by Coy, David
“Here goes.”
She twirled it up into the still air. It landed a meter from her feet. She traced the direction from the arrow-end into the green. It was as good as any.
She started to walk. Every step hurt—more so because, for all she knew, she could be heading in the dead wrong direction.
She walked for about a half hour before the pain in her chest caused her to stop and rest. She wasn’t sure, but she realized it was getting darker, and the sudden thought of being out in the jungle at night sent a shudder of dread through her guts like some forgotten horror, newly remembered. She needed shelter, any kind of shelter, if she were going to make it through the night.
She got her breath and continued on, keeping her eye out for anything that might shelter her; any hole or depression—or screened in room.
As dusk approached, the oppressive green cast to the air got thicker and more sinister.
She entered a grove of enormous trees, even taller than the one she’d fallen through. But unlike that one, which had been similar to a feathery conifer, these were oak-like monsters of gigantic girth, with roots twisted and gnarled, branching out into the ground from huge trunks. The massive arms sprawled out into huge umbrellas that blocked out the light from above. The areas under their canopy were relatively barren of plant growth. She reasoned that where there was less foliage, there would be fewer insects and other unpleasant fauna at night. There were at least a dozen trees in the grove, and the shelters formed by the branching roots, she figured, were about as good as she’d find.
She approached one tangle, and peered in. It looked buggy and too tight, and she thought she could see strange droppings on the floor inside it. She sniffed the air—then promptly went on to the next one.
This one had a much bigger space between the roots and looked a little cleaner. It passed the sniff test. She eyeballed the space up under the arch of roots then cautiously slipped inside. It was tight but not too bad. She spent a few minutes inside just to get used to it, trying from time to time to see up into the dark crevices and channels formed by the thick roots above her head. She scooted around on her butt and found a spot for her back that wasn’t too painful.
Satisfied that no immediate danger existed that she could see, she climbed back out through the narrow space.
She’d passed several clusters of flowering vines that had clumps of what might have been fruit hanging from them. There was an especially large cluster just at the perimeter of the grove, and she headed toward it.
The vine was covered with bright yellow flowers similar to orchids. She leaned in and breathed the scent of one. The scent was faint but sweet and rich, compelling her to breathe it in again. The fruit looked not too unlike bunches of grapes, but each individual grape was egg-shaped and longish and a reddish-orange color. The color put her off, but if she were going to make it back, she’d have to have nourishment and water. The fruit in front of her held the potential for both. She reached out to pick a bunch.
A mean little hiss came out at her. She snatched her hand back.
She tried to find the offending organism, peering around and squinting into the vines around the fruit—but saw nothing. Whatever it was had good camouflage.
She chose another bunch and slowly brought her hand toward it. The same hiss greeted her when her hand reached the same distance from the bunch.
She drew back and looked.
Nothing.
She tried again.
A hiss came back.
Once more. This time, she kept her open hand close to the bunch. The hiss continued unabated for a full minute until she withdrew her hand.
Nothing has that much air.
She reached up and plucked the fruit from the vine. The plant hissed briefly then stopped as the bunch separated from the vine. She grinned. The plant itself had made the noise.
Hissimus Applegati, she thought.
She separated one of the grapes from the bunch and sniffed it. It had no scent she could detect. She mashed it in her fingers and juice and meat squeezed out as it split open. She touched her tongue to the juice that ran down her thumb. It tasted sweet. She considered it a moment longer, then pinched off a piece of the pulpy meat with her teeth and munched it around. The piece was almost too small to taste, so she got a bigger one and nipped around at it. It was extremely sweet and fruity with a slight citric taste, a hint like orange. She spat it out and waited for some after-taste that would warn her off it. No weird flavor or sensation developed. She swallowed.
She plucked another from the bunch, wrestled the tough stem off with her teeth, put the whole thing in her mouth and slowly bit down on it. The little globe burst open and a gush of sweet fruity juice spurted over her tongue. She chewed. There was a small hard seed in there, and she worked it forward and spat it out. She swallowed.
“Mmm . . . good . . .” she said just to make it official.
She ate a couple more. Then, ignoring the objections of the plant, pulled off several bunches and cradled them in her arms. She carried them back and put them in the hole.
There were some plants with huge broad leaves against the perimeter, and she yanked off some and carried them back and stuffed them through the opening.
It was getting dark, and she had one more thing to do.
She found a thin vine coiled around one of the tree’s roots. She tore off a couple meters of it and poked it inside. It was supple and flexible. Just right.
With darkness approaching, she climbed into her nest. She arranged the leaves under her as flooring and stacked the grapes up in a neat pile off to the side.
Using her knife, she cut two pieces of vine about a half meter each in length. Then she tied the vine snugly around the cuffs of her cottons to seal them off. She zipped the front of the suit up as high as it would go and checked the fit around her neck. It wasn’t quite tight enough. She cut another length of vine, looped it around her neck under the collar and tightened it.
