by John Corwin
Sarah had proven that where there was a will, there was a way. She hadn't survived to see this day, but Max knew it was only right that he carry on. She'd searched for the truth about this dome world and the responsibility had passed on to him.
"Use your damned brain," Max murmured. "How do I get out of this tree and how do I kill Creed?"
The answer to the first question dawned on him as the afternoon turned to dusk. Unless Creed had some means to see in the dark, Max could climb down the tree. It would be treacherous and he might fall and break a leg or die, but it would be better than allowing Creed to slaughter him like a cow.
Max peeked between the leaves and found the ground far below. The trunk of this oak looked far too thick to cling to with his legs and arms. Like many of the trees here, thick vines and creepers hung from the limbs of his refuge. Some of them reached even as far as the ground. The monkeys seemed to have no problems using them, but would they bear Max's weight?
He'd discover the answer quickly enough. Keeping as still as possible, Max looked at the vines but none of the closest ones reached all the way to the ground. He needed to see the other side of the tree before it became too dark. Looking up, he spotted the broken limb hanging from the tree he'd leapt from. Max couldn't see the rocky clearing from here because of the leaves, but it seemed likely Creed lay in wait on the opposite side. The scope on his gun probably offered a clear view of the trees, so if Max raised his head too high, he might lose it. Somehow he had to rotate himself enough to see the vines on the other side of the oak.
It was amazing how something so simple could seem so impossible.
Shrieking monkeys distracted him for a moment. It seemed the group he'd seen earlier was somewhere close. Max sighed and focused back on survival. How could he reorient himself?
Spinning on his stomach would expose his legs or head. Same result if he sat up and turned around. He wondered if curling into a ball and turning would be effective. It would be difficult but keep him mostly shielded by the limb. Leaves rustled and the shrieking of monkeys grew louder. Beyond that cacophony, an awful howling and barking noise filled the air, sending chills up Max's spine.
A flurry of hairy arms, legs, and tails exploded from the trees. Gray monkeys flashed past, some of them leaping onto his back before continuing to the next tree. Their panicked shrieks hurt his ears. The howling grew louder and Max saw why the smaller monkeys were frightened. Large beige monkeys with furry fringes around their fierce faces burst from the nearby trees in pursuit.
One of them leapt on Max. Fangs flashing, it howled and beat its chest. Max had no choice but to move. He rolled over and the large monkey leapt away. Another even larger one appeared on a branch above. It looked down at him with small golden eyes. Its muzzle peeled back to show long white fangs. It barked and dove.
Max kicked out to stop the beast. A blaster bolt slammed into the monkey and the burning beast vanished with a terrible howl. More bolts exploded through the leaves, many of them missing Max's position by a wide margin. Creed must have mistaken the monkeys for Max.
But surely Creed's extensive experience would keep him from mistaking a flight of monkeys from a human in a tree. Creed didn't seem to be hitting any other monkeys with his constant shots. If anything, it was panicking the beasts even more. With so much movement, how could Creed even know where Max was? After Max had fallen, the ranger must have lost sight of his prey.
The genius of the ranger's plan became clear. He wasn't shooting at the monkeys—he was firing to keep Max in place. The huge commotion was the perfect cover for Max to slip away. Grasping the limb, he rotated back toward the trunk then slid forward on his belly until he had a view of the other side. A vine dangled about six feet away.
More of the larger monkeys raced through the trees, intent on chasing their smaller counterparts, but soon, they'd be gone and Max would have no cover from the ranger's shots. He stood and jumped to the next branch then leapt for the vine. The palms of his gloves tore. Wood bit into his palms. His momentum sent the vine swinging. Max wrapped his legs around it and slid down.
He reached the end seconds later and grabbed a lower vine. Quickly, he swung his legs around it and slid to the end until he dangled ten feet from the ground. There were no more vines and only the thick tree trunk between him and the carpet of ferns below. Seeing no other choice, Max dropped. His feet slammed to earth, knees folded, and Max tumbled through the brush.
