Opalescence

by Ron Rayborne

  It rained on and off for the next week as Tom and Little closed in on those purple peaks shrouded in clouds. Some days the showers fell hard and Tom would retreat under a tree or inside his T/H to wait it out. Disappointingly, it seemed that precipitation drove the squirrels, which were such a staple of their diet, back underground, forcing the aelurodon to find and catch larger game. Further, they were unquestionably diminishing in number here at altitude. Now she brought things like Leptarctus, Plionictis and Sthenictis, larger animals that could fight back. Indeed, she showed up at one point carrying one of these in her mouth while limping, a bloody gash in her left front leg. Tom was moved by her dedication to their pack, their survival, and washed, then treated the wound as best he could. Little, though, refused to accept the bandage.

  Tom also found that he could not walk in wet feet for too long, otherwise the rubbing and chaffing in his shoes incurred more blisters, making it painful to continue. When he could, where he could, usually soft, unrocky grassland, Tom would go shoeless. His feet, though, were hardening, as calluses built upon each other, forming a solid mat which, while not a particularly attractive feature, were useful. Perhaps given enough time, he speculated, he wouldn’t need shoes at all.

  The first morning of the next week, the high snowy peaks were above them. Tom, once again worried that they were headed in the wrong direction, remembered the “Map” on the PinPointer. He flipped it on. Instantly an outline of the state of California appeared with its future counties and cities. And there was the long chain labeled “Sierra Nevada Mtns.” He’d have to turn on his beacon to place himself. He did this quickly and looked. There was the red light as usual. Seconds later, the green popped on. He looked at his own, the blue, and there he was, at the head of the mountain chain. They were indeed the Sierras. According to the PinPointer, he was just south of the Sonoma Pass, or what would later be called that. The section of Sierras north of it, not having developed yet, was a long, gently sloping highland. The map also showed that they were still within the Mehrten Formation. Yet, the compass needle pointing south continued to confuse him.

  The way was progressively getting harder. To avoid the rocks and keep to the grass, Tom decided to begin heading back down and toward the inland sea, their path describing a slow arc. The going was pleasant. He could not have known how fateful the next week would prove to be.

  Past mid-afternoon the following day, while they were descending one side of a long ravine that ran from the peaks above, Little began to whine and act strangely. She seemed to sense something that Tom could not see, running in short sprints to a lower ridge edge, looking down repeatedly. Expecting to perhaps find a large beast keeping pace just below, Tom nervously peeked over the side, but there was nothing that should cause such alarm: a herd of Hipparion half a mile lower galloping north.

  After a while, Little ran down the bank toward the flatland far below, then ran back up, now yelping loudly. It was most unsettling, and Tom began to worry that perhaps his aelurodon had caught some Miocene disease or other. He watched her closely, hoping this wasn’t the case. Then he thought about the wound in her leg. Calling her over, he inspected it, while she licked his face, still whining. Though rough, it seemed to be healing. He knew that didn’t necessarily mean anything, however. He checked her over, running hands through her fur, but again discovered nothing wrong. Maybe she was sick. If so, he dearly hoped that it wasn’t fatal. Without her, he would be in real trouble in this prehistoric world. Could he even provide for himself adequately, he wondered? Besides that, he loved her.

  A loud rumble sounded from the direction of the mountain peaks and Tom jerked his head that way, eyes wide. The rumble continued, distant, but growing louder, approaching. It sounded like a closing freight train. Then the ground under him began to shake, at first just a bit, then increasing. An earthquake! Instinctively, he threw himself on the ground and held on. The ground rolled under him while Little barked in fear. Tom too feared, feared that the earth might open to swallow them up. He tried to stand, but his balance was knocked out and he fell back hard on his rear.

  The rumbling and shaking stopped. He waited there, hoping that it was over. When it seemed to be, he looked around for Little. She was nowhere in sight. Suddenly she barked behind him and he jumped.

  “HOLY CRAP...!” he stammered, “Don’t do that!” Tom yelled, angry. She did not stop. Instead, she ran ahead a ways, then back again in a panic, now barking furiously. Her actions scared him. Was she rabid? Would she attack? She had grown a lot and was now at least sixty pounds of muscle and ferocity. He gulped.