That done, she leaned back against a root and had some grapes. By the time she’d eaten her fill, it was nearly dark. She could see glimpses of an occasional flying thing whiz past the shelter. As it got darker, the jungle came alive with a growing cacophony of clicks, hisses and whistles until individual sounds were almost indistinguishable against the background din.
They weren’t kidding . . .
She instinctively drew herself up against the noise and fluttering, scampering activity. She put her bare hands between her legs and squirmed back as far from the opening as she could. The darkness increased and, with it, the sound. She’d never heard so much life. It was as if the jungle itself had literally come alive.
From time to time, she felt something crawl over her then vanish. These intruders she left alone. The ones that crawled or fluttered against her face or neck, however, were greeted with a fretful slap. Once or twice, she was tempted to turn on the light, just to see what it was, but she was afraid the light would attract even more bugs to her position.
As she watched through the opening she detected an ever so slight brightening to the landscape and was soon able to discern the tangled roots of an adjacent tree. The moonlight brought with it visible trails of flying, darting things that zipped through the air or scampered past. Part of her wished it could have stayed totally dark.
Finally, she leaned her head against a root, closed her eyes and tried to sleep. Her bones and muscles ached, especially her shoulder, ribs and parts of her back that had been racked the worst by the fall. She put her hands on automatic to brush and whack at anything that got close to her face or neck.
She dozed only to be awakened time and again, never quite getting any real sleep. Years later, it seemed, she raised her head on a stiff neck and looked outside.
Now at their zenith, the twin moons’ light illuminated a flurry of moving, flying things.
At the edge of the clearing, something big and dark moved like a shadow brushing against leaves, making them move.
She thought it wa
s a shadow at first, but that impression vanished as it moved. It was a monstrous humped thing that seemed to glide over the ground, one end swinging back and forth as if on a scent trail. She tried to retrace her steps, praying that if it were on a trail, it wasn’t hers. She glared wide-eyed at it, praying it would just go away.
It turned and glided toward her.
She felt herself stiffen as the thing came to within a meter or two of the shelter. She could feel its mass pounding the ground like some strange and massive machine.
It stopped.
She sat as still as stone.
The thing glided up and rammed into the root shelter, sending a shock through it and shaking debris and bugs loose from above.
It knows I’m here.
She tried to cram herself even farther back into the cavity, drawing herself up as tight as she could.
There was a huffing, puffing sound like the thing was trying to suck her out of the burrow. It turned, first one way then the next, as if trying to decide how best to attack. She got glimpses of its head, a flattened insect-like protuberance tucked up and underneath a thick ridge of rolled chitinous material. She could make out huge clawed feet just under the carapace, mounted on either side of the head. Smaller, sharp-tipped legs ran the length of the carapace. They pounded up and down rhythmically as it moved.
The thing came forward and bumped the shelter again.
“Go away!”
The thing bumped again.
“Shoo!”
It started to dig, sending huge shovelfuls of dirt back through the clearing. Each swipe with those enormous claws sent the thing forward with a hollow bump against her sanctuary.
“Shit!”
She appraised the roots surrounding her. Most of them were as thick as her waist.
The creature continued to dig and huff against the refuge, creating an enormous crater right in front of her. She could hear the massive claws ripping and tearing against the roots and could see light-colored shreds of root littering the ground behind it.
She felt the ground give way under her feet as a big chunk of the floor slumped out into the crater.
“Shit! Go away!”
She could see the thing’s huge maw just a meter from her feet, chomping back and forth; waiting for some part of her to fall within reach.
Another section of floor fell away and the relentless claws were taking a toll on the barrier that separated her from the organic machinery below. The thing showed no hint of tiring and continued to dig like a monstrous engine.
It’s gonna get me. I’ve got to get out.
There was a separation in the roots above and behind her head that opened into a dark space. It didn’t look quite big enough for her to fit through, but she had no choice.
Ignoring the stiffness and pain from the fall, she got up on her haunches and extended her arms up into the crevice. She started up, putting her shoulder and head through, trying to stand up into the space. She pulled her other arm up and through, then exhaled and sawed back and forth until she got her torso through to the waist. She found a hold above her head and pulled up and squirmed until her hips started through.
Move faster, faster, pull harder—faster!
The last of the ground fell away under her feet just as her butt slipped through. She twisted onto her side, drawing her feet up through the opening.
She wiggled around until she could see down through the gap. Where the shelter had been was now an empty cavity surrounded by a lattice of thick roots. The creature was still clawing away at them, shredding chunks off with each swipe. It would be through the cage of roots in a matter of minutes.
She couldn’t imagine that the thing could get to her now. She was at least two meters off the ground. It would have to dig upwards, and she didn’t think it could do that. There was nothing to do but try to stay calm, hope for the monster to give up, and wait for her body pains to lessen—pains easily forgotten when pursued by grinding terror.
She munched the last of the aspirin and rested her hand appreciatively on one of the roots in her new sanctuary. It was twice as thick as the ones below.
