Darwin's Quest: The Search for the Ultimate Survivor (17 page)

Chapter 22

It was Borlinga and Hamlin’s watch, but since we were not asleep, Lindadawn and I decided to sit with them. The sun was bearing down on us, but like most days on the reservation, the weather was comfortable. We sat in the shade and relaxed.

My body must have been getting used to the mangos as I seemed to be keeping them inside me better. Lindadawn had a few twinges of diarrhea left, but we were regaining our strength.

“So is your son as big as you?” Borlinga asked Hamlin, all traces of her fake syntax gone by now.

We had been sitting and talking about our families. That meant most of the talk was about Borlinga’s and Hamlin’s as neither Lindadawn nor I had kids.

“Which one? You mean Luke or Tony?”

“Tony, the younger one.”

“No, Tony won’t lift. He says it interferes with his golf swing, and he is bound and determined to be a pro someday.”

“Is he that good?” I asked.

“No, not really. He’s a fighter, though, and he won’t give up. Luke, though, well, he’s pretty well built. Maybe not as big as me, but cut better. I guess that holds more sway in his circle. His boyfriend told me that the other guys are jealous of him about Luke’s physique.” He smiled. “I should say ex-boyfriend, that is. He couldn’t take the attention that Luke was getting from other guys and girls. I didn’t tell you that Joshua is his own natural born kid with a girl from his school.”

It was still hard to imagine Hamlin as a grandfather, and ironic that his grandkid shared a name with his one-time adversary when popularity still mattered in this season’s
Darwin’s Quest
. But with four kids of his own, and the other three approaching adulthood, it might not have been long until there were more grandkids to bounce on his knee.

His wife had divorced him some years back, but the kids had stayed with him. He was, from all appearances, a loving and caring father rather than the body-loving egotist I’d first imagined him to be. And grandfather was stretching the stereotype. He was only 41 after all, hardly some doddering old man. Paul, Julie, and Bernie had all been older than him. Even Borlinga was older, much to my surprise when I had found out. I had initially guessed her to be much younger than her actual 46 years. In her t-shirt and her rose-imprinted underwear, she still looked much younger than Hamlin, though.

Borlinga had kept quieter when the game was on, I assumed preferring to remain mysterious as a strategy. But with little need of that by now, she reverted to her norm, which was surprising personable. Her dry wit had us chuckling more than once, despite the stress levels. She had six kids, but as with most pioneer worlds, this was the preferred course of action, unlike on Earth where one kid was recommended. Very few people had four like Hamlin, which was why he probably hadn’t said much about them while the game was on. No need to alienate any potential voters, after all.

Even though Borlinga was an Outerworlder like me, I felt closer to Lindadawn. I loved Borlinga like a sister, but maybe because we were both single, I felt more of a kinship with Lindadawn. And I respected her competence. Her succeeding in starting a business had an impact on me. I didn’t feel any jealousy because I had failed in my own attempt at business.

We sat there on the ground chatting as if we were at an open-air café in Paris. It was hard to accept sometimes that we were abandoned on a strange world and beset with dangers. Abandoned, though, was hopefully the wrong word. We fervently prayed that the rescue ship would arrive at any time and take us off this place.

Our conversation stopped as the big bird made its appearance on the other side of the clearing. Borlinga and Hamlin hadn’t seen it, but they knew about it from our description. The bird came out into plain view, then looked at us for a moment before stretching its back, pointing its beak at the sky, and furiously flapping it small wings. It settled back down, fluffing its feathers along its back. It stared at us for a few more moments before turning and disappearing into the brush.

“I see what you mean, now,” said Hamlin. “I wouldn’t want to face that.”

“What do you think it is?” asked Lindadawn.

“Keeping with the theme, I’d say it is some sort of prehistoric bird, but what kind, I don’t know,” answered Borlinga. “If Mike were still here, he’d know, I’m sure. That looks like something pretty significant in the fossil record.”

Losing Mike was still pretty hard. We hadn’t seen him die. We hadn’t felt our telltales vibrate. Against any evidence to the contrary, I hoped he was still alive out there somewhere, still waiting for the rescue ship.

Our conversation drifted back to the mundane. Lindadawn and Hamlin seemed fascinated by life on Monsanto. That was odd to me, as life there was pretty mundane, pretty much like life on Earth, at least as depicted in the holos. Maybe we didn’t have the same breadth of food items, the same breadth of places to visit. But daily life was driven by the same urges and desires, and they were fulfilled by the same means. McDonalds and KFC were still favorites, just as they had been on Earth for hundreds of years.

“But does KFC taste the same on Monsanto? Is the secret recipe the same as on Earth?” asked Lindadawn.

“Not having been to Earth except in transit to here, I can’t really say one way or the other. But I’ve been told by others who have been there that yes, it is the same.”

“That’s pretty weird,” said Hamlin. “Across all that distance, an extra-crispy fried chicken is exactly the same.”

“And I think you Earthers must be bored if you find that all that interesting,” I said.

