Treeclimber pondered her words and then said to his boys, ‘Chuck her out.'
* * * *
The situation worsened.
Thirst gripped the gracile Uprights in its desiccating hold, becoming the top priority of Home-rock's provisional leader. This came about chiefly because Thornchewer and Stormsniffer ultimately failed to return from their repeated, arduous treks out to the base of the volcano crowned in snow, their specific fates unknown yet chillingly guessable. Refusing to let go of his enmity toward his beefier cousins, Treeclimber plotted to raid the lakeside and forcibly compel Bighand to relinquish his stranglehold over the region's drinking water and the choicer feeding grounds surrounding Murky Watering. Gone was the carefree youth Bushwalker had been smitten with. Here was an overly enthusiastic tribal ruler whose leadership was blinded by an even greater thirst for revenge.
Since her eviction from the gathering, Bushwalker kept a low profile. Her outburst cost her dearly. The other females shunned her. The males utterly ignored her, other than Plainswalker who occasionally spared her a kind word or two. Maybe she was not so different from Treeclimber. They did share a predilection for elders of the opposite sex. That thought scared her almost as much as the phantom cat haunting Home-rock.
No more killings occurred. Bushwalker lived now with a sense of escalating dread, knowing that the feline assassin would strike soon and bring even more terror to the uneasy hominins. She retreated to Rockshaper's workshop to experiment with pebble-toolmaking at each day's end, having taken the oldster's cave for her own. Lacking any natural flair for flaking stones, Bushwalker soon gave up on that endeavour and instead began nutting out applications for the plethora of shapes the deceased elder chipped into potentially usable tools. There were the core hammer and anvil stones, plus diggers, choppers, scrapers, stabbers, and many impractical discards. Losing all track of time, she took to sleeping in the cramped grotto full time.
Dozing fitfully late one moonless night, Bushwalker was roused by furtive whispers echoing in the darkness. Voices were emanating from outside the assembly cave. In itself that was not unusual, considering of late Treeclimber has resorted to spending more of his time in the great chamber. Caverunner, neglecting his chieftaining duties totally, only ventured down from his personal cave to collect what measly offerings he could scavenge from Scraggly Bush for his grieving mate to nibble on before returning to their senseless vigil over Troublefoot's rotting corpse, vainly willing the mangled little body back to life. That left Treeclimber free to run the thirsty graciles as he saw fit, including daily meetings aimed at convincing the uncertain troop to challenge the might of the robusts. Even though she was excluded from such meetings, Bushwalker heard with alarming clarity the near evangelistic preaching of her unborn baby's father thanks to excellent Home-rock acoustics. Every day he was drawing nearer to winning his reluctant peers over to his mad cause, for each day they became thirstier and hungrier and more amenable. But of the two voices she was hearing in the hours after midnight, neither belonged to the one-track minded wannabe chief rehearsing his next speech inciting racial violence.
Stirring from the stone pedestal that once functioned as Rockshaper's worktable and now served as her backbreaking bed, Bushwalker sat up straining to hear. Faint though the whispers were they were magnified by the hollow rock, so that the eavesdropping maid could plainly make out every word uttered in supposed privacy.
'You sure this is the right hole? The last two caves were wrong.'
'Yessir. I just got turned around in the dark, but I'm positive this is the one. At least I think I am.'
'You had better be right this time, monkey-boy, or I'll see you permanently lamed.'
Getting down off the tabletop of finely grained stone, Bushwalker found her legs trembling and reluctant to move. That last voice had been without any doubt a subdued growl. Her nightmare had returned in the flesh. She continued to listen in.
'I still don't get your plan, sir. You took out the oldest Upright and that tasty young buck, yet ignored their troop leader.'
'Did I, Jinku? By killing the dominant's son and reducing the father to a blubbering pile of wretched fur, I rendered him unfit to lead. And because he's not dead they can't appoint a fitter replacement. Chaos makes a pride vulnerable.'
'Masterful, sir. You plainly don't hunt at random. What about this next victim?'
'He's special. Nobody takes a kill of mine and gets away with it.'
Bushwalker stifled a gasp by putting a quavering hand over her mouth. The cat and his lackey were going after Treeclimber, who was habitually sleeping over in the cheerless expanse of the audience chamber. She had to warn him, if only her shaky legs would move!
