I opened the arsenal, grabbing the rifle, and my gaze fell on the flare gun. Why not? I tucked it in my belt and went down to the garage. The gate opened, and a wave of cool air engulfed me.
Strips of mist had stretched across the sky, and a light snow was falling. No wind, thank God. I buckled up and set out for the rendezvous. We'd agreed to meet at that ill-fated crag, which was only fitting. I hovered over it and tried not to think. My anxiety was gone. All that remained was a hollow detachment, as if this was all happening not to me, but to a character in a movie. I needed to focus.
My brothers-in-arms arrived. Edlon was late as usual. He had put a flak vest on. I told him it would be useless against the spears, but he wouldn't listen. Ort was dressed in the same ranger fatigues as me. We rolled out, moving in a wedge formation, Ort in the lead. The snow had stopped and now rested lazily on the leaves and grass. We didn't talk.
We were already far into the wild-lands. Only drones had been here before us; no traveler dared step foot in this wilderness. I looked around and noticed a rusty manipulator hand sticking out of the ground. It was covered in moss and partly in snow. I looked away and concentrated on the task at hand.
Ort slowed down and raised his hand. He put the index finger up and pumped the arm. We got him. Three scooters rose up and up, along the mighty trunks and through the canopy. I felt twigs and leaves hit me in the face, but barely noticed them. We came out and rose above the forest. It was cold and fresh there, my lungs tingled, and I felt rejuvenated.
To the right of us, the canopy field abruptly broke, dropping into the river. We couldn't see it, but we heard its rumble. We moved to the sound.
There it was. Three scooters hung on the edge of the demarcation line between two parts of the forest. The river was wide and dark, its banks dressed with fine ice. The night was falling and cold mist rose off the water and smoked above its surface. Several rectangular boats were crossing it in a caravan. Were we late? I looked at the other side and adjusted my goggles.
Trees stood as dark guards on the bank facing us. Beneath and beyond them, I spied armed natives. They were bustling about, dragging boats on land and making formations. There weren't that many of them, but I was but a human and didn't see half of them. No torches, everything was done in the gloom. They were ghosts in the snow.
No allies in sight. I felt uneasy.
Ort took out a flashlight and raised it over his head. He intermittently pushed the button and released it, the light flickering on and off. At first, there was nothing. Then, deep in the forest gloom far beyond the disembarking army, another flash answered him. Ort repeated. The lonely flash winked to us, saying that we weren't alone here. I couldn't help but smile.
Ort tucked away his flashlight and turned to us. 'It's time.'
We shot forward like projectiles kept too long in the cannon's mouth. Wind whipped my face, but I peered straight ahead. It was my first whiff of real action in all my time in the army. I couldn't have ever imagined that it would be like this.
As we drew closer, I heard drums.
Our scooters burst into the clearing, and I got a better look at the troops.
They were crossing the river on flat boats with upturned noses that didn't sink into the water, but glided over it. Each had six armed warriors, four oarsmen two by two and a drummer on the nose. He sat cross-legged, facing the crew, and beat a small drum to give a rhythm. All men wore war paint, stripes and splotches of red and yellow that stood out on their snow-white skin. From above, they looked like colorful specters crossing from the land of the living to the great beyond.
One drummer spotted us and alerted the others. He changed the measured rhythm to a fast one-hand beat and pointed at us with the other arm. Warriors of different boats turned to us, some stood up and shouted.
It all happened in a couple of seconds. The moment the cacophony started, we split up. Ort went dead center, Edlon veered to the left and me to the right. I dropped the rifle off my shoulder and propped it on the right handlebar.
Ort made a pass down the caravan, honking the horn, blinking the headlights and letting out a guttural howl. Terrifying. The natives went apeshit. They shrieked and covered themselves with wooden shields, trying to escape the wrath of thundergods. I heard cracking from the other side. Ort said that Edlon knew his trade. Now I truly saw it. The man was standing in the saddle, shooting like a master marksman. Those he hit tumbled over and went into the water with a splash, never to emerge again. Native warriors were so terrified that they dropped their weapons and jumped into the river themselves. You may think that I used double standards, but this situation was different to the sawmill. We were at war.
