Simon didn’t know whether to admire or pity him. Mal’s refusal to abandon their quest was noble, but it was also pigheaded. He was driven by his love for Inara, and yet it was a love he could barely admit to himself, let alone to her. Beneath that roguish image he liked to project, there were dark currents—emotions so complex, swirling so hard, that even he himself could not always make sense of them. Mal seemed to bear a deep-seated and abiding grudge against the ’verse and defined himself as much by what he stood in opposition to as what he stood for. Perhaps he was desperate that Kiehl’s myeloma would not claim Inara’s life simply because, as in the Unification War, he was facing an enemy with overwhelming strength and all the advantages. He knew he could not win against the cancer, but the more futile a cause was, the more Malcolm Reynolds relished the battle.
“Sir?” Zoë called out to Mal.
Mal didn’t stop, so she called out again.
When he still didn’t stop, she jogged past Simon and Meadowlark and took Mal by the shoulder, bringing him to a halt.
“We’ve been going like this for three hours straight,” she said. “Maybe we should rest up, grab a bite. Huh?”
“No,” said Mal.
“Yes,” said Zoë determinedly. “Even if you don’t care about the rest of us, you can’t keep driving yourself on like this. Look at you. You’re about ready to collapse. Twenty minutes, that’s all I’m asking. It can’t hurt.”
Everyone else was standing, looking at Mal. Mal studied their faces.
“Ten,” he said finally.
“Fifteen,” said Zoë.
“I ain’t bargainin’.”
“Neither am I.”
With a huff of resignation, Mal set down the travois. “Okay. Fifteen. But not a minute more.”
Zoë doled out protein bars, and the group started chowing down hungrily.
“Penny for ’em?” said Meadowlark to Simon. He was perched on a fallen log, and she had sat down beside him.
“My thoughts?” Simon said. “Not sure I have any apart from, ‘Damn I’m freezing.’”
“Me too. Still, I don’t mind. I’m with you. I like being with you.”
“I like being with you too.”
Meadowlark seemed extremely pleased to hear this. Her lips, pale from the cold, broke into a smile. “Sometimes good things come out of bad circumstances.” Then the smile faded a fraction. “I have a couple of questions, though, Simon.”
“Okay.”
“And you’re going to have to be honest with me. No more secrets. Yes?”
“Of course.”
“First off, that whole embezzlement thing…”
“Just a sham,” Simon said. “A cover story. I’m sorry, Meadowlark. It was a lie, yes, but it was a necessary one. You must understand that.”
“All right,” said Meadowlark. “Fine. Fine. I guess, as these things go, it isn’t that big of a deal. I can overlook it.”
Simon was relieved. “Is that all?” he said. “You did say questions plural.”
“Yes,” said Meadowlark. “Who’s River? Mal talked about someone called River not so long ago. Said something about how she would never leave without you.”
“River is my mèi mèi.”
“Your little sister? Aw, that’s sweet. I don’t have a sister, or a brother. Always wished I did, but I was destined to be an only child. Only and lonely. What’s she like?”
“She’s… beautiful. She dances. She’s super smart. She…” Simon didn’t want to bring up the awful things the Academy had done to River. At that moment, he wanted to think about River as he liked to imagine her, rather than as she actually was. He was in low enough spirits already. No need to make it worse. “I couldn’t ask for a better baby sister.”
“I’d like to meet her sometime.”
“You will, when we get off this miserable damn planet.”
“I look forward to it. I’m sure she and I will get along. And Kaylee? That was another name Mal mentioned. Who’s she? Another sister?”
Simon hesitated, only briefly, but the hesitation gave Meadowlark her answer.
“Is she your girl?” she said. All at once the temperature of her voice dropped a few degrees, becoming almost as icy as the air around them. “She is, isn’t she?”
Simon struggled to respond. “Kaylee is the engineer on our ship. She’s… I guess I’d call her a friend.”
“No. She were just a friend, you’d have said so straight away.”
“It’s complicated.”