A screech told Bushwalker not to bother. The sneaky clawfoot had already made his way into the cavern. Their followed the noise of a brief scuffle ended by a hideous yowl and the hubbub of someone or something running off. Waiting for the sounds of retreat to die away before willing herself into action, the terrified maid crept out of the sliver of a cave and shuffled her way through the starlit night toward Home-rock's biggest grotto, the darkness coiling around her like a constricting boa. She tripped over a hairy body sprawled unseen in the inky entrance. It groaned piteously.
'Treeclimber ... you're alive!'
'Not for long,’ he gasped. ‘Bushwalker is that you?'
'It's me.’ She knelt in a pool of his blood and pawed his sticky pelt. Stretched out on his back, he was badly mauled about the neck, chest and forearms.
'You were right,’ he croaked, ‘about the clawfoot. I wish you weren't.'
'Hush, don't talk. Save your strength.'
'What for? I'm bleeding to death.’ Reddy foam bubbled from between Treeclimber's contorted lips, his mouth agape in pain. ‘The cat has hypnotic eyes, like you said. But I showed him. Indeed I did. I came awake as he was sinking his fangs into my throat. The monster has no stomach for prey that fights back.'
'Which accounts for him taking off.’ Bushwalker glanced about, thankful that the danger was gone for now. She felt totally helpless in the smothering blackness. Treeclimber was dying and she could do nothing to prevent it. She groped for and grasped the flaccid hand at his side in a hollow gesture of reassurance.
'You've changed,’ he remarked.
'We both have, Treeclimber.'
'Yeah, but you have gotten bolder, wilful even.'
'Thanks.'
'I didn't say I liked it.'
Bushwalker was about to cleverly reply to that when Treeclimber gurgled. He sighed a single, ragged exhalation of breath before laying deathly still. She poked him with a finger. He did not respond. Shaking him got the same lack of response. With a heavy heart Bushwalker left him and slunk back to her cave, where she crouched fearfully in the dark until sunup. By the time the revealing light of dawn fanned over Home-rock Treeclimber's shredded corpse had vanished.
Chapter Eleven
Three dead. The panther had ruthlessly dispatched a trio of Home-rockers. That unalterable fact added strength to Bushwalker's conviction as she trudged across Firewind Veldt two mornings after her beau's slaying, her shadow starkly etched on the sun-browned grasses by the fiercely blazing ball overhead. A hot, withering wind blowed at her back, compounding the dryness irritating her throat. She was not on her lonesome. A beast of mountainous black was ineptly trailing her.
'Ugnap, go away,’ Bushwalker called tiredly back over her shoulder.
The tailing buffalo remained half a dozen yards behind her. ‘Me no go. Bushwalk herd no here. Ugnap keep safe. Roarers hunt near.'
Bushwalker started. Of the many problems she was contemplating tackling, the threat of lions never crossed her mind. She was immediately glad of Ugnap's presence. His steadfast refusal to leave the proximity of Scraggly Bush for the past two weeks was proving to be a boon and would make up for the old bull scaring many of the bushland's residents half to death. He had been waiting the entire time for the cow ground ape's return to the savannah to again act as h
er bodyguard and trotted merrily along in her footsteps.
'Bushwalk, where go?'
'To find trouble.'
Her disquieting reply was actually genuine. The leadership of Home-rock was in utter turmoil, what with Treeclimber's death and Caverunner's incapacity. While the indecisive males were locked in debate over what should be done to resolve matters, Bushwalker took it upon herself to put things right. ‘Males are great talkers and poor doers,’ she had carped to herself when leaving the cave complex shortly after dawn. Faced with debilitating thirst, starvation, plus regular clawfoot attack, the Uprights desperately needed to regain a footing in the survival stakes at any cost and it seemed only Bushwalker was prepared to take the initiative. That action involved the perilous undertaking of meeting each danger head on.
Her plan was deceptively simple. End the robust blockade of Murky Watering, then deal with the black menace plaguing their lives. The compulsion to do so dragged the mourning maid out of the depths of despair engulfing her in the wake of Treeclimber's demise. She had failed to prevent the fatalities of the two males dearest to her. Bushwalker vowed not to fail the troop. Only she felt qualified to handle either dilemma, but in the glaring light of day out on the unshielded grassland she questioned the advisability of her boldness.
