Opalescence

by Ron Rayborne

  ~ Meanwhile, a delicate balance was quietly passing, a precarious tipping point in which faces blurred and names became numbers ~

  There’d be battles over resources locally. The farmers wanted all the fresh water and cared not that other species would suffer. In return they’d drench their mass produce in poisons and send a chemical-laden stew downstream. In time, country would fight country, then state, state over water, timber and food, employing all the devious legal devices in their toolkits. “Rare earth” minerals, vital for many technologies, would be hoarded, and then fought over. A man could be an enemy simply by virtue of birth in another place, and horrifying weapons would be released for petty differences in doctrine. To give every new mouth its due, whole forests would fall and entire species disappear, little noticed. Cities would become Megacities, which spread, then merged until it seemed all the world was covered in asphalt and concrete, skyscrapers and slums. Over all, a shroud of smog and pollution, air, land and oceanic, would creep ever on like an unstoppable malignancy. With ingenuity, we’d hold on for a while. Nevertheless, a horrific end was not far behind.

  Now, Tom felt like he owned the world. He could go anywhere, no questions asked, no papers to show, no rules to follow, no lines to stand in or crowds to fight through.

  In the shade on the edge of the forest, he folded down some green and made it into a soft bed. And though it was just past midday, he reclined there, hidden like a baby fawn in the grass around him. The soothing sound of water at his head and cool puffs of air tickling his cheeks, he slept soundly until morning.

  Tom dreamt of many things that night, snippets of cliffs and gold, of racing and swimming. Lastly he dreamt of gun shots. A fierce battle in the control room of the Institute. The shots got louder and more intense.

  He awoke, yet the sound of guns continued. Alarmed, he jumped to his knees to peer over the top of the lea and see where it was coming from. His vision resolved slowly and he rubbed his eyes. Then he saw what it was. There were two antelopes fighting and crashing horns on the plains. A whole herd of them were grazing farther off, apparently wanting nothing to do with the quarrel. Then he spied another group, clearly females, for they were slightly smaller than the males, standing disinterestedly off to one side of the brawl, grooming each other.

  Ah, he thought, relaxing, the reason for the skirmish. Always a woman involved. Sighing, Tom lay back down and listened to the sound of it. Through the tall, yellowing grass, he gazed at the sky, so blue in contrast. He looked at the underside of the canopy of broad-leaved deciduous trees a hundred feet above him. Birds were flying there, twittering and jotting excitedly from branch to branch. The elegant sound of water burbling over rocks on its course to join the great inland sea somewhere out there was delightful.

  Something evidently startled the antelope, for the fracas ended in a sound of hundreds of hooves sprinting away. Away from him. He didn’t get up. He wondered what time it was. Mid-morning it looked. Again it was heating up in the open. Along with the cool breezes of the forest, an occasional gust of hot air made its way to him. Yes, it was going to be really hot today.

  Tom thought about his route. South of course. Should he then stick to the edge of the forest canopy since it ran roughly in that direction, or should he head west out there, in the blazing sun, toward other forests he could see patches of? It seemed a no-brainer. Yet, just past the scattered areas of trees, he’d seen a line of blue when he was on the mountain, and it pulled at him. What was it like, he wondered, that pristine prehistoric sea? Tom was seriously tempted to go that way. Still, it was essential that he to get to Julie as quickly as possible.

  He’d tried yesterday, before bedding down, to judge the distance to the blue. Hard to do. Heat waves radiating from the ground in between didn’t help. His stomach growled. Oh. Yeah.

  “Girl? You here?” Tom called out softly. There was no reply, of course. She’d be out hunting. He wondered what breakfast would be this morning. Now that he had his stove back, he supposed that he could return to his new-found carnivorous diet. Still, even though he wasn’t doing the actual killing, he felt guilty about it. On the other hand, he was not yet quite as adept at providing for himself as Little was by nature. Until he was more familiar about which foods contained protein, he’d continue to eat her catches.

