Caveman Alien's Pride

by Calista Skye

  Caveman Alien's Pride

  Caveman Aliens, Volume 4

  Calista Skye

  Published by Calista Skye, 2018.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  CAVEMAN ALIEN'S PRIDE

  First edition. May 28, 2018.

  Copyright © 2018 Calista Skye.

  Written by Calista Skye.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  Epilogue

  1

  - Aurora -

  “We should go back. It's getting dark.”

  Caroline tries to keep her voice down, which is probably a good idea. Sounds don't travel far in this jurassic jungle, but our voices are as alien here as this planet is to us. In the dense undergrowth, there could be a predator lurking just three feet away, itching for its first taste of stranded Earthling linguistics students.

  “Just this last try,” I counter, trying to sound more confident than I really am. “Sunset is a good time for this. They usually come at night.”

  Caroline looks around with nervous jerks of her head. “Let's just not stay out here until it gets dark for real, okay?”

  I just nod and keep climbing the hill.

  The animals we call not-sheep are a good source of both meat and furs, and I've kind of promised Sophia a nice pelt for her to wrap the baby in after she gives birth. I'm hoping to bag a real nice one today.

  The not-sheep are exactly that: not sheep. They don't have any wool, but they kind of look like sheep and they're one of the few species here that have thick fur and aren't too insanely dangerous to encounter, so I've specialized in hunting them with my bow and arrow. They're usually easy to spot, too, because their fur is a yellowish white.

  From this hill, I have a good view of a clearing where I've spotted one or two of them on previous occasions. It's a little further from the cave than I'm comfortable going, but having Caroline with me is making me braver than I usually am on my own.

  Or stupider, most likely. It's not that she's an expert hunter or anything – it's just that now that I have an audience, I want to seem cool. Hey, I'm only human, and on this weird dinosaur planet we were dumped on after we were abducted by aliens I feel more human than ever before. In a very vulnerable kind of way.

  We reach the top of the hill.

  “Let's keep our heads down,” I suggest. “We're pretty visible against the sky right now.”

  Caroline immediately squats down and shields her eyes with one hand. “Okay.”

  In her coarse dinosaur skin dress she looks just like a stone age woman. Which is pretty much what we all are right now, I guess. We haven't seen shampoo for about nine months by now, not to mention decent shoes or jeans or a phone or foundation or bras that will actually do anything other than chafe and annoy.

  I know I look just like that, too. The girls say I remind them of Xena, Warrior Princess, with my short dress and dinosaur skin bracelets and long, dark hair. I can't see it myself. Xena didn't have a bow and arrow like I do. She had something else, like hollow frisbees or something, that she would throw. And she was a little bit more competent than me. But I guess she's a good choice as a role model, and I sometimes notice that I try to behave a little more like her. As in, what would Xena do?

  The clearing is empty, but I'm not giving up hope. Many of the creatures that are not dinosaurs like to come out at twilight. I suppose the dinosaurs are less active during that time, so the risk of being eaten by a not-velociraptor or not-pterodactyl is a tiny bit smaller than in broad daylight.

  But Caroline is right – we really want to get home before it gets dark. Being outside our cave in the dark is plain suicidal.

  I may not be as tough as Xena. But being stuck on this planet for three-quarters of a year has made me tougher. Right now, I genuinely want to shoot a not-sheep. Even if it means killing what is essentially an innocent animal, skinning it and gutting it and then carrying it home. Back on Earth I would agonize over swatting mosquitoes. But I promised Sophia a really good fur, and I want to keep that promise before she gives birth. Which could happen at any time.

  “Nothing yet,” I whisper. “We'll just wait.”

  On one hand it's kind of cool that I've hardened so much. On the other hand, I really wish I wouldn't have had to become this hardened. If ever we get back to Earth, I will never again take the produce aisle for granted. Or paved roads or cars or indoor plumbing.

  I squint towards the horizon and the alien sun, trying to guess how long we have until we really have to make our way back to the relative safety of the cave.

  Okay, very relative. Nowhere is safe on a planet where dinosaurs roam around like they own the place.

  I take an arrow out of my quiver, notch it on the bow and glance over at Caroline. She's hardened too, but in a different way. In the beginning there would be some sore sobs coming from her sleeping enclosure at night. But now she's accepted that we're here, if not forever, then certainly for the long haul. She's up at dawn every day to cook breakfast for us, and she's the one who keeps the cave nice and tidy. And she does a lot to keep the mood light in our little tribe, easily defusing little fights and making us laugh. She always had a mild manner, but now there's more confidence behind it. Or so it seems to me.

  Whatever. I'm just glad I'm not here alone.

  In the twilight the sun makes her blonde hair shine. Wasn't Xena's sidekick blonde, too? What was her name? Gabrielle? Something like that. It's been a few years since-

  “Something's moving!” Caroline hisses and points.

  My head snaps around and I squint, reflexively tensing and drawing the arrow back, getting ready to fire.