Ankles complaining, Max staggered upright and ran.
Ferns slapped his thighs and roots did their best to trip him. Moments later, exhausted and gasping for breath, he dropped to his knees to rest. The sound of the monkeys had long since faded. Only the persistent chirp of insects and the calls of birds echoed nearby.
Had he lost Creed?
Probably not for long. Max caught his breath and staggered forward. The ground grew muddier as he forged on. The trees changed from hardwoods, to cypress, and biting insects filled the air. The suit provided some protection, but Max continually swatted at his neck to keep the pests away.
He arrived in a small clearing with a pond. Though his parched throat begged for relief, the water smelled stagnant. Green moss and algae floated on the top and buzzing insects flitted above the surface. A bright yellow frog with black spots sat at the water's edge. Max had seen green ones, but none with such vibrant colors. Something about its glistening skin made Max wary of touching it. He remembered a scientist at the zoo giving a speech about frogs and how some of them were poisonous.
In this wild place, anything was possible.
Once again, Max relied on the little knowledge he'd retained from visiting the science campus zoo. The micro-habitat with the frogs had looked similar to this place. The placard named the area a swamp or bog. The names were as unpleasant as the places they described.
Max took a moment to examine his feeding suit. The tears from earlier had widened and the palms of the gloves were completely shredded, worn away from sliding down the vines. Whatever protection the outfit had provided was nearly gone. Soon, he might be reduced to running naked.
Dusk faded, making it difficult to see. Max didn't know where he was in relation to the air lock. In fact, he was hopelessly lost. Without weapons or light, he'd be vulnerable to the wildlife. He looked around and found a cypress with low-hanging vines and decided it would be safer to once again nestle in a tree for the night.
Climbing a vine proved much harder than sliding down, and the rough wood biting into his hands didn't help. He made it to a branch and climbed up further until he reached a broad arc in the tree where it forked into three more trunks. Lying between them, they would keep him from rolling off and falling in his sleep.
Bones aching, muscles weary, Max settled in and closed his eyes. His throat felt raw and his tongue dry as dust, but he was too tired to care. Within minutes, he fell into a deep sleep.
Heavy rain woke Max just as the first rays of dawn crept into the dome. He fluttered his eyelids and wiped at his damp hair.
"Still alive," he muttered.
Talking hurt his dry throat so he tilted back his head and let the cool water drip into his mouth. When the rains stopped, he felt marginally better, but his body took its turn to complain when he tried to stand. His muscles, sore and stiff, resisted movement and every joint ached. Curling back into a ball, Max just wanted to stay here and sleep.
His stomach growled and Max felt the urge to use the bathroom. He unzipped the suit and pulled it down, then relieved himself by hanging his backside out of the tree. The jungle had reduced him to an animal. Unfortunately, he didn't have their survival instincts.
Where the hell is this place?
Was it a dome on Mars, or Earth? Did Creed have any idea about the hidden airlock door? Was there anyone else in this forsaken place who would help him instead of kill him? Considering what he knew about City 7 and the murderous Creed, it seemed not.
Max stood and stretched, working his muscles to warm them up, then descend
ed the tree. He surveyed the area for dangers, but saw no immediate threats. Creed, no doubt, was tracking him at this very moment, but the thought of running seemed hopeless. Max had to eat and drink. The only place he knew that could offer such amenities was the watering hole.
Creed or not, Max had to find his way back. He had to go on the offensive. The other problem was figuring out where he was. He sighed and looked back up the tree. Even if he climbed to the top, it wasn't tall enough to offer a clear view. There was only one other place higher than the trees—the dome wall.
As long as he kept going in a straight line, he would run into it, but would he be able to climb it? The other option was walking back the way he'd come, but that would raise his chances of running into Creed.
"Think, Max, think!" He could find the wall but which way from there?
A ray of light peeked through the trees and gave him the answer.
