by D. W. Vogel
I could tell from their blank faces they still didn’t understand.
“So, the baby flies, they aren’t really flies. They’re more like . . . worms. Like, maggots.”
Their eyes opened wider, but they still didn’t get it.
I turned to Kintan. “We’ll need the antiseptic and . . . your belt.”
“My belt?” He cocked his head, dark eyes searching mine. He was about ten years older than me and his wife back at Carthage was pregnant. I couldn’t imagine how she’d let him come on this mission. I nodded and he pulled his belt off.
“Bite this.”
I pushed the folded belt into the first woman’s mouth and took her arm. “Hold her still,” I said to Kintan.
Do it fast. I didn’t give her time to struggle in his grasp, slicing the skin around the scabbed wasp sting on her arm. She screamed, teeth biting into the belt in her mouth.
Blood poured out of the wound.
A pile of maggots poured out after it.
“Oh, holy . . .” Don Rand burped, turned away, and vomited on the rocks.
“Hold her,” I said to Kintan, and grabbed the antiseptic. When I poured it into the wound, the woman screamed again, eyes squinted shut and feet kicking. Maggots boiled out of the wound and plopped onto her lap. I squeezed the hole in her arm until I thought all the wriggling larvae were out of her flesh, then wrapped a clean bandage tight around her arm. She sagged into Kintan’s arms.
I turned to Don with his neck wound, who was staring at the pile of maggots in the other woman’s lap, wiping puke off his lips.
I held up the knife. “Next.”
Chapter 31
We stayed in the hills for another two weeks’ travel, hunting and foraging for handfuls of berries that grew on the scrubby bushes poking through the dry soil. I showed Ryenne the thin green reeds that hid a thick, edible root and she dug into the dirt with a sharp rock, grunting with effort.
I wanted to talk to Shiro. Ever since his ordeal on the river he’d been quiet, but he had started to open up on this journey. Until his father died. Since then he’d withdrawn again, and this time I wondered if he’d ever come out of it. But he stayed away from me, walking by himself at the front or rear of the group. I didn’t push him. There would be time when we were all safe in the caves of Carthage.
The hills became more rugged, with deep ravines. We climbed down and up with trepidation, knowing that one bad step could spell disaster. Shiro was limping on the flat ground, the broken leg that nearly cost him his life paining him on the difficult terrain.
The group bunched up on the edge of a drop off. We peered over the edge. Far below, a stream rushed over its rocky bed, a nearly flat rock face above it.
“There’s no way we can climb this.” Laura said it, and the sentiment was echoed across the party.
We looked at our sat trans. Zooming in we could see the gorge, running perpendicular to our path. South would take us to the edge of the jungle. North around the top was weeks out of our way.
I sighed. “How much rope do we have?”
We laid out the coils of strong, thin cord. Enough to cross the maybe fifty-foot gap twice, at least. There was only one way to get us across, and with Shiro’s sore leg, only one climber who could make it.
“Find a good tall boulder, or a couple of strong trees together,” I instructed.
Henri wrapped the rope around a sturdy rock anchored to the ground, and I looped the rest over my shoulder.
Slow and steady. Don’t look down.
I’d gotten good at faking courage, but this was high even for me. For the first twelve years of my life there weren’t any heights—only the long round corridors of Horizon spinning through space. When we landed I followed in my brother Josh’s footsteps, trying to do everything he did, including climbing on the downed transports that ringed our settlement. Later I learned to climb trees, and it saved my life on more than one occasion.
Now I lay on my belly and swung my legs over the edge of the drop off.
My boots scrambled for a foothold and I found a seam in the rock just wide enough to cram my body into. Pressing my back against one wall of the crack and my boots into the other I inched down and down, letting out the rope. Sweat poured off my forehead and burned my eyes. I silently chanted a litany of all the ways this could go horribly wrong.
Poisonous spiders. Poisonous scorpions. Poisonous millipedes. Any one of a thousand venomous bugs could be living in this rock. Any one of which could kill me.
Poisonous snakes. There were plenty of those on Ceti.
Wasp attack. Buzzer attack. Pterosaur attack.
The crack narrowed, crunching my knees into my chest. I risked a look out over the edge.
I had made it down. I stepped out onto the sloping ground, hearing the rushing stream pound over the boulders. The sun blinded me as I squinted up toward the top of the gorge. No faces were recognizable so far up there.
The water in the stream was cold and delicious and I paused to drink and fill my canteen. Should have brought more canteens down. We need the water. But looking up the other side of the gorge I was glad not to carry any more weight.
Cold water soaked through my boots and up my pants legs. At the bottom of the other side I peered up, plotting my climb.
It wasn’t quite as high to the top of this side. But plenty high enough that if I fell, I’d be dead. I hitched the remaining coil of rope over my shoulder and grabbed for the rock.
The face wasn’t vertical, but it felt like climbing straight up. I kept my hips close to the rock like Josh had taught me, keeping my center of gravity as close to the wall as I could. The rope sagged behind me.
Right hand up. Right foot into the crack. Push up. Left hand up onto that rock. Big push to get left foot onto that same rock, and reach up with left hand again, all my weight on my right hand.
