IN NATURA: a science fiction novel (ARZAT SERIES Book 2)

by David Samuel Frazier

  She looked back at the camp, searching her memory. Tom and the Arzats had gone the other direction across the creek, and they certainly hadn’t come this way earlier. Was it possible there were other humans around?

  Alex began to follow the tracks in the gravel. They continued for several hundred feet along the edge of the water then veered inland around a cluster of large boulders that blocked the water’s edge. There was a muddy area just behind the rocks. Alex stopped cold. She bent down and could not believe what she was seeing. In the dark ooze was the perfectly formed footprint of a species of animal she had recently become very familiar with—it was the unmistakable footprint of an Arzat.

  CHAPTER 15

  SECRET WEAPON

  When they had first come out of the canyon where they left Alex, Tom still had trouble believing his eyes. Even though he had already spotted the herd earlier from a much greater distance, he was now much closer. Thousands of animals stretched out over a vast, open expanse of tall grass. They grazed and slowly moved about, snorting and fighting amongst themselves. Buffalo! Real, honest to god, wild buffalo! Tom thought. It was the stuff of legends.

  He remembered the stories he had read as a young boy about the millions of buffalo that had once populated a good part of North America before the settlement of the west. Now, here they were, back again in full force. But how in the heck did their ancestors survive the asteroid? He wondered. No matter, I’m just glad they had.

  Tom smiled. He knew enough about them and the Native Americans who had lived on them for centuries to know that he had just confirmed a new livelihood. Hell, he thought, they will provide everything we need—food, clothing, and shelter. Christ, we couldn’t eat our way through just this one herd if we lived to be a million! Okay, Thomas, he cautioned himself, that is all well and good for the future, but right now you need to kill one of these things, and that, without a rifle, is not going to be easy.

  He tested the wind, which was lightly blowing in their direction from the herd. Good, he thought. The day is still sunny and perfect, and we are downwind.

  “Shall I go and kill one now, Tom, son of Richard?” Mot asked, not taking his eyes off the herd, his tongue flicking often as he sized up their potential prey.

  As far as Mot was concerned, these beasts were just larger versions of the horses he had met at Alex’s ranch in the last world with no real danger and lots of meat. He began to salivate at the thought of dinner. Mot had also sorted the wind and realized they were in the perfect position to attack.

  “Perhaps we should have a plan,” Ara said, also eyeing the large animals, remembering what Alex had said earlier. Though they did not look particularly dangerous, they were, after all, quite large, and there were a lot of them.

  Once again, she had also been reading Tom’s mind. Her human friend was being cautious—and rightfully so. Ara could sense Mot’s impatience, but she knew that Tom had more experience with these beasts since they were from his world. Perhaps, she thought, there is more danger here than Mot suspects. She was anxious to hear the Pilot’s plan for these beasts without having to search for it in his head.

  Tom looked around at the topography. He knew that if they made a wrong move, they could spook the entire herd and it might escape. Worse yet, the whole group of animals might turn their way in a stampede and crush them. No, crush you Tom, he corrected himself. He knew the Arzats could easily outrun even a charging bull.

  Tom thought their best bet would be to cull out a younger calf and get it away from the main herd. The Arzats would be perfect for that. They were faster than horses and far scarier. But he and the Arzats would have only one chance. Beyond their position, the plains and rolling hills disappeared over the horizon. If spooked, the buffalo had plenty of running room. Just behind Tom and the Arzats—near the valley that lead back to their new campsite—was a small group of higher black rocks that ended in a sort of shallow box canyon. Excellent, Tom thought, a natural corral.

  “Okay, Mot,” he finally said. “I’m sorry, but I think you both know I am much slower than these buffalo, so I am going to need you and Ara to do most of the work if we want to eat.”

  “You do not need to apologize, Tom,” Mot said. “I am happy to be able to hunt again—as I am born to do. Tell me how to slay these beasts you call . . . ‘buffalo’ . . . and it shall be done.”

