Tokus Numas

by D. W. Rigsby

  “Did a boar do all this?” Petro said in hushed tones. He wondered if it was just one boar they were tracking or if there were many. The ground had been dug up extensively where he could see.

  “Yes, I think so, but I can’t see just one boar doing this much damage. They call it rooting. Boars have only one stomach, like us. Grass and other types of plants are too tough for them to digest. The roots are easier on their stomachs,” Kad said. “Look here.” He put his hand in a large hole in the ground with two identical holes on the side of it, opposite each other. “A boar planted its snout right in the ground. See? This is where the tusks were, and the snout was here in the center.” Kad ran his finger down into the two large indentations and then over the large hole where the snout had been.

  Petro had felt his stomach knot up. “This thing is huge. Its head must be as big as a bear’s. Look how deep this goes,” he said, keeping his voice low.

  Petro’s knees went weak, and he surveyed the area to see if the massive beast was there. It wasn’t, though it all felt terribly wrong to Petro: the depression in the ground, the large clumps of dirt flung up, the large roots sticking out. It could not be a normal-sized boar—the beast was here, it was lurking in the forest, and it was the one they were trying to find. If it were such a massive thing, maybe they shouldn’t find it; maybe they should turn around now and find a different boar to track. They had two more days to try. They could let this one go; why not? There were plenty here in these woods.

  Kad raised up his forearm, keeping his elbow locked outward, making a ninety-degree angle. He signaled to Petro to circle to his left, whipping his finger around in a tight circular motion going counterclockwise. He watched Kad take out an arrow and notch it.

  What was it? Petro looked out into the forest, but he couldn’t see anything in the gray half-light. All he could see was a line of saplings in the distance across the open area, where the twigs were full of green leaves that blocked his view. Kad went to his right. There was a snap of a branch, and Petro instantly halted in place but realized the sound hadn’t come from him; it came from across the opening. Petro peered into the thick forest but still could not see anything.

  Suddenly and without warning, there was a rustling sound and then a snort. Petro brought the shotgun up, holding it just above his waist; his hands trembled. He glanced over at Kad, who walked stealthily toward the sound with his bow in hand, notched but not drawn.

  The snorting continued, sounding more like a warning than an animal searching for its meal. Something was wrong. They were exposed, out in the open; and whatever it was in those dark woods saw them, but they could not see it.

  Kad still moved toward the direction of the sound; then he stopped. Petro watched as Kad cocked his head to one side, listening intently. His hands felt slick on the shotgun, but he dared not try to wipe them dry. The bushes began to shake about, like something large was moving through them; then a young tree swayed back and forth, shook all over, and was ripped out of the ground and tossed toward them. It smashed into the dirt. Petro and Kad exchanged shocked looks, and then their eyes turned toward what hid behind the line of bushes, back in the shadows.

  There was more thrashing behind the bushes, and the snorts got louder. The boar’s large dark head appeared, followed by its massive body that pushed through the bushes and saplings, bending them out of its way.

  Petro’s eyes widened. The tusks were the length of short swords, and the razorback looked like it might come all the way up to Petro’s chin. His jaw dropped. It must have weighed fifty-seven stones. It was truly…he couldn’t finish his thought. Petro tried to describe what he saw but only came up with the word “massive,” but that didn’t quite describe this creature. He tried to think of another word and thought it was massive. Its legs were like tree stumps, its back high like that of a horse, its head as broad as two men standing side by side. Petro backed away slowly. He glanced over to Kad, who was as still as water on a calm day. His bow was out in front of him, and his hand was ready to pull back on the string.

  The beast obviously didn’t feel threatened by their presence, and it wasn’t trying to scare them off as Petro had thought. It continued to tear into the ground, stabbing at it, lifting huge chunks of dirt, flinging them to the side, and then tearing the root fibers up, instantly shredding them. It gorged itself on its newfound feast and then slowly turned broadside, chewing the roots, swallowing, and shoveling the debris out of its way.

