Logan maneuvered around and stood up, trying to stretch the cramps out of his neck and back while he waited for his left leg to regain its circulation. He'd been sitting in a way that wedged it tightly into the fork of the tree. Now it hurt and tingled.
He carefully edged over and rested his hand on one of the more vertical branches, unzipped his pants, and relieved himself. The stream spattered on the dried leaves below. There was no answering sound. He'd half expected the cat to come charging out at the noise.
Finished, he began to edge onto the connecting branch to the magnolia tree. He'd descend carefully, then see about a drink. The idea of water tormented him, and he had to mentally restrain his movements. It wouldn't be good to slip and fall. He had to be careful.
He reached the magnolia with no sign of his feline attacker. Just to make sure, he broke off a rotten stub and threw it into the bushes. It made a gratifying rustle and crunch. Then all was silent except for the mockingbird. It continued to sing somewhere, over near the edge of the stand of trees.
That was a good sign, wasn't it? Logan believed that birds might be quiet or sound some kind of alarm call if anything dangerous was nearby, but he wasn't sure that applied for mockingbirds. All his wilderness experience was his brief time at the dig site, and, years ago, a week at summer camp with the Cub Scouts. He was realistic enough to recognize that he couldn't really rely on the information he'd seen on TV. Maybe mockingbirds in this place didn't act like ones he'd seen around people's houses.
“I wish I'd read more prepper stuff on the Internet,” he muttered as he climbed down the smaller tree.
The last branch was about five feet up, and it decided that his weight was too much this time around. It snapped, precipitating him onto the ground in an undignified fashion. The fall knocked the wind out of him. He staggered to his feet, looking wildly around, preparing to either run or to climb the tree again.
Nothing happened. The saber-tooth must have given up and gone elsewhere for its meal. Still, he felt a little nervous. He quickly moved to the cover of the underbrush. As he pushed through the bushes, something rustled on the other side. He continued forward, emerging just in time to see the tail of a fox retreating into a palmetto thicket. He wondered if it were the same animal.
The beach was over towards the sunrise. That made sense, as did the idea that there wouldn't be any fresh water over there. So, he'd have to go the other direction. He threaded his way between the bushes, trying his best not to make any noise. It was harder than he'd thought. The dry leaves crunched, as did a stick that he stepped on.
After awhile, he reached an area that was full of brush. He could see that he was near the edge of the trees. The brush was the last barrier before he reached a more open space.
He wormed his way through the stuff, recognizing and avoiding a patch of poison ivy on the way. Lucky thing that he knew what that looked like.
Abruptly, the brush ended. He looked between two huge leaves and saw that he was facing a grassy area surrounded by trees. There were numerous cabbage palms scattered across the area, but not so many that he couldn't see the far side.
He decided to check thoroughly before he stepped out, exposing himself to potentially hostile eyes. He searched the space carefully, seeing nothing. Waiting would not get him a drink. He started forward, then jerked and retreated to better cover.
There was movement on the other side of the open space. He watched intently. It was a...a woman. She was running in his direction, followed closely by a man. The man had gray hair and was having difficulty keeping up. She looked much younger, and was easily out-pacing him. The old guy was limping slightly. She paused to look back, motioning impatiently for him to hurry.
Logan was paralyzed by the sight. The two were wearing clothes that looked like they were made out of animal hide and the man was carrying what appeared to be a handful of slender spears. It was like a scene out of a movie about prehistoric times he'd once seen.
He watched, fascinated. About halfway across the space, the old man stumbled and fell. The girl, for that was what Logan now realized she was, turned, ran back, and grabbed his arm, tugging. While she tried to help him recover, there was a shout from the far side of the field. The two turned to look. The old man said something and motioned to the girl to continue running.
It was obvious that she didn't want to leave him. She said something back, and he turned to shove her. She walked a few steps, looked back, and then began to run with a smooth stride as he motioned again.
There was a sudden chorus of cries from the distance. They sounded like a pack of hounds on the trail of prey, but the noises were obviously of human origin. Logan could see a group of men burst out of the underbrush, running directly towards the old man.
The old guy had moved behind a cabbage palm, but the others knew where he was. They slowed, and then spread out, as they got close. They, too, were carrying spears. With a lightening-like throw, the old man let one of his missiles fly. Somehow it appeared to separate, leaving a short stick still in his hand.
The light spear flew much farther than Logan had believed it would. It was well aimed, too. It caught one of the pursuers right in the chest. The man cried out and fell on his back, disappearing in the grass. Logan could still see the end of the spear shaft pointing straight towards the sky, wobbling back and forth as the wounded man thrashed around.
The other pursuers let out yells of anger, and threw their own spears back. The old man had retreated behind the cabbage palm, and the spears flew past his position to stick in the ground.
He grabbed one of the nearest ones, fitted it to the stick he held and hurled it back. That one missed.
