“Why indeed, Napoleon?” Martin said, and the other Tuskers grunted their laughter, short little huffing sounds.
Everyone in the class stared at him, including Marie. Just like that, the young Tusker had a name, for it was Martin who most often named the Folk in his class. It turned out that the name, Napoleon, no matter how sarcastically bestowed, was appropriate. He couldn’t stop asking questions, curiosity about humans and their battles consumed him.
Martin held him after class the next day. As Marie sauntered by giving him a curious look, Napoleon looked away, embarrassed.
Martin rummaged through the books littering his desk. He handed Napoleon a dusty tome. “You’ve been asking some very perceptive questions about tactics and strategy. Maybe you’d like to study up on the subject on your own.”
A human stared back from the cover, sitting astride a magnificent white horse, his red cape billowing as he pointed to the heavens as if commanding God himself. It’s my namesake, he realized.
It thrilled and frightened him. “I don’t like war,” he muttered.
“Good!” Martin said. “The best generals avoid battle altogether. When battle can’t be avoided, the shorter the war the better the general.”
“I suppose,” Napoleon said, doubtfully. “The shorter the war, the fewer casualties.”
“Exactly!” Martin exclaimed. “You’re a natural.”
So began Napoleon’s real education. No matter what else Martin taught, Napoleon was always thinking about war, offense and defense, life and death. Day after day, Napoleon moved nearer the front of the class. One day, he took a seat at Martin's feet, flipping through a biography of Genghis Khan Martin gave him, until he was distracted by a musical grunt.
"Good morning."
It was Marie.
Napoleon blinked and stared before hiding his snout in the book again without speaking.
He was bigger than her now, though only average for a male Tusker. He had gray skin and hair, and blue eyes, and tusks that were maybe a little smaller than average.
Marie was small and pink, a throwback to the First Mother, but without her hate. He could smell her next to him, but was too shy to look at her.
He was determined to talk to her. Someday. But before he could summon the courage, she took the initiative instead. She waited for him outside the classroom.
“Come with me,” she said.
Napoleon felt a strange mix of fear and of hope wash over him.
Alone at last! He took a deep breath, wondering desperately what to say to her before following her silently.
Chapter Three
Kathy hadn’t bothered to invite their cameraman on their exploratory jaunt around Saguaro. Gary had so many phobias and allergies that he made his own meals wherever he went. In fact, he rarely left his motel room until he had to.
Probably a good thing he isn’t along, Seth thought. The boar’s heads would freak him out. We might not get him out of his room for the rest of the trip.
“We need to film this,” Kathy said, motioning to the trophies mounted on the wall of the warehouse. Her voice took on her on-air timbre: “Here in Saguaro, javelinas are the enemy, killed and displayed in huge numbers.”
“Shall I go get Gary?” Seth asked.
She stood staring, transfixed at the gory display. “No…we can always film it later. No sense getting Gary all worked up before we need him.” She turned and smiled at Seth. “Don’t worry. Gary acts all scared-like, but he always comes through when it comes to the crunch. Let’s keep looking around.”
Once they backtracked from the unsettling display of dead pigs, they found the main street nearly deserted, as most of the residents were holed up inside with their air-conditioners. Most of the businesses—the couple of dozen or so that occupied about half of the buildings in town—were closed for the evening. It was like an old movie set—Western-style façades tacked onto functionally square buildings. There was a single diner at the far end of town, and they clomped down the wooden sidewalk toward it.
The diner made no attempt to seem antique—or modern, for that matter. It was about the size and shape of a railway car, with shiny aluminum siding, a mid-twentieth century Happy Days look.
The place was packed, and was noisy as they approached. The moment they opened the door, it fell silent. Once again, Seth felt like he’d walked into a Western movie. He expected some guy with a handlebar mustache to demand, “Smile when you walk in here.”
They recognized Kathy—Seth recognized the signs. The locals were star-struck; either unable not to stare, or conversely, trying overly hard to ignore her.
