The Halcyon Dislocation

by Peter Kazmaier

  “I think we’re heading toward the same conclusion, Al. These lupi are intelligent, and we are in as much danger as if we were being hunted by other men.”

  The travelers digested these comments. The darkness they had experienced with the loss of their comrade took on an added terror as they considered Al’s words. “Well, if we were being hunted by humans,” said Brendon, “the best thing to do would be to disappear so they couldn’t find us.”

  “How are we going to do that?” asked Dave. “We’re on an exposed mountainside with no place to hide, unless we want to ‘go to ground’ for a long time. There’s something else we ought to consider. They may think like humans, but they track scents like wolves. Even if we find cover and reach the trees, and even if they can’t see us, they may still follow us faster than we can march.”

  “Here’s what we’re going to do,” said Floyd. “They can’t climb like we can; nor can they use tools. We’re going to stay up on the mountainside out of their reach. When we’re forced to climb down, we’ll look for an open area, since our rifles and crossbows will give us an advantage at a distance. Then we’ll hit the woods and head straight back to Botany Bay, disguising our trail as much as possible.”

  “How are we going to hide our scent?’ asked Stan.

  “We’ll use that creek we saw at the entrance to the valley to cover our tracks,” said Floyd.

  The sun was warm, and the snow in the valley began to melt. The stone on the mountainside warmed up quickly, helping them a little. Nevertheless, they toiled ten hours along the rock wall, crossing short open spaces only when lookouts were in place to guard against a surprise attack. Throughout this time they never saw the lupi or even heard so much as a wolf howl.

  Late that evening, they reached the very promontory that Floyd and Al had used to look toward the great river. Now they looked out over the green lands that ran down to the sea, lost in a haze to the east like a pastel painting in which the distant landscapes are deliberately indistinct. Once again the curious shallow, volcanic cone loomed on the horizon. Across the valley they saw a cascading stream leaping down from a glacier at the summit, while billows of mist rolled eastward in the light wind. This cascade fell into a high glen and then reappeared as the source of the creek they had seen before entering the valley. Unwilling to risk crossing the open meadow to the forest at night, they decided to make camp on the uncomfortable promontory.

  Dave woke the next morning with a rock digging into his back. Every limb felt stiff, and he had to stretch to take the kinks out of his strained muscles. The sun was just rising in the east. Out of the corner of his eye he saw movement to his left along the mountain slope, but when he looked more intently, there was nothing to be seen.

  Perhaps my overwrought imagination is getting the better of me.

  They ate a hurried breakfast and started their descent into the forest. Floyd and Brendon led the way, while Dave and Al, the rear guard, looked over their shoulders. They made their way down the mountainside and then crossed over to the place where they had camped three nights earlier. They heard the snap of a twig behind them but saw nothing. The meadow was now almost free of snow but dotted with many juniper bushes, so there was plenty of cover to hide even a large animal. Ahead of them, the valley ended in a steep slope that descended to the woods below. Dave imagined a wolf leaping out from behind every large juniper bush in their path. They redoubled their pace, urged on by the terror that assailed them.

  They reached the lip of the steep incline and made their way down into the valley. Bushes became denser. Reaching the valley floor, Dave looked back up the slope. Silhouetted against the sky was the dark shape of a lupus. Dave plunged into the bushes to escape from predator’s sight.

  Under their feet, rotten branches snapped as they pushed their way through the undergrowth. Dave’s breath was labored; the fear of attack in this closed in space froze his heart. Finally, they came to the creek.

  “Let’s get across,” said Floyd. “Maybe that will throw them off the scent,” he added without much conviction. The creek was thirty feet wide, but the margins were only about six inches deep.

  For a few hundred feet the nine men walked in the shallows, hoping to disguise their trail. Finding a place where the waters of the creek merged and rushed through a three-foot wide crack in a rock shelf, they crossed, easily leaping the narrow gap, then continued on the north side of the creek. Game trails appeared near the water’s edge, and they followed those that shadowed the creek’s course. Dave sensed danger was close at hand and felt fear rise with the conviction that they were being followed. Sometimes he thought he heard a branch break or water splash.

