He moved slightly, and jumped with a curse as his hand came down on a snake. The reptile wasn't large, but any snake was a bit too much in this situation. He started to back away as the bear shoved its head and shoulders deep into the log.
Inspiration struck and Logan felt for the snake again. He yelled, then snatched the reptile and flung it directly into the bear's opened mouth as it roared in return. The bear snapped down on the writhing creature, and shook its head violently.
The bear made an odd noise as it backed slowly out of the log. Logan moved deeper, carefully feeling for any other serpents. The bear made a low moaning noise from outside. It had seemingly lost interest in coming into the log.
Logan felt suspended in the darkness, waiting for a resumption of the attack. Minutes passed with no sound. He crawled slowly forward, pausing between each movement to listen. Finally, he reached the opening and carefully peered out. There was no sign of the attacking bear. Maybe it had gone elsewhere.
He backed into the log nervously, worrying about the bear and about any other possible snakes. It took him a long while to calm down, and he was unable to fall asleep again. He lay awake through the hours until dawn, nerves tingling, alert for any sound.
The light had imperceptibly gathered until the hollow log's opening was more clearly defined. Logan couldn't wait any longer. He was tired, sleepy, frightened, and needed to relieve himself. That last urge was gradually winning over the fear.
He crawled out, trying to peer around the edges of the opening for any ambush. Once out, he quickly did his business, and then started up the side of the depression. He found the bear just over the edge. It had made it that far, and died.
Completely amazed, Logan investigated. The animal was dead and he didn't know why. Suspicion struck him, and he turned back to the depression. He found the remains of the snake near the opening. He hadn't noticed it before.
It was brightly colored with rings in a repeating pattern of red, yellow, black, yellow, and red. Logan shuddered, thinking about picking the thing up. It was amazing it wasn't him lying dead, rather than the bear.
It was perhaps a little over two feet in length, which was large for a coral snake. It must have struck the bear on the lips or nose. The snake's venom was a nerve toxin of high potency and there had been a lot of it. The bear hadn't made it more than a few steps before the venom reached its brain.
Logan's stomach reminded him of another issue. Bears were good to eat. Had the coral snake venom poisoned the meat or could he risk eating it? He wasn't sure.
He rationalized that the bear had probably succumbed to a bite on the face, and the venom most likely wouldn't have circulated throughout the animal's body. It was a large black bear, far larger than it should be. Florida black bears were usually fairly small. This one was easily over four hundred pounds. he thought. More like a grizzly bear in size,
Finally, hunger decided him. He used the spear-point to haggle through the hide and cut out some of the muscle from a rear leg. That was the part of the bear that was farthest from the bite, so if any part were safe, that would likely be it.
He walked off, cautiously chewing on some of the raw meat. It was greasy, and not as pleasant as it had been when Serensaa cooked it. He only ate a little, and then waited for over an hour to see if he noticed any effect.
He felt fine, and there were no odd sensations, so he ate some more as he walked along.
Chapter 18: A FOX
During the next two days, Logan walked over a seemingly endless upland area with grasslands interspersed with low, rounded sandy hills. The travel was boring, long, and hot. Despite the cool nights, the days heated up quickly. The weather seemed to have gotten hotter.
He had worked as a roofer with his dad and he understood how to survive in the heat. He drank plenty of water and made sure to rest during the hottest part of the day. For the most part animals left him alone. The sole exception was a gray fox that trailed him for over a day.
Logan was crossing a spacious grassland. The tall grass whispered around his legs as he headed for the distant tree line. He was uneasy. The grass-covered area seemed to stretch for miles both north and south. It had seemed expedient to cross it, but now he was again worried about being seen. There was no nearby shelter from predators or enemy warriors.
Before starting the crossing, he checked the bindings that secured his spear-point to the shaft he'd made. The lashings weren't as effective as the normal socket mounting, but they'd remained tight. He'd used the rawhide he'd salvaged from the tortured man, soaking it in water before he tied it. The leather had shrunk as it dried, and now formed a firm bond, holding the fore-shaft and point against the sapling.
He'd first tried walking crouched low to minimize his profile, but after fifty yards of this his back let him know that it was a bad idea. He stopped in an area where the grass didn't grow, stretched, then came to the conclusion that it would be better to meet any danger with his ability to move unimpaired by cramps.
A stronger feeling of being watched struck, as he started moving again. He glanced around. There had been a surreptitious movement at the edge of the barren area. He looked away, and then looked back. There was a gray fox looking at him.
He snorted – another fox. Well, it wasn't a threat, unless it was rabid. He looked at it closely.
The fox sat there calmly, looking directly back at him, its eyes shining in the sun. It didn't seem to be sick. It wasn't doing anything unusual, except sitting in plain view, watching him.