  “It’s okay! It’s over,” Tom tried to reassure. She dove straight for him. Tom glanced around for a stick or something to fend her off with. “NO, LITTLE!” he shouted, throwing up his arms to protect himself.

  Another rumble. Tom looked back uphill. Something happening there. Then Little had him. She was pulling him down. He looked at her in horror. She had seized him by the sleeve and was wrenching him with all her might, growling in anger. The rumbling was increasing. He looked back up the mountain; something was coming. Little let go of his sleeve and barked at him.

  Now he saw it: a dark wave growing into view, moving fast.

  “LET’S GO!” Tom bellowed. And down they shot, while a lahar, an avalanche of snow, rock, mud and volcanic ash, dislodged by the earthquake, roared down after them. It was hard running with the pack on and Tom thought of jettisoning it, but knew he would regret it later, so he didn’t. Little was much faster and kept turning around barking at him to hurry up. It was getting hard to stay upright, then he came to a cliff, a short, but steep drop before him. Little had gone around it. Tom was about to jump and turned to see how much time they had. Not much. A wall of mud as high as he slammed into and swept him over the side and down, then covered him, while it continued on. Another two hundred yards and it was over.

  Tom lay there, unconscious, buried almost to his neck in alluvium from the mountain. While he still breathed, it was an effort, for not only had his breath been knocked out of him, but the pressure of the mud was a weight on his chest. His heart thumped laboriously, struggling to hold on.

  Julie. She was calling, reaching out toward him and he her. Their fingers almost touching, then she began to pull back, to recede. She yelled his name, but no sound came. Slowly, pain in her eyes, she was fading.

  Beat, beat .. beat, beat .. beat ... beat ... beat ... beat .... beat ...

  Yanking. Digging. Pulling.

  It was Little. She had dove in after him and was now using all of her power, all of that savage Barstovian aggression to get him out. Insensibly, Tom opened his eyes, his vision foggy, his thought nonexistent. Something, moving slowly, so slowly, covered in filth. Eyes fierce, red. Teeth bared. Snarling. Digging. Digging.

  Leaves drifting by. Hovering, hanging, suspended in the air. Nothing moving. All is still, silent and black.

  Sleep.

  Pulling. Yanking. Dragging. He was out, now sliding down the slippery surface of the mudflow, finally stopping face up. He opened his eyes again. Breath. Something caked in mud barking quietly at him.

  Sleep.

  Consciousness returned and so did sound. He was not where he was before. Now he was on solid ground. Next to him lay Little. Absently, he stretched out a hand to pet her. Immediately she jumped up and barked at him, then began to lick his face. His head ached. Tom reached up and found a painful swelling over his left temple, winced, looked at his hand and saw blood. He groaned, lay back down, then, a moment later, fought to sit up. Little was all over him, jumping over his legs, racing around and licking him.

  “Okay, okay,” Tom said, reaching out a hand to her. He looked back at the river of mud that had washed over him, it ran almost from the top of the mountain, miles distant. A brown scar of dislodged boulders and downed trees, snow and mud, it filled the ravine they’d been in. Water from that snow now melting, running down over and under the mud. Over him. He gingerly touched the lump again. A big one. Prob
ably got clobbered by a rock.

  Tom got on all fours, then slowly to his feet. He stumbled back to the ground, then sat, head down until the spinning stopped. Then he tried again. He felt wobbly and remained bent over at the waist until he was steady. Finally, he stood and exhaled. Inhaled and exhaled. His heart rhythm was returning to normal. He looked at himself: what a sight! Then at Little and laughed weakly. A stab of pain in his head stopped him. “Yeow!” Tom exclaimed, “Take it easy.”

  He eyed his aelurodon again, “You should see yourself!” he said. Then he remembered, her warnings, warnings that he’d been deaf to, and that she had saved him. Tears began to flow, and on his knees he went, throwing his arms around her and hugging.

  “Thank you,” he whispered and kissed her head. “You’re the best.” Little wagged her tail, looking much at that moment like a regular dog. Albeit a big one for her age.

