I experimented with using the vines to make twine or rope, with some success. I improved the construction of my axes and made stone knives. I made a simple sling and began practicing with it daily. I found that a simple curved stick could be thrown with a fair degree of accuracy, like a boomerang that didn’t return. I even ventured to make a bow with arrows made from sticks with leaves as fletching. It was the worst bow ever, but I practiced with it nonetheless. I unraveled a section of paracord to make string and with a small length of bent wire, a reed-like branch, and a wooden float, I had a simple fishing rod, a better way to catch lung-eels than the spear—they liked the bugs that were trapped in chimney-pipes.
My first hunting success, barring spear-fishing, was with my throwing stick. My prey was a possum-sized reptilian thing that ran about on long legs held under its body, mammal-style rather than lizard-style, and chased bugs in the early morning along the creek. It was a little skimpy on meat, but tasty enough when roasted.
Having read or heard somewhere along the way that primitive man used bones as needles, I tried that. Not so great.
Then came the rain, cold and drizzly. It lasted most of the day for a few days straight. I donned the EVA suit to venture out into it for my daily foraging. The bugs, bat-birds, and fur-lizards were scarce, but the other animals were oblivious. I rested and worked in my hut as much as I could, providing me a great view of numerous leaks. I resolved to repair them later. After the rain, the weather was very warm and muggy, inclining me to go about with my flight suit off my chest and tied about the waste. My shirt was just a bag now, so I was rewarded with more sunburn.
I lost track of the days. The larger moon had not made the full circuit of its phases, the smaller one had, and seemed half-way through its second ‘month’.
I was barely eating enough, or maybe not quite enough, and started putting more of my day into foraging, forcing me to wander further from Augie Field, so I spent a lot of time hiking and exploring. My sling skills were still terrible, and my stick-throwing not much better, but both worked better than my archery.
I utterly failed at my few attempts to gather animal hides. I rarely caught land animals and my tools were not nearly good enough to skin them. Just as well, I supposed—I had no idea how to tan.
I was coming home one day with a bag half-full of fur-lizards. They weren’t just the one species—rather they were an entire class, or order, or genus, and came in many sizes and shapes. Most I had seen were small, perhaps six or seven inches long plus tail, and they generally had flattened rotund bodies, wide triangular heads, and short tails. Their fur was short and ranged through brown, yellow, orange, and grey. Some were solid colored, others splotchy or spotted. I supposed they were mammals, but they had a generally reptilian shape to them.
I had gotten lucky and found two sunning themselves on a chimney pipe and hit both with my throwing stick, then a third a minute later. These were about the size of rabbits with orange-brown coats. I didn’t care for fur-lizard meat. It had a musty taste to it and since I couldn’t skin them well, I wound up with a lot of burnt fur that had to be pulled away. On the whole, my Wayworld cuisine was miles inferior to anything I’d eaten on Earth, but since I’d spent half my adulthood eating the flavorless bricks that passed for food on most space stations and flights, I wasn’t too picky.
As I was tired and listless by the end of the hunt, I was dragging my supplies and my shirt/bag along and shuffling my feet. I heard a rustling in the brush behind me. I turned and looked, but saw nothing. I heard it again. Still nothing.
Then the creature burst forth, about twenty yards away. It would have been a wolf, if wolves had bullet-shaped heads and were covered by a horn-laden carapace instead of fur. It uttered no cry as it sprinted toward me in deadly grace, its shark-like mouth gaping to show large jagged teeth, its whip-like tail lashing the air behind it.
I ran, too panicked to even drop anything. It was far swifter than I, and in mere moments I saw its olive-grey bullet snout momentarily between my knees as it slammed into my legs from behind. I tumbled over the back of the monster, its thorny projections scratching and jabbing me as I went down.
It turned about before I was finished falling and leapt on me. I clutched my arms and legs to myself, huddling behind my spear and shirt-bag. The beast was content to settle its teeth on whatever it found there, namely was my bag. I tried to wrestle my spear in between its mouth and my head, without success. With every wretched twist of its head my stomach and legs slammed up against horn and bone. I kicked at its flanks with my heels, but its bony carapace was immune to my attacks.