Logan was so fascinated that he'd forgotten about the girl. When he remembered her, she was just darting into the tree line about two hundred yards to his left.
He jerked his head back towards the fight. There had been a triumphant scream.
One of the pursuing men had struck the old man with a thrown spear. It was now sticking completely through the old guy's left thigh. That didn't stop him, however. He calmly threw another spear right back at the group, hitting another man in the stomach. That man sat down in the grass, slumped over.
Logan was beginning to realize that this was real and it was serious. Those guys weren't playing. He was watching a real-life battle, one that the older man wasn't going to win.
The group of men had spread out so that the cabbage palm no longer offered shelter. The old guy threw one more spear, but his leg prevented him from launching it with the same speed. It wobbled, missing its target.
Two spears arched in, striking the old man in the chest and abdomen. He dropped to his knees, tugging at the one in his chest. The pursuers dashed up to stand jeering at the old man.
He struggled to his feet waving what was surely some kind of knife. One of the others thrust a spear into his back and he dropped to his hands and knees with a cry. Another man caught the long gray hair, yanked the old man's head up and slashed his throat. Logan could see the red gout of blood.
Meanwhile, two of the others had taken off along the path that the girl had taken. The rest of the men stood in a loose group, watching the old man bleed out.
Logan suddenly realized that he was probably in a lot of danger. Those guys were killers and their spears were lethal. He drew back farther into the heavy undergrowth, then turned and headed away from the point where the girl had entered the tree line. He wanted no part of the fight, and, besides, he didn't know her.
To give him some credit, he did think momentarily about trying to help her, but his thinking didn't get beyond the fact that he only had a knife while the pursuers had spears that they could hurl improbably far. He couldn't see how he could help. Maybe she had enough of a head start that she could escape. She was a fast runner. The only way the pursuing group had caught the two was due to the old man playing out.
Some time later, he crawled into a thicket to catch his breath. He couldn't hear anything from the pursu
ing men. They could be anywhere as far as he could tell. He didn't think they'd caught the girl. They would have set up a ruckus if they had.
The men hadn't seemed worried about any saber-tooth cats. Maybe being in a group with those spear-throwing things was enough protection. Logan didn't know and didn't care. He now had one driving purpose: to get a drink. His thirst had increased exponentially as the sun rose and as he exerted himself, fleeing the violent scene.
He had traveled maybe a couple of miles, and felt fairly sure the bad guys wouldn't catch him. They were probably chasing the girl towards the coast.
He'd started thinking of the pursuers as the 'bad guys', since they had killed the old man, and were chasing the girl. She'd looked like she was about his age, and he unthinkingly took her side.
The ground was squishing a little as he walked. There was water nearby. The cabbage palms had thinned out, to be replaced by reeds. He moved through the thicket to a vantage point where he could look out over the grass-covered area again. There was a thick stand of reeds that looked like it might be a place to get a drink. He stayed low, scuttling from one bit of cover to another through the tall grass.
He arrived at a point where the ground became really mushy. He was moving through vegetation-covered muck. The reeds were thinner to the north, so he headed in that direction, coming out onto a muddy shore that fronted a small creek. The creek wound through the reeds in such a manner that there was little visibility either up or down its length.
He hesitated at the verge of the grass, wondering if there would be any disease in the water. Thirst drove him forward, leaving him no choice. He moved over the shallow mud and muck, kneeling at the water to scoop some up in his hand. It tasted heavenly. He slurped several handfuls, and then bent down closer with the intent of sucking water directly from the surface.
As he bent down, he suddenly realized that there was a large shadow under the water. It hadn't been there previously. It also had two protruding eyes that were watching him. They started to move towards him, and he jumped to his feet and backed rapidly away. The alligator broke the surface with a splash, hissing in frustration at missing its prey. The thing was probably over a thousand pounds, and looked like it was almost fourteen feet in length.
Logan had lived in Florida all of his life and he knew a little about gators. This was the largest one he'd ever seen. Even larger than the biggest one at Gatorland Zoo, an Orlando tourist attraction that he'd been to a couple of times. He jumped to the side and ran as the creature lunged out of the water. It could strike very quickly, but couldn't follow at top speed for a long distance.
Back in the thicket, Logan caught his breath. This was turning out to be an awful day. He considered. He'd nearly gotten eaten last night, then speared, and now nearly eaten again. At this rate, he'd be toast before more than another couple of days had passed. He'd have to be more circumspect. This place was dangerous.
A dry buzzing caught his attention. He froze, looking around. There it was: a rattlesnake. Big and mean, it was coiled under a bush a few feet away. Before it decided to move towards him, he was out of the thicket and heading back towards the taller trees.
Nighttime found him in a tree near a small, water-filled sinkhole. There were some cattails in the water and he'd grubbed out some of their tuber-like roots to fill the void in his stomach.