  Tom very carefully explained his plan to Mot and Ara. The Arzats would cull a calf from the edge of the herd and try to run it into the canyon. Then Tom and Ara would block its escape while Mot literally cut the animal’s throat. Tom had been on wild pig hunts before where this kind of hunting had been done with dogs. Given the speed and strength of the Arzats, he thought, it just might work.

  “Just remember, if the herd suddenly moves as a group, or something goes wrong, you will both head toward the end of the canyon and climb up to where I will be, right?” Tom was worried. Even the Arzats would be no match for an angry herd of stampeding buffalo. Though they were much faster, if one of them slipped or fell . . .

  “Yes, Tom, son of Richard,” both of the Arzats telepathically replied in unison. Mot was very familiar with this tactic and would have suggested it himself if the Pilot hadn’t come up with it.

  Tom took out the long knife, the one thing he had managed to save from the ARC. “Okay, Mot. Guard it with your life,” he said, handing it to him handle first.

  Mot took it, carefully testing the blade, happy to have a weapon back in his hand. A good killing stick would be much better, he thought, but this will have to work in the meantime.

  * * *

  It took the three of them over an hour to work their way around the herd without spooking it. Finally, when Tom thought they were in the right position, he sent Mot and Ara to creep toward the edge of the herd as he retreated to the opening of the small box canyon. He climbed up onto a large rock that served as one side of the canyon’s entrance to watch the action.

  Mot and Ara approached the beasts cautiously, as Tom the Pilot had instructed. Even though these creatures did not appear to have the teeth or dangerous claws that the Arzats were used to, there were a lot of them, and they were large.

  “Do you think they are fast?” Ara asked Mot silently.

  “I’m not sure, Ara. Based on their size and the length of their legs, I would say no. I think we will soon find out.”

  The Arzats picked out one of the beast’s offspring and moved in slowly, creeping low on all fours through the tall grass. The animals snorted and stomped around, becoming more restless the closer Mot and Ara came to them. Mot tested the air often. Fortunately for the Arzats, the breeze continued to cooperate with their approach.

  When they were just a few steps away, one of the females bolted. The Arzats rose up and ran toward its calf. As the Pilot had predicted, the rest of the herd panicked and started to move as well, like an enormous ripple through water. But the hunters were in front of their target before the animal could even see them, waving their arms and crying out in a preternatural howl. The calf let out a bellow of its own and began running exactly in the direction of the canyon with the Arzats flanking—Ara on one side and Mot on the other.

  Tom could feel the ground shake as the main herd began to stampede. He watched as the calf darted, trying desperately to turn back and get to its mother. Each time it did, one of the Arzats would masterfully block its way, cutting off its escape route.

  When the calf finally ran into the canyon, Tom scrambled down from the rocks to help block the way back out. The calf ran to the dead end and turned back toward the entrance, still mewing and calling for its mother and breathing heavily, its eyes rolling in its head with fear. It ran in circles, vainly looking for a way of escape until it was completely winded. The calf finally paused, totally exhausted, looking wide-eyed at the three strange beings that blocked its way.

  Mot approached the animal slowly, waiting for the perfect opportunity. Then, he moved so swiftly that Tom had trouble following him with his eyes. The calf wa
s suddenly bleeding profusely from the neck and Mot was already back at the canyon entrance—blocking it again—with the bloody knife in his hand. He positioned himself to help Ara and Tom fend off the wounded creature as it headed toward them in a panic, now heedless of the Arzats or Tom.

  Tom suddenly realized that the calf, wounded or not, might very well run him over. He turned and scrambled for the protection of the high rocks, certain he was about to be trampled. Tom could hear the calf running behind him and could almost feel its breath. Just as he felt he was about to be struck, an Arzat’s strong hand lifted him and carried him up the rocks, as if they were flying.

  “You must be more careful, Pilot Tom,” Ara told him, as she gently sat him down on the rock formation.

  Tom watched as she easily leapt the ten or more feet back to the ground.

