by David Palmer
Adam reacted well: Cut hard left, tried to dodge behind—and stupid clot stopped! Nowhere to go—slammed on brakes, skidded to stop nestled intimately against beast's shoulder. No impact, just nudge.
"How 'bout that," said Terry in awed tones.
Rhino turned head, squinted disapprovingly down over shoulder with mean little pig eyes. Snorted. Horn about four feet long. Looked sharp.
Adam calmly, deliberately eased van into reverse; backed slowly away, concentrating intently on trailer, visible in mirror. Kept rig lined up. Kept going.
Rhino stared. Snorted again. Louder. Then frowned. Turned. Pawed ground. Lowered head.
Calm, deliberate sternway gained momentum, acquired salient characteristics of earnest retreat—then precipitous route as rhino took several quick, purposeful steps.
Fast reverse driving not easy with trailer; requires concentration. Covered perhaps 200 yards without jackknifing before rhino slowed, snorted, veered off between buildings, disappeared.
Adam stopped, sat immobile, breathing like Thoroughbred after crossing finish line. Encounter spanned perhaps 30 seconds, but was wringing wet. Eyes blinked rapidly. Knuckles white where hands gripped wheel. No sound emerged when first tried to speak. Had indeed been concentrating.
He took deep breath, held momentarily, released in tremulous sigh. Then tried again: "Wouldn't you think a city this size would have a leash law?" Grin unconvincing. "Where do you suppose that thing came from . . . ?"
And just like that, I knew answer. Obvious, really; should have anticipated. And amazing thing is this was first encounter.
Rhinoceros trotting down city street, two miles from St. Louis Zoo. Coincidence? Haw! Isolated, unaided breakout? Not likely.
Trade places with zookeepers—warm, conscientious people who, if didn't love animals, could make lots easier living, much better money, elsewhere. Utterly certain own deaths impending, how would react to animal friends' prospects, locked in cages? Do nothing? Ensure agonizing deaths through starvation, thirst?
Not in million years . . . !
Safe assumption, therefore, most—possibly all—zoo animals now at large throughout country, probably world. Suggested as much to Adam.
" 'Lions and tigers and bears—oh, my!' " he quoted, with shake of head. "I'll bet you're right. Shall we detour and find out?"
Not keen on idea, but logic inarguable: Deliberately remaining ignorant of opposition bad strategy.
Proceeded to zoo. Conducted preliminary examination while driving, circling buildings. Exterior cages empty, but inconclusive: All connect to interior. Could be bodies inside.
Only one way to find out.
Reluctantly dug out, loaded M-16s, magnum pistols. Slipped holster belts around middles. Exited together, Terry on my shoulder (if failed to return, wouldn't want him locked in, either).
Not elegant performance; probably looked like Abbott and Costello, engaged in burglary: back-to-back, tiptoeing with exaggeratedly sneaky steps, spinning one way, then another, trying to cover all directions at once (I was; Adam maddeningly at ease). Cautiously we scouted every building, rifles at ready, set for fully automatic fire, safeties off—so keyed up that, had even Daddy appeared suddenly, I probably would have cut him in half.
However, no untoward encounters; merely confirmed my very worst fears: All—repeat all—enclosures open, empty. Even cobras. . . .
"Good grief, what kind of person can manage sympathy for cobras . . . ?" I wondered aloud, trying to walk without placing feet on ground.
"Nice people," Adam observed, peering around interestedly. "Cobras have feelings, too."
"Well, yeah, maybe. . . ."
Returned to rig; departed immediately.
Discussed development en route: "The ecology of the planet will never be the same," I ventured. "Lots of those beasties will do just fine in their new homes."
"Do you think so?" Zoology not one of Adam's specialties. "I suppose animals from temperate climates will do all right, but what about 'lions and tigers and bears' from the tropics?"
Settled back in seat, took deep breath, delivered thumbnail zoological history/geography lesson:
Cobras (while notion makes my skin crawl) unlikely to be enduring problem anywhere temperate or cooler. Poisonous snakes in general not gregarious lot; solitary wanderers, seeking food, shelter alone. Rodent population explosion following H. sapiens' demise guarantees all species' small initial populations' wide dispersal in totally strange environment: Ample food available wherever might roam. Further, tropical foreigners incapable of lying dormant; never survive winter.
