Transport 2_The Flood

by Phillip P. Peterson

  The sun was now high in the sky, it must be around midday. Russell turned onto his right side. The highlands with the colony had disappeared in the haze. Angrily, he realized that falling asleep had made him lose his sense of direction.

  But he could see a little chain of hills below, and sighed with relief when he recognized them. That was where they had set up a supply depot on the way to the ocean. A hut with supplies was still waiting there for the next expedition that might one day penetrate that far. Russell looked at his compass. A wind blowing inland had changed the course of the whales northward. The animal had fallen far behind the rest of the group. Perhaps he was the reason for this, after all, the whale had to carry not only its own weight but Russell’s, too.

  Then he looked ahead to the horizon and got a shock. What he had just taken to be the light blue of the sky, was in fact the ocean. Due to the haze, it was impossible to see exactly where sky and water met. But it was much too early! According to his calculations, the ocean must be at least another thirty-five miles away!

  Russell leaned forward to look at the ground. The shoreline was ten miles away at most. Had he miscalculated due to his nap? No! The hills below him were definitely where the supply depot was. He had mapped it himself at the time. He could make out the highest peak, a little taller than the others, which Marlene had christened Mount Fairweather. When he looked back, he could still see the craggy cliffs that separated the jungle in the valley from the highlands and the mountains.

  That could only mean one thing: the ocean had flooded the valley.

  What on earth has happened? A tsunami?

  Drew Potter’s tests in the canyon! He had suppressed it; he had been too wrapped up in his illness. Not that many years ago, something had caused the water level to rise half way up the pass. Was a new flood on its way? Would the vast lowlands be entirely flooded? Russell shook his head in disbelief.

  What would that mean for the colony? First, the oil spring and then the refinery would be destroyed by the encroaching water. That, at the very latest, would set off alarm bells in the colony, but by then it would be too late to rescue the oil reserves they had stored there. Then the observation post at the exit would be flooded.

  Damn! And I can’t warn them! If only I’d taken a radio with me!

  Russell squinted in the direction of the shoreline. He couldn’t tell whether the sea was still moving inland, or at what speed. It seemed to be advancing very slowly, in any case.

  Then Russell heard a sneeze and got such a shock that he nearly lost his grip.

  What the hell . . .?

  He knew that sneezing. He’d heard it a hundred times before. And he hadn’t expected to hear it again. It couldn’t be!

  He looked to his left, but could only see the leathery, brown hump of the whale’s back. The noise came from the other side of the animal.

  Russell grabbed the rope pulley, unraveled it and attached the carabiner to the net. He attached the other end to his belt. Then he clambered up the rope as fast as he could. Luckily the flight was calm and there was no turbulence. He was supported by the net, and a moment later he was sitting at the highest point of the whale’s back and leaned over to the side. There he saw . . . his son!

  “Greg! Jesus Christ!”

  “Hi Dad!” His youngest looked up at him with a mischievous expression.

  “Hold tight! Whatever you do, don’t let go of the net!” said Russell, trying to keep his voice calm.

  “Don’t worry, Dad. I’ve hooked myself into the net, like you have.”

  Russell could see the carabiner on Greg’s belt, but it didn’t reassure him. It didn’t change the fact that his son was as good as dead!

  “Why did you do that?”

  “I wanted to come with you and see the ocean. Please don’t be mad.” Greg spoke the last sentence in a pleading tone of voice.

  Russell’s mind was racing. The boy had to get back to the colony. Somehow. He knew that they hardly stood a chance of getting back through the jungle unharmed. They couldn’t call for help. And with every mile they moved further away from the colony, their chances diminished.

  We have to land. Immediately!

  The whale had turned northward and was taking a course parallel to the newly formed shoreline of the ocean. It would be at least another four hours before it landed at sunset. Russell had to force the animal to the ground. Somehow.

  A yellow spot, a good arm’s length in front of him on the flank of the whale, caught his eye.