  The calf was almost out of the canyon, but Mot was on the animal’s back, trying to wrestle it down. Ara ran and jumped on the animal’s hindquarters, violently attacking with the force of her entire body. The combined weight of the two Arzats proved too much for the calf. It stumbled, gave a brief cry, and finally surrendered to its inevitable death.

  Tom looked down at the two reptilian creatures as they hovered over their kill. Mot carefully examined the animal to be sure it was dead while Ara instinctively surveyed the area for danger, flicking and sniffing the air. Natural born predators in their own natural element, Tom thought, watching the two of them, completely amazed at what he had just witnessed.

  The Arzats seemed to have heard him and looked back in his direction with their strange prehistoric eyes. Then they let out a triumphant preternatural howl in perfect unison that ricocheted off of the canyon walls.

  There would be dinner tonight.

  CHAPTER 16

  MISTAKEN IDENTITY

  Alex bent down and closely examined the strangely familiar footprint, still not believing her eyes. But these were not the footprints of her Arzats—Mot or Ara. Of that she was sure. They hadn’t even been down this way, she thought, racking her memory of the earlier events around their camp. It made no sense. As far as Alex knew, Mot and Ara were the only Arzats who could possibly be on the entire planet. Hell, in the entire universe for that matter. Certainly, they were the only ones that had ever been found. No, this absolutely made no sense whatsoever. A line of chicken skin ran up Alex’s back.

  The only ones ever found, Alex? the voice of her dead father echoed in her head. Maybe they are the only ones you ever found?

  Her heart skipped a beat when she thought about the implications. Had other clans known about the ancient cryogenic formula as well? Had other Arzats been frozen and survived? Even if other Arzats had been similarly preserved, how or who or what would have released them from their sleep? Did the asteroid strike have something to do with it?

  Alex continued to follow the tracks, which sometimes disappeared over rocks then reappeared in softer material alongside the creek. Her curiosity grew with every step.

  At one point, she discovered more of the same footprints, but they pointed back in the camp’s direction. Alex turned and followed those as best she could and ended up back where she had started. She was no tracker, but Alex was one hell of a paleontologist, which was the next best thing. She concluded that the Arzat responsible must have come her way and then stopped for some unknown reason. Maybe it was hunting; maybe it was just out scouting, she thought, but an Arzat had definitely been here and turned back in the direction from which it had originally come.

  Alex went back to the footprint she had initially discovered in the mud. She instinctively knew the tracks were fresh. But how fresh? she wondered. Alex got to her knees and looked closely at the dark, wet earth. She watched for some time and noted the print very slowly filling with water from the saturated material around it. Her heartbeat quickened. Whatever had made the print had been there just a short time ago. I just missed him, she thought. We just missed him.

  She stood and looked back down the canyon to the camp and up the rise that Tom and the two Arzats had gone over. There was no sign of them. They had already been gone for what felt like a couple of hours. She imagined that they must be coming back soon, but who knew how long it took to hunt a damn buffalo.

  Alex remembered her promise to Tom that she wouldn’t stray from camp, but this was an entirely new development. You should go find him, she thought, as she studied the ground. At least leave him a note. Hah, she thought, like I have a pen and paper.

  She glanced up at the sky. The sun was still high, early afternoon at most. I have plenty of time, she thought, as she began to follow the footprints again. I am just going to go a little way, she resolved, then I’ll come right back.

  * * *

  Za’at had been running at a swift trot since he had left the other hunters, stopping only occasionally to sniff the area and have a small drink of water. After several torches of time, he began to recognize the terrain that he knew was taking him close to the uman camp. It had been easy to find his way back—he had simply retraced his own hunting party’s tracks and strong scent.

  As he neared the camp itself, a new scent filled his nostrils and he stopped suddenly, flicking his tongue, his ears tuned to the area. Var had invaded. Za’at could clearly hear them, yelping and growling. He could imagine them fighting over the uman entrails that the Arzats had left for them. If the female had been stupid enough to remain around the camp, he thought, then she was probably part of their dinner.

