*
As fall deepened and the days grew shorter, they set up camp at the base of Mount Mansfield in an abandoned log cabin at the end of an old service road. John had a hard time finding deer that fall and as the nights grew longer, he was worried about how much food they’d have for the long dark months that followed. Grawrn was an eating machine, going through a hundred pounds of meat and bone in a few days. It was an alarming pace, and John was beginning to suspect something was wrong.
“You OK?” John asked.
Grawrn looked up from a deer shank, blood around its snout. “OK,” then resumed eating, cracking and crunching into the bone and sucking out the marrow.
“I’m going hunting again tomorrow, but we need to spend some time getting ready for winter. We need a lot of wood and I could use your help.”
“Me help.”
“OK.”
The next day, John came back from checking his traps with a few rabbits and some purslane for greens, and found Grawrn sitting on a pile of wood, polishing its sword staff. The blades gleamed blue in the afternoon sun. The nearest stand of trees had a large hole cut into them, branches and leaves and pine needles scattered on the ground where the trees used to stand.
“Enough tree?” Grawrn asked, noticing John coming towards it.
“It’s a good start. Thanks, bud.” John slapped Grawrn on the shoulder as he walked past, hanging the rabbits on a hook outside the door.
“Small meat. Need big.”
“That’s all we got today,” John said. He turned and saw Grawrn reach up and pluck the rabbits off the hook and begin tearing into them.
“Hey! That was supposed to be our dinner.”
Grawrn grunted and ate all three in barely a minute, wiping its muzzle on the back of a brownish arm, hoarking up some fur. “Need more.”
“What the hell, man? Maybe you should go hunting for yourself.”
Grawrn stood up, slung the sword staff over its shoulder and stalked into the woods.
John made a meal out of some leftovers, managing something resembling chili with venison heart and some scraps of tenderloin he had in the cooler. After the red sun went down, he began to worry. He slept alone on a ratty old mattress without a fire, unwilling to draw any attention to their little cabin in the woods.
The next day, he got up and went hunting. Carrying his .308 at dawn, he crept into the woods, sniffing the cool air, scent of pine needles and decaying leaves in his nose. The sound of a bubbling brook was interrupted by a splash and John sneaked forward, body low, close to the ground. He peered through a bush.
Grawrn stood in the stream, waist deep, a big trout flapping in its jaws. It crunched down and ate half of the fish, then lunged forward, displacing a huge wave and coming up with another fish in its jaws. John watched the brute for a moment before crawling out of the bushes into view. “Hey!” he called.
Grawrn turned and roared, head scanning along the bank of the stream before locking eyes with John. The big alien lumbered forward, water streaming off of its thick hide, leaving an oily slick on its thin coat of fur. John thought the alien looked something like an oversized otter just then, but couldn’t read the alien’s intentions as it came towards him.
“I said, ‘hey’!” John repeated, and he saw a glimmer of recognition in Grawrn’s eyes. “Did you forget who I was?” John realized he was still clutching his gun in his hands and lowered the barrel, pointing it down at the ground.
Grawrn dropped down onto its claws and bumped its head into John’s chest, almost bowling him over.
“What the hell?” John laughed and gave his friend a scratch behind its small, round ears. “I guess I’m not hunting this morning. You’ve scared off everything for miles around.”
“Fish.” Grawrn pointed with a claw at the bank of the stream at a small pile of trout, the topmost still flopping in the air.
“Well done, bud.” He gave the big alien another scratch and he could’ve sworn he heard it purr.
*
Winter came early.
The first snows fell in late October. The increased altitude in the hills meant colder weather. The clouds from the north rolled down and they were snowed-in by mid-November. Huge squalls rushed over the mountain and swirled, dropping blizzard after blizzard upon their small cabin.