“I don’t think relationships should be complicated. You’re either in one or you’re not. It’s that simple. So which is it, Simon? You and Kaylee, are you going steady or aren’t you?”
“Going steady? Definitely not.”
“But she means something to you.”
“I suppose—”
“Don’t be stringing me along, Simon,” Meadowlark cut in. “If I’m just some convenient little side-bet while you make up your mind whether you’re going to go all-in on this Kaylee girl or not, then you should take a long, hard think about what you’re doing, mister. Nobody plays those kind of games with Meadowlark Deane.”
Her face had lapsed into a pout, but there was a glint in her eyes that was more than petulant, that spoke of genuine, heartfelt recrimination.
Simon felt moved to give her reassurance, while at the same time knowing that he shouldn’t have to justify himself. “I don’t play games, Meadowlark. I’m not that guy. I could never two-time anyone. You only have to look at me to know it’s true.”
Meadowlark studied him gravely. Simon had the distinct impression that, as with Mal, here was someone not in full command of their emotions. But whereas Mal directed his seething inner uncertainty outwards, against the ’verse, Meadowlark directed hers inward, against herself. She was her own worst critic, and wherever she saw unfairness, she took it personally.
“I—I do want to believe you, Simon,” she said, and she was about to say more, but then there was a cry of alarm from Jayne, and a sudden, ferocious growling, and all hell broke loose.
49
The terrafreak wolves came in from three sides at once.
One line of attack was from the rear. The patriarch led this assault himself, accompanied by three of his children.
The two remaining pairs of wolves zeroed in on the other humans from the left and right. One pair consisted of the matriarch and her eldest daughter. The other comprised two brothers.
Collectively the pack had spent several minutes sneaking up on their prey, getting into position. They had flitted from tree to tree, moving with all the low-slung cunning of their species, ears flattened and tails down. The forest was to them as the ocean was to a shark, a medium through which they could glide unseen, undetected, unsuspected, until the crucial moment.
Now, all at once, they had sprung into action.
* * *
Call it instinct. Call it luck. Call it some kind of sixth sense. Jayne Cobb just happened to turn round as, behind him, four wolves broke cover and made their attack run.
His eyes bulged in shock. Four ghost-pale shapes, sprinting towards him from the forest at top speed. Jaws agape, fangs bared. All but silent, their paws kicking up small flurries of snow as they ran. And huge. Bigger than a wolf had any right to be.
The frontmost wolf sprang, its leap taking it on a perfect trajectory for Jayne’s throat.
Jayne reflexively threw up an arm to shield himself. The wolf’s teeth latched on to his forearm, just above the wrist. The momentum of its lunge sent Jayne crashing to the ground, the wolf falling with him. The animal landed off-balance but managed to maintain its grip on Jayne. Jayne wrenched his arm from side to side in an effort to shake it off, but the wolf simply bit harder. Fabric tore. Blood spurted. Jayne screamed.
Zoë, who was close by Jayne, was able to sidestep the first wolf that came at her. It shot past, then tried to perform an about-turn but skidded in the snow and fell onto its side.
A second wolf caugh
t up with her, but thanks to her near-miss with the first wolf Zoë was ready for this one. With scarcely a pause for thought, she knocked its legs from under it with a sweeping kick. While the wolf lay on its side, struggling to rise, she grabbed it by the hindlegs. Before it could twist round to bite her, she planted her feet firmly in the snow, hoisted the wolf into the air and swung it round in an arc. Its head struck the first wolf just as it was recovering its footing. There was a meaty smack as their muzzles collided. Both wolves shrieked in surprise and pain.
Zoë swung the flailing wolf back in the opposite direction, catching the other wolf another hefty blow to the chops. The creature took a few steps backwards, shaking its head agitatedly.
Not daring to let go of the wolf she was holding, Zoë swung it once again, this time at a nearby tree, to devastating effect. The animal’s skull crashed against the tree’s trunk with a loud crunch of splintering bone. The wolf was half dead as Zoë tossed it aside. It lay in the snow, legs twitching spasmodically, while its nervous system shut down bit by bit until at last all life left it.