She patted it.
Never, fucker.
She squirmed around until she got reasonably comfortable. She put her head against her arm and lay there listening to the creature as it scrabbled against the roots below; trying to get her—trying to eat her. She could feel the thing’s power through the tree with each stroke.
A thin, pale, moonbeam, split into two shades by the larger and smaller moons that were the source of it, came in through a crack above and illuminated a patch on the root across from her. As the minutes passed, she watched the double patch of light creep across the root’s surface. She raised up, leaned over and put her face in the moonlight, trying to see the source.
She dodged and peered up through the hole. Finally, she could see both moons, not all at once, but she knew which one was the big one and which was the small one from their color.
She smiled. She could clearly see which one was ahead of which.
She remembered lying in her bed on the first night on Verde. She’d watched the two moons passing over, the small one chasing the large one directly over the clinic, straight across its mid-line. The clinic was sitting parallel to the jungle’s perimeter. That meant that the moons were tracing a path at a right angle, squarely over the installation.
She got her bearings.
The moons were guiding her home. She’d been lucky with her little stick compass; she’s been on the right course since she started out.
All I have to do is stay alive long enough to get back.
She lay there, safe in her gnarled womb, listening to the huffing, scrabbling machinery under her.
She closed her eyes and tried to block out the rhythmic, relentless sound of the creature’s scratching. As the hours wore on, she began to doubt her castle walls could withstand the constant grinding. She imagined that the creature could uproot the entire tree, topple it, then grind away at the root ball until it scratched her out, gnawed her out a little at a time, like a bit of meat from thick, tough fruit.
Sleep, when it finally came, touched her as lightly as a feather.
* * *
The absence of sound was an alarm. She opened her eyes into a dim pre-light that bathed the chamber in the softest gray- green. She looked down through the opening to the chamber below and was greeted by a slightly stronger light that came in past the mangled roots like pale water.
She squirmed around until she could get her head down the hole to get a better look.
The creature was gone. It had left a pit three or four meters deep and at least as wide. The pit extended under the tree, and the roots below were shredded and hung uselessly as if blasted by an explosion. Two enormous mounds of fresh dirt were piled up behind the pit—tailings from the night’s work.
She waited until the light was a little stronger, then started down, feet-first. Wincing, she hung there for a moment with her legs kicking the air, then squirmed through a little more and dropped down. The rich scent of freshly dug soil hung in the air.
She climbed up, stopping just short of the pit’s rim to look around. She saw no sign of the creature.
She climbed out and limped toward for the grape vine. Everything hurt.
She sat down on a limb with a large bundle of grape-things and looked back at the devastated tree. Given enough time, the creature would have felled it, she was sure, and would have made a hard-earned meal of her. Time and the pale light of day had been on her side.
She looked around, just to be sure it was gone.
The forest’s silence wrapped her like soft cotton. Gone was the virulent buzz and whir of feeding, mating and hunting. The jungle had gone back to sleep.
12
Rachel stood outside the clinic and rang the bell again. No answer.
“It’s early, yet. Maybe she’s asleep,” Joe said.
“Go around the back. See if you can find a back door to bang on,
” Rachel said.
"Sure."
A patient came up behind her, assuming Rachel was just the first in the queue. He put one leg on the steps and one on the railing to wait. Rachel turned around and looked at him and through him at the same time. Finding no one home irked her. She shook her head in disgust.
“Doctor not in, huh?” the man asked.
“No. Nobody home,” she said with an edge of frustration. “This is the clinic, right?” she asked the man’s shirt.
“Yep,” the man said.
“It should be open, right?”
“I think so,” the man said.
She pushed the buzzer again and tried the door latch. She shook her head, then turned around and gazed blankly out over the man’s head. She shook her head again.
“I can’t believe this.”
“You just get in?”
“Yeah,” she said to the door and pushed the buzzer again.
“You sick?” he asked.
She shook her head, this time as an absent response to his question.
“No,” she muttered.
Having circumvented the entire facility, Joe approached from the opposite direction he’d left in.
“No answer,” he said. I even rang the bell on both doors of the shelter. I don’t think anybody’s home.”
“Where in the hell is she? Out having breakfast?”
She rang the bell again. “Shit . . .” she said. “Well, let’s go. We can get my stuff moved to the lab. We’ll come back later.” As the representative of Health and Safety and the clinic’s administrator, Donna Applegate was the first beneficiary of the inventory. The Statement of Work named her specifically as the Special Recipient of Information. It was a goofy and contractual title only, but she was entitled to the results as they were obtained until the final requirements of the inventory were signed off—by Applegate. After that, the remainder of Rachel’s contract could be discharged under any remaining terms. In Rachel’s case, there were no further terms. In essence her contract read: “Satisfy Applegate’s minimum requirement and go home. Use no more than 500 hours to do it.” Since Applegate wasn’t there, it was hard to get clarity about what that minimum requirement might be.