Science Fiction Friday -- Chapter 3

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Read Chapter 2 Here

With No Direction Home

Beyond the edge of the vast table land where most of Cotter's human life resides, the terrain is much more varied. The plateau is undulating, but it lies all at roughly the same altitude. It is the most elevated and the most arid part of the planet. Rains fall with much more regularity in the lower lands. The equatorial belt is a barrier to weather systems that arise in the north and the south, spinning toward the equator from the polar regions with their salt seas. Storms flirt with the plateau on both sides but rarely pass completely over.

After leaving the herders, I made my way down into broken lands of the high foothills then took an easterly direction as they had told me I should. It was impossible to hold to a straight line route for any distance above a half a klick — or so it seemed. Gullies and ravines and steep-sided hills drove me to constantly change tracks as I struggled with vines, brambles, and thorny brush.

Still, I felt better in one way. The air was richer, and the nights were not quite as cold. That was a good thing since I saw no human habitations, and I had no experience in building a shelter, or, for that matter, a fire. Yet even with the moderation in temperature, I was able to sleep only in snatches when exhaustion would briefly get the upper hand in battling chill. I tried to be careful with my food, so I was hungry most of the time. Someone who knew what he was doing could probably find something to eat even in that scraggly terrain; I wasn't that somebody. Water I had some hope of — after all I was looking for a river, and even I knew a river was made out of water.

A few days out a storm whirled up from the south, smashing like a wave against the highlands. The rain didn't last long but it fell hard and fast. I managed to find some cover under a steep bank with overhanging junipers. It wasn't much help, and I was fairly soaked. Cold followed the rain, and I stumbled on through a fog as best I could. I was more than a little afraid I'd lose my direction, but I couldn't stand still for fear of freezing to death. The waters from the rain were hurrying down the ravines and washes, and, as I crossed a narrow, temporary stream, it occurred to me that I'd crossed several like it dry the last couple of days. I halted and turned it over in my mind, picturing water running downhill. I cursed. Then I wanted to weep, but I was so cold I think the tears would have frozen, salt or no.

If I had had the sense God gave a shirt button, I would have followed the first dry wash I came to down, out of the foothills and, more than likely, right to the head waters of my river. The herders had told it wasn't all that far, but I had just assumed that I was slower and didn't know how to get around. And that was true enough. But I been bearing east for days. For all I knew I might be past the river I sought. I stood there shivering and thinking. The first thing I thought was that I ought to climb back up to the plateau, go back to where I'd left the herders and start all over again. That way I'd be sure to hit the right river with my new-found geographical insight. But there were a few things wrong with that idea. I was worn down and hungry. Going downhill was easier than climbing out. I was running out of food and thus out of time. The worst, though, was knowing that if I went back up on the plateau I would go back to my old ways.

It would make sense, of course. I'd just get another job temporarily to rebuild my stake. And then the end of the week would come. I'd have the credits in my book. I'd be thinking of the cold and the thorns and sore, weary feet. I'd tell myself that one or two drinks wouldn't hurt. It wouldn't hurt to work another week or so and build up my reserves. Then the end of the next week would be the same. No.

I looked at the little rivulet at my feet. It was going somewhere in a rush. I bent down and filled my bottles with the slightly murky waters. At least I wouldn't die thirsty. Sometimes a man just has to take things on faith. I began walking along beside the little stream. It was almost like having a friend with me who knew the way. Before too long, my shivering had stopped as my clothes began to dry. The chill fog blew out on a warmer breeze from somewhere behind me.

My joy did not last through the night, but the idea of turning back was gone. Doubts still dogged me, although every alternative seemed as flawed as the track I followed. Eventually, the storm waters disappeared and I trod the dry branch. Then, as the land flattened a little and spread out, I began to encounter little pools, and, after that, little pools connected by shallow, stony riffles. After a couple of days, I was making my way along the banks of a persistent little creek of clear water dancing over a bed of gravel. I thought I was bearing west; it could have been wishful thinking. Overall direction was hard to pin down. The creek twisted and turned to many times its straight line length. Despite the multiplication of steps, I was afraid to leave it and strike a more direct course.

I thought there were probably fish in the water. If catching one hadn't been beyond my ability, I wasn't yet hungry enough to consider ripping into the raw flesh with nothing more than my teeth to part it. A gun's a good thing as I've learned since those days, but a man without a cutting tool and a way to make sparks will hoe a hard row on any world.

