“Are you sure about this?” he asked.
“Do you want to read?” Jane asked in reply.
“Yes, but ...”
They stopped, tying the horse up in the crumbling brick ruins of a broad, low building well shy of the city. Jane said the surrounding brick walls had once marked the inside of a vast, sprawling factory, its roof long since having rotted away. Sunlight streamed in around them. Trees had sprung up, forming a sheltered garden accessible only through a metal door set on a series of large steel rollers. Unlike the road, the concrete slab within the factory was mostly buried in dirt and organic debris. Grass grew on the lumpy, irregular ground. Leaves lay scattered across what little was left of the sparse factory floor.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” he asked as they dismounted.
“I've been here many times before,” Jane said, reassuring Bruce the horse would be fine. He wasn't so sure, but learning to read was his idea, and he felt he had to follow through with it.
“Take off your clothes,” she said, gathering together a bunch of grubby leaves and loose bark. The prevailing wind had caused the copper-colored autumn leaves to pile up waist-deep against the wall.
“What?” he asked.
Jane pulled off her shoes, followed by her pants, saying, “We need to mask our smell.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes. Otherwise the animals will smell you long before you see them.”
Bruce mumbled something, but even he wasn't sure quite what he said.
“What are you afraid of?” Jane asked, pulling off her top. She grabbed a handful of leaves and began scrubbing her bare skin, rubbing them across her belly and around her groin. She raised her arms, rubbing leaves under her armpits before rustling her dirty hands through her hair.
Sheepishly, Bruce removed his boots. He averted his eyes, surprised both by her brashness and his modesty.
“Come on,” she said, throwing a bunch of orange and yellow leaves at him, laughing as they fluttered around him. “What's your problem? Haven't you ever seen a naked woman?”
“No,” Bruce replied, turning to one side as he took his shirt off. “Not like this.”
“Really?” Jane said, her surprise hanging in the air. “Well, you have now.”
She reached out with a handful of leaves, rubbing them in his hair.
“Stop that,” he said, wrestling with his pants as he staggered to one side.
“Why?” she asked, playfully tossing leaves above him. They fell down around him like golden snowflakes. “What are you going to do about it, naked man?”
Oh, how those words struck at him. He wasn't that much of a prude, but the context surprised him, taking him off guard. He'd slept with a woman once, a prostitute, just before his troop marched on Bracken Ridge, but in the dark of the tavern he'd seen nothing as flamboyant, as proud and defiant as Jane standing there naked.
She laughed. To his surprise, he didn't feel ashamed or embarrassed by her. He was embarrassed by himself, but Jane lightened the air around him. Her laughter was playful, warm and inviting, not intimidating. He could laugh at himself, he decided, and chuckled as he rubbed handfuls of leaves over his body. Turning away from her, he raised his arms, rubbing dirty leaves up under his armpits, only to feel her hand slap his backside playfully as she said, “You missed a spot. Right there.”
Now it was his turn. He picked up a large handful of leaves and tossed them over her, watching as they fell like confetti around her.
“That's the spirit,” she cried, looking down his body and getting her first good look at him naked. “I see the squirrels have buried their nuts and gone into hibernation for the winter.”
“What?” Bruce replied, a little confused. He looked down and realized the cold had caused his penis to look small and stunted.
“You are outrageous,” he cried, barreling into her playfully and tackling her. Bruce was mindful of Jane's arm and tried not to get too carried away in the moment and end up hurting her. The two of them fell into the knee-deep pile of leaves, disappearing into a poof of red, yellow, ocher and brown. Leaves flew around them as they rolled naked, laughing. Jane tickled him, and he felt helpless, calling out for mercy, trying to tickle her back, but his tickling didn't seem to bother her. She just laughed playfully.
“Oh,” she cried, as his body pressed against her. “I see someone's woken up before spring.” And Bruce was overcome with a sense of embarrassment at how his body reacted to hers.
He rolled away, kicking up more leaves and sat there waist deep in the soft, autumn leaves, staring at her.