I finally shook it off barely enough to bring up my spear. It bit down on the shaft. I pried back and forth and kept kicking until I could slip out from under it. It clamped down and pulled, dragging me to my feet, then halfway to my knees.
Terror gripped me with the sure knowledge that I could not hope to fight this armored lupine monstrosity. It snarled and growled around the spear-shaft, letting loose and lunging back in, but I managed to wedge the shaft back into its toothy maw. It released again and dove under the spear, bowling me off my feet again. I caught myself and scrambled around to face it, my spear held toward it and my bag of intended lunch on the ground between us.
It growled and stalked forward. I stepped back. It bent its head to my bag and a long pointed tongue snaked out between its jaws and licked at the bloody stains on the bag. It eyed me warily. I backed off further, more than happy to give up a few fur-lizards in exchange for my life. After enough backing off, the monster seemed content with grabbing up my game in its mouth and trotting off into brush, turning once to glare at me. Shaken and terrified, I sprinted the rest rest of the way back to Augie Field, collapsing in my hut, hungry, exhausted, and trembling, but alive.
So Wayworld had predators. Not surprising in the least, but my first encounter with one was sobering in the extreme. I did my best to inspect my back and legs. There were numerous scratches, shallow cuts, and badly bruised spots, but nothing looked serious. My flight suit was torn in many places, and with no supply of new clothes, that concerned me. My spear shaft was gnawed nearly in two and would have to be replaced. It would not have survived another lunge from the thorny wolf.
I ate what little food I had in the hut and rested a while before going out for more foraging, steering clear of the scrubby plain where I had met my monster. I woke that night at every sound, and I greeted the next sunrise with relief.
I was extremely sore for several days. I succeeded very little with my spear-fishing or hunting, since most sudden movements were agonizing. Foraging, despite its bending and kneeling, fared better, because I could do it slowly.
Upstream the creek veered southward and eventually emerged from the wooded undergrowth near Augie Field. It was north of this area where I found the thorn-wolf, or more accurately, where it found me. A smaller creek or brook fed into it further upstream. Beyond this the main creek was wide and shallow, flowing over rounded rocks of brown, orange, and green.
Downstream from where it neared Augie Field it wandered through trees, anemone trees, and tendril bushes. About half-a-day’s journey downstream (as far as I had explored, since I wasn’t ready to camp overnight), it was joined by two larger creeks to form a river, and the trees cleared so that the river was surrounded mostly by low-lying bluish scrub.
In a field near the junction I came across the half-devoured carcass of one of the small-horned quadrupeds (I had them dubbed waybeasts in a fit of creative non-excess) from the field, leaving me wondering whether thorn-wolves were present this far east. The kill was fresh, so I wasted little time in hacking off a largely untouched leg joint, and taking it home for dinner.
It was, by far, the best tasting thing I’d found here. It reminded me faintly of roast pork, but with a slight metallic twinge. It was enough meat for a full dinner, and breakfast the next morning. Unfortunately, my hunting skills were no match for the beast alive, and even if I could kill one, most of the meat
would go to waste. Nonetheless, I might dine on the occasional waybeast if I wasn’t above the occasional bit of fresh carrion. And I wasn’t.
With practice I had learned to shape logs—not extremely well, mind you. I worked on improving my hut by layering the outside with poorly shaped logs, then filling the cracks with a combination of mud and dried feather-ferns. I planned to wrap the entire structure in improved walls, then tear down the interior walls.
The going was slow, since more and more of my time was spent foraging. My food options had expanded, but it never seemed quite enough. I was often hungry, and never had much energy. Half-admiring my handiwork on the one wall, the thought of a raft came to mind. I could cover much more territory downstream with one, but what about upstream? It seemed worth trying, but was it worth taking more time away from foraging?
Every improvement I could make always came down to that question: it may be great in the long-term, but with my daily survival in the balance, could I afford it short-term?
