ACrucible of Time

by neetha Napew

  "We stuck here, lover?" Krysty said at his side, her hand resting lightly in the crook of his right elbow. "Be a shame if we can't do some exploring. It seems such a beautiful place."

  "It does." He put his arm around her shoulders, feeling the sun-warmed material of her white shirt. "You don't feel any stickies in the neighborhood, do you?"

  "No. Nothing, except for some sort of back-ground wildlife sensations. Can't say I'm aware of any sense of danger."

  "I'm sure we can use that old highway as a sort of lodestar to get us away from here. Trees aren't impenetrable. Should be able to move through them."

  "We goin', Ryan?" Jak asked.

  "Why not? Everyone ready to do some back-country hiking? Then let's go."

  He began to pick his way between the striated trunks of the pines, heading downhill, using the barely visible remnants of the blacktop to guide him. The others were strung out behind him.

  Chapter Five

  A rust-colored squirrel darted up the tree that stood close to the pathway, chattering angrily at the invasion of its territory. A jay perched on a high, feathery branch, swaying backward and forward in the rising wind, dark, beady eyes watching the seven humans far below it.

  Ryan had been a little optimistic about the ease of following the old, lost road through the woods. For some of the time, it was almost as though there had never been a road through the woods. Time and the weather had washed parts of it away, and the fast-growing pines had broken through the tarmac in many places. But it was at least some sort of guide, carrying them gradually downhill from the abandoned redoubt.

  It was around noon when the friends finally found themselves nearing the bottom of the slope, and the end of the winding, hidden highway.

  The sun had been a constant presence, breaking through the pools of dappled shadow. The scent of the pines was so strong and omnipresent that they'd almost stopped noticing it. Away toward the far north, the sky was darkening with banks of snowy thunderheads. The tall, slender pines that had masked the main entrance to the redoubt had gradually been absorbed into a region of mixed forest. They strolled through a magnificent mixture of ancient oaks, shivering aspens, white firs, dogwoods, sugar pines and cottonwoods, with a smattering of massive sequoias.

  The flowers and shrubs were just as impressive: vivid orange and startling white lilies, chiquapin, lupine and bracken ferns. There was a wealth of bird life, including ravens, owls and bright chickadees, which prompted Doc into an impersonation that he claimed was someone called W. C. Fields. He became annoyed when only Mildred had ever heard of the comedian.

  Once they paused near a crystal-fresh spring, resting for a few minutes and heard the howling of coyotes, several miles away to the east, in the higher country.

  "Used to be bear and bobcats around here," Mildred commented. "I wouldn't be surprised if they made a good recovery without man to hunt them out."

  DOC HAD a nasty coughing fit, doubled over, and hawked up threads of green phlegm into the bed of pine needles under his feet. "I feared there that I was about to vomit copiously," he spluttered.

  Mildred approached and laid a hand on his sweat-dewed forehead. "Kind of hot," she commented. "Could be that you're in for a touch of flu, Doc."

  "I confess to feeling a few inches below par, Dr. Wyeth. Slight headache and soreness in the throat. Perhaps it is only a touch of the sun. Or a mild attack of altitude sickness. Or it might all be in the fevered imagination of a foolish old man. Let us proceed, shall we?"

  THEY HAD EMERGED from the forest onto the buckled remnants of an old highway and followed it as it meandered north and eastward, sometimes between the high walls of a sheer gorge with a river running along its bottom.

  "There's a sign," Dean said, running ahead of the others to a bullet-pocked, rusting road sign. "One ninety-eight," he called back to them.

  J.B. took off his fedora and scratched his forehead. "Sounds right. Have a feeling it's a highway that runs through Visalia, all the way toward the coast. Linked up with what used to be Highway 101. Way we're heading, I reckon we should finish up in the heart of the national park. See taller trees than you ever imagined."

  "Is there one that you can drive a wag clear through?" Krysty asked.

  "Believe there used to be, but I think it fell some years before skydark." Mildred shook her head, her beaded, plaited hair rattling. "I expect the trees in the park should be something. If the quakes didn't bring them all crashing down."