As for me, I randomly fired over them. No point in unnecessary murder, if you ask me.
Suddenly, a crack came from the wrong side. I swayed the scooter and saw my man standing on the other bank. D'lem lived up to his fame alright. Taller than a human and muscle bound, he towered over his warriors and glared at us. The stolen rifle was raised over his head. The moment it thundered, the panic stopped, even Edlon went out of his shooting frenzy. D'lem shouted something, his voice booming in the cold air. Then the tables turned.
The natives regained their courage and started to throw spears and arrows at the unmerciful thundergods. I saw Edlon and Ort go higher, retaliating. The situation was going out of hand. I had to take the chief out.
I hurried to him, gaining altitude. Balancing the rifle and the scooter with one hand, I took out the flare gun with my left. I raised the hand with it into the air and squeezed the trigger. The flare hissed out of the barrel and raged skyward where it exploded with a bang. The river was lit by red light, echoes from the explosion reverberating between trees. Crimson flashes danced on the dark waves.
For a moment, the whole area grew still. They clearly hadn't seen a flare before. It hung in the air, like a star, blinking. A rumble came from the woods. The allies were advancing, pushing the invaders to the river.
I put the flare gun back into its holster and went for D'lem. He was so close now, I didn't even need to use the gunsight. The chief was the only one who didn't pay attention to the flare or to the incoming troops. He looked straight at me. There was something in his gaze that made me uneasy. The chief wasn't scared of no thundergods.
I fired.
I missed.
The bullet got D’lem in the chest, his shoulder flinched backwards, but nothing more. The chief grabbed a spear from the nearest warrior and ran at me. I fired again and got the wrong man. D'lem was now right under me. He turned the spear blade down and raised it for the throw. I aimed for another shot, but he was quicker. A mighty strike shook the scooter, throwing me out of the saddle.
I held on only by chance — my rifle was caught between the steering column and the basket. The machine rotated in the air, coming down, out of control. I held fast as long as I could, but then I slipped and fell. A moment of zero gravity, and I hit the thin ice. It cracked like paper, and cold water engulfed me.
I hit the bottom and got up on my feet; water reached up to my chest. So cold, it was eating me alive. The rifle dropped near me and was consumed by the river. I looked up and saw my scooter hovering in the air just above me, so close and so far. I heard a bark and knew what it meant even before I looked.
D'lem was coming at me, ice cracking beneath him. Big man with yellow paint curling on his chest. Ort was right — such a strong, fearless man was bad news for everyone.
I dived down and searched for my weapon in the murky waters. There! I felt the rifle's slick body under my fingers, so familiar. I jumped out and aimed at the chief.
He was just a couple of feet from me, and I couldn't miss. He stopped, looking at the muzzle. Behind him, I saw natives going at each other’s throats. Their axes flickered in the dying light of the crimson flare, and yellow blood flew in the air. I pulled the trigger.
Nothing. In the heat of the battle, I forgot that rifles won't shoot after submerging. Shit…
D'l
em saw my failed attempt to kill him and laughed, or at least made a similar sound. He aimed at me, knowing that there was no way for me to escape. I could have dived, the water would have stopped the bullet. Instead, I didn't move, I was a rabbit in a train tunnel. The alien fired.
The bullet splashed beside me. By the perplexed expression on his face I understood one thing — he didn't know shit about rifles or shooting. D'lem must have thought that thundersticks killed by sound alone. Hence the name. It was only a symbol, a trophy. A weapon of the gods.
He aimed again. I looked behind his back and beamed. D'lem turned to look himself and at that moment a metal hatchet entered his face. The blade cut diagonally from the right eye to the left cheek, going deep. Blood flew in a cascade and splashed on his chest, mixing with the paint.