Grawrn was sleeping more and more and eating less. Which was good, because John was worried about their supply. By December, Grawrn had fallen into a deep sleep and wouldn’t wake up, leaving John alone to fend for himself. On snow days, he’d stay inside for the most part, keeping the fire going and cooking soups and stews with the leftover meat they kept frozen in the box outside. Clear days, when the orange sun crept low into the clear blue sky and the air from his breath froze in the wind, he’d stalk into the forest to check his traps.
At night, the coyotes howled in the hills around them.
John had some books he’d found on their way here. He particularly liked The Hobbit and read it cover to cover twice that winter, once aloud to Grawrn while it slept. Another book, Catcher in the Rye, he didn’t enjoy, though. He made a point of seeking out more books after the winter was over. He drew a lot. A collection of pencils and papers kept him busy, first drawing pictures of their old homestead from memory, trying to get the details of the barn and house right. Then the trees, then landscapes around the cabin.
At night sometimes, when it was cold and still, John would sneak outside the cabin and look up at the twinkling stars and flashing debris orbiting in the sky. Green and purple aurorae rolled in sheets across the night sky as the sun shed more of its skin.
Inside, he’d read to the sleeping alien. John didn’t know if it could hear him when it was like this, but it gave him something to do. The adventures of the scheming dwarves in the mountains took on a deeper meaning to John, hunkered down in the lee of Mount Mansfield.
By February, John realized he hadn’t spoken to anyone in five months and wondered if he’d gone crazy. He stared at Grawrn’s sleeping form on the floor, back barely rising and falling with its deep breathing and felt a surge of resentment. “Wake up!” he yelled over and over, eventually breaking down in tears.
By late March, John had stopped bothering with the fires. He chewed birch bark and dried service berries he found in the forest, left by the birds. He returned to the cabin one late afternoon after foraging and found the door open. More accurately, the door had been ripped off the frame and was lying on the slushy ground. John approached cautiously, gun in his hands, when a roar from the side surprised him and Grawrn barreled out of the woods straight at him, bounding on all fours.
“Grawrn!” was all he had time to say before the beast was upon him, pinning him to the soft ground. A snarl of teeth and claws and John thought he was going to die. “It’s me! John!” he yelled, while trying to protect his face.
He heard a grunt and felt a hot breath on his face that smelled of piss and old musk and then the alien jumped away, crashing into the woods. John sat up and gathered his rifle. A gash on his arm from one of Grawrn’s teeth bled through his shirt. He got up, covered in muck and snow, and limped into the cabin cradling his arm.
5
Spring came late. Another big snowfall kept John and Grawrn stuck in their cabin for another month before they dared set out on the trail again. The birds were coming back and they were seeing more animals in the forest. Scrawny deer on the verge of starvation scavenged for any sign of edibles. The streams thawed and the fish made their way to the spawning pools.
Grawrn was ravenous. Its skin hung loosely from its frame as it stalked through the forest hunting for food. John watched as it stood in an icy stream, scooping fish out of the pools straight into its mouth. After watching this for two days, John left Grawrn to its business and went off hunting alone, eventually bagging a scrawny deer.
He was cleaning the animal, almost ready to start butchering it, when Grawrn loped out of the trees and sank to its knees, hoisting a hind leg to its face. John continued
working in silence until the sounds of feeding settled into a slow crunching as it cracked the bones.
“You feel better?”
Crunch. “Yes.”
“You almost took my arm off. I thought you were going to eat me.”
Silence. “I am sorry.”
John looked at the creature, the leg bone in its three-fingered claws.
“I. We hungry after long sleep. Have to…” Grawrn trailed off, looking for the word.
“Eat?”
“Fill. On Keeyown we not long sleep. Only space.” Grawrn resumed crunching on its bone, a loud crack as it split open.
“You hibernate during space travel?”
“Yes.” Grawrn slurped some marrow out of the bone and lapped it up.
“What do you do when you wake up?”
“Special feeding animals make trip. Used to. Before star came.”