  The foaming river tumbled over vast rounded boulders, in a flurry of ceaseless, busy foam. The rumbling noise seemed to fill the canyon.

  "Running water always make me want to take a leak," Mildred said.

  "Nobody stopping you, my dear lady," Doc stated. "You have a thousand miles of back country to choose from."

  "I'll wait awhile. Good training for the muscles. May be a rest area just around the corner."

  THEY CAME ACROSS a rest area, less than a quarter mile around the next bend. It was off to the right, set back into a wide recess under the cliffs, across the highway from the river.

  A central area housed the rest rooms, as well as a number of shaded tables and benches. The rusting remains of barbecue units were visible here and there among the coarse grasses.

  Ryan glanced sideways at Krysty, the silent question visible in his eye. She paused a moment, then shook her head. "Nothing human or mutie, though I get the feeling there are animals close by here."

  "Likely coyotes?"

  "Could be."

  Ryan swallowed hard. "Feel thirsty, lover. Going to take a drink from the river."

  Krysty watched him cross the deserted highway, the steepling sun throwing his shadow around his ankles. She glanced down at her own booted feet, seeing one of the Deathlands daisies, white and yellow, growing from the dusty soil. She stepped carefully around it, joining the others by the concrete block at the center of the rest area.

  They were looking at a notice board. It was around seven feet high, double sided, with a brown metal frame that was covered in break-resistant, transparent plastic, scratched and weathered over the years.

  "Tourist information," Doc said, peering at the faded writing.

  One notice warned about the dangers of wild animals such as bears, snakes and panthers, stressing that they weren't tamed and feeding them was totally forbidden under park regulations.

  Next to it was a warning about back country hiking, making the point that hikers should always register any planned hike and sign on and off with rangers at approved places, marked on the small map on the board.

  But what interested Krysty and the others were the crudely hand-lettered, unattributed notices that had been stuck beneath the plastic covers, obscuring some of the original, official messages.

  Ryan had rejoined the others, wiping his mouth from his drink, and he read them over Krysty's shoulders.

  "War is here. This region is under martial control. Leave now and return to your homes. No photography or videos. Trespassers are likely to be shot on sight."

  "Must've gone up in the last hours before the state slipped into the Cific," J.B. said.

  "Look on the wall of the John," Mildred said. "Paint's almost gone, but you can read the message. Short and sweet. 'Go home or get shot.' Within a day virtually everyone in the whole country was dead or dying."

  They stood in silence, each of them locked into his or her private thoughts, trying to imagine what those last moments before the skies were filled with missiles had to have been like, the chilling awareness of impending doom.

  Ryan whistled softly. "Spooky to see a reminder like this. Hardly ever see anything anywhere that was so close to those final hours."

  Mildred patted J.B. on the arm. "Got to go use the facilities, John, or I'll burst."

  "Take care." He returned her touch. "Remember you might find spiders or snakes or scorpions in an abandoned building like that. Looks as if the roofs been torn open on the far side there. Watch out."

  "I'll be fine. Back i
n a minute."

  The outer door had lost all of its paint from a hundred years of weathering, and there were deep scratches down its surface, leaving raw sprinters of white wood. The brass handle was covered in a thick coating of green verdigris. Mildred turned it, finding it seized up solid. She put more of her weight behind it, and it creaked stiffly, then jerked inward.

  Mildred could see dazzling sunlight spearing through the damaged roof, and a pile of dried leaves scuffed around her boots. She sniffed, wrinkling her nose at the hot, acrid smell of stale urine that filled the place, surprising after such a long time.

  The inner door stood slightly ajar, and Mildred had the momentary illusion that something had moved inside the rest room. But she decided that it was only the leaves that carpeted the tiled floor.

  She was conscious of the growing pressure on her bladder, and she pushed open the heavy door with the heel of her left hand, her right already reaching down for the silver buckle on her thick leather belt. Her head passed directly through the lancing sunshine, making her blink, blinded for a moment. The door swung shut behind her, and the bitter, feral smell was much stronger.