  Kad drew his bowstring all the way back to the corner of his mouth and held it in place. Petro brought the shotgun up to his shoulder. His hands shook, and it carried up into his arms, and into his body. Even his jaw twitched and turned pale at the sight. He licked his lips and glanced over at Kad. We should have stayed together, Petro thought. He began to move closer toward Kad, keeping his eyes focused on the beast. All his attention was on the boar, the abrasive sounds it made while it continued to rip up the ground, grinding the roots down like a machine chewing up cut-down trees, turning them into pulp for paper. A twig snapped under his foot, and Petro halted his movement. Surely the monster didn’t hear him, but then the boar’s eyes came up to meet Petro’s eyes. Those black circles stared across the opening, boring into his flesh, filling Petro with dreadful thoughts.

  Petro glanced over at Kad and then returned his gaze toward the boar, which had now taken notice of Kad. It turned its head toward his friend. At that moment Kad let the arrow loose, and into the air it soared like a bird of prey after its quarry. The razor tip hit—but not where Kad had anticipated. The arrow ricocheted off the beast’s shovel-shaped head, leaving a pink gash in its flesh.

  The boar let out a long, loud snort, followed by a longer much louder bellowing of hollowed terror. All feeling went out of Petro when he saw the arrow had only angered it. Petro forgot to adjust his stance, still standing flat footed, and feet side by side, shoulder width apart. His heart pounded against his chest as he aimed at the beast’s heart; all movement seemed to slow, the head of the beast rocking back and forth, the barrel of the gun coming into view, the profile of the boar lining up with his aim just below the shoulder, and then he fired his shotgun. The white puff of smoke from the end of the barrel was slowed in time, Petro’s eyes catching every movement; then it all sped up in an instant. Petro was knocked backward. He hit the ground with a thud. His gun fell from his hands, and a trail of smoke lingered from its bore. The smell of burned gunpowder filled his nostrils. A long, loud shrill filled the forest, sending ripples of fear through his body. Petro fought to sit up, and he saw a hole in the creature’s gut where the slug had torn its flesh. He missed his mark. The boar screamed, a haunting, agonizing scream, which sent chills through Petro.

  Petro turned his head to see Kad. Every movement was caught by Petro’s eyes as Kad grasped another arrow from his quiver and notched it in place. In the meanwhile, the boar turned in a full circle, crying out into the wild, and then it stopped. It lowered its gaze onto Kad and shot out in a full charge. Kad released a second arrow. Frame by frame, it soared through the air and then stuck into the feral pig’s back, flopping about like a spear thrown into a bull by a matador.

  Petro scrambled to his feet, lunging a meter to grab his shotgun. The boar had made a sharp turn, headed toward Petro. Its curved tusks were down low to the ground, scraping the dirt and cutting a path directly to him. There was no time to react, no time to aim his shotgun, as the mass of muscle barreled into him. The force knocked the wind out of Petro; the shotgun reeled from his hand and hit the ground, sliding and clearing a path through leaves and debris, sweeping the ground clean.

  Petro lay on his back, struggling to get up, trying to move. Then he felt the sharp jab of a tusk slicing his calf open. The boar’s hot breath poured out its snout, its head came up with dead eyes staring, and blood dripped down its tusk. Petro groped for the ironshot near his waistband. He fumbled to find the cold blue steel; his finger felt its touch, wrapped around its hilt. He pulled the ironshot free from this sh
eath and then brought it up, not flinching once, aimed the barrel at the beast, and fired. Nothing. Misfired. He pulled the trigger again, and nothing.

  The massive beast’s weight crushed Petro’s leg. He winced from the sudden pressure, feeling his bone crack and hearing a popping sound. He cried out, tried to move, but was caught under the mass of fur and muscle.

  Out of the corner of Petro’s eye, he saw a shadow and glanced over to see Kad standing there with his .44 ironshot aimed at the head of the boar. A loud bang was followed by several more loud bangs. Petro’s ears rang out for mercy; he brought his hands up and covered them. He felt the weight shift; the boar wobbled to the right, its massive head swung across Petro’s chest—its tusks just missing his flesh—and then it fell. The boar’s breathing slowed, its chest barely moved at all, and then it went completely still, expelling its last breath.