I didn’t look down as I climbed, but the distant tinkle of dislodged stones bouncing to the bottom got fainter and fainter.
Right hand up. Grab.
Slip.
My nails gauged at the rock, scrambling for a hold as my weight shifted over to my left foot. The skin of my palm abraded against the sharp rock.
Right foot in the crack. Ignore the pain. Climb.
It felt like I climbed for an hour. Finally my left hand felt flat rock over my head and I hauled myself up and over the edge. I lay there panting, face turned to the sky, hearing the distant cheers of my friends on the other side.
I sat up and pulled the remaining slack rope up the gorge. This side had some small trees, and I looped the rope around the base of two of them growing close together, tying it as taught as I could.
On the other side of the gorge, Shiro waited for my sign. I raised my torn right hand and crouched down to watch.
Shiro shimmied out onto the taught rope that spanned the gap. Another length of rope was tied around his waist, anchored higher on the same boulder that held the one he inched along. When he was clear of the edge he flipped over, hanging upside down under the rope, ankles crossed over the top and pulling himself along. Someone on the other side doled out the second rope Shiro was pulling inch by inch over the deep drop.
Halfway across he stopped, elbow flung across the top of the rope. My heart pounded in my chest as he flexed his fingers, stretching out his tired grip. He resumed pulling himself along.
When I was sure he could hear me I called his name. “You’re doing great. Just another couple of meters. You’re really close.” He grunted in response.
Finally he was close enough to touch and I leaned out to put a hand under his head. “You’re here, you made it. Give me your arm.”
I pulled him up and over the edge where he collapsed, panting just like I had. When he regained his breath he looked me in the eye. “Never, never, never again. I’d rather face a whole pack of Wolves than do that ever again.”
We tied the second rope a little higher than the first and returned to the edge to watch our team make the crossing.
Two vertical ropes allowed the rest of the party to stand on one and hold onto the other. The smallest kids were roped onto an adult, but I doubted anyone would have the strength to hold on if one of the kids fell.
One at a time they crossed.
We yelled encouragement and advice, which mostly consisted of, “Don’t look down. Just shuffle on, one step at a time.”
The little kids did better than the adults. Ryenne made it with tears streaming down her cheeks. I was worried about Rogan, who would never have been able to do something like this on Horizon. When I could see him inching along the rope I gripped onto Ryenne’s arm. As he got closer we could hear him murmuring to himself. “Ichthyovenator. Iguanadon. Indosuchus. Isisaurus.” He made it all the way to Oviraptor in his alphabetical list before I could grab him and pull him to safety. He opened his eyes when I touched his arm and I realized his eyes had been shut tight the whole way.
One of the women hung back until the end, with only her and Adam left to cross. We had discussed releasing the top rope, and having Adam shimmy across like Shiro had so we could retrieve one of the ropes, but a quick consult over the sat trans squashed that idea. It had been a lot harder than Shiro thought, and Adam wasn’t as strong a climber. It wasn’t worth the risk.
But the last woman wasn’t moving. We could see them arguing on the far side, Adam trying to gently push her nearer the edge. She spun around him, broke away, and ran.
Adam disappeared behind her and we called him to no avail on the trans. After about ten minutes he reappeared on the ridge alone. His voice crackled over the trans. “She’s gone. She just bolted away.”
“Who was it?”
He told me her name, and I remembered her as one of my mom’s friends aboard the ship.
“So what should I do?” Adam asked.
I looked around at the rest of our group clustered away from the edge.
“Climb over. We have to leave her.”
Chapter 32
One long stretch of jungle separated us from the final hills around Carthage. One more pass through the heart of ‘saur country.
Over the past several weeks we had kept the group together, managing to hunt enough food and forage enough berries for everyone to survive, hollow-cheeked and sunken. We stood on the edge of the drop off with the treetops spread below us. Nobody wanted to leave the relative safety of the cliffs, but there was no other choice.
“How long will it take us to cross that?” Kintan peered across at the distant mountain, beyond which lay our home.
It didn’t look far, but looks were deceiving. “At least two days,” I answered. “And then probably another five to get around the hills to the ‘front door.’“ The jungle-side entrance to our cave system I’d found a million years ago.
He shook his head. “Another week? They’re not going to make it.”
The group’s strength was flagging. They were exhausted. No one on Horizon had been in shape for a month’s forced march, climbing over this terrain. The Seventeen crew hadn’t built up any strength hiding in their transport these past three years. It was a small miracle that sixteen of them were still alive.
“They have to. Unless they want to sit down and die right here.” My words were harsh but true.
A little hooting squeal behind me made Kintan and I snap our heads around.
Ryenne stood there, wide-eyed. The muffled hooting call sounded again.
“What’s that noise?”
She looked up at the sky. “Nothing.” But she was my cousin. I knew when she was lying.
“Ryenne, what’s going on?”
Suddenly her eyes widened. She pointed straight up. “Pterosaur!”
Its shadow passed overhead. Everyone heard Ryenne’s cry and scattered, looking for a place to hide. But the hilltop was barren.
“Get behind us!” I yelled, whipping out my pistol. Henri, Adam, Kintan, and Shiro clustered around me, weapons drawn.