  Mildred heard a rustling sound, though she was standing quite still, and there wasn't a breath of wind in the claustrophobic building.

  And she became suddenly aware that she wasn't on her own. There was the whisper of steady, rhythmic breathing, and a patch of darkness in the black shadows in the far corner.

  Her vision was already adjusting to the mix of light and shade, and she froze, hand inching toward the butt of the Czech revolver on her hip.

  It was an enormous black panther, crouched on its haunches, the tip of its tail flicking from side to side. She could see the golden eyes, fixed on her, the ears flattened along the angular skull. The beast, at least twelve feet in length, began to make a purring sound and it stretched its front paws, honed, curved claws scratching on the floor.

  Its jaws opened, and she caught the taint of its hot, rancid breath, seeing the ivory glint of the teeth.

  "Good God," Mildred whispered, aware that the short hairs were prickling at her nape. There was a dreadful temptation to scream out for help, knowing that J.B. and the others would be with her in less than five beats of the heart, their blasters ripping the magnificent creature to ragged fur and shards of bloodied bone.

  But her razored mind overrode that temptation, knowing that the panther would leap at her and bear her to the ground, powerful hind legs ripping at her belly, spilling her guts all over the floor, teeth clamping on her skull, crunching the fragile bones, squeezing eyes from their sockets. That would take only a brace of beats of her heart.

  "Slow and easy," she whispered to herself, keeping her eyes locked to those of the beast.

  Her fingers were on the butt of the ZKR 551, resting there, waiting to make the next move.

  The panther growled, deep in its chest, and its back twitched with the desire to charge and rend and kill.

  Mildred stood very, very still.

  OUTSIDE, THE SIX companions had found a patch of shade to sit down in. The conversation had turned, amid that wilderness, to which kind of wood could best be hewed and which burned with the best flame.

  "I have hacked away at a log of black walnut," Doc said ruminatively. "There is something slippery about it. However careful you might be in setting the blade of the ax into a straight line, the black walnut always splits in an oddly curved way, with a gentle bent to it."

  "That's true, Doc," Ryan agreed. "But nothing burns cleaner and fresher than a cord of apple wood."

  "Cherry's mighty sweet," Krysty said. "Uncle Tyas McCann cut down a whole ancient orchard on the edge of Harmony. Whole place, burned it for a winter and a half. Lovely scent."

  "Seasoned pine fine winter. Or piñon, most any time. In swamps was hard finding good dry wood."

  J.B. looked back over Ryan's shoulder, toward the block of rest rooms. "Mildred's takin' a long time," he stated. "Think she's all right?"

  "Would've shouted if she wasn't," Ryan said. "Mebbe a stomach bug got her."

  The Armorer stood, stretching. "Think I'll just step over and see whether— Dark night!"

  There had been a sudden, shockingly violent trio of noises: a scream, a thunderous roar and a single pistol shot. Then silence.

  Chapter Six

  Mildred had managed to get the revolver three-quarters out of its holster. Her index finger caressed the trigger, her eyes still fixed on the panther's face.

  The animal was bowstring tense, muscles twitching beneath the coat of fine black fur. Its ears were still flattened against the skull, eyes glowing in the dim light.

  Mildred kept the blaster at her side, thumb making contact with the spurred hammer. She was aware of sweat trickling down the small of her back, between her breasts, over her stomach. The salty liquid beaded her forehead, her cheeks.

  The huge mutie carnivore was so aware of any movement from its intended prey that Mildred didn't dare to move her gun farther, sensing that the panther would react immediately by charging across the rest room at her.

  The wind outside stirred some of the dried rubbish, trapped in the splintered ruins of the angled roof, loosing an aspen leaf and sending it spinning down into the warm space, whirling around and around.

  Mildred watched it out of the corner of her eyes, also watching the eyes of the panther, seeing that the beast was fascinated by the light brown, spinning leaf.

  Somehow, she knew that the falling dead leaf was going to spark the charge, so she readied herself for the fastest draw of her life.

  But the panther was quicker, moving from its crouch, powering toward her with a deafening roar of hatred and rage. Mildred screamed and finished drawing the revolver, thumbing and firing in a single fluid action.

