by Zaide Bishop
“It’s not the cognitive food chain I’m worried about. It’s the actual food chain.”
“What did I just say about reason and logic?”
Dog rolled his eyes.
As far as they could tell, the entire pack was still on Pinnacle Island. The dogs had a healthy fear of the water, all water, as the saltwater crocodiles were everywhere in the archipelago. They could be coaxed onto the canoes and taken from island to island that way, but they would only swim from one island to another if there was no other choice. Some of them, Dog suspected, would have sooner died than swam. It wasn’t even necessary for them to leave Pinnacle Island. It had the most reliable sources of freshwater, and under normal circumstances, it had the most food too.
Following Stony Creek inland from where they’d killed the megalania matriarch, they soon found fresh dog feces and paw prints in the soft mud at the edge of the water.
“They can’t be far away,” Zebra said, crouching to look at the shit. “Minutes. Less.”
“Then they must realize we’re here,” Dog said, scanning the nearby foliage.
Zebra put two fingers to his mouth and whistled. The sound pierced the morning, sending a flurry of birds into the sky. Dog winced.
“What are you doing?” he hissed.
“Calling the dogs. Remember how we’re here to get the dogs?”
The pack coasted into view, appearing over a nearby rise and looking down at them between fallen branches and long, green grass. About half were black and sleek; the others were tan or brindle, with broad shoulders and ugly, wide jaws. The Elikai had always used their dogs for tracking, simply finding the prey and then backing off to let the Elikai do the killing. The Varekai, being so much smaller and lighter, had bred their dogs to kill. The dogs hadn’t shown any resistance to integration, and now there was one pack, unified, just like the Varekai and Elikai had hoped to be. Shame it had only worked out for the dogs.
Zebra whistled again, clicking his fingers and patting his knee expectantly. The dogs continued to stare at them, silent, heads low and tails down. Dog was getting an uncomfortable feeling, like something slithering around in his guts. They were not trotting down the slope to greet them. There was no fear either, no sign of unease. Suddenly spears seemed like the better idea after all.
One of the black dogs sunk down so its belly was resting on the ground, but its weight was still all on its paws. Its ears went up.
“Uh, Zebra?”
His brother ignored him, pulling out one of the packets of fish. “C’mere.” He flapped a fillet of smoked fish. “Come on. Lookit. Mmm, fishy.”
One of the big brindle bitches sniffed the air, nose high, catching the scent of the food.
“Zebra, I don’t think they’re... I think we should leave.”
“What are you talking about?” Zebra glanced at him, baffled. “They’re thinking about it. They’re not even growling. In a few minutes, they’ll be down here eating out of our hands.”
Dog swallowed. He hadn’t handled the dogs much in the past, but he had seen them hunting before. There were three types of aggression a canine could show: fear aggression, driven by a need to protect itself from some kind of threat and motivated only by the need to escape; pack or territorial aggression, which was shown to dogs or humans in an attempt to claim breeding rights, food or keep some enemy away from home territory. Both of these were easy to recognize. Like most animals, dogs preferred bluffing to actual fighting.
The third kind of aggression was prey aggression. Hunting behavior. Not a desire to frighten something away or protect choice food or real estate, but a desire to kill something and eat it. Simple, uncomplicated and uncompromising.
Dog was getting a sinking feeling that the dog pack wasn’t coming to Zebra because they were waiting. If it had been a year earlier, he would have been certain they were waiting for Whiskey. Waiting for the command to attack.
“Zebra, we really have to go. Right now. Seriously, we’re in trouble here.”
Zebra sighed, exasperated. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, you—”
He stopped, looking past Dog and frowning. Dog turned. Three more dogs were in the bushes only a few feet away from him. All three were standing quietly, just watching. As he stared, one of them dropped its jaw and began to pant silently.
With a sinking sensation, Dog turned again and found two more dogs slinking in from behind them. One of them had a torn lip, healing scars from some horrible fight. He could see the fading wounds on its neck, chin and cheeks.
“I think Scarface is the new pack leader,” Dog said, voice almost a whisper.
Zebra turned to look too. “Yeah, I think he may be. Wonder what happened to the bitch Whiskey used to favor?”
“I’d say she’s crocodile bait.”
The big dog raised his hackles, tail popping up like a flag. He snarled, and Dog whipped around, because the attack wouldn’t come from the front. The dogs at the top of the rise were leaping over the branches, scrambling down the bank with their teeth bared. They were almost silent at first, starting to roar only when Dog batted the first of them away with a balled-up wad of netting.
Too late, he realized he’d been a moron to agree to any plan devised by Zebra. When had Zebra’s plans ever worked? They always turned out like this.
“Gah!” Zebra pelted the fish fillet at the nearest dog, kicking another in the chest and stooping to grab a large rock from the creek bed. Teeth grazed Dog’s thigh, and he shoved the animal away, using the netting as a shield before tossing it at the pack and dropping to his knee to scoop up a long, thick branch.
It had been a lucky throw, and three of the dogs were tangled in the net, but that was only a fraction of the pack. He swung wildly, smacking one of the beasts across the head and sending it rolling across the scree.