“Hi, folks,” Kathy said in her mildest voice, which still seemed to boom in the small room. “I’m on vacation. Pay me no mind, please.”
The diners looked away, apparently embarrassed by their reaction to the sight of a celebrity, and with a strained effort, started up their conversations again. The waitress was googly-eyed and nearly speechless. Kathy was uncharacteristically gentle with her. Even though it was after dark, they ordered ham and eggs, which was Kathy’s go-to meal whenever she wasn’t sure about the quality of the cooking.
Seth ordered the same thing just so he wouldn’t have to explain his choices to Kathy, because no matter what he ordered, she always seemed to find fault with it.
When the waitress approached to refill their coffee, Kathy reached up and grabbed her sleeve. The girl was wearing a polyester pinkish uniform, which looked both brand new and incredibly outdated in style. She was skinny and pale and had the kind of thin hair that no amount of conditioner could make look full. Nevertheless, she was attractive in a wan sort of way. She instantly and instinctively evoked a feeling of protectiveness in Seth.
“Were you here when the incident happened?” Kathy asked softly. When she was prepping the guests on her show, she was always spoke in this low, encouraging voice. Which only made the prosecutorial tone she would suddenly turn on in the show itself that much more effective.
“Incident?” the waitress repeated. But it was clear she understood exactly what Kathy was getting at.
“When the pigs went crazy?” Kathy said.
The girl flushed. She looked around, but the other diners were studiously ignoring them. There was a cross-section of the town in the diner, Seth guessed, trending toward older, retired folk. People moved to tiny out-of-the-way towns like this because they could afford to live there on their Social Security payments. There were also a couple of men with weathered faces who were probably ranchers and one middle-aged woman who looked like she’d already started drinking.
“Sorry, ma’am,” the waitress said. “I came to town afterwards. But the owner of this place, Mr. Wallace, he was here. He was injured, even.”
“Injured?” Kathy asked sharply. “I understood it was rabies. Was he bitten? Did he have to get the shots?”
The girl looked away as if she wanted to be anyplace but there, being questioned by the foremost legal celebrity in the land, someone known to flay people alive on camera. It was clear the girl knew more than she was saying. She pushed her thin hair back from her forehead, but it immediately flopped forward again. Her eyes were red, as though she’d been crying.
“Sit down,” Kathy Comfort commanded, motioning Seth to move over.
It looked as if the girl’s legs turned to rubber. She plopped into the seat next to Seth. He resisted the urge to put his arms around her reassuringly. “My brother Mark was killed,” she said quietly, staring at the tabletop. “He and his girlfriend. I came down here for the funeral.”
Seth didn’t even have to look at her to know that Kathy was motioning him to hurry up with the cellphone recording. Seth was used to such sudden, serendipitous confessions, and had clicked it on almost automatically. He nodded.
“What’s your name?” Kathy asked, her tone comforting. I’m on your side, the tone said. I may be the only one in the whole world on your side.
“Sherry,” the
girl said. “It wasn’t no rabies, ma’am. It was the pigs. They were trying to kill everyone.”
The rest of the diner had gone quiet, and her words, soft as they were, still echoed. It was clear everyone was listening.
“Now, Sherry,” remonstrated a burly man at the next table. “You weren’t here. How can you know anything of the kind?”
The girl raised her head and glared at him with surprising intensity. “I know what happened, Mr. Clark. You all talk about it to each other when you think no one is listening. Why do you keep it a secret? Ms. Comfort here should know. The whole world should know.”
“Tell me, Sherry,” Kathy urged. “I will listen to every word. I assure you, I will find out what really happened in the end.”
Sherry had seemed reluctant to continue speaking, but now her words spilled out.