  Tom thought of something then. Something was missing. Oh no, he thought, my backpack! Casting about, but not seeing it, he looked at the trail Little had made when she dragged him out of the muck. Fifteen feet in he saw a strap sticking out. There it was!

  “I gotta get my pack, Little. Don’t panic, okay?” Her mouth wide and tail wagging, she barked. Tom waded into the mud one big step at a time until it was about waist-high. Little barked again, then again, a note of concern in her voice. Tom shooed her, then turned back to the job at hand. It was thick and took him a minute to reach. At last, feeling down in the slop, he grabbed hold of his pack and pulled. It was amazing how strongly mud could hold onto something; he thought about how hard it must have been for Little to get him out. Tom dug down and around, then straining with effort, freed the pack. The exertion made his swelling throb. If it was heavy before, it was double that now. He dragged it across the face of the slide.

  When he got it out, he lay it on dry ground and began to wipe the sludge off. Tom worried what he would find when he opened it up, some of it he could clean, but some of it was delicate instrumentation.

  The PinPointer!

  Fright gripped him. As quickly as he could, he pulled the muddy straps out of their holders and lifted the flap. Mire poured out of the main compartment. He began to feel around in it and withdraw the various items. Water filter, medical kit, fire starters, handsaw, etc. He unloaded until the main was empty. Where is it?! He thought he remembered putting it in the main compartment after the last time he used it. There were other compartments. Maybe in one of them. One by one he opened and emptied each pocket without finding the P.P. When he got to the last one, his face screwed up in fear, he already had plans to get the small hand shovel and dig through every bit of that slide, Sisyphean style, until he found it, no matter how long it took. But when he ripped open the last pocket, there it was. Not even wet, the zipper had kept it clean and dry. Such a sense of relief washed over him that Tom began to shake and had to lie down.

  He needed to test it. Carefully opening, he switched it on, and on popped the red light, pulsing like a heart. The green, however, did not come on. Tom waited patiently. But only the red beat. Another five minutes, but there was no change. No green light. No Julie. His welt throbbed like that red light. If you’ve done something to her Jaqzen, I’ll find you. I’ll get you. He couldn’t have known that Julie was only asleep.

  Praying that she was okay, Tom reloaded the pack and dragged it to a stream. There, in succession, he cleaned each item and finally the pack itself, setting them all out to dry in the sun while he lay in the shade. Little had jumped in the current and cleaned herself off, though cleaning was not her intention. Instead, she had noticed some large trout and was making a splash trying to catch them, but having no more luck than when she tried the first time.

  Something caught Tom’s eye. A bright gleam of light coming from back up the slide, reflecting off something not noticed until clouds had wandered by and the earth had rotated just enough to catch the angle of the sun. He stared at it wonderingly. Then, one by one, other tiny reflections appeared, sparkling like day stars. He sat up, resting himself on his elbows. What is this, he wondered, something dislodged by the flow? The lights now shone from a thousand points all the way up the slide, an amazing spectacle.

  Tom determined to have a look, and stood. The dazzling brilliance from a large object sixty feet away made him cover his eyes. Through the gaps between his fingers, he kept it in sight while approaching. Amber light from the thing was actually hot on his skin, so well did it express the sun’s rays. Once again, Tom waded into the muck, wanting to decipher the mystery, but unable to see through the radiance. Moving off to the side of the object dimmed it just enough that he could now make out a shape. Large, blocky, smooth.

  GOLD! Tom let out a loud, triumphant shout.

  Waist high in mud, he pushed through and clamored over it with difficulty until he reached the giant nugget. It was partially buried in a pile of rocky debris, and was hot to the touch. Having grasped it, he quickly withdrew his hand. Except for gentle undulations in its surface, it was flawless. Breathlessly, he began to scoop away the rubble and detritus until the solid hunk was revealed. Slowly, Tom shook his head. It was magnificent. It was unbelievable. He looked around him now, at the other shining objects. Here and there were other chunks of the yellow fire. Who knew how much was still buried.

  “Ho-ly crap!” he said to Little. “HOLY CRAP! Look at this!” Little had partially gone in after her human, but not farther than chest high. Still, she kept a keen eye on him, wondering what it was all about.