The pack fell back, crouched low, hackles up, eyes keen and sharp. Their silence was the worst part, and the eager, unnatural focus of their brown eyes.
“I never, ever thought I’d say this, but I wish Whiskey was here,” Zebra panted. Blood was running down the back of his knee from a bite on his thigh. Dog looked down at it and grimaced. There went their only chance of running for it.
“So what’s the new plan?” Dog asked, trying to watch everything at once.
“I don’t know if you noticed, but my plans are terrible.”
“Oh, I noticed. You keep having them, though.”
“Well, the rest of them will run if the alpha runs, right?”
One of the brindle bitches lunged at Dog, and he swung the branch, missing her head and clipping her shoulder. She stumbled, and he brought the wood down again across her back. She scurried out of range with her tail between her legs.
“The pack lives to protect the alpha. The moment you lunge at him, they’re all going to pile on you.”
“Not if I clock him real good with a rock.”
“Your plans really are all stupid...”
“Cover me.”
Zebra ducked down to his knees before Dog could protest, and the pack converged as one, becoming a ring of teeth and gums, snarling and snapping. Dog swung wildly, wincing at the heavy thunks as wood met flesh.
Pain seared up his leg as jaws clamped on his ankle. He screamed, and the sound sent the dogs into a slavering cacophony of snarls and yowls, more like human voices than barks. A backhanded blow drove the animal back, but it took a strip of Dog’s skin with it. He spun again, striking the nearest form, which loomed up beside him with horrifying proximity. Too late he recognized his brother, and Zebra crashed at Dog’s feet, lip split wide open and blood already bubbling from his nose.
“Ah, no!”
The rocks Zebra had gathered scattered again, and two dogs clamped on to his leg, tearing at the road-sign-and-leather armor. Dog flung the branch away, striki
ng three dogs and opening a gap in their ring of teeth. He grabbed the largest rock he could heft, but there was no time to take proper aim.
The pack was dragging Zebra across the creek bed, separating them, just as they had been taught. He roused enough to raise his hands, trying to protect his face as the dogs surged around him.
Dog threw, putting his every raw fiber of power into the toss. The rock smashed into the alpha’s head, crushing an eye socket and leaving a shattered red pulp in its wake. The dog screamed, stumbling sideways, then tearing off through the brush so fast Dog almost didn’t see which way it went.
Half of the pack hesitated, confused, as the others charged after their leader. Dog was knocked off his feet and hit the ground hard, biting his tongue. One bitch was still tearing at Zebra’s armor, and Dog tossed a handful of pebbles at her. They bounced across Zebra’s chest and belly but startled her enough that she looked up and realized the rest of the pack was quickly vanishing.
“Zebra.” He scrambled over to his brother, dragging his mauled leg.
“—hit me,” Zebra mumbled. One of his eyes was alarmingly bloodshot.
“Sorry. I thought you were a big mangy dog.”
“Bit my tongue.”
“Me too.”
Zebra forced himself up to a sitting position, looking around. There was no sign of the dogs but for a lingering smell of urine and some splatters of blood.
“Why don’t things ever get easier?”
“Because we keep listening to you,” Dog said.
Zebra sighed.
Chapter Three
It was late afternoon, and the sun was already sinking behind the trees to Charlie’s left. Before her, the channel between the archipelago and the mainland ran deep, almost black in the orange light of afternoon.
Juliet had died here. It still felt like it had been last week. The wound was fresh in Charlie’s heart. In truth, it had been closer to nine months. Nine months since they had found her mutilated body, nine months since the megalania had swarmed to the islands.
Across the channel, Eden glowed like a giant orange set in the middle of the crumbling gray landscape. The streaks of moss coating its surface gave the appearance of tiger stripes or rot. Though the laboratory was vast, it was hard to imagine they had all once lived in a place so small. It was hard to believe they had once believed the entire world was encased in that small bubble.
“You shouldn’t be out here alone.” Tango padded across the rocks and settled beside Charlie, dipping her feet into a rock pool. Glass shrimp scurried out from behind rocks and seaweeds, swarming over her feet and picking at the dead skin. She wriggled her toes, pulling a face.
“Afraid some new monster will rear up from the ocean and eat me?”
“Yes,” Tango confessed. “And it’s sad here. The ghost of our grief lingers. It’s seeped into the stone. Can’t you hear it?”
Charlie could only hear the gulls and the waves.
“It’s the best place to see Eden,” she said.
Tango snorted. “Why would you want to?”
“Because I’m going back.”
Tango leaned back to stare at her for a long moment. “Now? Why?”
“Soon. In a few days. I don’t feel like I have a choice. Whiskey must be going to give birth soon. If she gets any bigger, she’s going to split open. We left a lot of things there. We know there were a lot of things in the labs that we never even looked at. Books. Videos. Information, do you see?”
“I think we can manage without it. That place is tainted. Do you think the spirits of the teachers we killed will be happy to see you? You are too fragile.”
Charlie shook her head. “No, we can’t manage without it. We have no idea what we’re doing. I have to find out what we are, Tango. How did we come to be in Eden? What were they going to do with us? Why did they keep us from the Elikai and tell us they were a different species? What happened to the world before? Why are we the only people left?”
