In short time, he had managed to gather enough grass for his immediate needs. Was about to carry it back to his cave when the stupid flying creature must have spotted him and made a beeline for his head. Only instinct and good luck had saved him. When the sound of beating wings had reached his ears, Pol had instinctively thrown himself forward. The beast’s razor-sharp claws had missed him by a matter of inches. The bird must have over-flown Pol’s position, and was now circling high above him.
‘Twice that’s happened. I might not be so luck next time. It’s probably getting ready to attack again.’
He glanced despondently at the bundle of grass, which he had dropped on the ground. Lying somewhere to one side was the single spear he had also dropped as he had fallen. Spotting the spear, lying at an angle in the grass, he reached down for it. He was reassured by the fact he had a decent weapon of sorts with him. Hopefully, he might stand a chance. Be able to put up a bit of a fight should the beast attack him again.
Still watching the dark shape circling overhead, Pol thought,
‘What was that big bird I saw in one of those films about ancient Greece?’
The answer came to him.
“A Roc!”
‘That’s it.’
“It’s like a Roc, A great monstrous thing. With wings.”
Although this particular beast was just a huge black bird, Pol could only think how it was the nearest thing he had ever seen that came anywhere near his idea of a Roc.
“Roc it is then.”
He watched, warily, as the Roc continued to circle slowly overhead. His mind switched into overdrive. If this thing was to come down and attack him again, ducking about like a little girl was not going to be enough to save him.
Pol pictured himself running around in a panic, like a headless chicken, stumbling, and rolling over in a vain attempt to prevent him from becoming the creature’s dinner.
Not good enough.
The bird had only missed him this time because his reflexes had been so good. Made him hit the dirt. He was sure it wouldn’t miss next time.
‘Where?’
He looked around, frantically seeking a place of refuge.
Nothing.
Nowhere within running distance.
The nearest cover he could see was at least two hundred yards away. In a clump of umbrella trees down by the river.
If the Roc decided to come at him again, he would never be able to make the distance in time. Whilst running, he would be presenting his back to the creature. It would be upon him in a flash. He would not stand a chance.
‘I could always lie down and hide in the grass, like I did last time.’
Perhaps.
‘But, I don’t think the same tactic would work again. I’m quite sure the Roc is watching everything I do. It would have to be blind to miss me.’
He assumed the Roc was waiting until it could get a clear shot at him. The thing was used to hunting for its prey. Was bound to know how to trap small animals in the open. Swoop down, and rip them to bits.
Pol would be no different. Might be just a bit bigger than the bird’s usual prey.
He was a sitting duck.
‘Well, you’ve nailed me good and proper this time, mister Roc.’
Pol stood upright and watched the circling bird for a moment. An unusual calmness descended upon his mind.
Right.
He knew exactly what he was going to do.
With a bit of luck, his idea would pay off. He would be having roasted Roc for his dinner. However, if it didn’t work, the Roc would have raw human for its dinner.
‘Fair enough, shit-face.’
“‘Caaawww!’”
The sound, plus the way the bird had begun to spiral down towards him, told Pol the Roc was going to attack.
‘Clever me.’
He was certain, in another few seconds it would begin to swoop down on him.
Time for action.
Pol braced himself.
With his left foot placed in front of his right foot, he pounded the bottom of his spear into the ground as far as it would go. Wasn’t far. The ground was hard and firm. He grasped the spear firmly with both hands, bent his knees slightly, and took most of his weight on his back foot.
Just then, Pol wished he had had the forethought to bring at least one of the other, shorter spears with him as a backup. Just in case this one should break.
“This had better work, Babe. If it doesn’t, I’m going to be dead meat,” he mumbled.
Ok. So. This particular tactic had worked when he had seen it done in films on the TV. But films are not real.
This was real.
This was so real.
Pol could feel a grumbling in his bowels. Felt an urgent need to clench his buttocks together.