The star. The evil that swarmed into the solar system and destroyed their sun. Destroyed the orbitals and their ships and forced everyone off the planet. The devils. “Did it talk to you? The star?”
“No. But did others.”
“What did it say to them? Why did it do it?”
Grawrn thought for a long time, sucking the marrow out of its bone. It was silent for so long John didn’t think it was going to answer him. “Star hungry.”
*
For months they traveled through the Green Mountains and down through New England. John avoided the eastern seaboard and the population centers of the northeastern United States. They crossed the I-80. The old interstate highway was littered with abandoned long-haul trucks and the occasional burnt-out passenger vehicle. The riots after the lotteries left a lot of damage to the streets as people struggled to get to the local uplift centers that would carry the new colonists into space. Those left behind dispersed. Half of the eastern seaboard was left with nowhere to go and a government in collapse. New York City and most of the coastline down to the Carolinas was a ragged scar. The interior didn’t fare much better.
They moved away from the ruins of New York but chanced a look into Allentown, Pennsylvania. The abandoned city was littered with debris and garbage as the inhabitants either fled or barricaded themselves inside. Those who stayed tended to be of a self-reliant type. Those who stayed in the remaining cities were there because they had no other choice. No other idea how to survive. The ones who were there now were running out of things to eat. The planet’s broken infrastructure separated people who used to be neighbors and turned them against one another. The transition government had failed and splintered, until all that remained were a few struggling city-states.
Still, there were a lot of useful tools and materials in the cities that didn’t get scorched and it wasn’t hard to find places that hadn’t been stripped if you were willing to take the chance to venture inside.
It had been a couple of years since John had gone scavenging with his father. He felt a pang thinking about him as they walked down the interstate into the outskirts of the city. Brown and gray stone buildings gave way to taller concrete and glass further in. The old manufacturing centers downtown had been replaced first by commercial areas, then tech centers, and ultimately a mix of downtown residential as the population bled out from Philadelphia and New York.
“So empty,” Grawrn observed, peering inside an old abandoned textile mill. The brown bricks were crumbling and the glass was blown out of every window. “Where people?”
“All gone. Other places, I guess.” John marveled at the old mill. He’d never seen anything resembling an industrial structure before. The worn and weathered old sign painted on the front wall read, “K. N. Moritz and Yeung.”
John’s feet hurt and he was desperate for some new socks and underwear. He’d take an all-new set of hiking clothes if he could find them. They had a lot of land to cover if they were going to get to Montana and Grawrn’s people. His plan for this year was just to reach the warmer weather of West Virginia before winter, and they weren’t even halfway before his socks had given out, then his boots.
The textile mill turned out to be a bust. He knew the old Walmarts and Costcos would be gutted by the scavengers, so they risked going deeper into the city. “The good stuff is in people’s homes,” he recited, explaining what his father had told him on their outings years before. “Houses are easy pickings, but most get turned over pretty quick. You’ll find the best stuff in old apartment buildings and places with security systems still in place. We’ll need tools to get inside, though.”
“I have tools.” Grawrn said, shrugging to make his sword staff swing around under his arm.
“Yeah, that should do.”
They scoured the outer apartment buildings, finding many had already been picked clean. Further in, they were able to put together a few things that would keep John warm and dry. “Best to layer. You can always take stuff off if you get too hot,” John said, holding up a wool sweater.
“Cans?” Grawrn asked, holding up a tin of tomatoes.
“Sure! Everything you can find. Check the dates, though.”
Grawrn grunted and began filling bags with old canned goods and dried food they found in the cupboards. It poked open a tin with one claw and took a sniff, turning up its lips around its teeth. “This junk.”
*
Loaded down with their packs, on the southwestern outskirts of Allentown, they encountered a man in a truck. They’d been hiking alongside the I-78, planning to head off towards Reading, when they saw the old electric Toyota weaving through the empty road towards them.
“Hide!” John yelled, trying to push Grawrn off the road towards a stand of maples as the truck rolled up.
