Coyote

by David L. Foster

  She began to tentatively stab at the thing on the Mule’s chest with her knife, but since she was trying to avoid both Bait’s and the Mule’s hands as they beat at the thing, her efforts were largely futile. They had to get it off soon, because it wouldn’t be long before the thing found the parts of the jacket that weren’t armored and started doing some real damage.

  Behind her came a yell from the Professor. “Move!”

  She turned to see him swinging a large, heavy-looking metal tray in her direction. She ducked just in time, and the tray slammed into the thing on the Mule’s chest. Pulling the tray back, the Professor saw that the thing was stunned by this new attack, but definitely not out of the fight. He began slamming the tray into the Mule’s chest again and again, beating at the thing, accompanied by cries of “Ow, ow,” and “stop!” from the Mule as he stumbled backward under the combined attacks of the thing on his chest and the Professor, finally ending up against a wall with nowhere left to go.

  The thing’s attacks slowed considerably, but it still clung grimly onto the Mule’s jacket, taking the occasional stab at him as the Professor drew back for the next swing of the tray.

  The next escalation came from Beast. She felt a tug at her waist, and turned to see Beast drawing the hatchet from the sheath at her waist. He then pushed her and the Professor to the side, slammed his hand onto the tray to hold it against the thing on Mule’s chest, and raised a hatchet over his head, preparing to bring it down on the tray, the thing beneath the tray, and the Mule’s chest, all at once.

  There was time for a startled yelp from Bait as he turned away, covering his face, and a cry of “No!” from the Mule, who was pressed against the wall with no way to avoid the coming blow.

  Beast’s arm came down in a powerful blow, denting the tray with a huge “Clang.”

  The Mule made a grunting exhalation as Beast drew back for a second, and then a third blow.

  It wasn’t until the second blow that she saw Beast had reversed the hatchet and was pounding into his target with the flat rear of the hatchet, instead of the blade.

  After his fourth blow, Beast paused, still holding the tray, seeming to consider whether more of a beating was needed, but the Mule didn’t give him a chance to resume.

  “Fuck you!” he cried, his face twisted in rage. “Stop!”

  With that the Mule brought his arms up behind the tray and gave a surprisingly powerful shove, pushing the tray off his chest and into his attacker’s face, almost lifting Beast off his feet, knocking him back several steps and causing him to stumble backwards until he banged the back of his head against the still-open freezer door with an audible thump.

  The thing slid limply off of the Mule’s chest, obviously done, and the Mule slid down the wall, making wheezing, choking noises.

  Dropping to one knee, she stabbed her knife into the thing on the floor a few times to make sure of it, then flipped it back into the freezer, from where it must have come.

  All was silent now, except the wheezing and occasional cursing coming from the Mule as he rubbed his chest, and the somewhat louder cursing of the Beast as he rubbed the back of his head.

  Then Mule looked up at Beast. “What the fuck man?!”

  Beast looked up at him, his face darkening, and the Mule stared back, looking equally angry. She stood, preparing to stop them from lunging at each other, when suddenly the Mule’s angry face crumpled and he started laughing.

  “Oh, God,” he got out between wheezy laughs. “You beat me with an axe! Oh, man. Oh, it hurts. Laughing hurts.”

  Beast’s face cleared right away as he started to laugh himself, a low, rumbling chuckle. Nervous chuckles came from the rest of the group as well, as Beast stood, then reached a hand down to the Mule and helped him stand off the floor. They stood with their hands clasped for a moment, and then both pulled in at the same time for a one-handed embrace with their hands still clasped together at their chests.

  The Mule and Beast pulled back and let each other go as the tension eased and the laughter became more real.

  “That’s the best way to make a friend,” said Bait. “Beat the snot out of him.”

  The Mule smiled at Beast. “Any time you need me to beat you with an axe, I’m there for you.”

  “I appreciate that, man,” answered Beast.

  ---

  With the tension gone from the room, the group got back to business. The Mule was sore, but he could stand, he could walk, and he said it didn’t hurt too much unless he took deep breaths. That was about all that people had time for in the way of sympathy in this new world, so they turned to other things—or one other thing: the dead thing on the floor.

  Looking at the thing that had been on the Mule’s chest, they all marveled at its truly alien construction. It had six legs, a head, and almost looked like a praying mantis that had grown to the size of a small dog. Its body was hard, but covered with tiny bristles, each about a half-inch long. They were too sparse and stiff to be called hair, looking more like little antennas than anything else. The strangest part of it, though, was the right, front leg. That leg was larger and thicker by far than any of the others, with the tip bulging out into a teardrop shape with a sharp point at the end. The teardrop and the point changed from the dark gray shell-like body of the rest of the animal, becoming silver and shining dully in the light. This appendage was what the thing had been attacking the Mule with as it clung to his chest with the rest of its legs, and it weighed more than twice as much as the rest of the thing’s body did. The weight and the speed with which the thing was able to use its attacking leg explained why it had packed such a powerful punch.

  “You know,” said the Professor, “we’ve got to know what we’re going to call these, these… whatever they are, that we keep running across.”