Mindful of the first wolf, which was dazed but not out of action, Zoë raced over to Jayne, snatching up a fallen pine limb as she ran. Jayne was still grappling with the wolf that was locked onto his arm. He pounded its head with his free hand, cussing and yelling at it all the while.
“Get offa me! Get the hell offa me!”
The wolf, however, heeded neither the shouts nor the punches. Instead it dug its paws into the ground and began twisting its head this way and that, tearing at Jayne’s flesh. Jayne let out a guttural roar and hit the animal even harder.
Brandishing the sturdy pine branch double-handed like a baseball bat, Zoë whacked it against the wolf’s ribs. There was a satisfying crackle of bones breaking, but the wolf, though hurt, was not giving in that easily. Zoë struck again, and a third time, before finally it had had enough punishment. Letting go of Jayne’s arm, the wolf tottered away, then lay down panting and whimpering.
Zoë would have finished it off there and then, but she had still two wolves to contend with. One was a rangy-looking thing, probably the runt of the litter. It was holding back from the fray, wary. The other was the first wolf she had encountered, the one she had clubbed with its fellow wolf. This one looked older than the rest and, to Zoë’s way of thinking, had unusually intelligent eyes. It was sizing her up, seemingly reevaluating the threat she posed.
“You thought I’d be easier meat than this, huh?” she said to it. “Well, guess again, buster.”
Jayne, clutching his bleeding, injured arm to his chest, staggered to his feet. “Crack its brainpan open, Zoë,” he urged, gritting his teeth against the pain from the wolf bite. “Show that lousy mutt who’s boss.”
Tightening her grip on the branch, Zoë braced herself for the next attack.
* * *
As a commotion erupted behind him, Mal whirled round. He took in the situation at a glance: Zoë and Jayne deep in battle with wolves, and more wolves making for Simon and Meadowlark, both of whom were rooted to the spot in panic. These other wolves, four of them in groups of two, were coming together from opposite directions in a pincer movement.
Mal’s right hand flew to his hip, where his sidearm was holstered. His fingers closed around empty space.
Of course.
No Liberty Hammer. No kind of weapon at all, dammit.
Then again…
Mal dived for the travois and seized two of the largest food cans. Then, a can in each hand, he ran towards Simon and Meadowlark.
He reached them just in time to intercept the nearest of the four wolves. He swung the can in his right hand with all his might, hitting the animal hard enough to send it flying sideways. He swung the other can and struck a second wolf a similarly powerful blow. The rim of the can caught the animal’s eye, tearing it free from its socket. The little ball of jelly splatted onto the snow. The wolf howled in agony and shied away, pawing at its wound.
Without hesitating—because if he had stopped to think about it, he probably wouldn’t have done it—Mal spun round and charged at the other two wolves. He pounded one of them on the top of the head. The crack of metal on skull was loud and resonant. The wolf collapsed, stunned.
The remaining wolf halted. Its lips pulled back to reveal interlocked fangs, and a low, menacing snarl issued from its throat. It steadied itself, getting ready to spring.
Mal drew back his right arm and hurled a can at the animal.
Bullseye!
The can split open on impact, spraying chocolate pudding onto the snow.
The wolf yelped, then fixed Mal with a very surly stare.
“I got another one,” Mal said to it, switching the can in his left hand to his right. “You want another processed-food fastball, straight to the kisser? Then come at me. I dare you.”
The wolf appeared to be thinking about it.
Mal feinted a throw.
The wolf cringed. It had figured out that the human could hurt it from a distance. It didn’t seem any too keen on getting hit again.
“Yeah. Thought not.”
A cry from Simon: “Mal!”
Mal turned.
The first two wolves he had clouted, including the one he had rendered half blind, were back on their feet and menacing Simon and Meadowlark again. The pair of youngsters were kicking out and managing to fend off the creatures, but the wolves were getting bolder by the second.
