Opalescence

by Ron Rayborne

  “There, I just saved you a few years,” he said.

  They were coming to a bank of trees growing on the side of the hill overtopping the stream, and walked under them. The trees were alive with birdsong, little finches hopping from branch to branch, paying them no mind. No mind at all. The stream now wound to his left and went off that way, gently following the base of the hill, its direction lost to view. Were he to follow it, he would be going off his path, the straight line he’d marked out in his mind to Julie. The other choice was to climb the hillside, and with his heavy pack, that would be difficult at best, especially as the slope was steep. Plus, it wouldn’t be easy for his little Aelurodon. He didn’t want to push her too much. So they continued along the stream bank.

  Miniature fish swam in the many pools; minnows, the P.I. told him. And there were turtles. Little grabbed one, but when it retreated into its carapace, she dropped it. She liked to walk on top of the rocks, though, sometimes slipping, a foot would go in the water and she’d quickly withdraw it. She scanned below, taking occasional dives at the fish, but never catching any.

  Tom began to notice trees a short distance off to his left with bright, ruby-red bulbous things hanging from them. At first he didn’t think much about them, but when the light hit one just right, he could see that it was some sort of fruit. He made for that way. In a moment, he was there and was stunned to find that they were plums, albeit small ones, not having been bred to the unnatural size of man’s taste. The deeper purple ones were very sweet, much better than any he’d had before, when they were still around that is. And this tree was loaded with them. He thought it strange that they would be fruiting in the spring. Maybe seasons are different here. Realizing now how hungry he was, he stood and gorged himself, then filled a cloth bag with them. Little One even ate a few, following Tom’s lead.

  When he was full, he felt much better. The breeze, which had been their companion all morning, became a slight wind, tugged at his shirt. He smelled ozone and looked up to see that clouds were closing in above with patches of blue sky between. Crud, it’s gonna rain, he reflected. I’m gonna get soaked. With that, he felt the first of the drops lightly hit his cheek. He pondered getting under the tree, but then had an idea. Why not, he thought. Doffing his pack, he then removed all of his clothes and hurriedly stuffed them in, then put his shoes back on. Fortunately the pack had a rain flap, and he pulled that over, attaching it to the bottom. Then he put it back on. Now he walked naked for all the world to see. Au Naturel. The sky darkened and temperature dropped, yet still it was warm. Then rain began to come down, first lightly, then in sheets, obscuring the mountains in the distance. It felt good. Tom kept his hat on and rain dripped off the brim.

  When it began to come down even harder, he saw that the various fauna around him grew still, some turning their backs to it, hanging heads low, perhaps to let the water off more easily. Only he and Little One moved. Several minutes later, the shower abruptly abated, water dripping everywhere. Then it started again. Tom raised his head and, closing his eyes, opened his mouth. Purest water in the world.

  A flash of white light. He opened his eyes. Shortly thereafter, a booming clap of thunder made him jump. Little One whined and took off at a run.

  “Wait!” Tom shouted, running after her. She stopped, ears down, fur soaked, and let him pick her up, shielding her with his hat. Then another flash, and he saw lightning dancing on a hilltop not too far away. It connected with a tree, which exploded in half, one side slipping down the hill. This was followed almost simultaneously by another crash of thunder that reverberated through the valley. Little One struggled to get free and, landing on the ground, again ran off toward a tree. Okay, I’m with you, Tom agreed, running after her. Reaching the tree, she slunk under it, then seeing some bushes nearby, crawled beneath them.

  “Don’t go too far,” Tom called out. Fortunately she stayed there, under the boughs of a bush filled with clusters of small red berries, eyes closed, while he sat under the tree. Even with all the leaves, rain made it through, trickling on him from above. Never mind, he thought. It all comes with the package. As long as Little stayed where he could see her, he could deal with it.

  Suddenly, it seemed, the storm was over. Tom waited, then, walking to the edge of the tree-line, looked out and up. Where just before everything had been terrible and foreboding, now rays of sun streaked out hopefully through the clouds, creating patterns of light, surrounded by larger areas still in shadows, upon the ground. From the foliage all around hung a million quivering beads of water, each a tiny sun in itself.