  Maybe it will work. Maybe not. But I need to try, at least.

  He pulled himself forward along the net.

  “What are you doing, Dad?”

  When Russell reached the spot, he twisted half round so that Greg could understand him better. “We have to get down to the ground. I want to force the whale to land. Hold tight!”

  “Why do we have to land? You said you wanted to fly until nightfall.”

  “Do what I say! Make sure that the hook is firmly attached to the net and hold tight!”

  “Are you mad at me?” asked his son in a subdued voice.

  Russell didn’t answer and felt mad at himself. As a boy he would have done the same thing; he should have guessed. Now his son was in mortal danger and it was his fault. If something happened to Greg, just because Russell had wanted to go on this last adventure, he would never forgive himself.

  Russell reached down to his belt and pulled the sharp knife out of its sheath. He didn’t want to harm the whale, but given the situation he had no other choice. With a sharp movement, he rammed the knife deep into the light spot on the animal, where he presumed the organic valves must be with which the whale controlled the height at which it flew. It felt as if he had stuck the knife through a piece of paper.

  “Dad, what are you doing?” asked Greg in a shrill voice.

  Russell pulled the knife back out. It was now coated in a yellow liquid. At first nothing happened, then he heard a thin whistling sound and warm air came out of the wound. The whole whale vibrated, then it started slowly to spin on its own axis.

  It’s working! We’re going down!

  It took a long time, but after a while, Russell noticed that they had left the humid atmospheric layer with the microorganisms.

  “We’re going down! Hold tight!”

  “I’m already holding tight. Why did you do that?”

  Russell tried to calculate the speed at which they were going down, which wasn’t easy. But there was no denying that the ground was getting closer. The whale continued to turn, and in the south, Russell could make out the hill with the supply depot. In the hut there were also weapons and a radio! It was only one or two miles away. Maybe they would make it!

  Now that they had left the hazy layer of air, the view was also clearer. In the distance, Russell could clearly make out the edge of the plateau with the colony. He estimated that they were about twenty miles from the observation post. Before that were the oil springs. There they would be safe, but to get there they had to get through ten miles of impassable jungle.

  “What’s that blue over there?” asked Greg.

  “That’s the ocean.” Russell turned to look eastward and still couldn’t believe that the ocean had moved so far inland.

  “That’s the ocean? Wow. It’s enormous!”

  “I know, Greg.”

  “And what’s that light thing over there?”

  Puzzled, Russell looked in the direction that Greg was pointing. A pale shimmering sphere half protruded over the horizon of the ocean. Instinctively Russell wanted to answer: That’s just the moon! But then he remembered where he was.

  New California doesn’t have a moon! What the hell . . .?

  He grabbed the little telescope on his belt and directed it at the pale source of light. Dark-gray areas and pale-gray areas, between them craters and hills. It was a moon, no doubt about it. It even looked like the Earth’s moon. But in all the years they had been here, they had never seen it.

  Why now? And w
hy couldn’t we see it from the colony?

  He got an answer to his second question as they floated further down to the ground and the moon disappeared from view. The whole time it had been hidden behind the curve of the horizon. A few minutes later, as they neared the treetops, there was nothing left to be seen of the moon. At the last second, Russell looked back at the nearby range of hills in order to imprint the direction in his mind.

  “We’re nearly down, Greg. Hold really tight.”

  “You keep telling me to hold tight. I’ve been holding tight the whole time!”

  Branches snapped noisily all around them as the whale caved into the treetops. Russell was briefly shaken, a thin branch scratched a bloody welt in his face and then, wheezing, the animal came to a standstill.

  Several feet below, Russell could see the jungle floor. Luckily this wasn’t a forest of giant redwoods!

  Russell pulled himself along the net over to the hump on which his son was lying and staring at him with frightened eyes.