“My brother Mark came down here because of a girl. We all thought…Mom and Dad and me…that it was just an infatuation, that he’d come back to Idaho soon enough. Next thing we know, we’re getting a phone call that he’d been killed.” Her voice broke, and Kathy reached out and took her hand, and spoke in her patented ‘tell me more’ voice. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“They said it was rabies,” Sherry continued, needing no encouragement, “but when I asked to see the body, they wouldn’t let me. I demanded it—as is my legal right—and they had to give in. Mark was all torn up, ma’am. It wasn’t no rabies bite. He’d…he’d been ripped open, like by wild animals.”
The diner was completely silent until a voice spoke up, startlingly close.
“That’s enough, Sherry.”
While Sherry was speaking, a man appeared at the table. Both Seth and Kathy were watching the girl so closely, they didn’t notice him until he interrupted. He was wearing a white apron, and his face was red, as if he’d been working over a hot stove. He was tall and lean, and completed the Western motif of the place, looking like the handsome sheriff who goes up against the outlaws alone. His slender hand came down on Sherry’s shoulder, and she jumped, then looked up at him,
“She didn’t handle her brother’s loss well,” the man said, his voice even. He looked at Kathy and Seth with a small smile on his face. He was an exceedingly good looking man, with sharp blue eyes and shaggy black hair that hung over his forehead in a casual manner. Seth caught Kathy’s appreciative glance.
“We’ve got to get some of those dishes done, Sherry,” the cook said, nodding his head toward the kitchen. “We’ll be closing up soon. I’ll take any orders from here.”
Sherry got up, pushing back her stringy hair, not looking at anyone, and hurried away.
“And you are?” Kathy asked. She frowned, her eyes turning cold. It was clear that she was miffed.
“Andy Wallace,” the man said, acting like he didn’t notice her aggravation. He gave her a big smile, and Kathy’s frown dissipated. Even though the charm wasn’t directed at Seth, he could feel it. “I own this place. I have to tell you folks…the stuff you’re asking about is a tender subject around here. It’s a small town. Almost everyone knew someone who was killed. It’s not something we like dredging up.”
“I’m Kathy Comfort,” Kathy said, putting out her hand. Andy took it gently and held it for a few moments before she withdrew it. To Seth’s amazement, she blushed. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her blush before.
“Pleased to meet you, ma’am,” Andy said.
“Aw shucks,” she said, mimicking his drawl. “Are all you Arizonians so folksy?”
His smile only broadened, but he answered this time with a hard East Coast accent. “Well, those of us from New Jersey are.”
Kathy laughed. “Won’t you join us, Mr. Wallace?”
“Call me Andy,” he said. He hesitated, then sat down next to Seth. Andy and Kathy hadn’t taken their eyes off each other. He barely seemed to notice that Seth was there.
“Look, all I want to do is tell your story,” Kathy said. “I just want to tell what really happened. One thing I’ve learned: the truth is always good, no matter how painful it feels at the time. Your story can help other people understand.” While she was using the universal ‘your,’ it was obvious to Seth that she wanted this man’s story in particular. And not just for news reasons.
Andy gave her a sad smile. He had an astonishingly charismatic aura—and both Seth and Kathy had been exposed to some of the most charismatic people in the world. “No doubt, Ms. Comfort…”
“Kathy.”
“Kathy.” He gave her a blinding smile. “I regret there is no story for you here, just nature having back at us. Some javelinas became infected and aggressive, and they attacked some people. That’s all there is to the story.”
“That’s a pretty good story,” Kathy began, but Andy was already getting up. “Wait, Andy. Let me interview you. You can say anything you want.”
He was shaking his head the whole time she was speaking. “I’d advise you to go back to L.A.,” he said. “No one is going to tell you anything but what you’ve already no doubt read in the newspapers.” He walked away into the back of the diner without looking back.
“Shit,” Kathy said, just loud enough for Seth to hear. “Can you imagine that guy on our show?”
After that, Kathy tried talking to some of the nearby diners; they were polite but uncommunicative. “I just want to eat my dinner, lady,” the drunk middle-aged woman said, and Kathy gave up after that.
They spent the rest of the meal in silence, with the other diners obviously pretending everything was normal. When Andy took their money at the register, he smiled and acted as if nothing untoward had happened.
