by Holly Hook
I pull the barricade away from the entrance. Light assaults my eyes and I crouch there for a minute, letting them adjust. Daylight. I never thought I'd be so happy to see it.
The axe.
I can't forget that. Even if I don't have to attack anyone with it, it'll be useful for cutting down small trees and getting some lumber to barricade my next shelter with, wherever it's going to be.
I grab it and walk out of the shelter. I straighten up and look at the river.
Something growls and my heart stops.
I whirl around.
The thing from last night hasn't left.
I don't know what to make of it. The creature stands as high as my knees and it's covered in brown, almost spiky fur with magenta spots. Its fur stands up on its back as it growls at me again. Sharp teeth slip down from its jaw and its bright orange eyes stare me down. Its long ears stand up on alert. If a rabbit and a vicious junkyard dog had offspring, this would be the result.
“Hey,” I say, holding one hand up. “Um...thanks for chasing the Dwellers away last night.” The axe hangs heavy in my other hand. “You're cool for that. Really. I'll just leave you alone now.”
It growls again. Its orange eyes reflect intelligence. You slept in my cave, they seem to say. Heck, maybe this is this creature's cave.
“I'm sorry.” I glance at the entrance and back to the creature. “Really.” My heart pounds.
I go to back away. Take a step back. It's a big mistake. The rabbit-dog must smell my fear, because it takes another step towards me, growling again and showing two rows of very sharp teeth. Slobber forms around its lips and drips down to the ground. It's tinged with green. What's it been eating? I wonder if it's Dweller blood.
I take another step back. My heart hammers and my knees feel like they're going to go out from under me. “You don't have to get all mad at me. I'm sorry I slept in your cave or whatever. I won't do it again.” I might die now. This thing's ready to tear out my throat. If I run, it'll take me down before I reach the river.
I should call for help. No. There's no one out here. I'm on my own.
The creature lowers, ready to pounce. Its magenta spots are almost beautiful. Almost.
I take the axe in both hands. I don't think. I just do.
The rabbit-dog charges.
The world is teeth and snarling. I swing, striking it on the side. The axe makes a horrible thud and a deafening yelp of pain fills the air. The rabbit-dog spasms up and falls, rolling in agony. Dust flies.
The creature gets its bearings and licks at its fur, which now is tinged with red. It's bleeding. I've cut it. A pang of guilt rises up. My stomach turns. I haven't hurt it too badly. Maybe it'll get up and go on its way now that it knows I can defend myself. We can leave each other alone.
Then the creature looks up at me and back to its wound again. Then, back to me. Its orange eyes are intense, hateful. You did this, it seems to say. You hurt me. And it growls again. It's a low sound, like something coming out of the center of the world, growing louder and louder. The rabbit-dog gets to its feet. Advances, staying low and moving to my left. I swallow. My throat hurts. I hold my breath and the whole world snaps into sharp focus. I keep both hands on the handle of the axe. Every sound pops. Every color explodes. Every nerve's on alert. This thing could kill me and no one would ever know. It won't have to eat any Dwellers after this.
The animal jumps, mouth open and teeth bared. I catch a glimpse of claws. Slobber. The world slows down.
I scream.
Swing.
Plant the axe right in its chest.
I stagger with the shock and release the handle. I fall back. A rock jabs into my elbow. The rabbit-dog yelps a final time. The axe falls from its chest as it flops to its side, panting. The creature writhes on the ground next to me and kicks me in the shin with one of its clawed feet. I yell in pain. I crawl back, seething. Those claws are like razors. It would have been worse if I hadn't made that swing.
I can't watch this.
I look away, down the river that's still sparkling and flowing in peace. I focus on the sound of the water. The birds. Not the panting behind me
And not final exhale, either, or the silence that follows.
But I can't help it. It's everything. I stare down at a rock, one that's got strange green lines going through it. It reminds me of the stone I passed when I first reached the bottom of that stairway. When I first came through the gateway, a decent human being who would never so much as step on a bug.