Odds practically nil for compatible meeting, mating, species' perpetuation before all dead of cold, old age, hunting accidents. Even given warmer climes to south, threat exists few years at most.
Warm-blooded predators, however, constitute distinctly separate problem: General rule suggests anything furry capable of producing winter coat. Know for fact, tigers found from rain forests to well above Himalayan snow line. One kitty actually named "Snow Leopard." Lions roamed portions of Europe mere centuries ago; disappeared from Turkish mountains since Ottoman collapse.
Besides, most zoos housed relatively large big-cat populations; and are gregarious, particularly lions: Band together in prides, breed like rabbits. Perpetuation assured.
But pussycats not only problem: Grizzlies, wolves, cougars all native North Americans; absent Man, make selves at home anywhere.
And what about Kodiak bears? Comforting notion: 1,800 pounds of appetite. And polar bears—11 feet long (not true bears at all; mink family—dispositions to match). Both regarded among deadliest carnivores on planet.
Vegetarians potential problem, too: Hannibal brought elephants across Alps; mammoths here before people. Doubt will enjoy winters, but most probably survive, multiply. Rhinos, too. Neither overtly aggressive; not truly dangerous per se (barring stupidity—not ideal subjects for teasing), but undesirable neighbors: To farmer visits equate with earthquake, flood, drought, locusts. Hope attentions dissuadable without bloodshed.
Sundry antelope types probably manage winters well as local ruminants—undoubtedly fare better in relations with new predator mix.
All of which certainly complicates outlook. Careful thought required for future. Must assemble projection of potential competition; learn strengths, weaknesses, formulate plans to cope.
During interim, M-16 probably adequate coper if cornered: Unlikely anything still standing after fully automatic setting empties 50-shot clip (expanding slugs) into ticklish spots. Other advantages: lightweight, accurate, reliable; spares, ammunition endlessly available; familiar now with teardown, maintenance drill.
Plus final advantage: Doesn't knock me down (petty detail, but personally satisfying). Basic physics, of course: Violence going that way usefully limited (given 70-pound shooter) by violence coming this way. Equation rules out .457 Weatherby Magnum Double, African guide's favorite equalizer.
"And if all else fails," offered Adam, when I paused for breath, "we can try a stern expression and an assertive tone of voice: 'Shoo!' "
Didn't dignify by responding. Said, "We need to tighten up our travel habits."
"Oh, yes, we're guilty of the French traveler's mistake."
"I think we should start wearing sidearms from now on, and keep the M-16s close at hand—what?"
Adam smiled. "You're right; we do need to tighten our travel security habits. We've committed the classical French traveler's error. You know: Too loose la trek. . . ."
Favored him with glare. "No more solitary wandering," I continued firmly. "We go everywhere together . . ."
"Everywhere?"
". . . and we go armed."
"Oh. Pity."
"Be serious!" Adam's lack of concern more worrisome than newly discovered neighbors. How could be so casual, surrounded by slavering man-eaters . . . ?
"I am." Smiled again. Watched me, waiting expectantly.
Open mouth for scathing retort; then hesitated, closed aga
in. Performed quick review of events since rhino hove into view—especially own conduct. Cringed at conclusion: Not once assembled, processed facts with brain switched on. Typical "fluttering, fragile ingénue" of worst gothic romance would be embarrassed to take credit for my performance past couple hours.
Ground teeth. Adam right. Again. Easily his most offensive habit.
Except for zoos' immediate areas, chances of adversary encounter with escapee compares favorably with odds on lightning strike. Possible, yes. But for first few years—until get spread out, established, build up populations, risk factor simply doesn't justify going to lots of extra trouble.
Yes, probably should carry M-16s whenever poking around inside strange buildings; yes, probably should cut out solitary explorations, period; yes, probably should take extra pains not to throw away food scraps close to campsite where smell might attract predators. Yes, should take commonsense precautions, in other words, practiced by any intelligent camper; but not lose head. . . .