That wasn't the way foxes acted in Logan's experience. They always avoided humans. He wondered if that was the case in the prehistoric past. Maybe foxes here and now didn't view humans as much of a threat. Maybe they were bolder.
He shrugged, then turned and continued. After a few minutes he saw the fox off to one side as it crossed some shorter grass. Then, about a half an hour later, he saw it waiting for him near the sole stand of trees in the plain.
He detoured to investigate the trees. The fox ducked into some bushes as he approached. The clump of trees was not very big, but it was dense enough to provide a hiding place for a predator. The fox's presence seemed to indicate that there was nothing there, but Logan proceeded cautiously.
There was a sudden rustle in the bushes that grew between the trees. Logan halted, raising his spear. A deer broke cover to the right of him. It limped rather than bounded as it tried to get clear of the bushes. Once it got into the open, Logan could see that the animal could barely walk. Something had attacked it, leaving deep gashes on its rear quarters. It wobbled as it turned away from him.
He felt a surge of pity for the creature, but the cold necessity of survival took over in his mind. He ran forward, caught up with the injured animal and stabbed it in the neck with the spear. It bleated, then fell over, its eyes wide and frightened. Blood poured out of the spear wound. The deer thrashed, trying to regain its feet. Logan quickly moved away.
It stopped kicking as he disappeared in the grass. He sat there for a while under the sun, sweating and waiting, determined to give the creature a chance to die peacefully rather than to continue to terrify it by standing close.
After a while, he stood up and checked. The deer was dead. It wasn't moving. The fox was already eating some of the flesh exposed by the hip wounds. Logan wondered if the fox had known where the deer was and had tried to lead him to its location with the idea of getting a free meal. If it had, the strategy had worked.
The fox reluctantly left the deer and retired some distance as Logan walked up. He used the spear point to haggle off some meat for himself. He'd have to eat it raw. He really missed Serensaa.
He sat and ate as much as he could, then cut off more for later. When he had as much as he needed, he cut off another chunk and tossed it towards the fox. The small gray canine snapped it up, carrying it into some shade to devour.
Logan picked up his meat and started off. He still had over a mile to go before he was across the prairie and he wanted to be in the t
rees by night. He had no desire to spend a night with no shelter and no fire.
That worry was confirmed as he continued. There was a wide beaten-down path in the grass. A herd of some kind had passed by recently. He looked both ways along the track. There were bones lying in the crushed grass not too far to the south. Some predator had made a kill there. He moved closer to the bones, curious as to what kind of animal it had been.
Its skull was that of a bison, but a huge one. Logan took a little time, trying to estimate the behemoth's size. The bones were scattered around, but from the thighbone and pelvis he found, the bison had possibly stood seven or eight feet high at the shoulder.
The pelvis was that of a heavy creature, and he wondered how much it had weighed. It was at least half again as the bison of his modern world.
He turned up a scapula. It had been gnawed on, and the tooth marks were large and deep. This reminded him of where he was.
Logan turned towards the tree line, and trotted across the remains of the track. He continued towards the distant trees, alternating his stride. A hundred steps walking, then a hundred steps at a slow jog. The trees grew closer, and his sense of worry increased.
Logan stopped a few hundred yards away from the tree line, inspecting the shadows carefully. After considering, he ducked into a patch of taller weeds and then moved towards the north, keeping low and out of sight.
If there was an ambush in the trees, he wanted to avoid it. After a long distance, he turned, wincing as his back complained, and crept towards the tree line. The grass grew a little shorter at that point and he moved more cautiously, until he saw the fox again.
It was still with him. This time it was sitting right out in the open, near the forest edge. It seemed completely unconcerned. Its attitude somehow seemed to Logan to be one of supercilious amusement, almost as if it were laughing at his efforts to go undetected.
He grinned. He must look like a total klutz to the fox, if it knew what he was doing. He stood up, trying to act nonchalant, and crossed the remaining space. He stepped quickly into the cool shade when he reached the trees.
Once through a thin screen of brush, the trees opened out. He oriented himself, picking out a distant tree to head towards, and continued moving. There was no sign of the fox.
By nighttime, he was exhausted and ready to stop. The ground had gradually gotten damper until he realized that he was approaching another swamp. There were large cypress trees about, but nothing that offered him a chance to climb to safety. He continued walking.
The night was setting in seriously when he found a standing, hollow cypress. It was a large tree and in the darkening gloom, he could see that there was plenty of space inside. The opening was narrow and that promised safety, provided he could get through it.
It was so tight that he finally resorted to stripping off his pants to slide through. Once inside, he pulled them back on and stirred through the litter with his spear. The lesson of the coral snake was fresh in his mind and he didn't want to repeat the experience.
It was lighter inside than he'd thought it would be. There was an opening high overhead that let in the rays of the setting sun, which illuminated the dust particles he stirred up.