According to the green moon, by now I had been on Wayworld for little over a month. What that meant in Earth months, I couldn’t say—I suspected I’d been there a month or two. My skin was tanned, my hair shaggy, and my beard very full. The pudginess accumulated from frequent bouts of low-g had diminished. I could notice the improvement in my muscle tone, though I still felt weak and heavy.
I had a collection of serviceable homemade tools: a few flint knives (or something like flint), an axe made from a stick and a ceramic shard from the augie, stone hammers, a curved throwing stick worn smooth by knives and constant handling, my sling, and the rebuilt spear. I had a pouch, a bag, and a crude poncho cut from leftover parachute.
On a downstream trip one morning I had made it as far as as Three Creek Junction, and as I came over a slight rise I caught a glimpse of what looked like a waybeast on its side. Excited by the prospect of another chunk of roast waybeast, I hastened toward the sight. As I reached a closer rise, I could look down and see that it was, indeed, and dead waybeast, freshly killed. Very freshly killed. So fresh, that the predator was still there, chomping noisily on its prey. It was scary.
The creature’s build was somewhere between reptilian and mammalian, long and low to the ground. From nose to rump it must have been eight foot long or more, and its thick, tapered tail looked another four or five foot. A heavily muscled neck held a large head that was mostly massive jaws with dagger-like canines. I couldn’t make out any visible ears. A thin mane of hair traced down the center of its neck and down its spine. The rest of its hide was tiger-striped in light and dark grey, and was either bare or covered in short fur—I couldn’t be sure from that distance. Shortish, powerfully built legs ended in many-toed, clawed feet.
The huge head swung suddenly in my direction, baleful red eyes glaring straight at me. The head remained still as the rest of the body walked around, aiming the monster at me. Its blood-streaked mouth hung open and it raised it snout as though testing the air. A terrifying roar split the midday air as the creature opened its mouth impossibly wide, pawing the ground and dashing across the glen at me. My entire head and shoulders would fit into those jaws. I ran.
My legs and arms pumped furiously as I sprinted, heedless of direction, away from the roaring behind me. I didn’t know whether it considered me prey, rival, or both, but I knew I could only be prey. I hazarded a glance over my shoulder. My pursuer didn’t seem to be gaining on me. If it did not have great endurance, I might be able to escape.
My own endurance was unimpressive, but fear was a great motivator. I ran as long as I could. I stumbled as fatigue set it in and, terrified, scrambled to my feet, looking back. The monster was a good ways off—I had outrun it thus far—but it was determined and kept coming. I turned and ran off again.
Perhaps I could lose it in the trees near the river. I darted that direction. I ran along the edge of the treeline, stumbling repeatedly over low lying branches and upthrust roots. I veered further in. There was plenty of brush around. My pace slowed, and I regretted it immediately. Soon I heard the beast crashing through the brush behind me, unslowed by undergrowth. Its red, gaping maw showed through the brush. I was sure it saw me. At this point I could not possibly outrun it, and had failed to lose it. Hastily I looked around and found a tree to climb.
I had no idea if the monster could climb, but it was my only hope. I scrambled up the tree as swiftly as I could. The creature came crashing into the trunk mere feet below my feet as I scurried up from branch to branch. The creature leapt and lunged, its claws scrabbling on the grey blue trunk of the tree, digging out shards of bark. The jaws snapped and growled.
I climbed fifteen or twenty feet from the ground. The creature wasn’t much of a climber, but it remained determined. It lurked about on the ground beneath me, growling and pacing back and forth. It walked a little ways off, then turned and dashed at the trunk. This time it made it a short way up the trunk before sliding back down. It returned to its pacing, then dashed up again, snarling and snapping as it went.
I took no comfort in my position. It hadn’t reached me yet, but I was unconvinced that it couldn’t. It shared my opinion. Again and again it dashed and clawed it way up the trunk before sliding back down. My spear, strapped across my back, caught branches. I hadn’t even thought about it until now. I knew I had no chance against this wide-mouthed monstrosity in a fight, but it was better than nothing.
