by Adam Carter
There was very little for Stiggs to do so he did nothing. Shouldering his own pack he stayed out of everyone’s way until they were ready to go. No doubt they would glower at him, probably make a jibe at his not helping, but their comments would not bother him. He was only here as Valentine’s representative anyway, and Valentine didn’t want much.
As they set off once more Stiggs noted Aubin was somewhat withdrawn. Having been swept away like she had and almost killed it was understandable. He did not care for her of course, but it seemed a shame for her to be so afraid. Then there was the nonsense of the supposed man-dinosaur which had saved her, the tracks of which Stiggs himself had found and foolishly revealed to the others. Stiggs knew nothing about animal tracks and had simply been worried there was another crocodile lurking around. That Garza should then decide the tracks supported Aubin’s near-death experience about a man-dinosaur was ludicrous and to Stiggs’s mind Garza should have just said they were ordinary animal tracks. That way Aubin would not now be as fearful as she was and everything would be hunky-dory.
As such it was partly his fault Aubin was so afraid, and while he did not care for her well-being, if it was his fault he needed to do something to make amends.
Stiggs found himself falling into pace alongside her. He did not ask how she was, for she would likely take that as unusual and he would only freak her out further. Instead he decided to engage her in something she knew about, to put her somewhat at ease.
“It’s a good thing you read up on the crocodiles,” he therefore said. “Otherwise we might all be dead.”
“Except for those of us who ran up a tree.”
Stiggs shrugged. There was that. “So what other crocodiles should we be looking out for? There are vegetarian ones, ones with long legs which live on land. Anything else?”
For a moment she seemed as though she was about to quicken her pace to get away from him, but then she said, “There’s Crocodylia and then there’s Crocodylomorpha: crocodile-shaped. Some Triassic crocodiles were tiny, so that’s the distinction. Erpetosuchus and gracilisuchus were only about a foot long for instance. They were swifter, would have been like hyenas of our day probably.”
“So they were scavengers then?”
“No.” She frowned. “Why?”
“Because hyenas are scavengers.” She continued to stare at him blankly so he pressed on. “So what distinguishes a dinosaur from a crocodile then?”
“How should I know?” she finally snapped. “I’m not a palaeontologist, I just read up on some of the local wildlife ‘cause I didn’t want to get eaten.”
She stormed off then and Stiggs wondered whether he had done more harm than good. If she was angry, however, it meant she wasn’t so frightened any more, which could only have been a good thing. Pleased that he had done his part in her recuperation just as he had done his part in her needing recuperation, Stiggs walked now with his head raised just that little bit higher.
Honeywood slapped him across the back of the head as she passed him, shot him a stern glare, and said nothing at all.
And people wondered why Stiggs didn’t like anyone.
They continued walking for another hour or so before Honeywood and Garza stopped to get their bearings. The heat of the swamp was stifling and Stiggs was continually finding it difficult to breathe, although he knew his complaints would be ignored so did not bother to voice them. He could not understand how Seward’s tracks could still be visible after the flash flood and knew the two expedition leaders were just taking them onward without any knowledge of where they were actually going. Aubin didn’t seem to have realised this as yet so Stiggs thought better of telling her. She was freaked enough about the dinosaur-man footprints they had found and didn’t need to be told they had lost Seward.
He stopped to consider that a moment. Perhaps the reason they were continuing at all was because they themselves were lost. Maybe Garza and Honeywood just didn’t want to admit it, or didn’t want to worry Aubin (Stiggs was under no false belief that they cared one whit how he felt). Since the riot they had done very little exploring of the local swamp, and had never ventured this far, so far as Stiggs was aware anyway. He had always assumed the entire world was swampland so there was no need to explore any of it. Now it seemed they would be exploring it whether any of them wanted to or not.
“Why do you like birds?”
Unused to anyone talking to him as he was, the question threw Stiggs somewhat. It took him several moments to realise Aubin was even speaking to him. Her eyes were firmly fixed upon Honeywood and Garza some way off, as though the girl knew they were discussing the possibility they were lost. Perhaps Aubin wanted to speak to him just to anchor herself in what she knew of as reality.
Still, it was true that Stiggs liked birds.
“I don’t know really,” he admitted. “Every Christmas we’d have this little robin pop up in our back garden, looking for worms I suppose. It was amazing to think that something so small could be so complicated, so engrossing. Up until then all I’d seen in the wild were pigeons, and I’d never seen anything special about them. But this robin would just appear on our window sill and chirp away to his little heart’s content. I guess from there I started noticing other birds, then actively went looking for them whenever I was in a different country.”
“So you’re a proper bird watcher?”
“No,” Stiggs reflected. “It just gives me a reason to travel.”
“Oh. You must miss home then.”
Stiggs shrugged. He had never really thought about it before; there had always been too much for him to be doing for Valentine. Out here there were prehistoric birds, true, but there was no chance of him ever seeing a real terrestrial bird again. “I think I miss that robin every Christmas,” he said at last.
Aubin offered him a small smile, which was a disconcerting sight which brought him back to reality. No one smiled at him, especially not attractive young women – and there was no denying that Cassie Aubin was attractive. He realised he had already said far too much about himself.