  The sense of danger became so strong Dave said, “Floyd, I think we’re going to be attacked. We have to take cover.”

  Floyd looked uncertain.

  “Floyd, please—“

  The other man acquiesced. “All right, let’s take a break and set ourselves up in a good defensive position.”

  They found a place where the creek made a sharp bend north and cut into a steep bluff. Floyd led them across a ford and had them rest at the top of a bluff, facing the creek and giving them a good view north and west. Behind them was a heavy thicket of hawthorns.

  Al apparently shared Dave’s misgivings; he came and sat by Dave, watching the creek for the approach of the lupi, his rifle cradled in his lap. The others were so relieved by their progress they seemed giddy with excitement.

  “Keep an eye out for those wolves! I’m going to have a bite and catch forty winks,” laughed Stan derisively. Dave said nothing but scanned the bushes below the bluff and along the creek in an effort to identify the danger that was gnawing at his gut.

  Two of the others, still joking at the relief they felt now that they were safe, went down to the creek to refill their canteens. As they were hunched over, four dark shapes, silently and without warning, bounded across the creek and lunged at the two unsuspecting victims.

  Dave shouted and fired his crossbow as soon as the wolves broke cover. But his bolt went wide, and the lupi were upon his comrades. With four lupi attacking, the two young men had no chance.

  Al’s shot was better than Dave’s and found its mark in one of the beasts tearing at the body of its victim at the creek. As the other men ran to help Dave and Al, Floyd’s shout warned them to watch their backs. Sure enough, two more wolves were creeping through the hawthorn thicket for a sneak attack from the rear. Floyd and two others shot into the thicket, and the wounded lupus bellowed with rage. By now, the three remaining lupi at the creek had left the mangled bodies and were beginning to scramble up the bluff toward the other men. Al fired as rapidly as he could reload, and Dave unleashed two more bolts, which found their marks in the beasts. Tom and Dwight also shot at the creatures. Shoulder to shoulder, they thrust with their swords as the animals exposed their throats and chests, trying to scramble over the steep crest of the bluff. The others joined them now and shot crossbow bolts at the beasts from the side.

  Behind them, a particularly massive lupus had wriggled its way through the hawthorn thicket. It had two crossbow bolts buried deep in its chest, yet it still came on. Wild with rage, the huge beast knocked Glenn down. Glenn buried his sword deep in the animal’s neck, but the beast managed to snag Glenn’s arm in its massive jaw. Al, his rifle magazine empty, rushed up and delivered a blow with his sword to the beast’s head, severing its spinal cord.

  Finally everything was still. Six wolves lay dead around the men. Floyd, covered with gore from the beasts’ wounds, staggered to his feet. To free Glenn’s arm from the mouth of the beast, the men had to cut the ligaments in the dead monster’s jaw. The creature, already weakened when it had fastened on to Glenn’s arm, had not had enough strength to shake him and tear the arm open. Tom began to clean and bandage Glenn’s wound.

  With Al and Dave to help him, Floyd insisted on going down to the river to look after the others at the bottom of the bluff. Vlad Sowetzky had been killed outright. Brandon Mo
nk had been badly wounded, but Al’s shot had prevented the second wolf from finishing him off.

  Dave looked up and saw the silhouette of the lupi leader watching them from a rise about 100 yards up the creek. When the leader saw that he had been spotted, he bounded casually into the brush and disappeared from view. Dave’s eyes smoldered with anger. “It’s time the hunted became the hunter!” he said menacingly.

  “I’ll go with you,” said Al quietly.

  Floyd looked as if he was going to object, but changed his mind. “Help us make a safe camp nearby and then you can go, but I want you back by nightfall.”

  The group bound Brendon’s wounds as well as they could. After washing their equipment and tending to their own small wounds, they dug a grave in the soft earth for their dead companion. Then they carried Brendon downstream a few hundred yards and made camp on an island in the middle of the creek. Glenn was able to walk to the campsite with a little assistance.