Jane's smile was intoxicating. He wanted to dive back over to her but thought better of it. She was older. She wasn't as old as his father, but she was roughly as old as his sister, and that was hard to shake from his mind. He'd like to have taken things further, but the timing didn't seem right, and he was worried she'd reject him. Jane was larger than life, and that intimidated Bruce, at least, she intimidated him when he was naked. He felt silly sitting there among the leaves.
“Come on,” she said, getting to her feet, grabbing her clothes and rubbing leaves inside them. She tossed his trousers over to him as he sat sheepishly in the leaves.
They covered the last two miles on foot. Jane was surprisingly nimble. She'd let her hair down, allowing it to blow in the breeze. They jogged alongside crumbling walls, over bridges and through the outskirts of a suburb. Most of the houses had been decimated by the fury of summer storms, but a few still stood.
Bruce wanted to hang back as they moved deeper into the town, unsure of the territory. He had his bow and a quiver of arrows over his shoulder. He would have had his sword strapped to his side, but Jane said they needed to keep noise to a minimum, so he held it wrapped in a cloth as he ran along. Jane carried nothing more than her backpack and a long wooden staff.
Bruce felt uneasy, as though a wild dog or a bear would jump out at them at any moment. Wolves tended to stick to the hills, but dogs had been known to claim towns as their territory, using the grid of streets to mark their ground.
The collapsed buildings and fallen street lamp posts provided wild cats with a chaotic hunting ground, with plenty of room to stalk their prey. Whereas dogs would normally announce their presence from afar, barking and charging, providing just enough time to shoot off a couple of arrows, the big cats preferred an ambush. The arrows Bruce carried wouldn't kill either a cat or a dog, but they'd give them cause for thought. Wounds weakened animals, making them easy prey for others, leaving them open to infection, and the dogs seemed to sense that. Just a few arrows would normally deter a dog. Bears were another matter altogether.
Jane knew exactly where she was going, that was obvious. She led him across fallen rooftops, through rusting chain fences, past buildings that had collapsed in the street and cast their bricks in all directions. She paused behind the rusted hulk of various cars and buses, darting over the debris in the road, her hearing finely attuned to the slightest rustle in the trees lining the streets. Bruce kept pace with her, focusing more on her than where they were heading, trusting her judgment.
As they approached one of the taller buildings in the downtown region, Jane held her hand out, signaling for him to stop. Without saying a word, she pointed at the ground and then upwards. Bruce knew what she was pointing out. He'd seen this before, but normally only around cliffs and at the entrance to natural caves.
Guano covered the ground.
The rancid smell stung his nostrils. Bat droppings extended out away from the building, scattered liberally across the ground on a scale he'd never known. There must have been thousands of giant bats inside the crumbling remains of the skyscraper. Bruce was terrified by the faint squeaks and the rustle of thick leather wings flexing in the darkness. These monsters were waiting for dusk to fall. His heart pounded in his chest. Jane continued on.
At the next intersection, Bruce came up quietly beside her as she peered around the corner into a side street.
“B
ear,” she whispered.
Bruce peaked around the corner. A black bear lumbered down the road. It was late in the season for bears, most of them had hibernated by late autumn.
“This is good,” she said. “He'll keep the mountain lions away.”
The bear raised its head, sniffing at the wind, catching the subtle scent of their sweat on the breeze.
“If he doesn't kill us first,” Bruce replied in a whisper.
Jane crept across the intersection, moving behind the crushed remains of a truck and semi-trailer. Rust had eaten through the thin, sheet-metal panels of the crumpled hood and cabin, leaving only the hollow frame. The engine block and axle were exposed to the weather. The rear trailer was little more than a broken shell, with gaping holes exposing the frame. The tires were flat. Their vulcanized rubber was frayed, exposing the reinforced nylon/steel belt to the elements. Bruce came up behind one of the wheels, using it for cover.
The bear roared, bellowing into the darkened sky, its head reached up toward the gray clouds.
“Quick,” Jane said, darting across to the other side of the road and into a doorway.