“We’re lost,” he told her bluntly, wondering why he had done so. A knee-jerk reaction to getting too close to someone, perhaps. “We’re lost and we’re likely walking farther and farther from the prison every moment.”
“I know.”
“You know?”
“It doesn’t take a genius, Stiggs.”
“Doesn’t it bother you that we’re lost?”
“No. Why should it? What’s back at the prison that’s so hot anyway? Maybe out here we’ll find someone else. Maybe we’ll just find something which isn’t swamp. Whatever we find, it has to be better than drawing out our lives in that place anyway.”
Stiggs had never thought about it like that before. The prison, or institution as they liked to call it, was their home. It was everything to them, yet Aubin was right; it was also nothing. But then perhaps Aubin thought that way because she was herself nothing. Honeywood was their prize pit-fighter, and Garza was a potential rival. Even Stiggs had his role, and it was a very important one to their leader, Dexter Valentine. Aubin was just a nobody, dreaming of a better life. Well there was no better life, Stiggs decided, and she was deluding herself to think there was anything better for her out here.
He could see she knew what he was thinking, for he knew what they all thought about him. He was yes man to Dexter Valentine, and they all hated him for it. Some were jealous, others simply could not understand why he ran errands for the man. Valentine ruled the institution and Stiggs worked directly for him. That made Stiggs more important than any Honeywood there ever was.
“There’s always something better beyond the horizon, Stiggs,” she told him. “By the way, do you even have a first name?”
“Maybe Stiggs is my first name,” he shot back. “Maybe I don’t need two. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He stepped away from her and saw her face distort as she reached for him. He could not understand the reaction, but suddenly he was falling as his foot passed th
rough what he had taken to be solid ground, but was actually a pot hole. It sucked him down with a sickening slap of wet juices and he threw his arms above him for a reason which eluded even him. His fingers clawed frantically at the lip of the hole, but it was wet and loose and all he succeeded was to tumble dirt upon his head.
Something yanked his arm then and he realised Aubin had managed to grab hold of his hand before he could disappear entirely. He could feel soil and swamp draining away beneath him, sliding down his body and being sucked away below. If she released him he would go down with it, into the world’s natural sewer system, forever entombed beneath the swamp. His eyes met hers and he could see hers were frantic so wondered what his own must have been like.
She grabbed his arm with both hands and attempted to drag him out, although her feet were finding no purchase and he could see her sliding all the way towards him. If she wasn’t careful she would be sucked down with him, but he wasn’t about to snap his hand away to save her. Instead he managed to get his other hand clasped about one of her wrists and he attempted to haul himself up, all to no avail.
Out the corner of his eye he espied a thick root sticking out the side of the hole, and he grabbed onto this, tugging it to test its strength. It held, and with a deep breath hauled against it. With Aubin still pulling, he felt himself slipping out of the hole, managing to rescue his waist at least. He did not stop for a rest, knowing at any moment he could still be sucked straight down, and nor did Aubin’s adrenalin rush seem to be abating. Seeing he was coming free, she tugged harder, and with a resounding plop he was pulled free, collapsing on top of her to roll in an untidy heap.
They lay upon their backs for some moments, breathing heavily, their adrenalin burning off slowly. He knew he should thank her, knew she had saved his life at great risk to her own. But she was not his friend, and he did not understand why she had done what she had done. Reflex, probably. Probably she already regretted her actions.
Once he was certain he would be able to speak a full sentence he said, “Where’s a handy dinosaur-man when you need him?”
Aubin scowled at him as she rolled to her feet and, brushing herself down, walked over to join the others. Stiggs did not much care what she did. He was alive, and that was all that mattered. People like Cassie Aubin could go to Hell for all he cared.
Still, he was beginning to wish Valentine hadn’t sent him on this expedition after all.
CHAPTER EIGHT
When Honeywood was a child she had never imagined she would be spending the rest of her life in a swamp. But then she had never really given that much thought to what she would actually be doing with that life. She had a terrible temper, but that didn’t mean she was violent. Most people assumed she was; after, all she was the greatest pit fighter they had ever had. But the pits were somewhere she found she could work out her aggressions, and that left very little room in her life for anger. Once it was drained from her it was gone, at least for a while. Her temper had been what landed her on this world in the first place, and so many times would she sit on top of Seward’s café, the two of them watching the stars and wishing they could just go home.
That Seward was dead was not a possibility Honeywood wanted to consider, although it was the most likely scenario. Whether he had gone willingly or been coerced, Honeywood knew they would have been able to find some trace of him were he still alive. That they had become a little disorientated was not lost on her, and Seward could even now be returning to his café, wondering what all the fuss was about.
It was a jolly scenario, and one Honeywood did not believe for a moment.
With Aubin having lost two of their backpacks, however, Honeywood knew they would have to locate a supply of fresh water. It was easy to become dehydrated in a swamp, which was ironic considering how much water there was about them. Honeywood did not want to die lost out in the marsh, face down and breathing in quagmire.
“That’s odd.”