“Not now,” he growled.
‘For shit’s sake.’
Wrong choice of words.
“Not now!”
“‘Caaawww!’”
The Roc suddenly made a high-pitched, evil squawk. A loud, angry cry, which was meant to frighten him rigid. Then it spread its wings wide before swinging them backwards, like those of a streamlined Delta-winged aircraft, and made a dive, straight for Pol.
Mind you, he might have been mistaken; but Pol thought it sounded as if the Roc had shouted, ‘Charge!’ instead of ‘Caaawww!’
Pol made a deep breath, filled his lungs with air, and braced himself for the impact.
“Go for it, you bugger!” he snarled. Then he shouted, “Let’s bleeding have you then!”
He clenched his teeth. Tightened every muscle in his body and let out a loud yell as the bird closed in on him.
He could hear the wind moaning as the Roc’s wings sliced through it. A moan like that of a guardian ghost in a graveyard.
Pol cried out, “Arghhh.”
His mind switched to lightning speed as he tried to calculate the exact moment of impact.
He almost got it right. Another fraction of a second and those razor-like talons would have closed around his head. As it was, he escaped with no more than a few scratches; three shallow swathes along his right temple, which barely drew blood.
His mind briefly registered some wetness and he screamed involuntarily as the immense creature filled his vision.
“Yaaahhh!”
The force of the impact might have broken a few bones, perhaps every bone in his body, if Pol had not been falling over backwards when the beast reached him.
The spear was violently ripped from Pol’s hands. Loudly snapped in half as the Roc’s momentum took it away, and was whipped over his head, out of sight.
Unknown to Pol, the tip of the spear had entered the softest part of the Roc’s throat and exited through the back of its neck. The bird made a strangled cry as it carried out a clumsy double somersault a couple of feet above Pol’s head before tumbling over a few times when it hit the ground. Landed heavily on its back with its legs kicking fresh air.
Pol quickly rolled away, to his right, with the intention of getting to his feet and putting a lot of distance between himself and the flailing bird as soon as possible. Preferably, before the beast was able to regain its feet.
But,
Before he could move, Pol, rooted to the spot stared in disbelief when the beast clumsily managed to struggle to its feet. The Roc shouted angrily at him, even though blood was gushing from the wound in its neck.
Unable to move, fear freezing his body, Pol could only watch as the beast started to stagger towards him with its huge beak wide open. A blood-curdling scream filled the air. The bird filled his vision. Came at Pol with murder in its mind...
Chapter 51
As if Pol was watching one of those stupid films on TV, the scene suddenly changed.
Sure,
The grass was still there. As was the forest in the distance. And the cliff over to his right. Also, the river was still way down to his left. Everything was still as it had been a few moments beforehand. But the bird had disappeared
from his vision. Kaput. Was no more.
“Ugh?”
It took a moment before Pol’s mind registered the fact, something black, which was not the bird, had flown across his line of sight from right to left. And suddenly the bird was gone.
‘What the...’
He turned his head to the left and stared in stunned amazement when he spotted a familiar figure with its jaws clamped tightly around the still struggling bird’s throat.
‘Bugger me!’
“Tinker!” he cried...
Chapter 52
The Roc emitted a sickly gurgling sound. Crazily thumped the ground with its wings and wildly kicked its legs in the air in and attempt to throw of the angry dog but the dog’s grasp was firm and decisive. No way was Tinker going to let go.
Finally, the bird managed to roll over, and over again in an attempt to get back onto its feet, dragging the resolute dog with it.
Nah.
Pol could see it was not going to happen. Once Tinker had such a hold on anything, a rope, a ball, a rabbit, anything, there was no way he was going to let go.
Blood continued to pour from the Roc’s throat, covered the dog’s muzzle, and drenched the surrounding parched grass.
Pol, gasping, out of breath, dropped to his knees with a wide grin on his face. His eyes sparkling with a mixture of excitement and relief.