“You got a bear trouble?” the man asked.
John stared at him and Grawrn stood up and waved a three clawed hand.
“Oh, I see. Yer one o’ them ‘coolies,’ ain’t you. Never met one of you before. Hello there.”
“Hi,” Grawrn said with a low rumble.
“Where you two headed? Quite a load you got there.”
John stepped up and peered into the truck. “Montana.”
“That’s pretty far.” The man scratched his chin. “I’m headed back into Allentown, but I can give you a lift to Reading if y’like. Some good folk down there, might be able to hook you up with a ride.”
John looked at his friend and shrugged. “What do you think?”
“I tired of walking.”
“All right,” John said, lifting his gun fractionally under his arm. “You ain’t tryin’ anything funny, are you?”
The man laughed. “I’m just offerin’ you a lift. You don’t want it, I can be on my way.”
“No, wait! I’m sorry.” John realized this was the first person he’d met outside of Doc Grant and his wife who weren’t his family. “I just… We accept your generous offer, kind sir.”
The man laughed again. “Climb aboard. Your friend here’s gonna have to ride in back.” He jerked a thumb at the box. “Make yerself comfortable, friend. Don’t mind the parts.”
Grawrn climbed in and crouched down in what appeared to be old electronics and engine parts.
“What’re you doin’ with those?” John asked as he got into the passenger seat after tossing his extra bags and rifle into the back with Grawrn. He kept his knife on his belt just in case.
“Oh, I build radios, computers and old engines. Anything I can put together out of old parts. You need something?” The man turned the truck around and they accelerated down the road, dodging potholes and debris. The trees flashed past. John looked out the back window to see Grawrn squinting into the wind, ears pressed back into its head.
“A radio?”
“Sure. Come in handy. There’s a whole network of ham operators out there. Most reliable way to keep in touch with folk now that everything’s fallin’ apart.”
“No kiddin’,” John said, all smiles. “Sure, mister. I’d love one.”
The man smiled again, his grey whiskers sticking out and his eyes scrunchi
ng up. “All right, we’ll see if you’ve got anything to trade for it. Policy, y’know? I’ll cut you a good deal, though.” He winked at John. “Take that bear off your hands.”
“What?”
The driver chuckled. “Just a thought. Y’know they ain’t real popular with most people.”
John looked at the man. “Why not?”
The man gripped the wheel tighter. “Back in the war, they killed a lot of good people. Herschef Colony on Ganymede got wiped out. No survivors. Bunch of the Fifteenth Fleet was destroyed. The Saratoga…” He cleared his throat. “Tens of thousands of people died up there. Men, women and kids.”
“It wasn’t their fault. That star thing destroyed their homeworld and turned the Kyoolies into slaves. They weren’t even aware what was happening.”
“That may be, but most folk don’t see it that way. They ain’t people.”
“Look, maybe you better let us out here.” He looked back at Grawrn, still enjoying the wind in its face.
“Suit yerself. Might want to stay out of sight. Never know what people’d do.”
“Yeah. Sure. Thanks.”
The man pulled over and came to a stop on the side of the road near an abandoned recharging station covered in weeds. Grawrn climbed down, look of confusion on its face, surprised they’d stopped so soon.
“I’ll still take that radio if you got one.” John said as he climbed out of the cab.
The man got out and rummaged around in back and pulled out a small silver radio with a chrome antenna. “This oughta work for you. You’ll need a solar panel to charge it, but it’s also got a crank on the back you can turn.”
John was amazed. “And I can talk to people on this?”
“Oh, sure.” The man scratched his belly. “Won’t get great range with that little amp, but it’ll get you a couple hundred miles or so on a good day. You want further, that’ll cost ya.” He grinned.
“Wow, thanks. What’ll you take for it? I got some canned tomatoes, peas and beans…”
Explorations: Colony (Explorations Volume Four) Page 17