by Dima Zales
Williams had the soft creature in the crook of his arm and was explaining to it that they were there to find one of their people and bring her home.
“Do you really think it can understand you?” Zion said.
The man shrugged. “Dunno.”
After another half an hour, Williams shifted the animal onto a tree and gave the order to proceed. The soft creatures didn’t react as the group got up and moved out.
Half an hour later, they found a place where the she-pup had paused.
“I think she stopped here a while,” Zion said.
“She slept,” Ghosteater said. “Then she went on.”
“Goddamn it,” Williams said.
“What?” said Sanchez.
“She should’ve stayed put.”
“She was probably trying to find help.”
“There’s no help, here.”
“How do you know?”
“Just do.” He looked around. “This is an isolate.”
Ghosteater looked up the trail, impatient with the humans’ conversation and the slowness of their travel. He could cover this terrain ten times faster than they could.
As they moved out, the females fell back to sniping at each other. He had spent too long alone to tolerate such annoyances.
“Tracker, I will find her. Follow my trail.”
Not waiting for a response, he trotted away through the trees, picking up speed in increments when the soft creatures didn’t react. Soon he was racing through the forest, leaping pools and fallen logs with ease. In ten minutes, he found the place where one of the creatures had befriended the she-pup. Ten minutes later, he reached the place she’d stopped for the night and noted that the creatures had fed her. Then he ran on through the dim forest.
21
On my fifth day in Octoworld, as I’d started to think of it, I finally reached the summit. I didn’t realize it at first. There was no pointy top where I could stand and survey the land for miles around, just a gradual flattening out of the terrain.
I stopped and looked around. The trees had changed, I realized — they were shorter and more spaced out. Instead of the clutter of pools and mossy fallen logs, the ground was dry and covered with pine needles. Dense patches of tall ferns grew here and there. For the first time, it wasn’t raining.
As I stood there, the tree-’pus gave me a hard squeeze. I looked around and didn’t see any other ’puses.
“What’s up little guy? Do you need to get off?”
It looked up at me out of its oblong pupil. As usual, it had nothing to say, but it did squeeze me again.
Sadness welled up. Okay, it was an octopus. But it was my companion and provider. Now I was going to have to leave it behind. I’d be well and truly alone.
Afraid it would be too dry for the ’pus where I was, I headed back the way I’d come. After ten minutes, the ground began to slope down again, and the rain picked up. I found a big tree with a nice pool near its roots.
I sidled up to the trunk to let the ’pus transfer itself. Instead it detached several tentacles and waved them in the downhill direction. When I didn’t move, it added a few more, stretching insistently. It pretty clearly wanted me to keep walking back into the rainforest.
“Your forest is really nice, little guy, but I can’t stay there. I’m pretty sure there’s no one there who can help me get home.”
It kept waving.
“I’m sorry, buddy, but I have to keep looking. It’s either that or just give up. There might not be anyone coming for me.”
Finally it stopped waving and flowed from my hip onto the tree trunk.
“Bye, little guy. Thanks for all your help. I really appreciate it. I guess I probably won’t be back this way, but I hope I’ll see you again, somehow.”
The ’pus didn’t pay any attention to my farewell speech. Instead it moved down the trunk, lurched over the roots to the pool, and plopped in. After a few seconds underwater, it climbed out, shimmering strangely. I knelt down to get a better look. It was covered with a thick shell of water.
The ’pus crawled over the ferns to my foot and started to climb up my leg. Instead of soaking into my clothes, its coat of water stayed intact. It seemed like magic to me, but it was probably a working.
“Wow, portable fishbowl. That’s some trick. So, you want to come with me? Is that it?”
It stared up at me, the water making its eye look even stranger.
I stood there, ambivalent. It obviously couldn’t live unassisted in the terrain beyond the rainforest. How long would it be able to sustain itself with its water jumpsuit? If it ran out of water, it would probably die.
“I really appreciate the help, but I don’t think you should come. It’s too dangerous. Besides, I might not come back this way.”
It didn’t move.
“Why don’t I just put you on this nice trunk, here?”
I pried one of its water-coated tentacles off my waist. At that point, I learned just how tenacious an octopus can be. Try as I might, I couldn’t get it off me. Every time I broke a tentacle’s grip, the slimy thing would whip out of my hands and wrap back around me. In the end, I gave up, afraid I was going to hurt the ’pus if I kept pulling at it.
“Okay, little guy. Thank you. I really hope I’m not going to get you killed.”
With its thick coating of water, the ’pus weighed a lot more than it had before, so I urged it to climb onto my upper back, like a living backpack.
Then, at last, I headed out of the rainforest, trying to feel hopeful about what lay ahead.
Two hours later, I stood on a ledge and surveyed the land beneath.
Walking down the dry side of the mountain, I’d noticed a rocky outcropping jutting out to my left. I’d backtracked up to its highest point of contact with the main slope, then walked out along the top of it, trying to get a view over the trees.
I’d had great hopes of seeing a city, a village, even a column of smoke — anything that would suggest human habitation. My hopes were disappointed.
