to three silos connected to one another by covered passageways. The structures appeared to be intact; a tour around the buildings didn’t turn up any holes in the silos or connecting passageways, and the pipes leading into the buildings also seemed intact. It didn’t mean that we would be able to find a way to draw water from the wells, or that the lobox wouldn’t manage to find a way to get in, but we were rapidly running out of real estate, time, and options.
There were huge double doors cut into each of the connected silos, but the doors on two of the silos were padlocked; the third set of doors was held closed only by a length of rusted chain wound around two bolts. It took some doing, but by balancing on the upper part of Mabel’s curled trunk I was able to stay out of lobox range while at the same time using the end of my hickory trapeze bar to unwind the chain, which I slung over my shoulder. I got Mabel to partially open the doors with her tusks, then turned her around and backed her through the opening.
The lobox, under Mabel’s baleful gaze, kept a respectful distance away. We found ourselves inside a huge, circular bin, its floor covered with an inch or two of grain. Above us, the various levels of the silo were spiderwebbed with scaffolding holding rusting equipment. Tools were strewn about, and it appeared that this particular silo, at least, had ended up being used as a kind of gigantic toolshed and garage.
The next step was tricky and dangerous, considering the amply demonstrated quickness of the lobox, but it had to be done, and I was in the best position to do it. Without indicating to Garth or Harper—or Mabel—what I intended, I slid down Mabel’s trunk, grabbed the edge of the open door on the right, and pulled. The door had rusted on its hinges, and it closed with agonizing slowness. The lobox had begun to quiver as it stared at me, now on the ground and helpless before it—helpless except for Mabel, towering in the air right behind me. She lifted her trunk and trumpeted a warning just as the creature sprang forward, running at full tilt at me. The doors gave, and I slammed them in the lobox’s face just as it leaped. As I secured the doors with the chain I had brought in with me, there was the sound of furious scratching and growling just outside. Although it seemed to me an eternity, only a few seconds had passed. When I looked back and up, I found both Garth and Harper balanced far forward on Mabel’s head, staring down at me. They were both ashen-faced.
“You’re out of your fucking mind, Mongo,” Garth said tightly. “That wasn’t necessary. That thing is after you, not me. You should have let me close the doors.”
“We can’t be sure that it’s not after you too by now,” I said as I reached out to help Harper as she slid down Mabel’s trunk, “and you don’t climb an elephant the way I do. Besides, you have a more important job. You’re the mechanic in the family. While Harper and I check this whole place out, you see if you can’t find a way to get the water flowing. I don’t know about you people, but I’m a little parched.”
It took Harper and me three quarters of an hour to investigate the three silos and their connecting tunnels. The walls all seemed whole—a very good thing, since I could hear the lobox outside scratching, sniffing, and growling its way right along with me as I inspected our sanctuary. That animal, I thought, was really getting to be a pain in the ass, and I was having to give ever more serious thought to what it was I planned to do about it. The lobox could go off for food and
water anytime it wanted, if it wanted, and we would remain trapped inside the silos.
There was the sound of a plane passing overhead, low to the ground. We tensed, waiting to hear it start circling, but it continued into the distance.
The problem of the lobox had to be solved as quickly as possible. I didn’t much care for the only solution I could think of, but there it was.
When we returned we were most pleased to find that Garth had found a way to use a bucket of rainwater to prime a pump and then get it to work manually. Water was gushing from a tap, and he was filling the first of three empty barrels he had found and rolled over to the tap. When the barrel was full, Mabel, without any prompting, ambled over, pushed me aside, thrust her trunk down into the cool, clear water inside the barrel, and promptly emptied it.
Garth, Harper, and I slaked our thirst as Mabel waited patiently for the barrel to fill again. I kept on drinking after Garth and Harper finished, sucking up water until my belly was distended and sore. I stopped just as I began to feel the urge to vomit.
“Jesus, brother,” Garth said, “you must have been really thirsty. You’re going to burst if you drink any more.”