“Little help here?” said Simon.
“Kinda busy,” Mal said, looking back at the wolf he was already dealing with. It seemed heartened by the fact that he was distracted. It moved one pace forward, ears flattened, poised to launch itself.
Out of the corner of his eye, Mal spied Zoë and Jayne. They still had a couple of wolves of their own to contend with. Zoë was holding the animals at bay with a tree branch, swinging it at them whenever they crept close, but as with Simon and Meadowlark, there was no telling how long the stalemate would last. As for Jayne, he looked pretty badly injured. Blood soaked his sleeve and streaked the front of his parka. His breath came in short, hissing gasps and he seemed unsteady on his feet, on the verge of passing out.
“Mal, what’s the plan here?” Simon said. He was trying to keep his voice calm. He was not succeeding. “What do we do?”
“Ain’t sure there’s much we can do,” Mal replied.
“What if we try and make a run for it?”
“Outrun wolves? Don’t think so. No, I reckon we’ve just got to stand our ground and be ready to go down fighting.”
“This is your gorramn fault, Mal,” Jayne called out. “So help me, we get outta this, I’m gonna kill you.”
* * *
The wolves were confident of victory now. They had taken casualties, but that was perhaps to be expected. No hunt was without its risks, certainly not when the prey was large and fierce. They had drawn blood, though, proving that the humans were vulnerable. They also still had the advantage in numbers.
The patriarch eyed up the two humans in front of him, the injured one and the one who had proved a formidable opponent. The smell of spilled blood was thick in his nostrils, heady, delicious. He let out a growl.
The matriarch let out a similar growl in response. It was time for a decisive attack. The matter had to be settled, now or never.
She tensed. The patriarch tensed. Their four children who were still in the fight picked up on this. They knew that one last assault was expected of them. If they gave it everything they had, the pack would eat today. They would feast.
That was when the bear came.
50
With a tremendous, bellowing roar, the grizzly bear shambled out from the trees.
It reared up on its hindlegs and waved its massive, talon-tipped paws in the air.
All at once, the wolves cowered. The certainty and cohesion the pack had shown just moments ago dissipated. They began to pace from side to side fretfully, casting anxious looks at the bear. For all that they were predators the
mselves, they seemed well aware that they were in the presence of a superior predator.
The bear roared again, and the majority of the wolves broke rank and made for the sanctuary of the trees. A couple remained, the two largest and oldest-looking. The bear lumbered towards the bigger of the pair. The wolf refused to be intimidated. Standing its ground, it let out a warning growl.
Then the bear produced a smooth, straight tree branch whose tip had been whittled to a sharp point. It launched this homemade spear at the wolf. The weapon flew with more force than accuracy, catching the wolf a glancing blow on the flank and opening up a small gash.
The wolf yelped loudly, sounding more indignant than anything.
“Darn it! Missed!” said the bear.
That was when Zoë overcame her surprise and lunged at the same wolf with her own tree-branch weapon. She slammed it into the animal’s flank, on the spot where it had just been injured.
The wolf retaliated with a swipe of its paw, which Zoë narrowly evaded. She lashed out again, and then Mal joined in with his food can. Between them, they drove the wolf backwards, pummeling it when they could and doing their best to stay clear of its snapping jaws and flashing claws.
Soon the wolf had plainly had enough. It was battered, bruised, altogether demoralized, and it seemed to at last conclude that these humans were in fact more trouble than they were worth. It turned tail and limped off into the forest, casting the odd aggrieved look over its shoulder. The other remaining wolf followed suit, melting in amongst the trees.
When all the still-living wolves were gone from sight, a few muted, desultory howls sounded in the distance, a chorus of dismay and resentment.
Now Mal, Zoë, Jayne, Simon and Meadowlark all turned their attention to the grizzly bear.
The grizzly bear who had spoken and thrown a spear.
They looked at it. The bear looked back at them with shriveled, empty eye sockets.
Firefly--Life Signs Page 20