Bruce went to move, but the bear had reared around facing him, barely a hundred yards away.
“Run,” Jane cried, trying to keep her voice low. She was beckoning with her hand, urging him on.
Bruce froze. The bear was lumbering toward the shattered remains of the semi-trailer.
In the bitter cold, his hands felt sweaty. Perspiration broke out on his forehead. Bruce tried to move, rocking forward on his legs, but his instinct got the better of him, crying out for him to stay put, to hunker down and let the danger pass. He looked up, Jane was gone. Panic seized his mind. She'd abandoned him.
Bruce looked around. The brick building she'd been standing beside had once reached up at least ten stories in height, but the upper half had fallen into decay, collapsing into the alleyway behind the main street. Only one of the four walls stood over three stories high. The other walls had crumbled in a heap. Bruce tried to think rationally. Shooting arrows at the bear would be suicide. If he could get up high, perhaps by doubling back to the crumbling ruins behind him he might stand a chance, but the bear would see him and bolt after him. The monster would be on him before he made it more than twenty yards.
The bear roared again, rising up on its hindquarters, its massive paws stretched out wide. Bruce pulled out an arrow, thinking he could strike at its stomach, but his hands were shaking. The bear dropped back on all fours. It had seen him. It ran in hard toward him, its paws pounding on the crumbling pavement.
Bruce dropped to the ground and rolled under the rusting remains of the semi-trailer, shimmying under the engine block. Behind him, he could hear the bear growling as it came bounding up to him.
The bear roared, its claws tearing at the concrete under the truck, trying to dig him out. Bruce reacted, pulling his legs up, wanting to stay out of reach.
The rusting hulk shifted with the weight of the bear, groaning as the bear climbed up on the shell of the cabin, trying to reach its prey from above.
Bruce rolled on his back, looking up as the bear struck out, tearing the radiator away with a single swipe of its claws.
The chassis groaned, collapsing under the massive bear as one of the wheels broke off. Bruce turned to one side as the axle dug into the concrete, missing his leg by inches.
“Hey,” came a voice crying out from above him. “Pick on someone your own size.”
It was Jane.
The bear turned to face her. Rising up on its hind legs as it straddled the crushed cab of the semi-trailer, the black bear roared, baring its teeth as it bellowed.
Jane was standing in the third floor window of the adjacent, collapsed building, throwing bricks at the bear. Blood seeped from her bandaged arm as she hurled bricks, catching the bear on the side of its head. The monstrous animal roared in defiance as a brick caught it on its snout, breaking a tooth.
The bear charged the building, rearing up on its hindquarters and thumping the wall, shaking the bricks. The monstrous beast was trying to knock Jane out of the window, but that made the bear an easy target. With both hands, she threw a clump of three bricks at the bear and caught it on the bridge of its nose, catching the corner of its eye. The bear dropped to the ground with a thud.
Wounded, the bear loped away down the street. Jane managed to get one last brick to land on its back. It wouldn't have hurt the animal but it was enough of a reminder that this meal was too difficult and the bear roared, somewhat annoyed at resigning in defeat.
Bruce scrambled out from under the semi-trailer and over to the building. Jane came downstairs and picked up her bag, throwing it over her shoulder without saying a word.
“You saved my life,” Bruce said.
“And you almost cost me mine,” Jane replied rather passionately. “Next time, I'm leaving you to the bear. Have you got that?”
Bruce wasn't used to a woman speaking to him with such authority. He didn't know quite what to think. On one hand, he was excited. The adrenaline flowing through his veins filled him with energy. They'd just taken on a bear, just the two of them, and they'd won. That was unheard of, but Jane clearly wasn't impressed.
“When I say run, you run,” she said sternly. “If I say fly, you flap your goddamn wings. Are we clear?”
“Yes,” Bruce replied, feeling scolded. He looked at her bloodied arm as she cradled it in front of her. She was grimacing in pain.