I turn.
The dog-rabbit lies still, eyes empty, facing the sky. Its teeth show in a grimace. A thick puddle of red expands away from it and runs down the rocks towards the river. Its chest is still, like it will be forever. Somewhere, a bird makes a wooing sound as if mourning its loss. The axe lies inches from a gaping, red wound in its chest. The blade's covered in blood. Soaked.
Like father, like daughter.
Melissa's shouting now.
“No,” I manage. I turn away and lean over. Gag. I've never killed anything before. This creature kept the Dwellers away from me last night, and this is how I've repaid it.
By killing it.
Murdering it.
It was going to kill you, babe, Shawn says in my mind. That's what he would say—wouldn't he? The rabbit-dog wanted to tear out my throat. It's not like it protected me on purpose last night. It just wanted a meal. I just happened to be there at the wrong time.
This cave must have been its home. I invaded it.
I dry heave.
There's nothing to vomit up. My stomach cramps in protest and I grab at it, trying to massage out the muscle spasms.
I heave again. Nothing comes up but some clear fluid. My throat hurts and lump has formed in it. I'm thirsty. I need to drink. And eat.
I still have to survive out here no matter what Melissa and the others will think of me.
I force myself to stand.
I defended myself. It's all I could do.
If I hadn't done it, I'd be dead.
I pick the axe up again. There's blood on the handle, too. I've got to wash it off. If I do run into someone out here, I don't want them to think I'm some murderous psycho. I don't want them to think I'm like my father.
I dip the axe in the river and let the water wash off the blade. A crimson trial slides away and mixes in with the clear. A couple of bugs hop away on the surface of the water, leaving ripples in their wake. I look up and let the river finish its work. The sun's poking through the trees now, forming beautiful rays of gold cutting through solid green. It's so nice out here, except for the monsters that come out at night.
And possibly, me.
The axe is clean. I pull it out of the river and check the premises to make sure nothing else is moving. A dark bird that might be a crow has landed next to the carcass up by the rock shelter. It pecks away, happy to have a meal.
A meal.
What am I going to do?
I can't eat that rabbit-dog lying up there, can I? How do I butcher it and cook the meat? What if I have to eat it raw?
My stomach rumbles again. I'm not sure if it's in protest or desperation.
The fish. I'll try that first.
How? I spot two of them swimming only ten feet away, right on the edge of darkness. This river is full of them, at least. Is there a way I can trap them? I search around to see if there are any vines I can weave together to make a net with. None. There are only pines in this area. I can't use the axe to kill them and poking them with a branch is out. Fish must be slippery, even though I've never touched one. Once, when I was little and Mom and Dad were buying me a goldfish, the guy at the pet store had a heck of a time getting one out of the tank for me.
The axe grows heavy in my hand.
Murderer.
“Shut up,” I say again.
I have to think about catching the fish.
My backpack hangs on my back, sagging.
Idea.
I take my phone out and my notebook
. I also remove Talia's thumb drive that just now, I realize I have no way to look at. It's useless out here, as useless as my phone is going to become if I have to use the Dweller repellent for just one more night. Still, I should keep it in case I ever get out of here. In case I find anything to show the police. I set it down on the rock, where it rests in the sun. I might ruin my backpack doing this, but my other option is raw rabbit-dog meat. Or starvation.
The fish are heading downstream, along with the water's current. I might be able to use that to my advantage.
I take my shoes off and set them next to my notebook. One of my pens rolls off the rock and onto the gravel. I'll grab it later. I roll up my jeans and wade out into the water, backpack in hand. The water runs cool against my feet and feels good on the ache there. I haven't realized how sore I am. I head out until I'm knee deep and can barely make out the pebbles on the bottom. My feet curl around smooth stones. At least this river isn't muddy.
Shawn would know a better way to catch fish, I think. He'd pop right in and come up with some handy solution.