Initial reaction doubtless based on too many Class-D movies—plus absence of rational thought. Product of small-town living: Every Saturday evening throughout summers, Town Fathers stretched sheet across one end of grassy natural amphitheater in park; ran free show for migrant workers' children: endless succession of marvelously bad old movies, always preceded by cartoons, oft-spliced old science-fiction/ horror serials. Probably have seen every Johnny Weismuller Tarzan movie ever made; along with Bomba, the Jungle Boy; Sheena, Queen of the Jungle; Tim Tyler's Luck; Osa, Martin Johnson's pseudodocumentaries about exploring "darkest Africa"; (plus Zombies of the Stratosphere; Flash Gordon, Buck Rogers), etc., etc. And everyone (free show attendees, anyway) knows jungle predators all live only to sink fangs into trembling flesh of heroine (nice girl, usually, most of whose problems brought on by disregarding instructions, behaving stupidly).
Almost as stupidly as self.
Spending night in outer suburbs. Judged proximity to zoo increases risk to point where additional security advisable. Adam concurred. Pulled whole rig into commercial garage; closed doors, windows. Verified (together, armed) nothing large enough to pose threat lurked in darkened corners.
Spending night with trailer door, windows closed, air-conditioning on. Structure probably sufficiently porous to eliminate CO threat, but Adam slipped hose over alternator exhaust, let out roof vent anyway.
This morning Adam checked Yellow Pages, located nearby burglar-bar service. Drove us over after breakfast. Dug through inventory, selected assortment of wrought-iron grilles, installed over van's, trailer's windows. Even windshield.
Over yesterday's jitters (all right, hysteria) and agree with Adam: Bars silly overkill precaution.
On other hand, intangibles difficult to evaluate. Bars' sturdy appearance reassuring when contemplating future possibility of looking out at something hungry looking in. Improved sleep quality, duration, might prove critical during future nonanimal-related crisis.
(Evaluation particularly difficult when consists largely of rationalizing decisions already made based on gut feeling rather than logic.)
Oh, Posterity, please be patient. Probably most difficult entry have ever faced. Emotional control fragile as crystal, unstable as if balanced on pinpoint. Forgive rambling if occurs. Will do best, but subconscious probably try to steer me away from subject.
Now camped on grounds of Mount Palomar observatory, southern California. Haven't kept up journal since leaving St. Louis, ten days ago. Inexcusable conduct for histographer, true. But couldn't write about what happened that day so soon after—and been unable to think about anything else.
First thing after bar installation, Adam identified rail line going proper direction. Soon on our way again, speeding cross-country, insulated from deteriorating road conditions, clutter. Interesting how rail system seems to have fared better than roads following Man's End. Perhaps essentially flexible nature of steel mounted on wood, laid on equally flexible fist-sized rock roadbed . . .
Well, didn't take subconscious long to start diversionary tactics. Sorry.
Were perhaps hundred miles from St. Louis, passing through small Missouri town, when heard eerie wailing sound. Adam, alert for defective track or open switch but otherwise relaxed, abruptly sat bolt upright, peering into mirrors. "What the hell . . . !" he muttered. Braked heavily, bringing us to quick stop.
Equally quickly, was out door, running toward rear. I saw nothing in right-side mirror, but exited as well. Ran toward trailer's rear, intending to meet Adam, gain insight into curious behavior.
However, as rounded trailer, all became clear: Stopped behind us, lit up like Jefferson Starship stage, was state police car, driver's door open. Man—tall, thin, seedy-looking, longhaired/bearded, breathlessly wild-eyed, teary-but-very-happy man, age indeterminate—sliding from behind wheel. Stranger fell sobbing upon Adam's neck like long-lost brother, alternately hugging, pounding back, pumping hand as if never intended to let go.
(Proud of Adam then: Notoriously averse to emotional displays [even more so to long-unwashed B.O.], but accepted mauling nobly—remembered his own feelings upon first discovering not alone in world after all. Hint of long-suffering forbearance betrayed by posture apparent only to me—and only because know him so well.)
Presently man's eyes fell on me. Stared for long moments, then gasped, "You're a girl . . . !" Took quick step in my direction, reaching out as if to sweep me into embrace also—and stopped short. Glanced down at self, abruptly conscious of grooming deficiencies. Released Adam; drew back. Looked embarrassed.
"I must present quite a sight," said in apologetic tone. "And smell," added with grimace.