All around me, the land fell away sharply, the pine forest thinning out as the mountain gave way to a lush, green river valley. On the far side of the valley, I could see more wooded hills. I stood there scanning the terrain for some time but couldn’t find any sign of people.
I thought about what to do. The rainforest was a known quantity. If I went back, I could use the moss to stay warm, and the tree-’puses would probably provide me with food, at least for a while.
But whatever the rainforest had going for it, I just couldn’t make myself turn back. Sitting there and doing nothing, day after day, waiting for a rescue that might never come — no. The thought made my skin crawl.
Waiting for whatever happened to me to happen — that’s what I’d been doing ever since I ran home from college. I couldn’t afford to be that person anymore. Whatever I might’ve lost, at this moment, I had the power to make a choice, and I was going to choose action, not passivity.
I could follow the river. People often built cities and towns along rivers or where rivers met the sea. Maybe that would be my best bet. The river would be good for the ’pus, too — plenty of water.
Decision made, I walked back along the outcropping to the main slope and continued down the mountain.
After about forty-five minutes of easy downhill walking, I heard movement off to my right. Since leaving the rainforest, I hadn’t seen any creatures larger than a dragonfly, so I crept closer to investigate. When I got near enough, I peered cautiously around a tree trunk.
What I saw could only be a dinosaur. It was small — its back might’ve come up to my knee — and bipedal. It had a narrow, snakelike head, which it was using to root around in the thick carpet of dead pine needles. Everything about it looked light and agile, from its long neck and tail to its small body and slender limbs. It was covered in downy feathers, and its forelimbs hosted a winglike panel of thick plumes. As I watched, it used its clawed hands to shift a small fallen branch, then snapped up a liz
ard that had been hiding underneath.
The creature pumped its head, gulping down its prey like an owl swallowing a mouse. Then it caught sight of me and froze, staring at me with large yellow eyes, a bit of lizard tail sticking comically from the corner of its mouth. Then it whirled and darted off. The dark-brown-and-rufous pattern of its plumage blended perfectly with the surrounding forest, and I quickly lost sight of it.
“Well, what do you know about that?” I said to the ’pus. “I guess there are some larger vertebrates here, after all.”
But except for one mini-dinosaur, the forest seemed strangely empty. Maybe I’d entered mini-dinosaur paradise — all the lizards you could eat and no competition.
After about another hour of walking, the tree-’pus gave me a hard squeeze. I stopped and surveyed the terrain before me. I couldn’t see anything. It squeezed me again, harder, and I turned a slow circle, looking behind and to the sides. Nothing.
I walked on, spooked. The ’pus kept squeezing me, but every time I stopped to look around, there was nothing there.
Finally, about twenty minutes later, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. I turned quickly and saw a patch of ferns swaying, as though something had just darted into them. I saw another movement to my left and spun around, this time just catching a bit of feathery tail as it disappeared behind a fallen log.
Minis-dinos. They were following me.
My heart rate shot up, and I quickly reached for my rubber band. It wasn’t there. At some point it had come off, and I hadn’t even noticed. I took several slow breaths, reaching for calm.
I hadn’t been afraid of the one I’d seen. It’d be like fearing a housecat. Sure, it had teeth, but it was quite small. It might bite me, but do serious damage? No. Furthermore, it had seemed afraid of me.
A whole pack of the things was a different matter, though. I backed away slowly, picking up a few fist-sized stones as I went.
Over the next few minutes, they grew bolder about showing themselves. Finally, one darted at me, feinting at the last moment and retreating. Several more emerged from the ground cover. They came forward slowly, crouching a bit, heads held low and weaving slightly. It sure looked like stalking behavior to me. Not good.
“Okay, ’pus, hold on,” I murmured.
I gathered myself and rushed them, shouting and throwing stones. They immediately spun around and raced back into the ferns. Once they were out of sight, I turned and sprinted downhill, hoping I’d scared them off.
I wasn’t counting on it, though. After a few minutes, I slowed and began looking for more rocks. I pulled off my T-shirt and knotted it into a little bag, which I filled with stones.
Within half an hour, they were back on my trail — I could tell by the ’pus’s squeezes. They trailed me for about an hour before they began getting bold enough to show themselves again. Several times I drove them off by shouting and throwing stones, but eventually that tactic lost its effect, and they began darting in, nipping at my ankles or jumping to snap at my hands.
I knew I was in trouble. Now that they were getting close, I could see they had a formidable array of teeth — small but sharp and numerous. Their claws also looked perfectly capable of cutting skin.
I considered climbing a tree, but what if they didn’t lose interest once I was up there? I couldn’t stay in a tree forever. Besides, they might well be able to climb.
Afraid to keep my back to them, I turned to face them, walking backwards slowly. I was taken by surprise when one rushed in from behind me and bit my calf. I shouted and lost my balance. I twisted and swung my arms wildly, trying not to fall. By sheer luck, my bag of rocks caught the mini in the head as it let go of me and feinted to my right. It weaved around, disoriented. I lost my battle with gravity and fell right on it.
I scrambled to my feet. My attacker lay there, twitching. I’d crushed it.