  “Why?” asked Beast. “They’re all just things for us to kill or to let kill us. Isn’t that enough?”

  The Professor rolled his eyes. “It may not be. Think about it. You peek around a corner, you see this thing lying in wait, and you want to warn the others about what you see. You may not have time to say ‘It’s one of those little cat-sized things with the claw at the front that stabs at you, dark gray, with the bristly skin…’ On the other hand, if we’ve seen something before you could just see it and say ‘there’s a… a…’”

  “A thumper,” interjected Bait.

  The Professor waved his hand towards Bait. “There’s a thumper around the corner.”

  “It makes sense,” she said. “So this is a thumper.”

  “OK,” said the Mule, “But I’m confused about this thumper.”

  They all looked at him questioningly.

  “I mean, yeah, the little bugger was pretty vicious, but it was nothing compared to all the other crap we’ve seen. I mean, a few good whacks and it’s toast. What kind of threat is that?”

  “Maybe it’s not a threat,” responded the Professor. “Maybe it’s like a wolverine or something. It’ll leave you alone unless you disturb it. Maybe it was nesting here, and we frightened it.”

  “Nesting in a rotting freezer?” asked Bait.

  “But look at the way it attacked me,” the Mule said to the Professor. “It just jumped right out at me. No posturing, no backing off, no growling, nothing. It just went straight into attack mode as soon as it saw me. And no thought to defense, either. It just kept pounding away, even when we were smacking at it. It didn’t even try to save itself.

  “If you ask me, that’s a pretty poor predator. I mean, how is that kind of thing supposed to survive as a species if it just attacks everything it sees, even if what it attacks is an even bigger predator?”

  “Maybe this one isn’t supposed to be by itself,” she suggested.

  The Mule picked up on the idea quickly. “She’s right. Maybe these thumpers operate in groups or packs. Maybe they’re like ants or bees. Who cares if a couple of ants get killed while attacking the caterpillar, because a thousand ants biting on that caterpillar can bring it do
wn and bring back enough food to feed the whole nest for a month.”

  “That might make sense,” said the Professor. “We didn’t have too tough a time with one thumper, but maybe this one got left behind somehow. Maybe he got stuck in the freezer accidentally and the rest of them took off to wherever their next destination was. It wouldn’t go so well if you were attacked by a hundred of those things.”

  The thought put a chill in the room as they all stared down at the dead thumper, each imagining hundreds like it swarming over the group.

  “Well that’s just creepy,” said Bait. “Thanks for that thought, but can we talk about something else?”

  “He is right,” she said. “Enough time wasted on speculation. Back to seeing if you can find anything of use here.”

  They all turned back to what they had been doing, searching through the restaurant for anything they could scavenge. Most of the food was nothing a person would want to touch anymore, but they did find a few large bags of chopped peanuts that were still good, and some dry but still edible hamburger buns. Condiments like ketchup and mustard seemed to be just fine, but nobody was sure what they would do with a gallon of ketchup. A few of them did grab handfuls of the little condiment packets from the front of the restaurant and stuff them into their packs. Perhaps those packets could make whatever they ate in the future just a bit more palatable.

  There were also stacks and stacks of the little cones waiting for soft-serve ice cream to be put in them. Those seemed no worse for having waited about a month, but they were so bulky and probably had so little nutritional value that nobody was interested in them.

  She was about ready to move on when Bait came stumbling out of the now-open freezer.

  “Guys! Guys! Look!” The excitement in his voice drew them all to him as he set a cardboard box on one of the counters. It was a medium-sized box, but from the way it thumped onto the counter it sounded fairly heavy.

  “What’s that?” asked the Mule.

  “Well, I was digging around in the freezer—“

  “Aw, man, that’s gross!” interrupted Beast. The expression on the faces of the others showed general agreement. Nobody could imagine anything worth finding in a pile of formerly frozen food that had been left to rot for a month.

  “God, that’s right,” added the Mule. “And that thing had been living in there for who knows how long, probably crapping on stuff, or whatever they do that’s the equivalent of crapping on stuff.”

  “Ok, yeah,” admitted Bait. “It was kinda gross. But I got this!” He proudly gestured to the box on the counter.

  “And this is what?” she asked.

  “Towards the back, I was seeing what was there and I noticed some of the stuff was still a little cold. I knocked a few layers off the pile, and started finding things that were really cold—almost frozen still. There were a bunch of boxes like this, some on the top that were warm and rotten, but at the bottom were some ones that were still really cold. And at the bottom of the pile was this. This case of still-frozen hamburger patties!”

  “No way,” said the Mule.

  “Yes! And look,” he turned the box over, on the table, showing all sides. “Still sealed! I bet these babies are still good to eat!” He looked at the group, grinning.

  The faces of the others showed doubt, but at least it was no longer disgust.

  “How could they still be frozen?” she asked, looking at the Professor.

  “How should I know?” he asked. “I’m no chef or anything. I mean, I guess the rest of the things in there could keep the bottom of the pile insulated, and the freezer itself, if nobody ever opened it, would stay cold for quite a while, I suppose.”

  “Open it, man!” suggested Beast. There was urgency in his voice, and his eyes were wide.