Continued earnestly: "It's been quite a while since I've had anyone to dress up for. I'm afraid I'm out of practice. I'll shower, shave, and change as soon as we get home." Earnestness intensified, hysterical edge crept into voice: "I'm really a very respectable person once I'm cleaned up and wearing decent clothes. And I'll cut my hair. You will come home with me, won't you? We have so much to talk about. Please? Please . . . ?"
Unexpectedly then, suddenly as had aborted initial lunge toward me, man clamped mouth shut, cutting off accelerating verbal torrent almost midword. Closed eyes; took long, slow, deep breath. Drew himself up. Disreputable air wavered, then evaporated: Clothing notwithstanding, self-assured, dignified gentleman stood before us. Voice, when resumed, was low, well modulated; delivery cultured, articulate: "Sorry; I must sound like a complete psychotic, raving on like that. I've been alone a long time. I was sure I was the last man on Earth.
"I'm Rollo Jones. My house is about 20 miles back. I've been chasing you since I caught a glimpse of you going by the shopping center." Flashed sudden boyish grin. "You have no idea how uncomfortable a pursuit it was. Railroad roadbed is not made for high-speed driving in cars, even in something as durable as a patrol car.
"May I ask your names, ma'am and sir?"
Transformation amazing. By now could almost forget appearance, aroma—excusable anyway, under circumstances (though Adam hadn't let self go, nor I). Before our eyes, frenetic derelict metamorphosed into educated, refined, eminently likeable person.
Introduced ourselves; ran through briefest mutual biographies. Rollo listened attentively; displayed genuine interest. Then surprised us: Owned recordings of Adam in concert, though never saw him perform—and knew both Daddy, Teacher professionally: As small-town medical-school president, physician, prior to Doomsday, had rubbed shoulders with both during seminars, etc.
And had never been sick.
Caught Adam's eye, crooked brow. He nodded. On behalf of both I accepted invitation with thanks; agreed had much to discuss.
Continued on rails to next level crossing; retracted guide wheels (which Rollo admired extravagantly, to Adam's embarrassed delight). Rollo familiar with local roads' pitfalls; led way to his home. Drive took perhaps hour total.
Lived in big, comfortable-looking house amidst sprawling grounds; once nicely landscaped, now gone to seed. Rollo
apologized for condition; explained house, upkeep furnished by school. Wife's pride, joy; without her for inspiration, maintenance crew to do work, had little interest in appearance.
Met at curb by large, gaunt, battle-scarred, notch-eared, yellow- and black-striped tomcat, who greeted me with gruff courtesy but went into ecstasies over Adam: Head-dived at ankles, twined around feet until could hardly walk. Accompanied him to door, offered to follow inside. Rollo drew back foot; cat darted into bushes, favored him with unflattering personal remark.
"Sorry," he offered, noting my expression. "That's Tora-hōhi, my late wife's cat. Tora-hōhi means 'Tiger-breath' in Japanese."
Caught Adam's slight headshake, but couldn't spare attention to find out what he wanted. Sudden crisis in progress; required full attention:
As Rollo walked past, Terry growled deep in throat, hunched shoulders, fluffed plumage, bobbed head, narrowed pupils to pinpoints; then lashed out in great roundhouse swing, obviously with every intention of carving divot from whatever portion of man's anatomy he could reach. Was astonished at normally blithe sibling's reaction; first time ever saw him take dislike to obviously refined, well-educated person on sight. Probably the smell, raggedy appearance. (Couldn't blame him, really; long time since Rollo bathed, changed clothes.)
Intended victim hadn't noticed. Still apologizing for treatment of wife's cat: "I'm not a cat person myself, and it's never liked me, either. It considered us rivals over Sally ever since it was a kitten. The dispute never escalated to open warfare; we just settled, over the years, into a pattern of mutually respectful antagonism, which became a family tradition. That cat would be horrified by now if I displayed unseemly solicitude or affection toward it. It would view it as a clear violation of the armistice.
"And since Sally died, I haven't been able to allow it in the house, because it—well"—Rollo grinned ruefully—"it took to expressing its opinion of me—on my pillow . . . !
"Besides, I didn't think it would be fair to 'spoil' it in view of circumstances. If something happened to me, it would be better off already accustomed to foraging for itself." Rollo eyed the cat appraisingly. "So I booted it outside and tapered off feeding it. It's doing pretty well so far; I haven't fed it in months, and it's still in pretty good shape."