High over our heads the Pterosaur folded its wings into a dive. As it plunged through the air toward us, we opened fire.
The ground shook with the thunder of gunfire. Down the ‘saur came, hurtling through the air. At the last moment it snapped open its leathery wings, beating the air as it reached out a taloned foot toward us.
Kintan was the closest to it—just in front of me and Shiro—and he suddenly dropped to the ground, clutching his arm. The Pterosaur’s claws grasped at him. To my right, Shiro dropped his gun and backed away. He must be out of ammo. Shiro out, Kintan down. I hadn’t seen the pterosaur clip Kintan, but it must have gotten a claw into his arm to make him fall like that. Two of us left to take this thing out.
Henri and I kept firing, and one of us made a lucky shot. Henri took credit for it, but I’m pretty sure it was me. A bullet hit the Pterosaur right in the soft joint where the wing met the body. The wing crumpled against it and the ‘saur spiraled out away from the hillside, and down out of sight.
A cheer erupted from the party behind us.
We beat a ‘saur. They needed this.
I turned to face them. “That’s how we do it in Carthage!”
They roared approval.
I picked up the gun Shiro had dropped, expecting it to be empty, but the magazine was still half full. Henri was crouched over Kintan and motioned me over.
The ‘saur’s claws had raked across his face, leaving shallow wounds. He was clutching his left arm.
“Let me see. Did it grab you there, too?” I leaned over him.
A hole penetrated through the muscle of his upper arm. It was round and bleeding, clean through. Not a ‘saur claw. A gunshot.
I raised my head and looked for Shiro, but he was nowhere to be seen. He knew. He knew as soon as he hit Kintan.
We cleaned the blood off and wrapped his arm tight. We were close enough that the ‘saurs in the area might recognize the scent of human blood, and I didn’t want anything tracking us by a blood trail. The bullet had passed straight through, and although I was worried about infection, we could do no more than wrap it up and hope for the best. It was early afternoon and we settled down to rest until evening, once again preparing to make the transition to nocturnal traveling. I looked around the group. Shiro sat off by himself, staring out over the jungle below. Should I go talk to him? And what would I say? There was nothing in my survival training that could have prepared me for this, a friend going off the rails.
I was still debating when the sound of giggling echoed from behind a rock. I followed the noise. Ryenne and Rogan sat on the ground, packs open next to them. Two little ‘saurs hopped around their legs. I almost yelled, but held my tongue and watched for a few minutes. Ryenne held out handfuls of squished berries to the little ‘saurs, which hopped up to eat from her palms.
“What on Ceti are those?”
Ryenne’s head snapped around and her face burned.
“They’re . . . they’re mine,” she said.
“Yours? Where did you get them? And what the scat are they doing here?”
She gathered the ‘saurs up in her lap. They were maybe knee-high with short legs and fat bodies. When they reared up on their hind legs to sniff for more berries, each one raised a bright blue crest on top of its head, running into a small sail down its back.
“They’re tiny Spinosaurus,” Rogan said. “But herbivores.”
“They’re what?”
Ryenne dug another handful of berries out of Rogan’s pack. “They’re mine and I’m keeping them. They were just hatched back where all the eggs got trampled. Just little babies. They think I’m their mom, and I’m keeping them.”
Sweet shining stars. She thinks they’re pets.
“You can’t keep them.”
“Why not?”
“Because . . .” I tried to think of a good answer. “Because there’s not enough food.”
She shrugged. “I’ve done okay this far. And we’ll be in the jungle tonight. Plenty of fruit. They can even eat these scrubby little bushes, but they like the
berries best.”
My eyes rolled up to the sky. “They make noise. They’ll get us killed.”
She stared at me. “I’ve had them for weeks in my pack. I carried them over that damned rope bridge. This is the first time you ever knew they were here.”
I looked to Rogan but he was no help, grinning happily at the baby ‘saurs. With full bellies, they nestled into Ryenne’s lap.
They were kind of cute.
Sara would love them.
I frowned at Ryenne. “They’re your responsibility. And if they slow us down for one second, we’re leaving them behind.”
She grinned, knowing she’d won.
I stomped back around the rock to a waiting Henri. He was holding his pistol with the magazine out and empty.
“So . . . how much ammo do you have?” His question surprised me.
I checked my pockets. “One extra magazine on me. And the rest of it is in a couple of the packs. There’s plenty.”
Henri shook his head. “That’s the thing. There’s not. Those packs . . . I think they got left behind when that horned monster chased us. I thought Kintan had those packs all this time, and he thought I did. But nobody seems to have them.”
“So what do we have?”
Henri held up his empty magazine. “I have nothing. Kintan has one spare magazine, and a half-full clip for the rifle. Shiro and Adam are almost empty, too.”
I did the math in my head. Seven rounds per magazine. The rifle held thirty, and it was half-empty. So maybe thirty rounds total.
Henri nodded, doing the same math. “If we’re lucky and only need them for hunting, we’ll be fine. It’s only a week out. And we’re heading into the jungle where we can forage instead of hunt. Carry enough fruit for the last couple of days in the mountains and we’ll be fine.”