But Shawn's not here.
“Here goes,” I say, dipping my backpack into the river. I let the open side face uphill, to where the water's coming down and guiding some of the fish along with it. It fills with water and I have a hard time keeping hold of it. I'm bent over right in the middle of the water and my back starts to ache. I'm so vulnerable out here. I've even left my axe on the shore.
A fish swims by, flicking its tail. It has beautiful, electric blue stripes. I don't dare move. It passes and heads down the river, towards wherever it leads. I hope the fish aren't toxic here like that one from Japan that chefs have to take special training to prepare. Then another swims past, a gray one with whiskers that's about eight inches long. They look like Earth fish for the most part. Maybe at one point, some came down an underground river through some gateway and colonized this world. That's good news for me.
I wait. And wait. One of the fish slaps at my ankle, but I don't dare move. If I do, they'll all swim away. The sun grows a little higher and peeks over the trees. I've already spent an hour out here, maybe two. As soon as I catch something, I'm going to have to get out of here. I can't stay here all day, waiting for nightfall to return. There will be no traveling after dark.
There's a fish coming straight towards the open maw of my backpack, struggling against the water. This one's brown and trying to find a way around the rock that's blocking its path forward. The water's pushing it towards me.
“Come on,” I say. “Come on.” It brushes the side of my backpack and I can't help it. I shove my backpack forward and up. I scream as the fish struggles and I lift the backpack from the river. It's heavy and dripping and my shoulders protest. The fish flops around inside as the water drains back into the river. I've got it. I hold the pack closed with my hands and rush back to shore. I've got one. Shawn would be proud. I'm going to have something to eat this morning.
“Yes!” I shout, setting my backpack down on the gravel. Water pancakes out and spreads. “Yes!”
I let the rest of the water drain. The fish struggles inside, flopping around. My backpack looks like it's dancing. Once the water's done draining, I dump the fish out on the gravel and it flops on the ground. Its gills open and close as it tries to pull in enough oxygen. The fish is going to suffocate and suffer a slow death. I don't want to watch. Another pang of guilt races through me and I reach for the axe. I have to end its suffering. That, and I need to go as soon as possible. The sun's even higher in the sky now.
The fish stops moving and looks up at me, helpless. Its gills still open and close and I know what I have to do.
I swing down.
Miss. The blade scrapes a rock and lands in the ground. I pull it back out, feeling stupid. “Come on, Elaine.” If I can hit that rabbit-dog back there, I can hit a fish.
I swing again and hit the mark this time. The blade slices right through the fish's head, separating it from the body. The gills stop moving and the fish lies there, cut in two. There's pinkish-white meat visible as soon as I lift the axe. It's not as bad as the bloody mess I've left for the crow.
That's my breakfast.
Now I need a fire.
I look around to see nothing but the tall, tall trees farther up on the shore and a forest of green. The only branch on the ground is the one I just pulled out of my shelter. That won't do for starting a fire. I need something dry—don't I? They mentioned that in summer camp. The branch I used was still moist and had plenty of pine smell in it. Don't you have to rub sticks together for a really long time? I remember trying that in summer camp and not getting anywhere.
And even if I do find a couple of dry sticks out here, will I be able to do it right? On that one movie with the guy on the island, he struggled and struggled to start a fire. Will that be me?
I might not have time for that.
And if Larconi and Roger are out here, the smoke will give me away. They said they'd come back for me. The sun's not going to hold them back.
I look down at the fish again. Its meat glistens in the sun and I realize what I'm going to have to do.
My stomach rumbles again at the sight of it. I'm so hungry that I don't even care what I eat anymore. I have to stop the pain. The gnawing. It's a monster that I must defeat at all costs.
I pick up the fish and set it on another rock. I feel like I'm using a stone age table. I search around for a rock that's pointed, something that will cut, but there is only smooth, water-eroded gravel here. I leave the fish and head back up towards my shelter. There are pointed rocks here, stuff flaked off the boulders. I find one about the size of my palm, one shaped like a triangle. I head back to the fish.