“I need all the water I can store,” I replied, and decided that it would serve no purpose to tell Garth and Harper just why it was I wanted to tank up, and save myself repeated trips to the well.
I also decided it would serve no purpose to tell them that my primary sensation at the moment was not thirst, but fear.
Chapter Eleven
Standing on a narrow catwalk at the edge of a man-high adjustable vent cut in the side of the silo I was in, I watched the stream of my urine arc out and fall to the ground thirty feet below. The lobox was squatting on its haunches off to the side, just out of range, watching me with a good deal more than casual interest. Using the catwalks and vents, I was working my way around the perimeter of the three-silo complex as fast as my bladder would allow. This was my third evacuation, and now I knew would have to go back to the working tap and tank up again. Mine was an execrable job, I thought with a grim smile, but somebody had to do it. By nature of expertise and—I hoped—talent, I had elected myself.
I heard my brother clambering up the steel ladder leading to the catwalk. “There you are,” he said as he reached the walk and came up to stand beside me. “You’ve been gone more than an hour, and I’ve been looking all over for you. Harper’s worried. What the hell are you up to?”
“I’m pissing.”
“Don’t be a smart-ass. I can see that you’re pissing. If you hadn’t drunk so much water, you wouldn’t be pissing so much.”
“You got that right. Thank you, Doctor.”
“Come on, Mongo, what are you doing back here? I thought you and Harper checked it all out before. If there was any place that thing could get in, it would have been on us by now.”
“I told you; I’m pissing—or I was. I’m finished now.”
Garth shrugged, stepped to the edge of the vent, and reached for his fly. “Sounds like a good idea. It must be the power of suggestion.”
“Not here,” I said quickly, grabbing his sleeve and pulling him back from the edge.
“Huh?”
“Use the privy in the second silo. I don’t want anyone pissing on the ground around here except me.”
Garth stared at me, obviously baffled, and slowly blinked. “You’re saying you can piss on Nebraska, but I can’t?”
“Not this particular part of Nebraska, if you please.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because there can only be one leader of the pack, and both you and Harper decided it should be me. I don’t want our friend down there to get confused. I’m scenting—spotting my territory. It’s the essential first step.”
“Mongo, what the hell are you talking about?”
“Go take care of your toilette, and I’ll tell you when you finish. I’ll meet you at the water tap.”
Garth shook his head. “I don’t have any toilette to take care of now; you’ve shocked the piss out of me. I want you to explain to me now why you can piss anywhere you want to in Nebraska, but Harper and I can’t.”
“Nobody, with the possible exception of Luther Zelezian, knows a whole damn lot about lobox behavior, except for what we’ve already observed. I’m assuming that loboxes passed on some of their natural traits to their modern heirs—dogs and wolves. I’m playing wolf. I’m marking out my territory, challenging that guy down there.”
“By pissing on him?” Garth asked incredulously.
“It’s a beginning. In order to work with large, dangerous animals, you have to understand a few things. The first and most important thing you have to understand is that they’re not people, as cute, friendly, or otherwise human as they may seem. You can never get them to do anything by trying to make friends with them, because they can’t be your friend—at least not in the way we think of friends. One way or another, the animal must be dominated; it must be made to know that you’re the boss, and that the slut’s going to hit the fan if it doesn’t do what you want it to do. There are a number of ways of accomplishing that end. The best way is to combine certain training techniques with lots of affection and respect. Or you can simply instill fear—beat the shit out of the animal, and hope you don’t break its spirit.”
“Like you do with Mabel?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I can’t hurt Mabel. I told you. She only thinks I’m beating the shit out of her, and that’s usually enough.”
“I thought you were kidding me.”