  His stomach growled again. He looked over to the forest. Maybe I’ll go gather some fruit, he thought. Indeed, he’d discovered some delicious additions to his diet. As he was about to get up, Tom suddenly heard a sound of growling. Vicious, and it was coming his way. Again startled, he got up and looked to see the grass being pushed aside by something approaching. Eyes wide, he instantly began to back up, not stopping to gather his things. What was it? He searched for a visual clue while continuing his retreat. Then, in the opening he’d made yesterday, she appeared. Little. Eyes ablaze in ferocity, she was dragging a large animal in her mouth, one of the antelopes. Too distracted by its scrap with the other, it failed to notice the powerful predator that crept up on it in the tallgrass. Now it was limp, its neck snapped in the powerful jaws of the Aelurodon.

  She dropped it there, in the opening, and stood panting. There was blood around her muzzle, but no obvious signs of injury.

  “Well, you’re first big kill!” Tom congratulated. He walked over to take a closer look, but immediately stopped when, hackles raised, she began to growl at him. His heart leapt.

  “Easy, girl,” he said. Little continued to growl, still flush from the battle, reluctant to give up her first real trophy. “Easy.” It had been the first time she had displayed any kind of real aggression toward him and it unsettled him. Even though he’d gotten comfortable with her, he mustn't forget that she was a powerful wild beast and was only going to get stronger. But soon as he’d thought it she immediately began to show contrition and flattened her ears back while walking over to him, tail wagging. Tentatively, Tom reached a hand out and stroked her, she sniffed, then licked it, hackles now lowered. She was clearly excited by her exploit and Tom wondered what he should do, try to cut himself off a piece of the kill first or wait for her. He sensed that as Alpha male of this little clan he was supposed to grab some of it first, not doing so might upset the balance — and her, yet he was understandably reluctant to incur her wrath again.

  As if in answer, Little walked a few yards away and lay down while watching him. “Okay,” Tom said to himself lowly, “get some of it.” Reaching into his pack, Tom found his knife, then approached the kill. He judged its weight to be about 70 pounds. Its legs were solidly muscled. Surely, if it had been aware of her, this antelope could have easily dashed away. But Little was discovering that, while fast, she wasn’t as fast as some the bigger game, so she had to learn the strategy of ambush hunting. Tom cut off a leg, not an easy or pleasant chore, then carried it, and his portable stove, away from the kill so that Little could eat as well. She rose immediately, then lay down next to the animal and began to feast.

  There was no way, Tom knew, that they’d be able to eat the entire thing now, but maybe he could cook some of it and bring it along for later consumption. On the other hand, that might attract other carnivores. Well, he’d see how it went.

  It went. Halfway into the cooking process, Little began to growl again. Tom looked up swiftly, but saw nothing. Nothing besides Little now making snapping motions toward the grass on the other side. He stood. “Uh oh,” he said lowly. It was a pack of some other kind of dog thing slowly approaching them. They had a rough, scruffy, savage look about them, as if they were used to squabbling with Aelurodons. When they saw him, they immediately checked their advance, unsure of what this new, tall animal was. But they snarled defiance. It was hard to tell how many there were in the tallgrass, but he guessed at least five. Little was now standing and snarling back fiercely. Tom couldn’t have known it, but Aelurodons and these beasts had a long history of disagreement, an intra-family feud going back a million years.

  “GO AWAY!” Tom yelled. The lead one, the one he
could see, a big brawny male, snapped back at him, froth and foam dripping from his mouth. Tom remembered the gun. It was in his backpack. The pack was lying on the ground between them. It looked like there was going to be a fight, and he suspected that Little would get the worst of it, for even though she was growing robust herself, she was just one against five. Tom made a step in their direction, toward his pack. Little, seeing him, did as well. Fortunately, the leader of the pack took a step backwards. It had thought that Tom was rising to the challenge and that its bluff wasn’t quite working. Tom took another step forward, then another. Little was at his side, hackles also standing on end, a ruse that made her appear larger.