  A Miocene storm, he smiled. Okay. He heard a sound of shaking and turned to see Little out from the bush, vigorously throwing the water off her body. She walked to him, and he bent to stroke her.

  “That was fun,” he said, half honestly, looking up at the sky again. It continued to clear. The part of the tree that had been rent in two was now lying on the side of the bank just below. It was on fire, orange flames emerging from the underside portion that had been protected from the rain. After a moment, though, the fire subsided on its own. Tom nodded.

  The rain over, they set out once more. Due to thick overgrowth in the area next to the stream, they were obliged to walk off from it a ways. It made a wide arc around the hill. And so, for a while, of necessity, they headed east. Whenever he topped a rise, Tom could see the larger hills in the distance and much farther away, southward he thought, those mountains.

  But again, the perplexing issue of why the P.P. compass told him he was headed North while its map, and his gut, told him it was South. He pondered that. Wait, of course, he realized, I am going South, have to be. The sun rises in the East, there’s no changing that, and it’s on my left, the sea on my right. Then ... there is something wrong with the PinPointer. Suddenly apprehensive, Tom swallowed hard. What if it’s off, way off? I’ll never find Julie. A shudder went through him at that. It was unthinkable. Oh please, don’t be wrong, he prayed.

  The river turned to the right when the hill leveled out. The land ahead was rising. But now they were headed south again. There it rolled before them in gentle, glistening waves of green, framed in blue and white. Tom shot a glance west, back again, then did a double-take. A huge rainbow graced the sky, lingering above the dark of the ocean. It seemed to stretch from north to south. Countless water droplets, each a tiny prism seemingly suspended in air, yet slowly falling to sea as the storm made its westerly way, toward those islands, were capturing the sun and splitting its light into glorious hues. Tom caught his breath. Gaped. Then, unexpectedly, tears formed. This is what life was supposed to be, he knew. And with that knowledge came reassurance.

  The rainbow reminded him of something. And the flowers. And the stars. And even the insects. Reaching into his pocket, Tom withdrew the color stone. Spherical ... like the earth. But “earth,” he knew, is a descriptive, like “land” or “sky.”

  I shall call you Opal, he thought, world of many colors.

  As he walked, Tom began again to snap pictures, this time of the plant life. In the water were Willow and Cattail, Horsetail and Potamogeton. There were also huge Laurels and Alders, Aspens and Sycamores. Lovely Maples and Hickory, Hackberry and Yellow-wood, with its long clusters of white, very fragrant flowers. Ash and Sapindus, Wingnut and Elm. Also found were Ginkgo and Locust, from which dangled bundles of aromatic, magenta-colored flowers. Below them were Hawthorne and Moonseed, Nyssa and Cordia, Holly and Barberry, Meliosma and blooming Cedrela. He also saw Arbutus and Wild Rose, though not the gaudy versions of the far future, but delicate, five-petaled blossoms, pink in tone and full of perfume. There were also Sweet Gum and Horsechestnut, aka California Buckeye, Alder and Karwinskia. California Bay, whose leaves resembled those of Willow, was a wonderful find. When he pulled a leaf to look, it gave off a strong herbal smell. Maybe he could spice up his food with it.

  Then Tom found a real treat. Related to the Bay was Avocado, many of which had the primitive fruit swinging from their branches. At n
o more than two inches in length, they weren’t the big, fleshy, overbred versions of the future, yet they were all the more flavorful for it. Some were hard and still ripening, others softer. These latter would snap off easily to his touch. Under these trees were those that had fallen, and, not being eaten, were merging into dark soil.

  Tom reached down and scooped up a handful of the soft, moist earth pushed up by gophers. It felt wonderful, alive, unlike the dry, depleted, poisoned dirt of the Anthropocene. It smelled good, too: strong, rich, vibrant. Millions of years of life, death and decomposition had created this wonderful, fertile loam. In the modern era, nothing would be allowed to remain on the ground for long, and leaves that fell were quickly removed as litter.

  It seemed to Tom that there was such a glut of fruit here in the Miocene, that the flora virtually competed for the attentions of the fauna, each trying to outdo the others in an attempt to spread their seed. Finding food was an immense relief to his mind. He hoped the abundance would last the entire journey.