'Me thirsty.'
Ugnap's complaint made Bushwalker thirstier. ‘We'll be at the waterhole soon enough,’ she said. An idea leapt into her head. ‘Ugnap, did you drink at all while waiting for me in the bush?’ She slowed to let the giant cud chewer catch up.
Pulling alongside, he admitted, ‘Me visit water udder.'
'And you had no trouble getting past the other Uprights?'
'Ugnap big. Ground apes little.’ No contest really.
Bushwalker could have kicked herself. The solution to this particular problem had been right under her nose all along. Ugnap could bulldoze his way through robust selfishness. Perhaps she would not have to resort to her original method of wresting power out of Bighand's mitts after all, considering it was radical and untested, not to mention extremely hazardous. Yet, if her general game plan proved effective against her uppity cousins it might just work on that nefarious panther.
The tramp to Murky Watering seemed endless. Bushwalker plodded on, the wearying lack of water and hearty food slowing her progress. A lion's throaty roars were heard around midmorning, though the caller stayed unseen despite Ugnap taking a look. The lazily swaying grasses could hide a thousand Roarer prides with ease. The waterhole did not hove into view until well after noon, the glint of sun on water sparkling invitingly. By that time exhaustion forced Bushwalker to come to a stop at the head of the track leading down the embankment to the reservoir. As she wavered on rickety legs, wondering if she had enough strength and gumption to carry out her risky strategy, first one, then two, and finally a dozen club wielding robusts crested the rise to bar her way. It was too late to turn back now.
'Halt! Go no further,’ a command rang out.
'I've already stopped,’ Bushwalker called back.
'Ah, okay. Well, keep motionless then.'
Bushwalker obeyed as the hulking form of Bighand detached from the group and approached, flanked by a pair of equally burly males. She gulped. ‘Man, these guys sure get big from eating their greens!'
'You seem to be on your own,’ Bighand coolly noted. ‘Check out that she really is,’ he ordered his escort.
The duo fanned out on either side of Bushwalker to search the veldt for other graciles. All they found was Ugnap stationed nearby on lion watch and they gave the hefty buffalo a wide berth before reporting back.
'A nosy Curvehorn eh?’ pondered Bighand. ‘Best leave that cantankerous beast alone, boys. His kind is more trouble than a nestful of angry termites.’ His attention shifted back to Bushwalker. ‘What's a pretty young thing like you come all the way out here alone for?'
Bushwalker struggled to push the words past the fear lumped in her throat. ‘To see you,’ she boldly declaimed.
'Really. Any particular reason why? Hang on, let me guess. Caverunner must be drier than a desert floor by now and he's too afraid to come crawling on his knees to acknowledge my superiority, so he sent you as a peace offering to gain back his water rights.’ Bighand sized the maid up with a lustful stare. ‘Your chief has bang-up taste. I do prefer blackheads.'
'That's not why I'm here,’ disputed Bushwalker. ‘Besides, you're not my type. I don't go in for big dumb brutes.'
Bighand hooted with laughter. ‘The girl has spunk! It'll make it that much more enjoyable when I take you.'
'Don't you want to know what I'm doing here first?'
'Graciles hold no real interest for me, other than as sport.'
Upset at being referred to as a robust plaything, Bushwalker retaliated by blurting, ‘I've come to kill you.'
Pouting in repose, Bighand broke out laughing again. ‘You're too much, girlie.'
'Don't laugh at me. I'm serious. Surrender Murky Watering or you'll force me to do something terrible.'
Bighand doubled over in mirth and his hooting bodyguard joined in. Spying the rock she was slyly carrying in her cupped right hand, he guffawed even louder. ‘You planning to throw that piece of gravel at me, pretty one?'
Clenching her jaws, Bushwalker said, ‘Not quite,’ and lunged at Bighand. She clumsily swung the concealed cutter in a wide arc that hooked his belly hair. He straightened and gazed blankly at the falling strands the stone knife had severed settling on the dusty ground. His disbelief gave her the chance to swing again. This time the curved flint blade nicked the skin beneath the matted pelt and Bighand yelped, more from surprise than pain. Only when blood began seeping from the cut did surprise turn to outrage.