With only three days more of food in my pack, no matter how much I stretched it, I was thinking hungry thoughts when I saw something dark and moving on a span of dry gravel some distance ahead. It was shifting more than moving. In fact it seemed as if it were anchored to the ground somehow. As I drew closer I began to make it out as an animal of some sort. I was within twenty meters or so when it saw me and lay down. The thing just looked at me. It didn't look too dangerous. I pulled my gun and moved closer. When I was as close as four or five paces, I saw why the creature hadn't run from me. Its right hind leg was caught in something; the leg was raw red and misshapen from swelling below the metal that gripped it.

I didn't know quite what to do. I had little knowledge of animals, still I didn't care much to think about any live thing caught like that to starve to death. This thing's ribs were already standing out, and it was weak, no question. I'd seen people with pet dogs a few times — rich folk who could afford to live the memories of Old Earth. This was a canine of one kind or another — a wolf, I thought, would have smaller, pointy ears. This one's ears flopped down, and it had a fairly smooth, reddish coat with a big splotch of black hair on its back. I decided it was a dog. I also decided that its leg was caught in a trap. I still didn't know what to do about it.

I wondered if these were animals that Del trapped, though I doubted it. Del didn't seem to be the kind of man to leave a thing to suffer, nor to forget he had set a trap somewhere. Since it didn't seem to be afraid of me, I wondered if it belonged to someone rather than being a wild dog. Calling myself a fool the whole time, I dug into my ruck and pulled out a small piece of a protein bar. With it in one hand and my pistol in the other, I moved up close enough to toss the bit under the dog's nose. It jerked back a little then sniffed at the chunk. The piece of food disappeared in an instant. The dog's tail wagged — flop, flop — against the ground. Taking that reaction for a sign, I peeled off my coat and checked the safety on my gun before sticking it in my belt. I wrapped the coat around my right arm as I very slowly moved toward the animal's trapped leg, all the while half expecting the creature to lunge with a snarl and try to rip out my throat, for a really good meal. My hands were shaking. The smart thing would have been to back off and just put the beast out of its misery.

"Nice doggie," I said. I put my left hand on the near jaw of the trap and tried to pull it off. At that point the dog whimpered then snarled, twisted, and snapped. I caught the teeth on my padded right arm, thinking that I had been rather clever. I had the front part of the dog safely pinned to the ground, and I was glad that he, or she, or whatever, was not too large and not too strong.

All well and good, except I still had the problem of how to open the jaws of the trap with one hand. After considerable puffing and twisting and not a little cursing, I managed to catch the inside jaw with my heel and get my left hand back on the near jaw. Thankful there was no one around to see my current position, I managed to pry the trap open just enough for the dog's leg to slip out, which actually took what I thought was an awfully long time. I released the trap with my hand, and it somehow managed to clamp shut on my boot heel.

"Hell!" I said.

I pushed the dog away from me and scrambled as far from it as the staked trap would allow while grabbing for my pistol. The dog looked at me, its lips ever so slowly coming together to erase the snarl and cover its bared teeth. It tried to stand up. The damaged leg gave way. Trying again without relying on the numb limb, the dog was successful. It ignored me and hobbled to the edge of the water where it began to lap vigorously and noisily. I felt a pang of sympathy. The dog had been trapped for days in sight of the water, its nose full of the smell of water, yet in agony, unable to quench its thirst.

While the beast was busy, I managed to get loose from the trap myself, though I didn't miss losing a thumb by but a hair. Standing up, I gathered my ruck and put on my now-slightly-worse-for-the-wear coat. I kept the pistol out in case the dog decided I looked tasty. And I kept an eye on it as I started to move on down the stream. With its craving slacked, the animal turned to see where I was. It put its nose down and sniffed around a bit then wagged its tail. On three legs it began to limp along behind me.

That night, I stopped to rest against a fallen tree that sheltered me from the winds, and where limbs and dead leaves would insulate me a little from the ground. The dog had kept pace with me at a distance through the day. When I stopped, she - I finally figured that out - stopped as well. She lay down about ten paces distant and looked at me quizzically, or so I imagined. She seemed to be expecting something - food or fire, I suppose. I couldn't spare more of my grub, but I would have built a fire if I'd known how. As it was I just huddled up and tried to sleep. When I woke from cold in the night, I didn't see the dog, and she was no where around the next morning when I set out. I figured she'd gone off to find a more intelligent and skillful human. Around the middle of the afternoon, I paused for a drink of water and a brief rest. Looking back the way I had come, I saw the dog. She looked different. I thought for a moment it might even be a different dog, but the sign of the trap was still on her leg, though the swelling was gone.