The questions kept tumbling out of her, all the things that kept her awake at night. Now she was pregnant and had no idea what was coming next, the uncertainties had begun to make her feel sick inside. Maybe there was some reason they had not been meant to breed. She needed answers.
Tango studied her thoughtfully, then she put her arm around her shoulders and leaned on her. “Okay. If that’s how it has to be, I’ll come with you.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to. Because someone has to protect you.”
Charlie rested her head on Tango’s shoulder. “You don’t think I should go, though, do you?”
“No. But I can see you’re going regardless of what anyone else thinks. India can tell me how to defend you from spirits, and I will keep you safe.”
Charlie smiled. One Varekai crossing the channel was dangerous. One Varekai who was starting to get fat and slow crossing the channel might have been suicide. Together they would be okay.
“You’re going to have to decide who is in charge while you are away,” Tango reminded her.
“Whiskey? India?”
“Whiskey and India can’t agree on what to have for breakfast. It will have to be one or the other.”
Charlie frowned. Nothing was ever easy. “And the other will sulk.”
“Forever,” Tango agreed.
“I don’t suppose you want to decide for me?” If only so there was someone else to blame.
Tango grinned. “Not for all the honey on the islands...”
* * *
Animal bites were serious in the archipelago. Even a small injury could lead to an infection that could kill, and Dog and Zebra had both come home with several serious injuries. Sugar had no choice but to insist they both remain stationary until they were completely healed. No hunting, no building—just rest and regular bathing in the ocean, where the salt water could clean the wounds. As if there wasn’t enough work, enough stress, already.
They had no dogs to help with the hunt. Fruits and vegetables were scarce. Thankfully the ocean provided what the land could not, but they were still struggling to get back to where they were before.
Sugar needed Fox to come back. Not for the tribe’s survival, but for his own peace of mind. They should have been bonding over the news they both would sire young soon. Instead, the void between them seemed to be growing.
Maybe he wasn’t doing a very good job as leader. At first, when the Varekai and Elikai had been at peace, he was pleased with himself, but things had been getting more complicated for a year now. Sometimes it seemed like the teachers in Eden had been right: Varekai and Elikai were too different to be kept together. The only way for either of them to be happy seemed to be if they never interacted at all.
He was waiting when Fox padded into the camp with a basket of slivery fish strapped to his back.
“Fox.”
The hunter walked past him as if he hadn’t heard, but Sugar fell into step beside him anyway. They couldn’t go on like this. Sugar needed his brother back.
“Will you talk to me?” Sugar demanded, following him up the beach. “Fox!”
“There isn’t anything to talk about.”
“Then why won’t you stay? We need you here. We want you here.”
“That’s new.” Fox stopped and turned to face him. “It wasn’t so long ago you didn’t need or want me.”
Sugar grimaced. “I was wrong. We did need you. And we did want you. I’ve said sorry dozens of times now. How many times do I have to say it before you’ll accept? I was sick when I told you to leave. Sick, hungry and heartbroken. I didn’t mean it. I regretted it the moment I said it. It was months ago. Please forgive me and start living with your brothers again.”
“I’ve found being alone isn’t so bad.” He put the basket down, then picked up another empty
one.
“Elikai are not made to be alone. We’re made for laughing and talking. Who is there to laugh with when you’re alone out there? You’re valuable to us, Fox. To me. I miss having you around. I miss your input and your ideas. What else do you need me to say?”
Fox shook his head slowly. “You won’t forgive Charlie for driving you out, but you expect me to forgive you? We’d only been allied with the Varekai two seasons, and you and I have known each other all our lives. Every day, for twenty-five summers, yet you still drove me out.”
Sugar took a deep breath, as if the words had a physical sting. “Angry words said in haste. I was half mad. Please, Fox.”
He shook his head. “Stop expecting me to be the bigger man, Sugar. I don’t need you. I don’t need the tribe. I don’t need the Varekai either.”
He turned and padded toward the trees, hitching the empty basket onto his shoulder. Sugar stared after him helplessly.
He couldn’t do anything right, but somehow he had to turn that around. Before he lost even more.
* * *
The sound of singing voices carried through the village. A silly song about yellow submarines that Charlie vaguely remembered from Eden. It was dawn, a loud time, with the screaming of parrots in the trees and the chaos of the waking tribe. Fires were awakened, food was being prepared, ink was being painted onto skin and weapons or baskets gathered. The women were happy, and their happiness soothed Charlie, reassuring her she was doing a good job.
Whiskey sat on a woven mat beside a fire, looking like a bloated queen, eagerly picking at smoked eel and cold coal-baked fish from the night before.
“Should you be eating that?” Charlie asked.
“There aren’t any dogs to give it to.”
“That’s not going to make you any less sick.”
“I’m hungry,” Whiskey protested. “All the time.”
Charlie rolled her eyes. “We’ve all noticed.”
“I made some spears.” Whiskey indicated a pile of shafts leaning against a tree. They were well made, though in numbers somewhat in excess of what was necessary. “I thought I’d make some arrows today. I just need some more supplies.”