  But, for some reason, Za’at did not think so. If the uman had been smart enough to escape from the Arzats, certainly she was smart enough to have avoided these beasts. If nothing else, she could have climbed a tree to escape them, he thought, carefully listening.

  Za’at was not afraid of the var, but he knew he had to be cautious. They were not dangerous to Arzats as a rule, but when they were in the midst of a feeding frenzy, they could be as unpredictable as Arzats. He decided to skirt the camp, staying well clear of the beasts, to see if he could pick up the female smooth-skin’s scent somewhere outside its circle. With any luck, he might avoid them entirely.

  Za’at moved quickly and without a sound around the far perimeters of the camp, stopping often and trying to catch the specific scent of the uman female without getting upwind of it. A var’s sense of smell was almost as good as an Arzat’s. Even if they had just eaten, they might dispatch a few of the males to investigate Za’at’s presence if they detected him. Fortunately for Za’at, the slight breeze was coming from the other side of the water. He realized he was getting a full whiff of the four-legged creatures, so it was almost certain they were getting nothing of him.

  When he was far past, he returned to the creek and sniffed the edges carefully. He could detect nothing except the other predators. He followed a game trail along the water’s edge for almost a torch but was still unable to capture the uman’s smell.

  His hopes started to fade. Time had begun to dull the scent of anything but the var. If the female had lived, he knew he should have been able to catch a fresh whiff of her by now. Perhaps I was wrong, he thought. Perhaps she did drown or stayed in the camp and was eaten.

  Za’at looked to Qu’aa and could see that his face was now beginning to drop toward the horizon. There was still considerable light left, but if he didn’t return to the hunters soon, he would be forced to travel alone in the night. This, he was well aware, even for an Arzat, was not a good idea. He also knew it would not be good if the hunters reached the caves before he rejoined them. He shrugged his shoulders and tried to give up, but something in his mind would not allow it.

  Za’at looked over the water and noticed an easy crossing. I will try the other side for half a torch and no more, he resolved. As he waded in, he stopped and squatted in the current. The cold felt good on his tired feet. He sipped some fast flowing water that he had cupped in his hand and refilled his water sack, then swung the sack back over his arm where it rested beside the scabbard that held his prized hunting stick.

>   Perhaps I should slay one of the fanged beasts just for the fun of it, he thought, fingering the haft of his weapon, looking back in the direction of the uman camp.

  He rose from the water and continued to the other side. As he climbed the bank, he suddenly caught the female’s scent. Za’at stopped and flicked his tongue to be sure and then studied the ground for any sign of her. Sure enough, in the soft earth, he could see the strange footprints that the umans created when they wore animal skins on their feet. They headed away from the camp and downstream.

  Hah, I have you now, little female uman!

  Za’at sniffed the air again, enjoying her strong and recent scent, and headed off at a swift trot in the footprints’ direction.

  * * *

  Maria awoke suddenly, aware that she had foolishly drifted to sleep again and sure that the reptiles had returned for her and would pounce on her at any moment. Had the ground moved? Something, it seemed, had shaken her from a deep slumber.

  She slowly crept to the edge of her hideout and peered carefully over the edge of the high rocks. From her vantage point, Maria had a good view of the canyon in both directions. She scanned the terrain upriver and back in the direction of her camp, looking for any sign of movement. To her relief, she could see none.

  She glanced back behind her and noticed that her clothes were still laid out on the rocks where she had left them. Thankfully, there was little trace of the blood and gore they had been covered in before she had washed them. She beat her leather blouse and pants lightly on the rocks to knock the stiffness out of them and pulled them on. Her moccasins were tight, but she managed to tug them on as well. When she was dressed, she turned and looked back down the canyon.

  The day had drifted into afternoon and the sun was now casting long shadows that tricked the eyes, but nothing of significance appeared to be moving. The water of the creek danced in the remaining sunlight, dark and flat in some spots, white and rushing in others. The trees seemed to change color as a light breeze blew through them, rustling their leaves, but she could not detect the movement of anything that might threaten her.