  For a little while I can't see anything. The low sun has made my vision blurry and there are little spots dancing in front of my eyes. Then there's movement among the dense trees. Something lighter than the surrounding jungle. In the orange twilight it's hard to tell. It could be a not-sheep.

  The familiar rush fills me, and I get tunnel vision as everything but the prey disappears from my mind. At these moments, I almost understand why some people on Earth hunt for fun. It really isn't like anything else.

  That creature down there is standing still. That's a good thing. Not-sheep will stand still for long periods of time, just listening for predators. That makes them easier to shoot. I'm not that good with the bow, and shooting at a moving target is not really my thing. As in, I couldn't hit the side of a barn moving at one mile per hour. Except not-dactyls, I suppose. I can hit those flying horrors fine when they're attacking my friends. Anger makes me more accurate, for some reason.

  The prey down there is mostly hidden behind a bush, but my arrow will fly through the foliage like it's not even there, and the iron tip will do the rest if I hit the not-sheep in the main mass of its body. It seems their entire bodies are weak spots and they'll just keel over when as much as grazed.

  Okay. That's definitely a whitish creature down there. Not moving much. I know of nothing else on this planet
that will fit that description.

  I slowly stand up and pull the arrow all the way back, breathing in deeply and holding my breath. I aim for what I think is the middle of the prey, about two feet above it to compensate for gravity.

  “No, don't!” Caroline suddenly exclaims, but it's too late. I let the arrow go in the same moment.

  There's a hard thud and a full two seconds of silence.

  “AAARRRRGGGGHHHH!”

  The jungle is filled with an angry roar of pain. It sure doesn't sound like any not-sheep I've ever heard.

  An icy coldness spreads down my back and into my stomach.

  Caroline bounces to her feet and puts a hand on my arm. “That's not a sheep!”

  I lower the bow, feeling a sudden urge to just get the hell out of there, while at the same time being so mortified I freeze up. “Fuck!”

  Caroline turns and runs, dragging me with her. “That's a caveman!”

  For a little while the world is all rocks and leaves and whipping branches and panting and whimpering as we run down the hill as fast as we can, crashing through the jungle, racing away from whatever it was I shot. Or whomever.

  We stop briefly and listen, but all I can hear is the loud thuds of my own heartbeat. I want to cry. I might have shot a man.

  No. I definitely shot a man. That roar was human. Bassy and outraged. Surprised and hurt.

  Deadly.

  And right before he cried out, I did get a glimpse of his face. Or rather, his eyes. A radiant blue among all the green, like two shining sapphires.

  “Fuck,” I repeat with a growing lump in my throat. “I think I shot a guy.”

  Caroline looks at me with disbelief. “Didn't you see that it wasn't a sheep?”

  “The sun was in my eyes. I was blinded. He was ... the leaves ... fuck!” That last word comes out like a sob. What if I killed him? What if I've straight-up murdered an innocent caveman? I'm sure Xena never did that.

  I'm shaking all over, and tears are burning in my eyes. “Should we go back and check if he's okay?”

  “No! If that guy isn't alone, his friends will kill us. We have to get home. Now!” Caroline grabs my wrist and drags me through the jungle again.

  She has a point. Cavemen rarely go out into the jungle alone. And some of them are just bands of raiders. Being plain killed is actually not the worst-case scenario here.

  We run as far as we can, and when we finally have to slow down I'm breathing hard and my panic has changed to a terrible mix of fear and regret. I want to throw up.

  “Shit. What if I killed him?”

  Caroline takes her sweet time replying as we walk as fast as we can, panting hard.

  “Then we might. Have a problem,” she finally says, still out of breath. “His tribe will. Come looking. And we've left. A pretty obvious. Trail for them. To follow. Let's just get home.”

  I shut up and quietly curse my stupid bow. And my stupidity in shooting before I could see the target clearly. And my great aim. Shit, why have I practiced so much with the bow? What did I think that would accomplish? Shooting not-sheep is the easiest thing in the world, it doesn't require any training!

  The rest of the walk back home is probably the worst time I've had since the first day on this damn planet.

  The sun has set when we get close to our cave, and I'm pretty much just a wreck.

  Before we leave the woods and go inside, we both stop and check out the clearing. Some of the girls are now bringing fucking dactyls home to what was supposed to be our safe cave. Huge flying monsters that we fear more than anything else, even if the one that Heidi and her husband Dar'ax keep riding is supposedly tame and nice.

  It's nowhere in sight, and we can see the other girls sitting outside the cave, eating dinner.

  Caroline walks towards them, and I slink after her. We have to tell them what's happened and that we can expect uninvited guests at any time. They will not be happy.

  And it's all my fault.

  I've never felt less like Xena.

  2

  - Aurora -

  “Ow.” Sophia touches her lower abdomen and winces.

  I reach out and take her wrist. “Kicking again?”

  “Yeah. I guess he or she must be awake.”

  We're sitting outside the cave as the sky is getting brighter in what we think is the east. I'm keeping guard and cooking breakfast, and Sophia is up because she's extremely pregnant and has trouble sleeping at night.