  The short-fall thumb-cocking hammer fell on the chambered .38 round, and the boom of the powerful handgun filled the rest room.

  Mildred was aware of the shudder of the explosion running clear up to her elbow, then the leaping panther hit her, chest high, and knocked her flat on her back.

  J.B. WAS QUICKEST, the Uzi gripped in his right hand as he sprinted the few steps toward the rest room, crashing into the door and sending it spinning off broken hinges. Ryan was at his heels, both of them freezing at what they saw inside.

  Mildred lay still, sprawled on her back, knees drawn up, one hand gripping the gleaming revolver, pressing the muzzle against the side of the skull of an enormous black panther. It was huddled on top of her, snarling, jaws open, bright crimson blood dribbling over its curved teeth. There was more blood splashed on its chest, toward the right shoulder.

  "No," the woman panted, her eyes wide, staring at the two men, her voice forced through gritted teeth. "Mine."

  Ryan was ready to ignore Mildred and chance a shot at the panther, but events moved past him.

  The animal was recovering from the first snapped shot. A rumbling deep in its chest threatened another attack. Mildred, shaken by the attack and the fall, squeezed the trigger of the ZKR 551 a second time, the noise of the .38 round muffled by the barrel being jammed against the creature's head.

  The bullet smashed through the dense wall of the skull, puddling the brains, exiting on the far side, a chunk of bone and scalp exploding across the room, splattering against the far wall.

  The panther screamed, thrashing away from Mildred, legs kicking, clawing at itself. She rolled free, scrambling to the opposite wall of the rest room, holding the revolver ahead of her, gripping the butt in both hands to keep it steady.

  "It's done for, Mildred," J.B. said quietly.

  Krysty, Doc, Dean and Jak had come inside, past the smashed door, watching the slaughter of the big animal.

  "Let me give you a hand, Mildred," Krysty offered.

  "Thanks," the woman replied, holstering the warm blaster at a second attempt. She reached to take the proffered hand, pulling herself upright, whistling between her teeth at the nearness of the escape. "Real close call there."


  "How did it get in?" Dean asked. He turned his gaze upward to the hole in the roof. "Oh, yeah. That way."

  "Might be a good idea to move on." Ryan holstered his own blaster. "Sound of those two shots might travel a long way through a silent forest."

  "WE LOOKING FORWARD to hole up for a day or so?" Ryan asked. "Or keep moving?"

  "A rolling stone gathers no bullets, so it is said. Perhaps we might find a decent roof to protect us for the night." Doc stooped and rubbed at his knee. "Upon my soul, but I think that I have wrenched my leg."

  Ryan looked around the circle of faces, seeing exhaustion and nervous strain on all of them, but no sign that any of them was frightened. "Can you walk all right, Doc?"

  "Oh, I trust so, my dear fellow. Just a spasm in the tendon behind the right knee. No, nothing to concern yourself about. Personally I would rather like to leave this rest area behind. As you so rightly commented, the noise of the bullets might attract unwelcome company. The sun is already sinking, but the animal inside there will not smell any sweeter. Perhaps a fresh campsite for the night? What think the others?"

  Krysty glanced at Ryan, answering first. "Leave this place of death and blood and find a good camp for the night. The smell of the corpse could attract other predators, and there isn't much shelter with the roof and door gone." She shooed a fly away from her face. "Kind of pretty site, but it's tainted, lover."

  Mildred nodded. "I agree."

  "And me," added Jak Lauren, who'd been quietly honing the blade of one of his taped throwing knives on a convenient stone held in his lap.

  "I'm up for moving on, Dad," Dean piped up.

  J.B. had been checking over Mildred's blaster, carefully cleaning it and reloading the two spent rounds. "Move on," he said gently.

  Ryan grinned. "I'll make it unanimous, friends. Let's go along the blacktop."

  THERE WAS ANOTHER road sign, broken in two, three miles down the highway. It looked like it had once given the distance to Sequoia National Park. Someone had painted something across it, but the weather had faded it so far that it had become illegible.