The night was hot, humid, and still. The local mosquitoes had located him, even though he was high in the branches. They hadn't found him the night before, but now he was on the menu and it looked like they were determined to keep him awake all night despite his use of a broken, leafy branch to swish them away.
The moon rose, illuminating a quiet scene. The mosquitoes had given up about six hours after dark, and Logan was now trying to sleep while holding onto the narrow branches of his perch. He'd gotten used to the night sounds – the raucous frogs, the grunting of gators off in a hole somewhere. He sat up twice, eyes wide, listening when the distant screaming call of a large cat echoed through the trees. Sleeping in a tree wasn't his idea of an ideal situation, but at least it was relatively secure.
Chapter 9: DISCOVERY
The next day started with a series of roars that echoed through the trees. Logan jerked awake, clutching at the branches as he almost fell. Sleeping in trees was uncomfortable, and the repercussion for falling out of bed was likely to be serious. Still, it was better than the alternative: being waked by some predator jumping on him.
The sound wasn't repeated for several minutes, than it came again. This time it was from much farther away. His cramped seat in the tree abruptly became unbearably painful, and he decided that he might be better off eaten than having to spend any more time off the ground.
Once down, Logan slipped through the brush until he reached a still pool that he'd located the evening before. He maneuvered through some vines, and leaned out, resting his hands on a partially submerged log. He could see some small fish swimming below. They investigated some debris that his hands had knocked into the clear water.
He looked carefully around for any alligators, and then lowered his head to drink. When he raised it again, he glanced across the pool. There were two eyes peering through the bushes directly at him.
A shudder of surprise shot unpleasantly up his back as his eyes met the ones across the pool. The distant eyes moved a little closer through the intervening leaves, and the surrounding face resolved to that of a young woman. Her long brown hair hung freely on either side of her perfectly proportioned face. He drew a reflexive sigh. She was beautiful.
She smiled a mysterious half smile, then stepped backward and disappeared.
Logan started to call to her, but then caution regained control of his mind. There might be predators or, what was maybe worse, some of the spear-carrying men he'd seen. That led to another consideration. His lips moved, silently forming a question. “I wonder if she was the one I saw running from the pursuers?”
He pulled back and started around the sinkhole. Then stopped in doubt. he thought. If I go one direction and she comes the other, I'll miss her,
After a moment, he continued. The girl had looked friendly. At least she hadn't made an angry or fierce face at him. She was also beautiful. Everything about her, or at least as much as he'd seen, was attractive. Even the mud smeared on her cheek had seemed to be artfully arranged to enhance her cheekbones. It had added an air of mysterious enticement to her already intriguing look.
Logan continued working his way through the dense vegetation surrounding the deep pool. It took him some time to reach the other side, and when he did, he was disappointed. There was no sign of the girl. She had vanished.
He located the spot where she'd watched him. There was a single small footprint in a wet area. Beyond that, there was nothing. It was as if she'd never been. He was left wondering if it had actually been his imagination. He looked around, rubbing the back of his neck, but there was no clue as to her location.
There were some crows calling in the distance. It sounded like they'd found something to which they took objection. Maybe it was her. He started off, moving in the direction of their raucous calls.
When he drew close, he could see a flock of perhaps thirty of the birds clustered in the tops of several long-leaf pines growing in a sandy spot. The crows were taking turns dive-bombing at a hawk that was perched on one of the higher limbs. The hawk, in turn, was doing his best to ignore the vituperation, only ducking once in a while when one of the glossy black birds zoomed too close.
The crows kept up their noise, cursing at the hapless hawk. Logan turned and strode away in disgust, trying to distance himself from the noise. He hadn't gone more than a hundred paces when he saw a panther, its eyes intent on the noisy birds. The cat was far off, partially hidden in some palmettos and scrub, and it hadn't seen him yet.
He ducked behind a convenient sand pine trunk, plotting out a retreat that wouldn't expose him to its gaze. He'd been lucky that it was fixated on the crows. There was a large thicket
just a few yards away. He crawled until he was behind it, hoping that he hadn't been spotted.
Regaining his feet, he headed quickly away. It would be a good idea to have some weapon besides the knife. The knife was sharp, but the idea of hand-to-hand fighting with a panther or saber tooth cat was not something he wanted to contemplate. Perhaps he could create some sort of spear. For that, he needed a nice, straight sapling. He began to look for a suitable shaft.
Logan had walked for several hours. The sun was now past the zenith and heading down. He'd been more concerned with thirst at first, but now hunger was setting in and his stomach was rumbling.
The cattails had been okay, but they didn't seem to satisfy the gnawing in his middle. He hadn't wanted to try them again, but now he was more motivated. Unfortunately, he couldn't seem to locate any of the water plants.
He knew there were numerous edible plants in Florida, but some were deadly too. He was afraid to experiment; his knowledge was so spotty that he might inadvertently pick the wrong thing to eat.
Paradox: On the Sharp Edge of the Blade Page 9