  As he got away from the rivers and small lakes, other plant forms became more common, especially the Oaks, Poplars and patches of Taxodium / Nyssa. Standing like widely spaced sentinels on the savanna were Sabal palms, and under them, an Aloe-like plant.

  The day wore on and it began to get hot. The warmth felt delicious on his bare skin. He was walking a broad slope he guessed to be about a thousand feet above sea level, though he had no way of knowing that for sure. There was a lake below, sky-blue and inviting. As they pushed on, the land seemed to be drying out just a bit: the grass not so high and the grazers fewer. Still, all was green.

  Tom was drinking more now, and so was Little. When they came to rivers, he made sure to fill up, not wanting to chance running out. Topping a higher rise, Tom paused. His back was hurting from the weight of his pack. Sliding it off, he set it down with a thud. Suddenly he felt so much lighter. He stretched and groaned, then looked out. Ahead of him, the thin blue line he’d seen yesterday looked a touch closer, yet still it was a long, long ways off. Apparently, it was an extension of the ocean, perhaps an inland sea. If he continued on this path he’d run right into it. It looked like it cut into the interior, almost to the mountains. He’d have to go around. But not before having a look at it. He figured if he kept up his pace he’d be there in a week’s time, maybe two. He’d decide then what had to be done. Putting his hands on his hips, he swung right and left, then reached low to touch his toes — well almost.

  Again, hunger gnawed at him, and he found another energy bar and bolted it, stuffing the plastic wrapper in the growing pile in his pack. He ended this with an avocado, cut in two with his knife, which also served as a spoon. Little was hungry too, and Tom looked around for a conveniently abandoned meal. If there was one, though, he didn’t see it.

  “Let’s keep an eye out,” he told her. Lying back in the grass now, which almost covered him, Tom rested head in hands. Though the tops were now dry, near the ground it was still dewy wet. The warming grass smelled good, welcome. In a short while, Tom was asleep, dozing under the Miocene sun.

  He woke a while later. Judging from the light, he didn’t think he’d slept too long. He sat up and looked over to find Little eating. He looked again. Some sort of rodent. A big one. Ground Squirrel, the P.I. told him. She can hunt! he thought. Yay! After gobbling it down, she set out again, stealthily creeping to a small dome rise on the ground. Arriving, she slunk down, almost catlike, and waited, watching vigilantly. In a minute, a small head popped out looking the other way, and she had it. Crunching down, she quickly dispatched it, then brought it back, lying near Tom, but not too near. Then, growling, eyes fierce, she consumed it. Finishing, she set out for a third. Or maybe this was her fourth or fifth for that matter. She was probably picking them off while he slept. Though personally repelled by carnivory, Tom was delighted for Little.

  “Gotta go, girl!” Tom called out. With that, he picked up his pack and threw it over one shoulder. Instantly, he tossed it off again. Criminey! I’m sunburned! He looked at his shoulders. Red.

  “Oh, that’s just great!” he said aloud. Another accident of his thoughtlessness. Remembering the medical kit, he fetched it and found a small booklet. Under “Sunburn” it advised the application of Aloe Vera. Unfortunately, there was none in the kit. “Lovely,” he intoned. Then something jogged his memory. Getting the P.I., he looked at the photos he’d snapped recently. There, Sabal palm, and below them, the Aloe-like plant. Yes! A stroke of undeserved luck. Tom hastened to the closest palm and, sure enough, found the plant beneath it. He broke off a thick leaf, which began to ooze a clear, viscous liquid, slathering it on his skin, then sighed. It felt cool, brought relief.

  Grabbing more of the leaves, he carried them back to the pack, then found a bag to put them in for safe storage, keeping a couple out to finish covering his skin. His shoulders seemed to have gotten the worst of it. Next, he rummaged out a light, thin, long-sleeved T-shirt, and shorts. It hurt to put the shirt and pack back on, but he had no other choice. Again, he shook his head at his foolishness. Now he remembered Karstens’ words: “You’re going to have to get tough real fast. There are no rehearsals.” How right you were, Bob, Tom thought. Well, it’s done, no use kicking yourself over it. Just try not to repeat your mistakes.