  “Now listen to me, son. We’re in danger. There are really nasty animals in the jungle. About one mile from here is a supply depot. With a bit of luck the radio will still work and we can call for help. We’ll make our way there now, as quickly as we can. I don’t want you to say a word and you mustn’t leave my side. And above all, do exactly what I tell you. Understood?”

  Fear flickered in Greg’s eyes. He nodded.

  Russell grabbed his backpack, pulled himself over to Greg and attached the carabiner on Greg’s belt to his own. Then he tied the rope to the net and looped it through his second carabiner. He checked his pistol and stuck it back in the holster. His rifle he attached to his backpack in such a way that he could easily reach it once they were on the ground. Then he slowly lowered himself down the rope with his son.

  A few moments later they were standing on the damp floor of the jungle. His son was about to say something, but Russell immediately put a finger to his lips. Then he looked around.

  The jungle was not as impenetrable as some of the jungles he knew on Earth, but nonetheless he couldn’t see more than forty feet ahead. Thin, brown tree trunks were capped by a thick canopy of leaves that blocked out a view of the sky. Bushes, about hip height, proliferated between the trees. Anything might be hiding in them. If some monster suddenly sprung out of the undergrowth, he wouldn’t even have time to grab his weapon.

  Russell wiped the sweat from his brow. It was oppressively humid under the canopy of leaves and the silence all around them was frightening—as if the jungle were just waiting to devour them. Strange and overpowering smells penetrated Russell’s nose, like in a hothouse of a botanical garden.

  Russell pulled the rope out of the hook, then he reached behind him for his automatic rifle, balanced it in his right hand, and with the other took his son by the hand. “Come on!” he whispered. “Slowly and quietly.”

  Russell made sure they were going in the right direction and set off purposefully. Greg was trembling. It was obvious that he had had something else in mind when he’d imagined this trip.

  Russell kept stopping to hear if anything was approaching. They had gone no more than three-hundred feet when he was startled by a loud cracking noise. It came from above, somewhere from the dense canopy of leaves. He swung the muzzle of his gun in the direction of the noise and prepared to fire.

  “What was that?” whispered Greg.

  Perhaps just the wind.

  Russell pulled Greg forward, his nerves as taut as his muscles.

  “Ouch, you’re hurting me!”

  Russell loosened his grip. “Psst! Sorry.”

  Without a compass he would have lost all sense of direction by now. With a machete, Russell cut a path through the thicket of vine-like plants. We’re making too much noise and moving at a snail’s pace. But there was no other way. The vegetation was simply too dense. Russell looked at his compass again. They were going in the right direction, but he had no sense of how far they still had to go.

  By the time the forest finally thinned out, they had been walking for at least an hour but covered barely more than a mile. Russell was dripping with sweat and had to gasp for air. Breathing in this high humidity was exhausting. The effects of medication he had taken that morning had almost worn off, and he was overcome by a wave of weariness, which enveloped him like a heavy blanket. He was dizzy and to top it all, he felt sick.

  Another noise made him look up, but his visibility was blurred and the treetops seemed to be turning in circles. Russell fell to his knees and threw up on the ground.

  “Dad! What’s the matter? Dad!”

  Greg’s hand touched his shoulder. Russell wiped his sleeve across his mouth and looked ahead. He tried desperately to focus, but the effort made his head pound. The pain drove him almost to distraction.

  “Dad! There’s something over there!”

  Russell squinted in the direction that Greg was pointing. He could barely think straight.

  Please, please not a wotan!

  “Help me! In my rucksack! The little black bag!”

  His son opened the backpack and searched for the bag of medication. Russell watched as if were looking through a thick fog.

  “Here Dad!”