  Kad dropped down next to Petro. “You all right?”

  Petro was still looking at the large monster next to him; it made him feel small. “I think it’s my leg. I heard it pop.” He leaned forward to get a better look. There was blood streaming out and onto the ground, pooling under his leg. “That doesn’t look good.”

  “Let me take a closer look.” Kad pulled back the shredded pant leg to reveal Petro’s sliced calf. It looked gruesome and was bleeding profusely. Kad went to work, taking out his knife and grabbing hold of his own tunic. “I need to make a tourniquet,” he said.

  Petro nodded. Was this really happening? Was he really here? The trees, the moist ground, the wind that passed by, the beast on the ground next to him, and Kad all seemed surreal.

  The knife cut away at the fabric. Kad worked quickly and tore off the rest. He searched the ground, found a small, thick branch, swept it up with his hand, and brought it next to Petro. He carefully took the upper part of the wounded leg and wrapped the fabric around it above the knee and tied it off. “Sorry.” He put the branch into the knot and began to twist it. The tourniquet tightened around Petro’s leg, cutting the circulation off. Petro couldn’t feel anything; his adrenaline was still pumping through his body, but that would soon wear off. Kad finished and grabbed Petro by the shoulder. “I need to go and get help. I don’t want to move you, but I don’t want you to put pressure on that leg.”

  Petro shook his head and tried to get to his feet, but it was no use. He could not put any weight on his injured leg.

  “Petro, listen to me. You are hurt, bad. I need to go.” There was a trickle of fear on the edge of Kad’s voice.

  Petro knew it was bad. The calf was sliced like a piece of meat, he couldn’t even move his leg, and the extent of his injury was not fully known. He looked to Kad and nodded.

  Kad let out his breath. “Good. I need you to hear me. I’m coming back for you; don’t leave this spot.” He tamped the ground with his hand. “I will get help, and I will come back. We’ll get you out of here. OK?” Petro could see deep concern in those eyes.

  “OK,” Petro said.

  Kad hopped up and ran like a deerling, leaping over the tops of bushes and jumping over logs. Then he was nowhere to be seen.

  I went out into the wilderness to seek you, and I did not find you; I went into the city, and still I did not find you, I ventured into the White Sea, and still I did not find you. And then one day I looked into a pool of reflection, and there you were.

  —From The Collections and Sayings of the Desert People, by unknown author

  It was still cool out; the sun had not yet shown itself in full, but the heat would soon come. Petro rested his eyes, feeling the throbbing in his leg. He was here with his back on the ground, his leg split open, and a giant dead boar next to him. It felt strange being next to the lifeless creature—the same creature that had tried to take his life. That could be him, and the boar could be the one resting its eyes near Petro’s cold body.

  He struggled to sit and tried to scan the forest, but his eyes were blurred from the ordeal. Petro held himself up with one arm and wiped his eyes with his free hand. There was a stabbing pain working its way through his leg; it came and went, off and on. He could see blood trickling out of the wound, and the pool of blood under him. It bothered him, how much blood was on the ground. How much did he lose?

  Petro gazed upon the beast. It was so close. He felt compelled to reach out with his hand to touch it, stretching his fingertips toward its tall ridge of hair. Hesitant, he stopped, his fingers only a centimeter away. What if it is only sleeping? he thought. And if he touched it, the beast might awaken. He shoved the illogical thought from his mind and touched its fur. It felt rough, yet soft at the same time, and there was an oily feel to it as well.