The sun rose in the east, just the same as it did in City 7. Max held up a hand toward the light to gauge his position and get his bearings. The airlock lay somewhere behind him to the west. Judging from his position relative to the sunlight, he'd wandered further east during his flight from Creed. For all Max knew, he was all the way across the habitat from the airlock.
Though Max wasn't familiar with the wilderness, he'd overlooked one fact that might help him. In his travels around City 7, Max had discovered a perfect order and logic to its design. Every street was laid out in a neat grid with the exception of the perimeter road which enclosed everything in a circle. Max wondered if the founders had built this habitat with the same logic as City 7.
He imagined the habitat divided into quadrants and pictured his location somewhere in the southeast section. The watering hole lay to the northwest, probably at the very center of the habitat. This section consisted of mud, stagnant water, and cypress trees—quite the change from the southwest section he'd arrived in. It stood to reason that each quadrant in the jungle habitat was fine-tuned to support various wildlife.
Max didn't understand how the caretakers prevented plants and animals from crossing the lines, or if they even cared. He watched the mud behind him slowly ooze back into place, covering his footprints. Of all the places he'd been in this habitat, this swamp was the least inviting, but it might also be the best place to lose Creed.
The ranger was a great tracker and a good shot with a blaster, but he wasn't infallible—not even here. There was no way Max could completely outwit Creed, but all he needed was one mistake. This swamp might offer just such an opportunity. He studied the water, the trees, the floating islands of moss, and an idea began to form.
Before following through, Max needed to cover some necessities. The rain had provided small relief, but he needed more water. Returning to the watering hole was something Creed might anticipate. Max narrowed his eyes and ran through scenarios in his head. What else might the ranger expect from someone inexperienced with this terrain? After all, Creed thought Max was a maintenance worker with no jungle experience. He wasn't far from the mark, but he wasn't spot on, either.
Max thought of several ways to twist his handicaps into advantages. What he imagined was dangerous, but it gave him a chance to survive. He rinsed mud from his hands and gave one last look at the stagnant lake. It was time to do this or die trying.
First up, the watering hole. Max circled southwest to avoid Creed who was probably searching for tracks in the swamp. By mid-morning the wall loomed in sight. Gray concrete towered overhead, standing at least twenty feet higher than the tallest trees. No plants grew in the hard-packed soil at the base of the wall, leaving a perfectly flat path about thirty paces wide, just like the area outside the airlock.
While this made walking easier, it also made it impossible to climb the wall since no trees grew close enough to offer assistance. As Max continued, the swampland thinned, replaced by ferns and towering hardwoods. A small bush held just enough blueberries to make Max long for more, and barely soothed his dry throat.
All the other nearby bushes had already been picked clean. Max kicked the ground in disgust and continued down the path along the featureless gray wall. A few minutes later, the monotony of concrete was broken by a simple black line extending all the way to the top.
Max had seen such lines on the dome walls of City 7, but never given them much thought. In retrospect, it was obvious the marks lined up perfectly with the two primary roads dividing City 7 into quadrants. A wilderness had no roads, but it still bore the cardinal direction markers, meaning Max stood at the southernmost point of the habitat. If his assumption about the watering hole was correct, it lay due north.
Max ran a hand along the line and felt a salt sting in his eye. Knowing precisely where he was filled him with relief. He was starving, thirsty, and hunted, but at least he wasn't completely lost anymore. He'd survived the red wasteland. He would find a way to survive the jungle.
Chapter 26
The sun travelled halfway across the sky by the time Max reached the water. Two crocodiles sunned lazily on the black boulders in the middle, jagged jaws gaping wide. Colorful birds speckled the other boulders and a few of the braver ones darted in and out of the crocodiles' maws, pecking at tidbits caught in their teeth.
Max had done a lot of thinking during the slow, careful march, molding his earlier plan for the dangers ahead and plotting contingencies. He spent a half hour prowling the perimeter of the pond, senses alert for any sign of the ranger. When he felt certain Creed wasn't nearby, Max darted to the water and took long gulps before dashing back to cover.