With his arms stretched out in front of him, his hands flat on the ground, Pol leaned forward onto his hands and knees and panted uncontrollably. He stared open-mouthed at the feeble efforts of the dying bird.
“Bugger me, Tinker. You beauty. You got it!” he shouted. Euphoria flooded his mind.
“Yes!”
He lifted his arm and made a fist with his right hand. Shook it in the air in celebration.
“Yes! Die, you bastard. Bloody die!”
Pol pushed up, leaned back on his heels, and excitedly watched the bird in its death throes. Its legs slowly stop kicking, wings stopped thrashing about, and its head turned slowly, almost casually in Pol’s direction. He could swear the creature was making an evil grin, damning him to hell, as its eyes clouded over.
The relief on Pol’s face was perhaps the last thing the beast ever saw.
“And, sod you too, blackbird, bye’ bye.’”
‘Roc a bye blackbird.’
It had been no more than thirty seconds or so from the moment of Tinker’s attack until the Roc finally died, its body falling limp and unresponsive.
“‘Grrrrrr.’”
A deep, satisfied growl rumbled in Tinker’s throat. He made a final, violent shake of his head, which ripped a chunk from the Roc’s throat, just to make sure the bird really was dead.
Perhaps because his muscles suddenly relaxed and relief flooded his body Pol’s lips formed a sickly grin when his bowels suddenly start to complain.
‘What a stupid time to need a shit.’
He quickly wiped a trickle of blood away from his eyes with his bare hands, dirty as they were, smirked in admiration at his dog, Tinker, who was sitting by the side of the dead bird with the blood-covered lump of Roc’s throat hanging out of the side of his mouth.
Tinker laughed in triumph, after dropping the chunk of meat and feathers he had ripped from the bird’s neck.
Pol clenched his buttocks and tightened his sphincter before starting to laugh. Spread his arms in welcome and shouted,
“Come on then, you beautiful little fellow,” he urged between gulping breaths. “Come on boy.”
Tinker needed no further encouragement. He ran towards Pol and literally leapt into his waiting arms...
Chapter 53
When Pol and Tinker had finished hugging and kissing each other, Pol scrambled to his feet and staggered towards an un-flattened area of grass.
Tinker sat and watched bemused as Pol dropped his jeans and squatted in the grass.
After he had finished emptying his bowels, Pol wiped his backside with a handful of dry grass. Refastened the belt around his jeans. Returned to the waiting Tinker. Stroked the dog’s head and ruffled his ears with both hands.
“Good boy,” he cooed. “Good, good boy. Am I so happy to see you?”
Tinker lapped up the attention. Jumped up onto his hind legs. Licked at Pol’s face and ears.
“Yeah.”
Pol hugged his dog with tears in his eyes.
“Yeah. Yeah. Good boy.”
Tinker whined happily, his rudder wagging rapidly from side to side.
After a few minutes, when Pol was able to let go of the dog, he collected the portion of broken spear he had dropped on the ground and walked over to stand by the bird’s body with his hands on his hips and his head canted to one side.
“What are we going to do we do with this?” he asked Tinker.
Tinker, who was standing beside Pol, barked once.
“‘Dinner.’”
Pol laughed. He seemed to know exactly what the dog was saying.
“Yes. Dinner,” he agreed, nodding his head.
Nature dictated how dead animals would always attract predators. Luckily, for Pol, at that moment, the coast was clear. Not another crawling or flying beast anywhere in sight; none, which he could see, anyway.
Studying the bird, Pol conceded he would not be able to drag such a large beast all the way back to the cave even with Tinker’s help. He was going to have to cut it up. Take with him what he could, and leave the rest. If he was lucky, he might be able to come back later and collect some more before it was overrun by predators, animals, insects, birds. Whatever.
‘No good being too greedy. It won’t keep for long in this heat.’