  I hide a yawn behind my hand. I've been sitting here for hours, keeping an eye on the woods for the caveman's friends to show up. So far nobody's attacked us, but the day is young.

  The girls didn't react as angrily as they might have, and I'm grateful for it. Caroline backed me up, too. The consensus is that something like that had to happen sooner or later, and that we'll have to play it by ear.

  And that maybe everyone should try to make absolutely sure about what they're shooting at when they're out hunting.

  The three cavemen in our tribe just shrugged and kept doing their thing. They were watching the woods anyway, so to them I guess this wasn't such a big deal. Dar'ax has said that he will fly a patrol on his tame dactyl this morning, but apart from that, nothing much has changed.

  My guilty conscience sure hasn't. I might have killed someone.

  Yes, it was an accident. No, I didn't mean to do it. But back home, I'd be guilty of manslaughter, at least. It was a careless and stupid thing to do. The girls have tried to comfort me about that, saying that we can't know if he's dead. And that being shot with an arrow is probably better than being eaten by a raptor, which is a more common way to die for these guys.

  I'm grateful that they're trying. But it's not helping.

  “Unh.” Sophia grunts again, and I squeeze her wrist in sympathy. There's not much I can say or do.

  We're pretty sure her baby is in the breech position. The kicks are coming down towards Sophia's pelvis, and when we touch her huge belly, we think we can feel the baby's large head high up, close to her rib cage. It means that the baby will be born with its legs first, and not the usual, easier way with the head first.

  So our first birth on this jurassic planet will have a potentially serious complication. Because I guess we weren't already anxious enough about a birth here in the jungle, to a first-time mother with the closest midwife at least seven light years away and no medication or sanitizing equipment available.

  Still, we have all decided to be optimistic about it. Being pessimistic about Sophia's birth and baby is not going to accomplish anything, so we're acting and talking as if everything will be fine. While we're all privately steeling ourselves for a difficult birth that might traumatize us all pretty badly. I can't help thinking that in the old days on Earth, it was very common for a mother to die during childbirth. Not to mention the baby.

  Her husband Jax'zan is particularly worried, and while he does try to hide it, there's no way around the fact that cavemen are just not good actors and his intense anxiety is plain as day. He will sigh deeply, stare emptily into the woods, stroke Sophia's stomach, kiss her and talk softly to both her and the baby. And I've seen him attack a tree with his bare hands, hitting and punching it and trying to pull it up with its roots, just getting an outlet for his anxiety and anger at how this could turn out.

  I suppose it would be super cute if it weren't for the fact that Sophia's pregnancy could well take a catastrophic turn.

  But not all is lost. We have Delyah, the quiet unassuming genius who's our elected leader. She's been even more quiet since we realized that Sophia's birth might get more difficult than usual, and we think that's a good sign. She's probably figuring out a way to make the birth go easier. Or to get us the fuck off this deadly planet before it happens.

  If that's what we even want anymore.

  I mean, I want that. I want to get home to Earth with an intensity so strong it makes me dizzy. I really, really want to go home. The word “desperately” doesn't come close to describing my longing for my
home planet. My family. My friends. My shitty dorm room. My elderly Kia. Heck, I even miss watching the news.

  But now I'm not so sure we'd all want to go if we got the chance.

  Three of the girls are married to cavemen. They're pretty great cavemen. As in, they totally put Earth guys to shame in every way I can think of. They're huge and strong and fierce and mild and kind and so confident you think they can handle absolutely anything. And they have transformed our dying little group of girls to a full tribe. We have a cave and water and some degree of safety and food and clothing and iron. A lot of it is because of the guys, there's no getting around it.

  We all sleep in the same cave, and at night, the sounds of sex are muted, but unmistakable. And judging from the sounds we sometimes hear from the woods when one of the couples has taken a mysterious walk, the cavemen must be sensational lovers.

  Fertile, too. All three girls are pregnant.

  So I'm not so sure if Heidi, Emilia or Sophia are that eager to get home anymore. Their lives here are not as sophisticated as back on Earth. But our primitive existence has peeled off a lot of bullshit and made small joys seem large and important. And those three sure do seem happy. They talk a lot less about going home.

  The first sliver of the sun rises above the horizon and lights up the top of Bune, the enormous crashed spaceship that looks like a mountain, miles away. That was where we were dumped by the evil little Plood in their saucer.

  “We should go back there,” I say absentmindedly, more to myself than to Sophia.

  “I guess so,” she agrees. “That old spaceship is the clue to everything here. If only it didn't always try to kill us.”

  I ball my hand into a frustrated fist. “There must be a way. We'll hack through the walls. Break further into it than those stupid corridors will go. It's our only chance to get home.”

  “Maybe. It's also crawling with dactyls. And I don't like how it sucked the air out of the corridors last time.”

  Last time was months ago, and after that, Delyah said that it made no sense to go back there until we knew more. But how can we know more about that old derelict ship if we don't go there to check it out further? And if the Plood are ever planning to pick us up again, that's probably where they'll land.