He watched the birds picking at the crocodiles' teeth, wincing when one of the big lizards suddenly shut its mouth. The birds fluttered away, but returned a moment later when the croc stretched its maw open once again.
It seemed Max and these birds had something in common. If he wanted to survive, he'd have to risk the jaws of the croc.
Max lay in wait until a herd of the straight-horned deer crowded around the pond. Sneaking around the foliage, he came up behind the little beasts and grabbed a young one. A savage twist of its head stopped its bleats, but the alarmed herd dashed in all directions, some of them plunging into the water.
The crocs dove in after an easy meal and birds exploded into the air, a flurry of color and song. Max dashed to the cliff and climbed to the top where he'd left his sharpened rock. He tossed it over the edge and quickly descended the rocky face, then slung his kill across his shoulders and retreated into the jungle to butcher it.
He'd dared the jaws of death and survived.
A blaster bolt whined. The impact slammed into Max's back and knocked him tumbling into a bowl-shaped depression between two trees. He groaned, surprised to be alive. The smoking hole in the deer told the story. The animal had taken the brunt of the blast. Even so, the back of Max's neck burned where the hide hadn't completely blocked the heat.
Max spun on his belly and crawled to the lip of the hollow. He spotted Creed at once, a figure dashing straight for him. The ranger meant to end this hunt now. Max felt a savage grin cross his face. He'd hoped to have a small meal before carrying out his plan, but Creed had found him sooner than expected. It looked like he would have to venture forward on an empty stomach.
Max climbed out of the depression, keeping the tree between him and Creed, then dashed forward in a straight line, looking back every few seconds to adjust his position so the ranger wouldn't have a clear shot. He slowed his pace to catch his breath and let his protesting muscles recover.
Using the sun for guidance, Max headed southeast and whatever destiny waited him there. One way or the other, this hunt would end today.
It was midafternoon when he reached the swamp and took a while to locate the stagnant lake. When Max found the wetland filled with cypress trees, he hoped this was the best place to make his play for survival. The black water was only calf-deep, but his feet sunk another few inches in the soft muck below the surface. Lily pads and islands of moss floated on the murky surface.
Something brushed past Max's calf. A black snake broke the surface of the water and slithered away from the intruder. A shiver ran down Max's spine at what he had to do next, but he had no choice. Live or die, he would do it on his own terms. Creed would not win this day easily.
Steeling himself, Max went behind the tall roots of a thick cypress and lowered himself into the water.
Blaster rifle pressed to his shoulder, the ranger eased through the bushes, his eyes sweeping the area in unison with the muzzle of his weapon. He dropped to a knee and examined two sets of footprints. One led to the water. The other went into the jungle on the right—an obvious decoy. Even someone inexperienced knew that water covers footprints. Crossing the water was the smart choice for someone seeking escape.
But Creed's experience tracking animals, including those living in the swamp gave him knowledge his inexperienced prey had no way of knowing. Running water might have washed away all marks of the intruder's passage, but this stagnant water left more traces than one might imagine. Creed's gaze followed a trail of debris through the floating chunks of peat moss out to the thick roots of a cypress tree.
There, a gathering of lily pads showed a slight bulge anyone without sharp eyesight would have missed. Creed pretended not to have noticed, instead turning to the right, eyes lingering on the trail heading back into the jungle. He'd already tricked this prey once by pretending to follow a false trail, and likely wouldn't fool them again.
This time, however, the intruder thought he was safely hidden from sight beneath the water. Creed mused about the ways he could end this. He could wound the man and finish him at his leisure, or simply shoot him in the head and end it quickly. Rarely did the scientists allow Creed to actually kill anything in the habitat. Most of the time he was tasked to hunt down an animal and tranquilize it, though in this particular instance, he'd been sent to cull the number of wild boars.