The legs would be his best bet. They were quite chunky. Should last him and Tinker for at least three, maybe four, days if he roasted them on the fire, one at a time. He and Tinker would be able to scoff themselves silly. He could always make some kind of stew with the leftovers.
‘Sounds like a plan to me, son.’
Pol did not stop to wonder what he was going to use as a stew-pan.
He stared down at the dead bird and made a sad face. The thought of still being here, on this weird planet, in three or four days time caused him to shudder even though he had now got his best mate to keep him company.
‘Yuk.’
“No thanks,” he muttered.
What he wanted most was to get back home. He was not quite sure why he would want to go back to his lonely, boring life, but instinct told him he should. He visibly flinched when a picture of his sharp-tongued harridan of a mother and the fat, lazy slob he called father filled his mind.
‘Double yuk.’
However,
Pol’s heart melted at the idea of being with Tinker again. He grinned broadly at the dog.
“Stuff it. Let’s concentrate on the present shall we, eh?”
Tinker happily barked his agreement and wagged his tail.
Pol pulled the small penknife from his pocket and regarded it with something akin to contempt. If he had to rely on the puny penknife, it would take him all day to sever the legs from the dead bird’s body. He realized he would have to find something better than this.
But what?
There wasn’t anything nearby. Nothing he could see which could be of any use.
“Time to use a bit of the gray stuff here, Tinker me old mate,” he grinned.
All those hours he’s spent watching crap films and documentaries on the TV had to prove their worth at some point. This was the ideal time.
Tinker sat and patiently waited, as Pol looked around, searching for anything that might prove useful.
Nothing.
‘Ok. Never mind.’
Pol walked back to where the dead Bird lay with Tinker at his heels. He yanked at the exposed broken end of the spear and tried to work it free from the Roc’s throat. After a bit of a struggle, managed to reclaim it.
Squatting beside the bird’s body, and using his penknife, Pol laboriously pared away at the broken end of the spear. It did not take him lon
g to fashion a sharp flat edge, almost a foot long. Taking his time, he made sure the edge was as keen as he could make it. Hoped this sharp edge might serve as a knife with which he could sever the bird’s legs from its torso.
Tinker silently watched Pol with interest.
No one who was looking at the dog could fail to register the quizzical look in his eyes.
Pol made a big grin when he discovered just how good a knife the spear did make. He was either great at sharpening wood, or the bird’s meat was very easy to cut. Pol did not care which.
Within ten minutes at most, he had managed to remove both legs from the main corpse and laid them together, side by side on the grass, well away from the blood-soaked area around the rest of the bird’s body.
What he needed to do now was figure out a way to convey both of the legs back to his cave.
‘Now!’
Using the rope from Tinker’s lead, Pol tied the bloodstained half of the spear onto each of the bird’s ‘ankles.’ Then he wound the rope around the shaft of the broken spear to act as some form of padding. His intention was to use the spear as a kind of yoke.
Pol happily surveyed his handiwork, tweaked the rope a bit, then he pulled the knots as tight as he could.
Eventually satisfied with his efforts, Pol stood in front of the makeshift yoke, and nodded his head.
“Uhuh.”
‘Brill.’
“Should do nicely. What do you think, Tinker?”
“‘Woof,’” Tinker agreed.
Holding the other piece of spear in his left hand in the hope it might offer some kind of defense in the event of another attack, Pol mentally weighed up his chances of being able to carry the two heavy legs all the way back to the cave.
‘Oops. Might be a bit too heavy, looking at them.’
Stooping down Pol shrugged the yoke onto his right shoulder. Braced his back, as he made ready to take the weight and stand upright. When he did manage to stand upright, he was unprepared for way the bird’s legs swung about and, for a moment, was unbalanced. He danced from side to side in an attempt to steady the swing but failed miserably and staggered under the weight. Eventually, he admitted defeat and carefully lowered the bird’s legs to the ground.
Appollinaire: (The Other Side of Nowhere) Page 14