“No. Mabel’s a special case. Some animals—African elephants among them—are almost never successfully trained or domesticated. Zebras are another good example. But with any animal, if you can establish close contact with it from the moment it’s born, it becomes an enormous advantage. There’s a phenomenon called imprinting. I didn’t have Mabel when she was born, but I did get her when she was desperately sick, close to death. She was helpless, which is almost as good from a trainer’s standpoint. I nursed her back to health, and she came to see me as care giver, provider of food, and so on. No matter how big she got after that, she would never really perceive me as small, as a dwarf. I was always her master—as much of a master as African elephants ever have. There are researchers who would even claim that she thinks I’m her mother.”
“Now you’re kidding me.”
“The fact that you keep thinking I’m kidding you when I tell you how animals think and behave is the reason I can piss on this part of Nebraska and you can’t. Luther has already imprinted this lobox and any others he may have around. Even though we don’t know that much about loboxes, I think it’s safe to assume I’d never be able to break into that brain circuiting—say, to try for affection—and so there’s no sense in wasting time we don’t have. If I’m going to wrest control of the lobox away from Luther, I have to break into another circuit in the animal’s brain, in a manner of speaking. Luther dominates it on Luther’s terms; the only chance I have is to dominate it on lobox terms. In short, I have to convince it that I’m leader of the pack, which is why I’ve been using my urine to mark off my territory. That’s why I don’t want you pissing out there, okay? I’ve been serving notice that he’d better watch his hairy ass if he keeps trying to mess with me.”
“No more Mr. Nice Guy?”
“No more Mr. Nice Guy.”
“You’re crazy, Mongo. You plan to just keep pissing at him?”
“Nope. Like I said, that’s just the first step. I think there are some factors in our favor. First, it’s very smart, so it shouldn’t take too long to discover whether or not I’m wasting my time. It actually seems to be able to comprehend its own existence and the possibility of death, so it can be intimidated—I think—if I can find the right buttons to push. I shot it; it knows I shot it, and that’s good.”
Garth slowly shook his head. “You don’t have a gun now; it probably knows you don’t have a gun now, and that’s bad.”
“I thin
k it’s safe to assume that I’m the first victim it’s been primed for that it hasn’t succeeded in killing. The lobox that ran with it was primed for Harper, didn’t succeed in killing her, and was killed itself, by Harper. It will assume Harper is my mate—and only the leader of the pack could have such a powerful mate. Are you following all this?”
Garth grunted, laid a hand on my shoulder, and squeezed it affectionately. “I’m not the audience you have to convince, Mongo.”
I was again getting an urgent call from nature. I stepped back to the edge of the vent, looked down. The lobox was still there, in the same position. I took the hickory trapeze bar, which I carried everywhere with me, rapped it hard a few times against the side of the silo, then shook it at the lobox. The lobox seemed singularly unimpressed. I rested the bar against the wall, again reached for my fly.
Garth continued, “What are you planning to do after you mark off your territory?”
I looked back over my shoulder at my brother, grinned. “Why, then I’m going to beat the shit out of it, naturally.”
Garth the handyman had done a good job, and now that I had decided what had to be done, I was anxious to get on with it. I felt we were as prepared as we were ever going to be.
Using the tools and materials strewn around the complex, Garth had, among other things, transformed my trapeze bar into nunchaku sticks by sawing the hickory length in half and joining the two pieces with a six-inch length of chain secured to one end of each separate stick by a wood screw. It had been a long time since I’d practiced with nunchakus, and I hoped my martial arts skills weren’t as rusted as the chain that held them together. Assuming I could use the sticks and chain properly, the speed and striking power of the weapon I now held in my hands was greater by at least a factor of five than the unaltered trapeze bar alone.
In my pocket was a padlock I had found in a dusty corner and picked up when Garth and Harper had been looking the other way. The lock was broken, rusted open, but I thought it was sufficient to do the job for which I needed it. I hadn’t been totally candid with Garth and Harper as to why I wanted my trapeze bar transformed into nunchakus, since the argument that would have ensued would only have wasted time, and I was trusting to the padlock to prevent any arguments or wasted time in the future.
The Fear in Yesterday's Rings Page 20