R'lok hung fast onto his weapon. He grabbed the chief by the shoulder and drew closer to him. He released the handle and started to beat the ax into D'lem's face. The big man dropped the stolen rifle into the river and caught his enemy's head in the pincers of his hands. He started to squeeze, trying to crush him, while R'lok hammered the metal ax deeper into the chief's skull.
The big man gave up first. His hands dropped down, and he descended into the water. R'lok turned to me, holding D'lem and smiling. He looked hideous, covered in blood, scarred and grinning like a mad man. He hugged D'lem by the chest and raised him above himself, straining every muscle. R'lok gave out a series of yelps that echoed over the river.
Silence descended upon us all. I looked around and saw that all fighting had stopped. Everyone was looking at R'lok with the dead chief in his hands and me at his side. I saw enemies helping each other get off the ground and knew that the battle was over. We won.
The flare died out.
The battle ended as swiftly as it began.
R'lok and I carried D'lem's heavy corpse to the bank and dumped it there. I looked around. The warriors were dragging dead bodies out of the water, ones that weren't carried away by the stream, and laying them on the bank. It was done carefully as if they were alive. A row of dead bodies, the death toll wasn't as steep as could be expected from "savages."
I heard humming from behind; that was Ort towing my scooter to the ground. The man looked less gloomy as usual, even cheerful. He saw me looking at him and gave me a merry nod.
The aliens also tended to the wounded disregarding the prior allegiance. It seemed to be their way, treating it all as if nothing had happened. I got a better look at them and that perplexed me even more. Many had metal weapons, yes, pieces of tracks sharpened into blades. But they also wore rubbish on them. Sawmill worker helmets, beer cans as earrings, gloves, sometimes just one. I saw a man with a blue scarf wrapped around his chest like a bra. Artifacts of thundergods. Compared to them, R'lok looked normal in his native clothes. And I thought that he was strange.
Speaking of him. The alien came to me, knelt and pressed his forehead to the ground. I saw old scars on his back. 'Thank you, Wealder,' he said. 'You saved our world.'
That must have been a sight to see. A sorry looking me, in damp clothes, blushing from cold and embarrassment, with a broken rifle in hands, and a native warrior, battle scarred, kneeling before the human. We live in a strange world.
'That's my job,' I said, smiling. 'And don't belittle yourself, you made it all real. Now, rise.'
R'lok got up and bowed his head. 'You very generous in praise, thundergod.' He left for his people.
I had mixed feelings about the whole affair.
On one hand, we won and liberated them from the conquest. A noble deed. I came closer to D'lem and looked into his face. The wound disfigured him, bending his features. Ort called him "that bonehead." Was he that? The man was brutish and huge for a native, fierce looking. Yet, he organized the people into an army. Made them steal metal for weapons. That's smart thinking. Maybe, he did all this in search of glory or out of natural violent tendencies. Or maybe it was something I as a human couldn't understand. I will never know.
On the other hand, all of this could have been avoided, if I hadn't let the rifle out of my sight that day. Prometheus took the thunderstick from a god and was punished for that. Stuff of legends, my ass. What awaited the people? I looked at R'lok talking to somebody. He was bowed to, treated with respect. They'd probably make him a chief, as Edlon predicted. I hoped he'd be a better one. He seemed to know the rules of the human universe.
I heard agitation to the left of me and turned. The warriors were crowded near the trees; they murmured between themselves and pointed at the bodies on the cold wet earth. Edlon was kneeling over one. What was he doing? Then it all came together in a second. Metal in his hand winked at me. The natives drew back in fear. I heard a smooching sound of flesh being separated from bone.
(I can give you an answer. They are animals.)
Edlon was scalping the dead. He broke the first rule — respect life and death. I could forgive him alienist tendencies, but not mutilating the corpses. That was beyond my comprehension. I ran at him.
Edlon held the dead native by his red hair, lifting the head, and was sawing off the scalp. He must have heard the thumping because he turned. There was a strip of skin with hair in his hand, dripping blood. The moment he looked at me, his face met my boot, and he tumbled backwards over the dead body.