  Tom remembered now that, in the far future, this would be gold country. Here the precious metal would be discovered, triggering a mad rush of panners and prospectors from across the young United States, eager to cash in. Claims would be made and towns flung up, while villains and heroes would fight legendary gun battles in the streets. A whole western lore would be created. Native Americans would be massacred or shoved onto reservations, while homesteaders settled their ancient lands. Meanwhile, buffalo, which used to number in the millions, were all but exterminated. The railroad followed, sealing the deal. Not far behind, of course, came the establishment of a new state: California, the Golden State.

  Gold would be the backbone and standard of currency for the country, until eventually changed into paper money. Sadly, greed would be institutionalized in the new capitalist system, and the rich would begin their usual rise to the top, trampling the poor and their paper rights along the way.

  Tom looked at the glimmering chunk of metal, so beautiful before him, and recoiled. Death comes as an angel of light.

  He soon thought better of it. Precious metals and gems, whether that be gold, silver, diamonds, rubies, or whatever, were not evil in and of themselves. Until Homo sapiens, they were merely natural expressions of a wondrous planet, delightful and diverse like life itself. No, it was their misuse by us that was evil. Beauty alone cannot be evil.

  Tom reached out now and dug in the cool, moist soil under the huge nugget. He wanted to get the heft of it. He lifted, strained, yet it barely moved. Wow. He lowered himself down to get partially below it and lifted again. It moved upwards an inch or two. Continuing to heave, Tom put all of his power into it, the knob on his temple throbbing with the exertion. He grunted loudly through gritted teeth. Finally, panting, the giant golden rock was on his shoulder, weighing him down, the side that had been away from the sun cool on his cheek. It must weigh almost fifty pounds, he thought. What would it be worth in my time? He knew though. The monetary value of it could see him and Julie, their children, and possibly grandchildren through lives of luxury. Now, though, it was just a rock, a beautiful burden forcing him down.

  He tossed it back into the muck, and it sank. In a second, it was gone. With time, it would be ground into smaller chunks and even into dust, and reburied. People would kill for a tiny piece of it. A little later it would be recombined into bricks and stored in secret repositories by secret agencies. Ah well.

  Tom climbed out of the mud bath. As a souvenir, he found a much
smaller, though equally beautiful, nugget, weighing no more than a pound. A gift for Julie, fitting payment for the knob on his head. He smiled and thanked the lahar.

  A week later, they were still quite high on the Sierran slopes, and in fact, in an effort to avoid a sharper drop off to the west than Tom wanted, had been walking along a high, secondary ridge toward the South. Unfortunately, due to rises, falls and curves in the way, not to mention massive sequoias, big cone spruce and cypress, he wasn’t able to clearly plot his course. If he had, he surely would have chosen to descend earlier, for now, after days of hard work, they stood on the edge of a massive V-shaped cliff and canyon that dropped steeply into misty shadows far below. The place had a feel verging on the tropical. Here, a deep river, coming from the east, through towering evergreen forest, fell, becoming a colossal waterfall. Within and around those falls, on either side, was a hodgepodge of wet boulders and dripping vegetation that would be much too difficult, and dangerous, to negotiate.

  “Wonderful,” he remarked sardonically, though his word betrayed the trepidation he felt.

  They stood looking down, pondering their options, none of which were particularly attractive. Tom shook his head. “Okay, so do we go back?” he asked aloud. The prospect was daunting; it would require hours of mostly uphill travel, re-pushing through areas of thick growth. But what was before them was equally, if not more, daunting. It appeared doable, but just. If one were prone to pathological optimism. Since the way straight below was clearly nonviable, he scanned the terrain around it. To the right, the land, though with much less vegetation, was quite steep and strewn with rocky outcroppings of all sizes. Were they to fall there, they could be dashed upon them. On the left, beyond the river, the side facing the West and the sun, were mostly pines, oaks, and under them, giant ferns. From what he could see, while there was the occasional large rock between trees, it was less congested, less steep. Yet, even here it was about a 40 degree angle all the way to the bottom, and that looked a long, long way down.