  Russell undid the zipper and rooted around among the medication that Dr. Lindwall had given him. After a few long seconds he found what he was looking for. He flipped open the lid on the little bottle with his thumb, tipped back his head and held the bottle to his lips until he noticed that at least three of the capsules had made it into his mouth. He swallowed the Dexedrine without water and hoped that it would soon take effect. Then he reached for the bag again and took out a syringe. He removed the cap from the ballpoint-pen-like mechanism, and rammed the needle into his thigh through the fabric of his pants. He pressed the plunger right down. His headache subsided almost immediately, as the high-dosage Tylenol got to work. Why the hell not, he no longer needed to worry about the fact that such a high dosage could cause liver damage.

  Finally, he was able to focus again on what was going on around him. He could hear the rustling in the bush, only fifteen feet away. Swaying slightly, Russell got to his feet and swung his backpack onto his shoulder.

  “Stay behind me! Walk backward!” he whispered to Greg.

  With trembling legs, Russell walked backward toward a clearing, to get as much distance between him and the animal or whatever was lurking in the bush.

  There! Like the sound of a rattlesnake. But they didn’t exist on this planet. It must be something else. Something dangerous, perhaps.

  He gave a start, when suddenly the head of an animal shot up out of the undergrowth. Its body remained hidden in the undergrowth. Its black, demonic eyes seemed to pierce his soul. Beneath the eyes were a barely defined nose, with two twitching nostrils, and a wide mouth with leathery lips. The face resembled that of a chameleon, although the texture of the brownish skin was totally alien.

  “What is that?” whispered Greg.

  “I have no idea. Stay behind me!” Russell retreated step by step, his gun at the ready.

  They were about thirty feet away from the animal when it suddenly, and almost silently, burst out of the bushes. It looked like a fur-less dog. A greyhound; even the size was similar.

  But the body didn’t seem to belong to the face at all. It was considerably thinner than a wotan’s, with clearly defined muscles rippling under its naked skin.

  Looks like it’s damn fast.

  Once again, Russell could hear the grim rattling sound. He had hoped that the animal would lose interest once they were further away, but that didn’t seem to be the case. The creature was without doubt a predator. And they were its prey!

  As if in slow motion, the greyhound-lizard opened its wide mouth to reveal needle-like teeth. But worst of all were the black eyes.

  Jesus, those eyes are demonic!

  Russell felt a chill running down his spine. He had never seen this species on past expeditions into the lowlands.

&n
bsp; “Dad, what is it?”

  “Psst! Quiet!”

  Russell continued to grope his way backward, his gun pointed at the creature. His hand was trembling, but he didn’t dare to use his other hand to help. With his left hand he ensured that Greg stayed under cover behind his back. With every step back, the monster came one step toward them.

  This was the wrong tactic! It can tell that we’re afraid and backing off. It was biding its time to start with, now it’s plucking up more courage.

  “Stop!” Russell hissed to Greg. “Keep your head behind my back, damn it!”

  The lizard-dog cocked its head slightly to one side. Something was pulsating on its thin neck, and at the point where the head joined the muscular torso, little balloons pumped up beneath the skin.

  Jesus, what’s it planning to do?

  The monster made a sudden movement with its head, and Russell saw something flying toward him. Instinctively he flung himself to one side as a thick drop of slime hit the muzzle of his gun. There was a hissing sound and a burning pain shot through his left shoulder. Russell screamed. His gun flew through the air as he fell backward, pulling his son down with him. He stretched out his left hand to break the fall. From the corner of his eye he could see a brown bolt of lightning racing toward them. He grabbed his pistol, lifted it and shot. He emptied the entire magazine. The monster continued to hurtle toward them—and over them. It rolled head over heels several times before coming to a standstill.

  Groaning, Russell rolled over, inserted a new magazine, and got ready to fire. He propped himself up on his left arm and pointed the weapon at the lifeless animal. He tried to keep his trembling under control. Slowly he stood up, without lowering the weapon. But it was no longer necessary, their attacker was dead.

  Russell helped his son to his feet. “Are you okay?”

  Greg nodded. His whole body was quivering, his eyes ripped open wide. “Dad, your shoulder!”