  Bait took out his machete and quickly sliced through the tape at the top of the box while the others took a hasty step back to avoid his enthusiastic sawing. Inside were, as promised, layers and layers of pre-made hamburger patties—a hundred and twenty of them, if the labeling on the box could be trusted.

  There was a moment of silence from the group.

  “Hold on a sec,” said the Professor, turning away and moving to the other side of the kitchen. “I think these grills are gas. The ignition was probably electric and won’t work anymore, but…” he trailed off as he fiddled with the knobs. “Yes. Somebody give me a match or a lighter.”

  The Mule pulled a long barbeque lighter out of one of the outside pockets of his pack, handing it over to the Professor. After a few minutes of fiddling they managed to lift the cooking surface and get the lighter to the gas jets beneath, the Professor turned on the gas as the Mule held the lighter to the jets. Soon everyone heard the satisfying whoosh of the burners lighting.

  “Yes!” cried Bait, giving Beast a high-five. “We’re having hamburgers!”

  Suddenly the smile dropped from Beast’s face and he looked worried.

  He grabbed Bait by the shoulders, turning to look him in the eye. “You gotta go back in there man.”

  “What? No way, dude. It’s gross in there!”

  “You gotta. You gotta go in there, and you gotta find cheese.”

  Bait looked at him a moment, and swallowed. “Cheese,” he said, almost to himself. The desire in his eyes was evident.

  “Ok, you’re right. I’m going in.”

  Beast slapped him on the back, propelling him toward the freezer. “That’s it, man. Find the cheese.”

  Bait disappeared once more into the freezer and they all could hear him shifting things around as he searched for cheese. Beast stood in the doorway, watching his progress.

  Soon Bait’s voice came from the freezer.

  “Hey, how come I’m in here? Why aren’t you looking?”

  Beast just smiled and shook his head. “No way, little dude. It’s gross in there.”

  Bait did find cheese. He also came across a bag of onions that didn’t seem any worse for the wear. The Professor and the Mule took on the cooking duties, while the others found plates and napkins, and opened ketchup and mustard packets. The soda machines didn’t work, but they each were carrying water to drink. After living on whatever they found in abandoned pantries for so long, the details didn’t matter. They were having cheeseburgers in a restaurant.

  In about half an hour, the group sat around a table in the dining area, eating what may have been the last cheeseburgers in the world. And she had to admit they were a group now. They were together. She didn’t know why, or how it had happened despite her efforts to avoid getting entangled with others, but she could see it happening around the table as they all ate.

  There would be no walking off and leaving them on their own. From now on, they would face what came together. She found herself smiling as she ate her cheeseburger, stale bread and all, with juice running down her chin. She would never grow attached to these people, but it was interesting having them around.

  Knowing the meat would not last now that it was out of the freezer, they stuffed themselves, eating all they could while they had the chance. Each of them ate at least two cheeseburgers, stale buns and all, while the Mule and Beast managed to eat four apiece, though they both could only eat a few bites of their fifth burger.

  When no-one could eat more, they all sat back in their seats, full, reluctant to have this moment end—reluctant to leave. Each looked into the eyes of the others, not saying anything, but all thinking the same truth. The world, such as it was, was still out there, waiting for them. They couldn’t stay. If they stayed, something would find them. Better they moved out and found it, first.

  ---

  And so the moment did end, and they did move on—once again strung out in their line of travel, once again working their way along the highway. Again, they were watchful, looking for what the next unpleasant surprise might be. But did they have their eyes out for a different reason: not to evade things, but to find them? She was not sure what their goal was now. Were they hunting the things that had inva
ded their world, or were they still hiding from them? Perhaps she would take what came, and go from there.

  It turned out, though, that she didn’t need to make that decision any time soon. A whole day passed, the dog trotting in front of the group, scouting for trouble and the rest of them strung out behind it. Nothing threatened them.

  They kept moving, stopping for a lunch that consisted mostly of the last of the hamburgers grilled over a hastily constructed fire in the center of the road. The nostalgia was lost, though. Now the burgers were just meat—something to keep a person going.

  What followed was a long day of walking. That night they camped, still not running across anything threatening, in a campground. It was a small campground next to a small creek—just two or three spots for tents with two or three matching iron fire pits. She didn’t even notice the name on their way in.

  They chose to all crowd into the middle of the three camp spots. She was tempted to point out that there were two other perfectly good spots to each side but didn’t want to get involved in the conversation. Instead, she watched them all lay out their spots in a circle around the fire pit. They were high on the side of Mount Hood now, and it grew colder in the evening. The sleeping bags they had scavenged a few towns back would be welcome that night, just as the warmth of the small fire they started was now.

  Once they had settled in it was, as usual, Bait who got the conversation going.

  “So round two,” he said. “Where’d the monsters come from?”

  “Monsters?” asked the Mule, “Really? Like, things with tentacles that live under your bed?”

  “Yours had tentacles?” asked Beast, while at the same time Bait responded with “Yeah, monsters. What else are you gonna call all these things?”

  “He’s right,” added the Professor. “If we don’t know where they came from, then we don’t know what to call them. And nothing is really more generic than just ‘monsters.’”