  Then the pack did something unexpected, they began to circle about and behind them. Little’s head swung around. Tom sensed that were he to touch her now he would be severely bitten. He didn’t. Instead, he took another step, and was almost to his pack, when the lead animal jumped at him, flashing teeth and rage. He was grabbed mid-lunge by Little. Instantly the world was a blur. The two beasts fought ferociously, roaring horrifically. The rugged Alpha tore at Little’s face, but Little, though a bit smaller, soon began to dominate. She was on the other’s back. Just then, another rushed in from behind and jumped on her. Little turned to deal with it, then another came at her.

  Tom dove for the pack and yanked it open. Something ripped. He reached in toward the bottom, where he stored the gun, found it, took it out — then dropped it. Swiftly, another of the brutes sprang at him. He stood and instinctively spun sideways to avoid the main assault, catching a fang across his shoulder, which ripped open painfully. He wobbled. Again the animal came at him. Tom turned, this time kicking hard, catching it in the chest, which knocked it off-balance, yet slowing it down very little.

  The girl, for her part, fought valiantly. But there were now three of them on her. Tom again jumped for the gun, got it, and, pulling back the trigger, took aim and fired.

  One of the pack fell dead on the spot. The report was so loud that the others fled posthaste. Except for the one in Little’s mouth. She wasn’t through with him, and, shaking vigorously, chomped down on his neck, finishing him off. The pack would be leaderless.

  Why Little hadn’t run from the sound of the gun was a mystery. He looked at her. There was blood everywhere. She sat then, panting and exhausted, having acquitted herself admirably. Tom went to have a look, and she lay on her back. Most of the blood appeared to belong to the other dog-like beasts. But she had a nasty rip in her side, a hunk of flesh torn down and hanging. He could see muscle underneath. She also had several deep gashes on her muzzle. Those would likely scar and become a permanent feature. Additionally, there was a chomp on her tail, but it didn’t look too serious.

  Tom shook his head. Although he’d been reveling in this paradise-like world, if he needed a reminder that this was, in actuality, a wild, and could be, a very dangerous place, he just got it. It was a lesson he would not have to learn twice. From now on, the gun would be at his side.

  Tom rummaged around for the medical kit. Finding some iodine, he opened it. He intended to pour it into Little’s wound, and then bandage it up. He hoped it wouldn’t sting. He contemplated using the alcohol, but thought better of it. Gently, he poured some iodine into and around the wound. She whimpered. The next part would be tricky. Retrieving a surgical needle and thread, while talking gently to her, Tom began to sew the flap of skin to the attached sides. Little made no motion or sound, which he was immensely grateful for. Finally, persuading her to stand, he got some gauze out and began to wrap it around her. He used every bit of it, though he doubted that it would stay there.

  Little looked at something on Tom’s shoulder and he glanced that way. His shirt was ripped, and he had a deep gash of his own. Blood flowed down his arm, his upper sleeve red with it. She stood now, shakily, and sniffed at the wound, then began to clean it by lightly licking. Surprised, Tom allowed her this strange behavior. Perhaps an Aelurodon thing? Finally, he thanked her and made her lie back down, then walking to the river with soap, proceeded to wash the laceration until the bleeding stopped. Afterwards, he took needle and thread and sewed his own unanesthetized skin together and bandaged it up. It hurt like the devil, and he’d have a scar, but he was getting tougher.

  Turning to the attacking animal, Tom took out his P.I. and, laying the beast on its least destroyed side, took a picture to find out what it was. Carpocyon was the answer.

  “Hmm. According to this, Carpocyon was mostly found on the other side of the Sierras. Maybe you were emigrating,” Tom speculated, sorry that it ended up the way it did. Then, stooping, he noticed that it had acquired some ticks, mostly around its head, including a few in its ears, but also on its chest and the anal area. I’d be temperamental too if I had that on me, he thought. Likewise, Tom snapped a photo of the head of the antelope-like animal with the two oddly asymmetrical horns: Ramoceros.