“Thank you,” he said, and he meant it. The parallel to her apology the day before was accidental, but Jane seemed to pick up on that and her demeanor changed. He could see she wasn't annoyed at him so much as annoyed at herself for taking a risk with the bear, one he wasn't ready to take. She pursed her lips, getting ready to say something and Bruce wondered about the options running through her mind.
“There,” she said, cracking a slight smile. “Saying thank you wasn't so hard, now was it?”
He laughed.
“Come on,” she added. “Let's get out of here.”
They continued on, weaving their way toward the town center, staying to the broad streets as much as possible. It was a couple of miles before Jane stopped silently and pointed at a building in the next block.
“There it is,” she said, pointing at a broad stone building, one that had fared better than most.
Somewhere in the distance, a dog howled. The sun was sitting low on the horizon, casting long shadows down the street. The wind picked up, causing shadows to dance within the thicket of weeds and shrubs breaking through the aging concrete road.
As they approached the intersection before the library, Jane said, “Stay here. Don't move. I'll be right back.”
“What? Why?” he asked, but she was already creeping forward through the long grass growing out of the cracks in the road. She was heading toward the ruins of a fast food restaurant on the opposite corner of the intersection, with the library looming large beyond. The cracked remains of a giant yellow M sat high on a rusting pole.
Jane turned to him, mouthing the word, “Stay.” With her hands out, she gestured for him to stay put, reinforcing the notion.
Bruce waited impatiently as she disappeared through the tangle of weeds and bushes, catching only a brief glimpse of her from time to time as she moved through a thicket of young saplings, already denuded of leaves, ready for the winter.
Bruce kept his back against a low brick wall. Every couple of minutes, he peered around the corner, nervous, afraid some wild beast would sneak up on them. Jane was nowhere to be seen. It had probably only been ten minutes, but he felt like she'd been gone for the best part of an hour. As the cold shadows grew longer, Bruce grew uneasy.
A wild dog trotted down the road. The animal was moving toward the intersection, its tail wagging casually as its tongue panted. His heart raced. Had Jane seen this monster? He looked for her, but she'd squeezed through an overgrown hedge near the library and had disappeared from sight. Any thought for his own
safety vanished. He couldn't stand the thought of seeing her attacked by another dog, and this time without the aid of the villagers to fend it off.
The mongrel had long, scruffy hair, much like the one that had attacked Jane in the village, only its coloration was motley. The dog paused no more than fifty yards away, sniffing the ground, looking around, but Bruce was downwind. For the moment, at least, he was safe. Silently, he willed the brute to change direction, to wander off along one of the alleys, but the dog kept coming.
The building across the street to his left must have collapsed recently, perhaps not more than a few months ago, because the weeds hadn't yet worked their way through the long pile of broken bricks stretching out across the street.
Bruce pulled back and crossed over behind the bricks, using them for cover before the wild dog rounded the corner. Crouching, he peered back toward the intersection, watching, waiting. Nothing happened. Could it be that the dog had wandered off in some other direction? He'd like to think so, but he doubted that.
Quietly, Bruce rummaged through his pack, laying four arrows out on the broken bricks. He tore strips of cloth from an oily rag and wrapped them around the arrow shafts, using a fine twine to tie them tight behind the arrowhead. With a flint, he lit the cloth and a thin trail of black smoke wafted into the air. He wasn't worried about the dog smelling the smoke, as that might give it cause to change direction, thinking there was a fire somewhere ahead. If it came to it, a flaming arrow into its thick, oily hide should cause some panic and buy them some time.
The dog padded into view and crossed over toward the crumbling remains of the restaurant.
Bruce weighed his options based on the animal's movement. To shoot early would give him the opportunity to get off at least two or three of his arrows. With burning heads, they'd set patches of fur alight and give the beast a nasty surprise, hopefully a fright that would see the monster turn tail and run.
If he waited though, allowing the mongrel to pass by on the far side of the road, he could line up for a heart and lung shot, striking at the animal from behind, catching it up under the ribs. A good shot would be fatal. Even a poor shot would cause significant blood loss and the animal would flee. At least he hoped so.
Monsters Page 6