Honeywood was only paying half a mind to where she was walking and almost didn’t catch Garza’s statement. She turned casual eyes upon him to find him frowning over something. Instantly her mood changed, her mind became more alert, and she asked, “What?”
“There’s a trail here.”
Honeywood stared at the hard ground indicated, but she could see nothing. “Animal tracks?” she suggested. “Maybe there’s freshwater somewhere nearby and they use this trail to get to it.”
“Maybe.”
Honeywood had never been much of a forester, or rambler, or whatever the term was for a place like this; she had never cared enough about exploring the swamp. She hated the swamp so much the last thing she wanted to do was trudge through it. That Garza could see a trail where clearly she could see nothing was only indicative that Garza had a greater survival instinct. But then if this world was all they had to look forward to for the rest of their lives Honeywood didn’t care all that much about survival.
Garza moved almost more quickly than Honeywood could react, but she saw him lunging for her and parried his arm with her own while delivering a horizontal swing with her other fist. Garza’s momentum kept him going and he collided with her, the two of them tumbling to the sodden ground. It was a feeble tackle, and yet as Garza’s body pressed into hers she felt a stifling wave of disgust and shoved him off. Garza rolled onto his side, stunned at her swift reactions, and Honeywood rose slowly to her feet, her chest heaving through the sudden adrenalin rush, her confused eyes fixated upon him in lethal fury.
“The hell?” she asked.
Garza stumbled angrily to his feet and snarled at her, before turning away and striding off. “Screw you, Honeywood.”
Honeywood’s anger was beginning to abate somewhat, and she was aware both Stiggs and Aubin were staring at her. “What?” she barked.
Neither replied, but both were staring at her, their eyes darting to something a little way to her right. Honeywood forced herself to look and saw the foot-long rusting steel bear trap she had almost stepped inside. She knew she should have felt relief, should rush over to Garza and apologise, but all she felt was a wave of anger that she had reacted so quickly, and with such detriment to Garza. He was here to learn from her, she knew that much without even the need to be told, but that didn’t mean for one moment he was here to replace her. There had been no indication he meant to kill her to assume her role, and she hated that she could even have thought such a thing of him.
This whole world was messing with her head, turning her into a monster. Seward had been right all along; they really did need to get off this rock as soon as humanly possible.
“Someone set that trap,” Stiggs said, which was both true and useful. It was also so blindingly obvious that Honeywood should have realised such already, and likely would have if she hadn’t been feeling so sorry for herself.
“Of course someone set it, you idiot,” she snapped.
“It’s old and rusted,” Aubin said. “It could have been put here years ago.”
“Could Seward have set it?” Stiggs asked. “We are on his trail still aren’t we?”
“You have something to say, Stiggs,” Honeywood accused, “just come out and say it.”
“I don’t have nothin’ to say, Honeywood.”
“You think we’re lost, don’t you? You think I don’t know how to follow a spoor.”
“I never said nothin’, Honeywood.” He raised his arms and backed off a step.
Honeywood took that same step forward, not allowing him to put any distance between them. “You want to lead this party, Stiggs? That why Valentine put you here? Eh?”
“Honestly, Honeywood, I …”
“Hey,” Garza said, coming back to them then. He eyed both Stiggs and Honeywood with the disgusted look of a father coming home to find his two boys scrapping. “If you two are finished, I found something.”
Honeywood immediately forgot Stiggs even existed and moved after Garza, who was heading back the way he had come. He made no mention of the incident wi
th the trap, and nor did he make a fuss of the bruise forming on his cheek. However, he did not seem especially happy either, and Honeywood decided against apologising. Garza was a big boy; he could take a few lumps.
“What do we have?” she asked, joining him at the edge of some trees.
“Take a look.”
She did so, and could not believe what she was seeing. The swamp continued all about them still, yet nestled upon some dry ground there was a small building formed of wood and what appeared to be woven reeds. It had one storey, a series of wooden steps leading to a seemingly secure door, keeping the interior off the ground of the swamp, and several windows dotted about which were covered with some form of transparent plastic. There was even a chimney poking out the roof, and looked similar to the shack Seward used for his café.
“Seward have a second home out here?” Garza asked.
“Not that I know of.”
Garza nodded in silence.
The house, if such it could be called, likely contained two or three rooms, judging by its size, and Honeywood had a strong suspicion that this was where they were going to find their missing comrade. Why he would have built a house out here in the swamp she could not say, and the only thing she could think was that he used it as a stopover whenever he went hunting. Perhaps the entire shack was some form of larder.
Still, there was only one way to find out.
“Aubin, Stiggs,” she said, “keep an eye out for trouble. Just in case.” She and Garza headed across to the shack and approached it warily. The truth was they did not know anything about this place and could not simply assume that Seward was inside. And even if he was, it was possible he was being held by someone. There were a lot of bad people back at the prison, after all, and after the riot several of them had simply wandered off into the swamp, not intending to stay in the building which had served as their incarceration. None of those people had ever been seen again and it was generally accepted that the swamp had claimed them. Perhaps some of them had survived, however. Perhaps they had had the right idea to leave the prison after all.