  Within minutes of setting down their packs, Dave and Al were on the trail. Floyd had given Dave his rifle, but held on to Dave’s crossbow. The wind was blowing from the west, so they were stalking upwind, which gave them an advantage over the lupi leader. They crept up to the hillock where they had last seen the predator. Reaching it, they peered cautiously over the crest to view the creek bed beyond.

  Dave stared for a long time and then boxed Al’s arm. In the shadow of some overhanging sumac, they could just make out the dark shadow of the wolf leader. He had apparently taken up an ambush position covering any approach up the creek.

  “Now what do we do?” asked Dave. “Can we take a shot?”

  “At this range, through brush, I don’t think we’d have much chance,” said Al. “If we crossed the creek, he would see us...

  “I suppose we could just walk into his trap,” said Dave, “provoke his attack, and settle him once and for all.”

  “We can’t be assured of provoking an attack,” said Al. “It seems to me if I were him, I would only attack if I expected to kill my quarry. If we leave the decision to him, he might accomplish just that or else decide to sneak away to wait for a better chance. No, it’s too dangerous. I think we should stay on this side of the creek and creep along out of sight. We can’t go too far, but up ahead there’s another hillock, and maybe that will bring us close enough to give us a reasonable shot.”

  Dave assented to Al’s plan, and they set out again, heading left, remaining out of sight. When they reached the second hillock, they wormed their way through some scrub pine trees until they saw the creek bed and the other bank almost directly across from them. The wolf leader was still waiting.

  “On a silent count of three,” whispered Al.

  They raised their weapons together, took careful aim, and fired at the same time. There was a blur of motion as the wolf disappeared into the brush on the far side of the creek. Scrambling down and crossing the creek, they cautiously approached the lupus’ hiding place. A blood spoor showed that at least one bullet had found its mark. The wolf was not bleeding badly, since the gap between the blood spots was fairly wide, but it made trailing the beast much easier.

  The wolf traveled straight back to the high valley, apparently without resting. By about four o’clock in the afternoon, they had covered a great deal of distance, but the blood trail continued to stretch before them.

  “Let’s turn back,” said Al. “The wound must have been minor, since the animal isn’t weakening.”

  “But we have a good trail!” protested Dave. “His wound has to be wearing him out!”

  “I know,” said Al. “But we promised Floyd we’d be back by nightfall, and we’re not going to make it before nightfall now.”

  Reluctantly Dave agreed to head back. Although they moved as quickly as possible, it was quite dark before they approached the island. They called ahead to alert their comrades of their return.

  Floyd came to meet them at the edge of the creek. Stan was waiting with his crossbow.

  “Where’ve you been?” asked Floyd, relieved when he saw they were not hurt.

  Al gave a brief account of the hunt.

  “So you put a bullet into him. I was worried after I heard the shots and you didn’t come back. Just before dark I even sent Stan and Tom after you, but they didn’t see any sign of you.”

  “How’s Brendon?” asked Al.

  Floyd’s face looked troubled in the moonlight. “He doesn’t look good to me. We’ve stopped the bleeding, but he’s lost a lot of blood. I was sitting with him when you called.”

  “May I see him?” asked Al.

  “You guys must be starved. Eat the leftovers and then come over and see him.”

  Dave and Al ate the cold leftovers from supper and then went to see Brendon. In the pale light of the moon Brendon looked paler still. Moaning softly, he asked for water, which Floyd gave to him from a cup at hand. Dave could see that Floyd was exhausted.

  “Floyd,” said Al, “I’m still keyed up from the hunt. Why don’t you sleep now and then relieve me when you wake?”

  Floyd protested, but Al insisted. Dave watched Floyd go and decided to stay with Al. Al gripped Brendon’s hand and talked to him quietly. His words had a calming effect on Brendon, and his moaning subsided. Dave leaned against a tree and unlimbered his crossbow.

  What if that wolf doubles back?

  Al and Brendon were in a patch of moonlight. Every few moments, spasms of pain made Brendon tighten his grip on Al’s hand. As the time passed, Dave grew so tired that he began to nod off.

  He woke in the morning with a start. The sun was already up, and his back hurt where he had slept on a tree root. He saw Floyd leaning over Brendon. Dave got up to stretch his tired muscles. Al, who had fallen asleep, began to wake at all the commotion.