“Hey!”
The black bird has returned. It's standing beside my fish, staring at me with those black, soulless eyes like it's daring me to make a move.
“That's mine!”
I throw the rock. It misses, but the bird takes off into flight. I watch the bird flap its wings over the river and disappear into the trees on the other side. I sit down and pick up my makeshift blade. This has to work. I wash it off in the river first and return to the fish.
I have to take the scales off.
My stomach rumbles again and my head swims. I've never been this hungry before in my life, not since the time I was throwing up from the stomach flu in the sixth grade and couldn't hold anything down for three days. I stayed in bed that time, though. Staying in bed now is not an option. Mom's not going to bring me sherbet to eat.
I slide the rock under the fish's scales and scrape them off.
I expose rows of pinkish white meat. It's kind of see-through, but other than that, it looks just like the salmon Garrett would grill for us over the summer. This could be salmon for all I know. I toss the scales on the ground. The crow can have those once I'm gone. I don't care.
The fish meat is separated into little sections. I peel the first one off the others.
I never tried sushi before. I guess I start now.
I close my eyes. Raise the piece to my mouth. Stuff it in.
Chew.
It's not as bad as I expected. There's a distinct fish flavor to it, but there's something about the texture that's softer, almost crunchier than the fish I'm used to eating from the store. At least it's not burning the inside of my mouth. I don't feel like I'm going to drop dead.
I swallow. Eating this raw could poison me later, but it's a risk I need to take. My stomach rumbles again, eager and wanting more.
I dig in.
I can't believe I'm sitting here, eating a fish that I've just pulled out of the river, but the more I eat, the better I feel. The nausea calms down a bit and I no longer feel like my stomach is about to spasm. I pick out bones, making breakfast slow going. That's also the same as eating fish back home. I don't even care that it isn't cooked. I'm so hungry.
At last, I finish, leaving the remaining skin on the rock. I look up. The sun is almost at noon now. I've spent a lot of time f
eeding myself this morning. My stomach still rumbles with hunger, but it's duller now, like a storm that's just passed and is heading away.
I might have given myself enough strength to make it through the day. I can eat more later. I have the river. Now it's time to go.
I wash my hands in the river and take another drink. The water hasn't poisoned me yet. It must be pretty fresh and safe. I gather up my backpack and the axe, which I've left drying in the sun. It's still damp. There's nothing I can do about that. I swing it onto my back. I'll need it. Otherwise, I've got no way to catch any more fish unless I make some kind of trap.
I stuff my phone in my pocket along with Talia's thumb drive. I put the notebook pack in the front pocket of the backpack along with the pen. Maybe I should start a journal. Something to write down the details of this world and the things I've learned so far. The things to avoid and what to do. If I die and someone else comes this way, they might have something to refer to.
I follow the wispy clouds over to the cliffs that I've left.
There's someone standing at the top of one.
I freeze. The person's a few miles away, maybe, but their outline is visible against the pure, blue sky.
They're watching me. I know it. As much as I want to see another person, my skin crawls and a chill rushes down my spine.
It's someone coming from the direction of the mines.
Someone who might be Larconi or Roger or a person they know. Someone who's pursuing me.
The person turns away and ducks out of sight. As if they know they've been seen.
* * * * *
I move as fast I can without getting out of breath.
Larconi and Roger did say they were going to come back for me. Now they know I'm still alive out here. Why did I have to eat my breakfast right in plain view? Why couldn't I have gone under the shade of a tree? That couldn't have been Shawn or Travis on that cliff. Shawn or Travis wouldn't have ducked out of sight if they caught me watching them. They would have waved.
And if that person saw me facing them from that distance, they must have had binoculars.
I'm way ahead of them, at least, but I have to keep it that way.