  They set out down the other side of the hill. There were still rivers, streams, and ponds here, though they were becoming less frequent. Apparently emboldened by her new-found hunting prowess, Little walked bravely to these pools, and if there happened to be wildlife hanging around, would bark at them until they left. Sometimes the taller camels disagreed and stomped their feet at her or even chased her, with, Tom noted, a strange pacing gait, one where they moved both legs on the same side of their bodies at the same time, sending her running back a bit. Then, angry, she’d turn around and come right back at them until they vacated. She’s growing up before her time, he thought. Later, she again relieved herself, though, like before, it was small in size, not in keeping with the size of the meals she’d eaten. The rest apparently going to growth. Yes, her mother was large, very large. Little would be the same. Likely she’d grow rapidly. She’d have to have a lot of food to do it, though.

  The land undulated gently here. The sun on his shirt and especially the weight of his pack made his shoulders feel as if on fire. Long about the afternoon, they ran out of water, but stayed their path, ever on the look out for more. After a while, thirst began to gnaw at him. Finally, he spied the edge of a large waterhole on the other side of another tiny hillock. Climbing over it, he immediately stopped. Little began to make her way as usual to roust the wildlife. This time, however, Tom hissed at her.

  “Little!” She stopped and turned. “Come!” he whispered urgently. She looked at him curiously, then turned back to her task. “Come here!” Tom said a little louder. Again she stopped. Tom slapped his thighs and surprisingly, this time Little listened. As she reached him, he grabbed her and lay down on the other side of the knoll out of sight of the two gigantic entelodonts sacked out in the mud by the water’s edge. One lifted a dirty head, sniffing the air, then lay it back down. Tom, carrying Little, crouch-ran, making a wide arc around the pool. He supposed he could try to scare them away with the gun, but with his luck, these great brutes, with their ear-splitting shrieks, would be attracted to the noise. They’d have to find water somewhere else.

  Another hour went by and Tom was sweating. Not only that, his feet hurt. Apparently they were blistering. He pressed on. When his dogs really began to ache, he stopped and removed his shoes, then socks. There were three, fat, water-filled bubbles on his soles and a few smaller ones between his toes. He wondered if he should drain them, then chickened out when just touching them caused pain. He again got out the booklet from his first-aid kit. It recommended wrapping them in something called “moleskin.” This time he had some and, lifting first one foot, then the other, carefully wrapped them. It didn’t seem to make much difference. His feet still smarted. To add insult to
injury, as soon as he got his shoes back on and stood, the pressure of the lessened space inside them due to the presence of the moleskin caused the larger blisters to pop. Painfully. Lovely, he thought, two injuries in one day.

  A mile on, they came to another water hole, this one not fed by a stream. Little ran and drank heartily while Tom got out the filter, pumped and drank. Then he filled the bottle. Next he took out a plastic bag and filled that with water and tied it to his belt. Soon, though, a tiny hole caused it to begin leaking. He discovered it when his left pant leg wet through.

  “I’m just a comedy of errors,” he mused.

  When the shadows again began to grow long, temps began to drop. Yet it never got cold here, just less sultry. Evenings, he discovered, were his favorite time of day — after mornings. It was evidently also the preferred time for other species as well, for that’s when they emerged from their forest hideouts to graze, especially the antelope and deer types. The others remained under the midday sun, paying it no mind. It seemed the hottest part of the day was from late morning to mid-afternoon. That’s about when the breezes stopped.

  They’d not eaten in over four hours, and both were hungry. As they’d trod through the landscape earlier, Little had no energy to hunt. Tom still had some avocados left, but wanted something else. Physically, he was tired as well. Unnaturally so, he thought. And his cough returned, a holdover from his past. His unusual exertions were taking a toll on him. What’s more, his fatigue seemed to increase in proportion to the temperature. His shirt, soaked through with perspiration, stuck to his skin.

  A happy discovery was the presence of hot springs, wonderfully hued in cyan and gold. He’d not noticed them before, but with the declining light, the steam venting from their surfaces made them obvious. Approaching one, he was taken by a stench of rotten eggs, the smell of sulfur. Ah, he thought; he’d been subconsciously registering that stink for miles now, had faintly wondered about it.