  He decided that they should remain where they were for another few days to convalesce, and dragged the carcasses of the two Carpocyon out far as he could onto the plain. If something was hungry, he hoped they would keep it, or them, occupied. Obediently, Little stayed behind. As they were near the water, he brought some to her often, which she lapped up. She also ate a lot of her antelope kill. At midday, she rose to relieve herself, ate again, then slept.

  Tying a rope around the Ramoceros just forward of the rear legs, Tom tossed it over a high, bare branch, then hoisted it up a into tree and tied it off. Next, he built a fire below to smoke it. He’d planned to try to keep watch through the night in case the Carpocyon, or some other threat, chose to make a return visit.

  Tom wanted another walking stick; not only would it be useful for going up and down hills, it would also be an aid in quick defense. He found an attractive tree with smooth, reddish, peeling bark and nearly straight limbs that he thought should work nicely. Madrone. He snapped off a good section and, sitting on a log under the cover of sheltering trees, the fire crackling in front of them, cleaned up the small side branchlets, then whittled the end to a point.

  That night, the stars were magnificent. Somewhere out on the plain an owl hooted rhythmically, calm restored, and once again, this land was an Eden. Tom reflected upon the strange juxtaposition of life and death here. He knew that without death there could be no life. Yet, it was hard for his human mind to reconcile such brutality in an otherwise perfect world.

  He finally accepted, reluctantly, that this stark incongruity was a necessary fact of life, a law of nature as impossible to separate as the front of a coin from its back, and as light is from darkness.

  My dear Julie,

  What a strange world, this Miocene of yours. Beautiful, yet deadly. Enrapturing, yet frightening. You were right, though. This is real life, and I am in love with it.

  He included no date this time, for he’d lost track of the days.

  The week that followed was the opposite of the previous day’s electrification. At dawn on the third morning after the big battle, while it was still dark, Tom resolved to get an early start. He’d decided to head out west/southwest, following the course of the river toward the line of blue, feeling irresistibly drawn toward it. He knew that it was going to be another sweltering day and hoped to reach it before noon. By noon, however, they were still quite a ways from it, though they had reached the line of trees. Evidently from his position high on the mountain, he’d misjudged the thalassic proximity. Had he realized it was so far away he would have stayed the foothill path. Additionally, unknown to him, the main forest river had broken off to the south and he was now following a smaller arm. He’d been unable to discern the change as the riparian areas were protected by thick walls of impenetrable growth. While forested, the country was now flat, and no hills afforded him a chance for a better look. Climbing the trees was fruitless since their branches, and those of other trees around them, veiled his view out. Nevertheless, on the pair continued.

  The land baked. Waves of heat shimmered upwards from the plains, w
hilst the fauna stood motionless in small groups to the west and north, dozing. Tom, too, was getting torpid and paused for a rest. He knew that Little would appreciate it as well since she had been lagging behind for some while.

  When he stopped, he gave her the remainder of the meat, which he’d smoked before, taking only a fist-sized chunk for himself. She devoured it in less than a minute. Then they lay down, side-by-side, and slept. After a while, Tom began to snore and Little, disturbed, got up to relocate a dozen feet away.

  When he awoke, it was twilight and frogs were beginning their evening chorus. Woodland nightbirds of various species were sounding in piercing whistles and weird, spooky chatter. Mosquitos hummed about his face and he swatted them away. The tops of these trees were lower than in the mountains, and he could see the first stars beginning to shine through. Tom now regretted having chosen this way, but deplored the idea of turning back. Onward it would be then. Tomorrow.

  He stood, and with his flashlight, found some wood to make a fire. Its glow reflected, dancing orange from the closest trees. He was famished and played his torch around looking for something he could eat. Fortunately, there was fruit, a delicious, purple, but sometimes red, star-shaped thing, which the P.I. had no name for. It had a juicy red/orange/yellow center and grew abundantly on yellow/green vines flecked with splashes of purple. It tasted like grape candy. Silky smooth. He hoped they were okay to eat for he wolfed down a dozen of them, the sweet nectar running down his arms. Then, full, he drank liberally from a rivulet that wound its way under the climbing plants.