'You bitch! I'll pummel you into tomorrow for this.'
Bushwalker ducked under the hairy arms groping for her and slashed upwards. Bighand reeled away clutching his throat, a fountain of redness gushing between his calloused fingers from the lucky slice. He tried screaming but only made a harsh, fluid-logged gurgle that bubbled through the gash in his gullet, sagging to his knees as shock set in. Stark incredulity was etched on the robust leader's brutal face and he glared accusingly up at his assassin, his life ebbing away in spurts. Then he fell face down to lie twitching on the dust in his own welling blood.
A perverse euphoria gripped Bushwalker. She had expected to be sickened by her heinous act, to feel repulsed by her grisly deed. Indeed, she should have. There was blood everywhere; soaking Bighand's pelt, saturating the ground beneath his corpse, covering Bushwalker's knife-hand held rigidly out before her. She instead felt emancipated and invincible. No longer a female weakling, she had single-handedly slain her troop's feared rival. She was a heroine.
Unfortunately, the general rule for the baddie is that he is too cowardly to fight alone and so Bighand's two cronies, overcoming the jolt of seeing their unbeatable chieftain downed, whooped in vengeful bloodlust. A raised stick whacked down hard on Bushwalker's knuckles. She cried out in dismay and dropped the pebble-tool, clutching her numbing hand. The disarmed maid cringed as her attacker pounded the ground in front of her, psyching himself and his buddy into a killing frenzy. Oddly enough they became victims themselves.
Thundering hooves heralded Ugnap joining the fray. The charging bull tossed the more hesitant of Bighand's backup over his muscled forequarters to land headfirst on the trampled grass behind with a spine-breaking crunch. As the unstoppable Curvehorn took to the robust busy beating up the earth at his feet, the terrified man-ape turned to run. Caught in the ribs by the bull's lowering headgear, the husky Upright was spun around and flung on his back, where Ugnap proceeded to gore him to death, trampling his bloody pulp of a body afterwards for good measure. The remaining Uprights blocking the waterhole did the smart thing and cleared out as fast as their hairy legs could carry them.
'Bushwalk okay?'
Huddled over in fear, she did not respond.
'Bushwalk okay!'
Ugnap's bellow ha
d the desired effect and Bushwalker stirred. ‘Y-Yeah.’ She stared at her rescuer and shuddered. He was casually standing with one hoof on the crushed skull of the Upright road kill.
'Big ground apes go. Me run down?'
Weakly shaking her head, Bushwalker mumbled, ‘There'll be no more killing today.’ The rap on her hand had knocked sense back into her. Bloodshed, even justifiable, was not something to exult over. ‘I need to wash,’ she croaked, eyeing with revulsion her bloodstained knife hand and wrist.
Rubbing her bruised knuckles, she staggered off down the cleared track toward the waterhole, forgetting about the stone blade lying where it fell, bloody and spent. Ugnap stood guard on the marshy lakeshore while the gracile female flopped into the water up to her waist. She drank deeply to slake her thirst before cleansing Bighand's blood from her pelt, washing off her sin. The redness clouding the water attracted the interest of a crocodile drifting unseen beneath the sun-dappled surface. Ugnap snorted in warning as the toothy reptile unhurriedly floated upwards into view. Shrieking, Bushwalker backtracked with hasty splashes until she was sitting puffed on the muddy embankment. Her buffalo protector moved between her and the water's edge, pawing the soggy earth edgily.
'Don't get your fur in a knot,’ chided the croc. ‘You're not worth the trouble of making a meal of.'
Panting and shaking frightfully, Bushwalker absurdly took exception to a Watersnout labelling her as unfit prey and hooted deprecatingly.
'Your strapping friend, on the other tooth, is something beefy I could really get my jaws around.'
Ugnap stamped a forefoot.
'Easy, big feller,’ soothed Ensodius. ‘I only want to talk, not dine. For now at least.'
'Me no like you.'
'That's no worry to me. I'm not here to be liked.’ The croc peered under the restless Curvehorn's belly at the shivering Bushwalker. ‘Hey, Upright, I have a question for you.'
She looked up. ‘For me?'
'You're the only scrawny ape hereabouts. Have you met any black cats lately? They're meant to bring bad luck if they cross your path.'
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