  The leaves hissed as a breeze passed through and then slowly halted. He looked at his leg again. The blood bothered him, and he wanted the bleeding to stop completely. Petro grabbed the branch and twisted it. It turned some but not enough to get a full revolution. He thought that if he backed off, he might be able to get a full turn. Taking the branch, he twisted it counterclockwise, and blood squirted out of his leg. Petro panicked; instead of tightening it, he had loosened it too much. He felt warmth flow down his leg, and blood gushed out and pooled once more. He quickly turned the branch clockwise, working to shut off the flow, and it slowed again but was still a trickle. Pain soon followed; it was sudden and sent Petro onto his back. He writhed in pain, squirming around and grimacing. His breathing sped up, and he took in short, shallow breaths, trying to make the pain go away, and it did—some. His lips were dry, and he licked them, but it didn’t help any. His stomach had turned sour somewhere in between trying to loosen and then tighten the tourniquet. He looked straight up at the forest canopy above and it went dark.

  What had happened? He sat up and wondered how long he had been out. It frightened him that he passed out. Petro gathered up dirt and cupped it in his hands. He leaned all the way forward, and the searing pain threatened to force him onto his back once more. Taking the dirt, he dropped it into the open wound. Using his fingers, he packed it into the crevice of his open calf. It burned. Then he noticed he was not alone. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw not one, not two, but three wolves. They stared at him and at the boar.

  Petro searched whit his eyes but did not move his body. He explored the ground for his shotgun. There is was, not too far, but far enough. The three wolves were circling him, sniffing the air, eyeing him and the dead boar. He knew he was a threat to them, as long as they believed it and didn’t know he was disabled, but these were cautious creatures and would test the situation before making a decision to attack; so he had some time, but not much. What could he do? If he tried to move now, would they attack? Maybe, most likely not; but if he cried out in pain, they most likely would. He’d need to make sure he did not sound like a wounded animal. He would yell and try to scare them off to give him time to get to his shotgun; and if the pain was too much and he cried out further, they might be confused by the sounds he made. Did it make sense? He wasn’t so sure. Petro only knew that there three wolves who had come upon a perfect meal, and he was the only thing standing in their way.

  The alpha came close, sniffed the air, and gave off a low growl. The other two circled in opposite directions. Were they about to attack? Petro wondered. Maybe he should move, if for nothing else but to see what they would do. He reached up and scratched his nose, watching the alpha. The wolf halted, sniffed the air again, and then backed up. It was trying to decide what to do. Yes, it wasn’t sure if Petro was a real threat or not, but it was in no hurry to take a chance. As the alpha backed away, so did the other wolves. A crow cawed from high above as it passed overhead.

  It didn’t take long for the alpha to reconsider its position, for it now came even closer to Petro. He didn’t know what to do, his heart raced, and sweat rolled down the sides of his face. The shotgun was there, just below his feet, but it would hurt to get to it, and would he even be able to make it? What if he tried and failed—but there was no more time to think of what to do. The wolf had come
in and snapped at Petro’s arm.

  Petro pulled back his arm, and with his other hand he slapped the wolf on the nose and then screamed at it. The alpha growled and withdrew, its hair standing up. The other wolves were poised to pounce at any moment. Petro had to act, and act now. He hollered out loud and flung his body forward with as much force as he could. The pain was unbearable, and his scream went from one of warning to one of wounded. The wolves moved in quickly, and at the same moment, Petro grabbed the shotgun, hoping the sound alone would run them off, and fired it. The wolves darted into the bushes, and Petro let out a sigh of relief. They were gone for now, but they would come back, that was certain. He felt dizzy and collapsed back down on the ground.

  Moments passed, and he wondered when Kad would arrive. Would he get back before the wolves came around? The pain in his leg got worse, and there was an itching feeling that now accompanied the pain. Petro starched his leg, but it did no good; the itching was inside the leg, not outside. The wind passed through the leaves, and the air felt warm and moist. Sweat beaded up on his forehead, pooled, and then ran down the sides, wetting the neckline of his tunic. He licked his lips, dry from the lack of water—he groped for his canteen but did not find it. It must have fallen off somewhere, and he didn’t have the strength to search for it. The sun was higher now above him, and the rays beamed down through leaves, touching his face.