His search didn't turn up any snakes or anything else except for a couple of large millipedes. He stomped on those, not wanting to experience them crawling over him as he slept. Then he sat and ate the remains of the deer meat.
It was warm and strong smelling. Not a great supper, but filling, nonetheless. There was a little left that he was preparing to choke down when he noticed the fox peering in through the opening at him.
Logan was startled, but glad of the company. He didn't want the rest of the meat, and it went to the fox.
The little creature caught the tossed piece and disappeared into the dusk. Logan arranged himself as comfortably as he could, hoping that he'd see the fox in the morning. It seemed as if it had tied its fortunes to his for the moment and it had proven its worth, leading him to the deer.
He fell asleep and dreamed of Serensaa.
The night passed softly. There were no animal noises other than the distant grunting of gators to wake him, but Logan's sleep was fitful.
In his dream, he was walking along a beach, hand-in-hand with Serensaa. Somehow they'd conquered the language problem and were having an involved conversation. Her movements continually distracted his attention. He wanted her with all of his being. She'd say something that made sense, but then he'd notice how her hair hung down over her breasts and the words she said would sort of fade away.
At a certain point, the conversation became clearer. Serensaa looked at him and said, “I'm trying to get back to my people by the west sea.”
Logan asked, “Will I be welcome?”
She looked away for a moment, and then returned her gaze to him. She answered, “Perhaps. I'm not sure. There is one who will not welcome you.”
He asked a second question, “Do you want me to come with you?”
She smiled and said, “You know the answer.”
His attention turned to her lips and he forgot what he was going to ask. They kissed.
He moved in his sleep, making a low sound.
The small waves rolled up the dream beach and Serensaa turned away saying, “The pursuers are dangerous. They want me. The bearded man wants me for his own. Watch out for him. He is a great fighter.”
Logan moved again, on the verge of waking.
Serensaa's form was fading, turning misty and vaporous. As she faded, she seemed to say, “Come to me by the river. The quickly flowing river.”
Something brushed past Logan's face and he sat up instantly. It was the fox. It had come into the tree. It jumped away, alarmed, but then composed itself and sat near the opening, watching him. He lay still, watching it in return.
It was still dark, although the moon's light was now illuminating the interior of the tree well enough. The fox slowly lay down, and wrapped its fuzzy tail around, partly covering its face. He had the feeling that it was still watching him through the fur, but it seemed to mean no harm. He was content to have the company.
Fox or no fox, he wanted to be back with Serensaa. He had many more questions to ask her and then he had other things he wanted to speak to her about, such as their future together. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, saying a small, disorganized prayer for her safety as he drifted off.
The fox was gone when he woke up. There was a woodpecker hammering on the hollow trunk over his head and the racket was enough to wake anyone. The bird seemed intent on knocking its brains out against the wood.
Logan wanted to yell at it. He had a severe headache. The dust and mold in the hollow cypress had given him a headache. His sinuses seemed to be blocked and the front of his head wanted to come off.
He worked his way back through the narrow opening. It seemed a little easier to get out than it had getting in.
The crow-sized woodpecker apparently didn't care for his presence. It quit pecking, gave a loud cry and flew off in long swoops, squawking at intervals.
The sun's slanting light filtered through the tall trees, the rays pointing in the direction he needed to walk. His dream was still in his mind and it somehow reinforced his need to hurry and reach Serensaa's people.
He was now sure they were at the Crystal River site. Deep in the back of his mind, Logan realized that was probably irrational, but he told himself he had nowhere else to go. His only goal was to find her again and if she'd told him, even in a dream, that she was going to be on the coast, then that would be where he would go.
Shortly after the sun indicated midday, Logan came to a wide river. It lay across his path and posed a barrier that he would have to cross.
The fox had been around on and off during the morning, but had gone off somewhere. Logan didn't worry about the small animal. He'd enjoyed its company, silent as it was, but he also recognized that their partnership was unlikely to last for long. He wasn't surprised when it didn't show up during
the rest of the afternoon.
He set himself to the task of making a raft. He didn't feel comfortable swimming the entire river. It wasn't safe. He'd seen several large alligators as he worked. The entire river was full of them.
Several of the larger ones had been attracted to the commotion he made assembling the raft, and now hovered around offshore with what he thought was a hopeful look in their eyes.
It was nearly dark by the time he had gathered enough branches and pieces of wood, woven them together in a kind of mat that was reinforced by some tough vines. He decided that he'd wait for the sun to be high the next day before he attempted to get across.
Meanwhile, there was shelter for the night. He'd found a thick tangle of vines that allowed him to climb into a tall tree. It wasn't an oak. He didn't know what it was, but it was a long way up to the first branches and the height alone offered security.
Paradox: On the Sharp Edge of the Blade Page 20