  “How is he?” Dave asked about Brendon.

  “He’s stone cold,” said Floyd, his voice breaking with emotion.

  “He died during the night,” said Al quietly.

  “It’s my fault—I’m sorry.” said Floyd. His face was marked by grief and despair.

  “Floyd, you’ve done all you could,” said Al. “Without your leadership, we would never have made it out alive.”

  Floyd swore under his breath. “I can’t believe I let it come to this. Why did I not see the danger until it was too late? Why didn’t I believe Dave when he warned me?”

  “You did believe Dave, and you picked a defensible position. You’re not God, Floyd; you can’t see everything. Nor can you go through life without making a few mistakes. I’ll say it again: without your leadership we would never have made it out alive.”

  Floyd sat down heavily beside Brendon’s body.

  “What kind of a place have we come to, Al? At first, I expected all kinds of problems and trouble, and to my surprise everything seemed to work out better than anyone had any right to expect. We found food. We weren’t attacked. There were no killing diseases. It was like living in paradise. Now suddenly we come upon the lupi, which aren’t like anything we’ve seen in our world, and almost a third of my company is dead.”

  “Floyd, I think there’s a lot about this world that we don’t know yet” said Al. “Our early success, blessing that it was, made us complacent, and we weren’t sufficiently afraid of what came next. Sometimes having a little fear early saves one from experiencing a big fear later on.”

  They buried Brendon on the island. As Al had done with the others, he fashioned a crude cross and said a few words over the grave.

  As for the others, Glenn seemed to be doing quite well; the bleeding in his arm had stopped. With a heavy heart and a deep fear of the future, Dave followed as Floyd led them along the creek, toward the sea. With a start Dave remembered the vellum scrap. Feeling under his clothes for his money belt, he was relieved to realize it was still there.

  Chapter 15 New Jerusalem

  Although Glenn insisted he was fine and fit to travel, the others fashioned a stretcher for him, from two stout saplings and spare clothes from the packs
of the dead. They sorted through the rest of the excess gear, took what they could carry, and buried the rest under a cairn of stones on the island.

  When everything was ready, they started out, taking turns carrying Glenn and his pack on the stretcher. The terrain was difficult, and more than once the stretcher-bearers stumbled, almost tossing Glenn onto the ground. After the third stumble Glenn insisted vociferously that it was safer for him to walk. He walked for a short stretch when the terrain allowed but soon tired, so they fell to carrying him again. Their progress was agonizingly slow.

  After a week of this, everyone was nearing the limits of their endurance. Their progress slowed further, and they were forced to make camp late in the afternoon when the stretcher-bearers were too tired to continue. Thankfully the weather was warmer again, bringing back a memory of the early fall. Although the trees were bare, in the sheltered glades fall had not yet been completely overwhelmed by winter. They still found plenty of potatoes, and the creek teemed with trout in the deep pools.

  The eighth day after the attack, they encountered a barrier. As they climbed a low hill and cleared the trees, they saw a rock wall ahead, about 400 yards high. Although it was made of jumbled rock, it seemed regular and formed the arc of a ring that looked to be several miles in diameter. Directly in front of them was a cleft. At some time in the past, a section of this circular wall had shifted, leaving a narrow channel for the creek to enter.

  They debated about the best course of action. The outside edge of this crater was so steep and broken up that it would have to be climbed. Finally Floyd announced they should look for an easy route through the barrier. Failing that, they would walk around it.

  They descended from the hill and followed the creek into the barrier wall. On the north side of the creek, a narrow path skirted the edge of the canyon wall. Dave looked up and saw that the walls of the gorge leapt straight up. Already the steep sides cast deep shadows on the creek as it flowed over its stony bed, bubbling and boiling around boulders that had fallen from the heights. The canyon was not straight, but bent to the right. The path seemed too well trodden to be a game trail, so they proceeded with extra caution, Floyd and Al creeping ahead with their rifles. As they rounded a bastion of rock jutting into the creek from the north, the noisy creek became a pool.