I held the spear between the beast and myself as it started another attempt, this one no better than the others. Undaunted, it came yet again, from another angle this time. I scrambled to face it without falling. It came clawing up the trunk, it mouth wide to snatch at me, lunging faster and higher than it had before. I screamed and clenched my eyes as I heard the crunch that followed.
I opened my eyes. It had not bit down on my leg, as I’d feared it would. Instead, its massive incisors were locked around a lower branch, it body dangling, it shortish legs pawing at the trunk to find purchase. A front claw latched on, then a hind one. Clumsily the creature sought better purchase, finding it a little at a time. A wicked red eye glared at me. Now it growled quietly instead of roaring.
I brought up my spear in my left hand and awkwardly stabbed down at the menacing red eye below me. I missed, but the monster instinctively shut its eye and flinched its head, shaking the body halfway off its hold on the trunk. It snarled again and swung itself toward the trunk. Now, all four limbs wrapped around the trunk and it released its toothy hold on branch. A bloody cut split the skin a few inches away from the eye. The red mouth opened wide once again and roared at me in anger. Or hunger. Probably hunger.
I pulled back the spear and, holding it in both hands, crunched my body downward, thrusting with whatever strength and weight I could muster. The spear plunged into the vast maw below me, stabbing somewhere near the throat, pulling me off balance. The creature screeched in pain and anger, blood filling its throat to produce a gurgling sound as it reared back, sending both of us crashing to the ground.
I fell, narrowly avoiding both the thrashing monster and the shaft of my own spear that waved to and fro as the creature shook its body about. A front leg pawed at the spear as it sought to dislodge the source of its pain. I stood to run but the creature lunged at me, whacking me in the neck with the spear. Reflexively I gripped at it and held on.
I leaned into the spear shaft, thrusting deeper into the throat. It screamed again. Panicked beyond reason, I held firm and thrust my weight onto the shaft again and again, forcing the injured creature’s head to the ground. A final terrified thrust and I felt the spear break through the other side. A spasm shook the monster and flung me loose. It continued to thrash about. I saw the spear-head sticking out the side of its neck, blood gushing from the wound.
The legs gave out beneath the creature and it struggled to right itself, only to have the legs give out again. Now the neck went flaccid and the head dangled on the ground. It tried to rise, but over and over it slipped back down to the ground. Soon the thras
hing ceased, the spasms quieted, and beast lay still. I could not bring myself to believe it was dead.
I was trembling too much to do anything. I guzzled water and went to the river to wash myself. As I calmed down, I returned to the sight of my kill.
My kill. Man versus monster, and I had won. Unbelievable. I felt giddy and frightened, saddened and elated, all at once. I let loose a primal howl and shook my arms at the sky. The howl quickly turned to sobs and I dropped to my knees. I was overwhelmed with too many emotions to think.
I calmed some more and went about extracting my spear from the carcass. I hacked off a rear leg to take home for dinner. I determined to return to the glen where I first encountered the creature and retrieve what I could of the waybeast. Before I departed I turned and glanced back once more at the fearsome creature I had slain.
Taking out my axe, I grasped a massive canine tooth, easily eight inches long. It was well-rooted, but I hacked at the gums where they enveloped the tooth. I chopped and chopped, and soon pulled loose the bloody incisor. I left, clutching my trophy to my chest. I thought to return by tracing the river upstream, but when I got there the banks at that point were very steep and densely placed trees, anemones, and scrub grew right up the edge, making passage impractical, if not impossible.
I tried to retrace my way out of the copse, but I emerged on some other side than I’d come in on. I was lost, but pretty sure of the direction I needed to go. I came to a rise in the ground as I was trying to trace along the edge of the copse. As I topped the ridge, my feet stopped. My heart stopped. I could not believe my eyes.
In the distance, halfway to the horizon, was a road.
Chapter 4: The Road
I stared at the road. A dirt road: winding across the field and disappearing into the brush on one side, and trees at the other. I dashed across the field, exhaustion forgotten.
Diggory's World (Wayworld Book 1) Page 6