Heart racing, I backed away as at least a dozen other minis advanced. But when they pounced, their target was their dying comrade, not me. I turned and ran.
Five minutes later, I had to stop. The stitch in my side made it impossible to breathe, and my leg hurt. I could tell it was bleeding from the squishy feeling in my shoe.
I stood there, bent over, gasping. If I got out of this situation, I was never going to complain about Gwen’s workouts again — clearly, I needed them.
Only after a couple minutes did I realize I was lucky not to have left the tree-’pus behind. Usually it bailed out when I fell. This time it hadn’t, but I hadn’t stopped to think about it before I ran.
“Sorry, buddy,” I said, reaching through its watery casing to pat the limb it had wrapped around my chest.
Feeling very shaky, I limped downhill. Hopefully the minis would be satisfied with their meal. If not, I didn’t think I could escape. There was nothing at the bottom of the mountain but fields of grass. Nowhere to hide.
The dead mini bought me more than an hour. I pushed as fast as I could with my injured leg. By the time they caught up with me, the slope had begun to flatten out. The trees were growing sparser, and the patches of ferns came more often. I was leaving a trail of bloody footprints.
This time, they came on without hesitation. I heard the rustling in the ferns and didn’t even get fully turned around before they were darting in all around me, clawing and biting. I swung the sack of stones and connected a few times, but there were too many. They started leaping up at me, aiming at my face and neck. I staggered back and fell, and they swarmed me. Instinctively, I threw my arms up to shield my face and neck, even though it was pointless.
Something wet shuddered past me with a deep whump, and a force pressed me down into the ground for a split second. The biting stopped.
After a few moments, I raised my head. Everything within a forty-foot ring around me was destroyed — there was nothing but flattened ferns and downed trees. A few minis were lying some distance from me, moving feebly. The others were out of sight.
I looked for the ’pus and found it a few feet behind me. Its watery coating was gone, and it was coated in pine needles.
Painfully, I rolled over and stood. I’d been bitten many times and could feel blood running down my legs. I gathered up the ’pus and staggered on.
Half an hour later, the ground leveled and the trees petered out. The lush, green valley I’d seen that morning stretched out ahead of me. The greenery wasn’t grass, as I’d assumed — it was ferns, a dense sea of ferns.
I limped out past the last of the trees, moving toward the river I remembered seeing. I badly needed water, and the ’pus’s skin had taken on a dry, sticky feel that couldn’t be good.
Once out in the ferns, I looked back.
There were the minis, grouped near the last tree, stretching up to watch me over the fronds. I stood for a moment, frozen with terror. If they attacked again, I didn’t think the ’pus would be able to save me. I wasn’t sure what it had done the last time — an explosion of some kind — but it had clearly used up its water doing it.
The minis didn’t attack. They watched me for a minute and then turned and retreated back into the forest. The trees seemed to mark the edge of their territory.
So whose territory was this? I looked around with renewed fear, but couldn’t see anything but waves of soft green, moving gently in the breeze.
I tucked the ’pus up under my sweater. Maybe the poor critter would stay a little moister under there. Then I struggled on, desperate for water.
I found the river fairly quickly, thank god. I was so thirsty, and was starting to feel sick and dizzy, as well.
Knee-high ferns grew right up to the banks. Their dense roots formed a spongy mat that kept my feet from sinking into the mud.
When I reached the water’s edge, it occurred to me that there might be aquatic predators to worry about. I took a few steps back and surveyed the river. It was wide, slow moving, and very clear. For some ways out, it was only a foot or two deep, but then the water darkened, as though with great depth.
I sank to my knees and pulled the ’pus out from under my shirt. I lowered it into the water. It sat there stiffly for a minute, and I was afraid it had died. But then it unfurled its tentacles and relaxed into the water, its oblong pupil staring up at me.
“Drink it up, little guy,” I said.
I leaned down and drank as well.
After a few minutes, the ’pus started crawling back up my arm, its cocoon of water reformed around it. I pulled it up onto the shore but was too weak to lift it — it must’ve weighed thirty pounds with its watery coat. So I sat back and let it crawl into my lap.
Jesus, I owed my life to an octopus.
At least for the time being. I wasn’t in good shape.
Why the hell had I left the rainforest? I’d been safe and well fed, there. Now I was injured — in a minute I’d have to try to figure out how badly — with no food, no shelter, and no possibility of retracing my steps. And so far as I could tell, I was no closer to finding help than I had been before.
I seemed incapable of making a good decision.
Moving slowly, I set the ’pus aside and stripped down to my underwear. My legs, hips, and rear were covered with bites and scratches, and I had some on my back and arms, too. None of the wounds were deep, but all were bleeding. From my woozy feeling, I thought the loss was adding up.
I sat there, stupefied. I had no idea what to do.
I should clean the bites, I thought.
The only thing I could clean them with was river water, and who knows what bacteria it held. Then again, I’d just drunk it. But what might I attract if I got into the water with open wounds?
I realized I was probably going to die pretty much where I was. I was too weak to keep going. It was late afternoon. The sun had already sunk behind the mountain. It wasn’t as cold as it had been in the rainforest, but it would be chilly overnight. I had no food.