The minute the diner’s door closed behind them, Kathy turned to Seth with a triumphant smile.
“I knew there was something going on here. They’re all hiding something, and we aren’t leaving until we find out what it is.”
Chapter Four
Napoleon followed Marie meekly, afraid to even ask a question. They ambled down the long corridor to the exit of the South Hill, where Napoleon hesitated. When was the last time I was outside? he wondered.
It was so bright in the open air that for a moment he was blinded.
Pigstown was deep in the Utah desert, so far from any human settlements that they remained undiscovered. The humans called the two hills that the Tuskers had hollowed out and lived in the Witch’s Tits; Napoleon had heard younger Tuskers joking about how humans had only two tits, but he didn’t think it was a joking matter. If they were discovered, there was little doubt the humans would drive them to extinction in a very short time.
Marie crossed the courtyard to the North Hill, ascending the path that spiraled upward on the outside of the hill. There was a flat spot on top. The rocks were removed and a platform erected where a sentry was normally posted. Today, for some reason, the outpost was abandoned.
Marie sat on her haunches, staring out over the bustle of Pigstown. The Kinfolk streamed in and out of the two hills. Further out, the Kin patrolled, the coyotes and the ravens keeping watch. Perhaps that was why the lookout on the North Hill wasn’t being used anymore. It wasn’t necessary.
Beyond Pigstown were the reds and browns of the high desert, looking desolate and uninviting. Beyond the rocky crags and sands, or so it was said, there were green forests and blue lakes, winding rivers, and enormous oceans. Beyond were the huge human cities, and the vast interstate highways. Beyond was the real world—which Napoleon had only glimpsed in books and video. Once a week, the students were allowed into the computer room. Most Tuskers watched movies, but Napoleon spent most of his time browsing the Internet.
He had a sudden longing to leave, to strike out on his own—perhaps, if he dared but ask, with Marie at his side. To seek a place of solitude where the coming war wouldn’t touch them. But even as he thought it, he knew that there was no such place.
Marie didn’t say anything, and Napoleon started to feel uncomfortable at the silence. Is she interested in me? he
wondered. She was looking back at him with a funny expression, and he was suddenly quite certain she was. Her eyes were clear, her visage relaxed. She had taken the initiative, he realized. No matter what they were talking about on the surface, the real purpose of this little jaunt was…what, exactly? What was he hoping for?
“What did you want to show me?” he asked finally.
She nodded at their surroundings. “All of this,” she said. “I never see you outside, Napoleon. You take your studies too seriously. You need a little fresh air…and maybe a little perspective.”
Despite wanting to be agreeable (more than anything, he wanted to agree with her), he couldn’t help but object. “I have no choice,” he said. “When the humans find us, and it’s inevitable they will, they are going to try to destroy us. They won’t accept that another species has made an evolutionary leap over them. That a species of wild pig has become more intelligent than they are. Can you imagine?”
“You’re so romantic,” Marie said, teasing. “Tell me more.”
“Huh?” Napoleon didn’t know how to respond to her teasing. “I’m sorry. I can’t stop thinking about it.”
“Well, you have passion, at least,” Marie said. “So you believe we’ll have to fight them?”
He nodded, the subject once again grabbing hold of him. “I hoped at first we could coexist with them. But history is clear. Everywhere humans have gone, they’ve wiped out the competition. They can’t help it. Alpha predators have been hunted to extinction. Everywhere, technologically advanced civilizations have destroyed more primitive civilizations, no matter how worthy.”
“What about the Kin?” Marie said. “Won’t our control over the ravens and coyotes help at all?”
“It won’t be enough,” Napoleon said. “We will be hunted to extinction. We simply don’t have the cultural and manufacturing base to fight them. We Tuskers may be smarter, but their weapons will doom us. We’ve just begun to dabble with technology. Given time, with our superior intelligence, we might even make improvements. But I’m afraid we don’t have time.”
The Omnivore Wars Page 2