'The fuck are you doing?!' I shouted at him.
Edlon pushed himself up on the hands and looked at me. His face was a grimace of incomprehension and pain. I put the rifle butt into it. There was a crunch, and red blood flowed out of the broken nose. Edlon hit the ground again.
'Wealder, stop!' I heard Ort running to me, but I paid no attention. Edlon lay at my feet, dripping blood and still holding the smeared knife in his hand.
'Do you have no respect? Why would you do that?' I leaned closer and kicked him again, but he was ready.
Edlon evaded my boot, grabbed it and jerked to him. Now I fell down, landing on the dead native. The fucker pounced on me like a cat and held me by the collar of the raincoat. His face was pure madness with blood creating a glistening muzzle instead of the mouth. With the goggles on, he didn't look human at all. Edlon started to punch me.
'You see, roomie,' he said, puffing. 'Their shit sells well, and scalps even better. I just wanted to earn some cash, you know.'
His punches threw my head backward, but I didn't feel the pain, only the push of the fist against my face. My head was swimming with rage. I kneed him in the back, but he only hissed. Then I put my gloved hand to his face and tried to gouge the right eye. I pushed the goggles off and wormed the thumb inside, touching the wetness underneath the glass. He veered his head, escaping my thumb, and lifted his body off me. That was my chance, and I pushed at him.
Edlon began to tumble backward and fastened his grip on my raincoat. Something glistened near me. The knife. I'd completely forgotten about it. He had it in his hand the whole time. I saw the yellow stained blade fly in front of my face and rise skyward. I looked into the face of my roomie. He was ready to plunge the weapon handle deep into my neck and fuck the consequences, he was that far gone.
A massive shape appeared over us. A hand grabbed Edlon's wrist just below the knife and jerked the fucker off me.
'STOP IT!' Ort shouted. 'We're rangers! We're civilized!'
Edlon was hanging from the big man's hand like a doll. He twitched, like a snake with its tail trapped, unable to escape. The fucker spat in Ort's face.
'You bearded fuck! You —' I didn't know what Edlon had to say next because Ort hit him in the face with the other hand. The smaller man went limp at once; the knife fell out of his hand and stuck in the earth.
I got up, adjusting my raincoat and touching the neck. No blood. 'The fuck is wrong with him?!' I hissed.
Ort put him on the ground and wiped the blood off his face with a handkerchief. A white one. The scene looked so touchy-feely and absurd in the wilderness. Ort threw me a glance and returned to Edlon. 'Leave him be.'
My head was spinning.
'Why are you defending him? What, do you two have an operation going? Scalps and pelts?'
Edlon was coming to his senses, mumbling. He looked pathetic.
Ort stood up, towering over me. 'Don't be a fool. Behave. That's the way it's done here. Edlon killed them, so he owns everything that was theirs, including their bodies. It's the law of the wild. Use everything.' He paused for a moment. 'We need to re-establish our status.'
Thundergods. I was sick of this stupid cult. We were no better or even worse than them. I took a deep breath and raised my hands. 'O-okay. We live by forest laws.' I looked over the gathered natives watching us, R'lok, Ort, Edlon on the ground. My gaze lingered on the latter. 'The fourth rule — respect the territory. When he comes to his senses, tell him that if I see him on my land, I'll shoot him on the spot.' I even nodded to hammer down my point.
Ort looked lost for a moment. 'Where are you getting these rules? Is it your puttering thing again?'
It was, in some sense, and it rekindled my fury. At Edlon, at me and at the whole stupid thing. Ort kept staring at me, the inarticulate giant. He wanted an answer, but I couldn't give one. So I turned and strolled away. The scooter was waiting for me like a loyal dog. Dozens, maybe hundreds, of eyes watched me walk over the bank, over D'lem on the ground, and approach the scooter. I jumped onto it and went home without a single glance back.
Foolish me. I thought that I was at the lowest point of my ranger career. As I said earlier, that was just the beginning of my real problems.
Under the Canopy Page 11