"Where ya been? And how do ya reckon ya found me?" I asked aloud. "Even more to the point, why'd ya find me?"

The dog lolled her tongue out and wagged her tail. Dropping down a little she approached me in what I took to be a friendly way. Without thinking about it, I put my hand out. She came close enough that I could stroke her head. As I sat there petting the dog, I thought she looked sleeker than before. Of course, she'd been dried out and dying of thirst, but now she appeared to have eaten, and quite a bit at that.

"So, ya brought me none, I take it? Fair enough. I ain't givin' ya none a'mine. Ya have to look out for y'own body first. Still, I wonder what ya had. Somethin' already dead on its own most likely, so I don't envy ya all that much. Not yet."

The rest of the day the dog ambled along beside me, her limp gradually evening out. When I found a place to try and sleep for the night, the dog watched me then came over, turned around a few times and lay down next to me. Dogs, by the way, are warm. I slept well. I woke up cold sometime before dawn. My dog was gone. Even after the sun was up and I had consumed my meager breakfast, I was reluctant to move out because she had not returned, but I finally started walking, though not without frequent glances over my shoulder. A little after noon, she caught up with me.

"Hey, girl — didn't leave me after all. I cain't say it's wise on your part, but I like having ya with me."

As long as I had food, I could keep track of the days. After I ate the last mouthful, I more or less gave up on time for a while. Some planets have moons that wax and wane, like the Moon of Old Earth, the place men first stepped off our home world. People with calendars don't appreciate moons of that kind. We would have had days and seasons with Old Earth's axial tilt, but it was man's original silver goddess that gave us months and weeks. Cotter had been a moon itself prior to conversion. All it had were a few rocky bodies that had somehow wound up in its orbit, debris left over or picked up during the terraforming. One, far enough out to sometimes escape the nightside shadow, big enough, and reflective enough to be easily seen, was called Elvira. It was considered a good omen for Elvira to be visible, but she had an eccentric, retrograde orbit so that most of the time she was either invisible on the dayside or lost in the shade. I saw her twice after I finished off the last of my food.

They say a man can go three weeks without food. Days of walking on short grub followed by a week or perhaps two on none had left me starving, my mind and body barely functioning at all. My feet moved slowly, and I had to stop often. The dog continued her habit of staying with me until a couple of hours before dawn and catching up with me in the middle of the day or mid-afternoon. Late one evening we came to a change. The creek we had been following suddenly widened, and the land dropped down and leveled out as we entered a valley. As the shadows deepened we were led by the waters through a swamp until we came at last to the edge of a river. We were on the eastern bank, and I believed that it was certainly the river that would lead to Del. The river was there deep and swift where the creek swirled and mixed into it. My first thought was to find a crossing place as soon as possible for I believed without reasoning that my friend would be somewhere on the other side.

It was full dark when the dog and I came to a place that was open, pale and broad, under faint starlight. Looking up I saw Elvira blazing near the zenith. We had found a gravel bar below a slow deep pool where the river would likely let us cross without too much trouble. I considered crossing in the dark, but I was afraid. Instead, I found a spot up against a large tree leaning out a little over the water with a trunk that reflected a ghostly silver by the stars. Hungry and weary as I was, I settled down to sleep feeling hope and peace for the first time in many, many days — really for the first time in my memory. I knew the journey ahead might still prove too much for me, but I also knew I had found the right path.

Oddly, the dog seemed anxious. I was able to coax her into curling up next to me, but she whimpered and didn't want to sleep. It wasn't long before I, having dozed off, woke to find her gone. It was very dark. The absence of stars told me clouds had gathered. I sensed more than saw them brooding low, black, and thick. The wind had been blowing steadily for days. Now it was still, and the atmosphere was heavy. Only the sound of the river rushing over its shallow bed pushed back against the oppressive silence before the impending storm.

My body was desperate for sleep, and, despite the ominous signs I again nodded off. When I next awoke it was to horrific roaring like the engines of a hundred ships just overhead. The still air was suddenly driven. I felt the tree by which I huddled begin to vibrate and shudder. Instinctively I stood and tried to run as a brief surge of strength powered my weakened legs. I wanted to cross the river no matter what else happened. The wind seemed to be coming from all directions. I stumbled in the deep, loose gravel just as a powerful gust caught me from behind. It was as though a giant hand slapped me face-down against the rocky water's edge. Above the howl of the air I heard a rending sound, and, just as I managed to get to my knees, I sensed a movement behind and above me. With an almost human moan, the great white tree fell.

And I was beneath it.

Chapter 4