Borlinga chuckled in agreement.

A laud squawk interrupted us again. The big bird was back. It pranced out into the middle of the clearing. Behind it came another, only slightly smaller. We got to our feet.

“Now what?” wondered Hamlin.

The two birds walked casually up to the bridgehead. The big one ruffled its feathers again. If let out a soft squawk. The smaller of the two, and smaller was only relative, took a tentative step forward, putting one foot on the bridge.

“It can’t be thinking of coming over, can it?” Hamlin asked. “It doesn’t have any hands to hold onto the stays.”

But the bird must not have realized that. Rapidly flapping its small wings, it managed to keep its balance as it started over, step by step. It might not be able to fly, but the wings could balance it. The cable creaked and dipped, but the wings kept a steady pressure, so the cable did not bounce up and down.

“Shit!” we said in unison. We moved forward, spears at the ready.

The bird was halfway across, right at the barrier. Still flapping its wings, it gave a mighty leap with its powerful legs. But by pushing down on the main cable, the snap back threw the bird higher than it probably expected, and it sailed over the barrier, coming down off-kilter and on top of one of the support stays which we used to grab with our hands when we were crossing. One big foot slipped, and the bird began to topple with a squawk. It tried to reach out and snag the cable with its beak, but it was just out of reach. In seemingly slow motion, the big bird fell, wings trying to regain an evolutionarily lost ability to lift its body in flight. We rushed forward to see it hit the water with a splash and get immediately swept downstream.

“Damn! Thank God we put up that barrier,” Hamlin said as we watch the bird disappear beyond the bend. This felt eerily familiar, as when we’d watched the pterosaur Josh took with him get swept downstream. Only this time, none of us paid the price.

The other bird cocked its head as it seemed to contemplate the bridge. But birds, especially prehistoric birds, couldn’t rationalize like that, could they? Their brains had to be too small for that, right?

It reached down with its beak and gently tapped the bottom cable. Then, tentatively, it placed one foot on it.

“Here comes the other!” Hamlin said needlessly.

We stepped back, spears at the ready. The bird started flapping its wings like the first one had, and as with that one, it was able to keep its balance as it stepped along. When it got to the barrier, instead of leaping up though, it readied itself and swung its massive head down in a striking motion, cutting through some of the rope strands. It almost over-balanced, but with wings aflapping, it managed to regain its balance.

“It’s not going to try to jump it! It’s breaking it down!” Hamlin’s voice went up a few octaves in the stress of the moment.

It took a surprisingly few strikes, maybe four in all, before the barrier was in shambles, a barrier no more. Without slowing its wing beats, the bird started advancing toward us. In retrospect, we should have charged forward, meeting it at the near bridgehead. But we just watched it, knuckles tightening on our spear shafts.

The bird rushed the last few meters and jumped onto Haven. We instinctively spread out, although those same instincts told our primitive ape brains to run. The big bird stretched again, then darted its head as it looked at each of us.

With a sudden spring, it launched itself at Borlinga, the smallest of us. Borlinga tried to spear it, but she had no chance. It came down striking her with its front talon. Then the evil head came down in a lightning strike. The same beak which had just torn up our rope barrier did not meet any resistance in Borlinga’s head. We didn’t need the telltale alert to know she was gone, just like that.

The bird stretched out to crow, a prehistoric rooster telling the world of its victory. And that was a fatal mistake. Hamlin was maybe half the mass of the bird. But when all that mass was concentrated on the very small point of a flint spear, the force was fearsome. And when the bird reared back to crow, it exposed its breast, a target Hamlin couldn’t miss. The spear buried itself over a meter deep into the huge predator. Hamlin jumped back as the thing went into its death throes, legs thrashing. Lindadawn and I pulled Borlinga away. She was dead, but we didn’t want her abused by the bird’s struggles.

The back of Borlinga’s head was crushed, and there was a huge slash in her side where the bird’s foot had slashed her. But she seemed at peace, if that was possible. Her faced smoothed out, and she seemed even younger in death than she had been in life. I felt the tears flowing, and I couldn’t stop the sobs. I hadn’t taken the opportunity to cry before. But this time, I couldn’t stop. I was crying for Borlinga, for Alfhid, for Ratt. I was crying for Mike and Yash. I was crying for each of us, including the three of us left. It suddenly hit me that we were going to die, too. This world was too much for us. We weren’t going to make it.

“Give me the knife.” Hamlin was standing over me, hand out expectantly.

Through my tears, I handed it over. Lindadawn came to sit with me, arms around me as I buried my face in her shoulder. I sat there, unable to stop my sobs. She cradled my head, soothing me.

Hamlin came back after a few moments, a piece of bloody meat in his hands. “It’s a biobeast.”

“Who the hell cares what it was. It killed Borlinga!” I managed to get out.

“We can eat a biobeast. It’s food.”

I shook my head, sobs finally stopping. “Doesn’t matter. We’re dead anyway.”

Hamlin grabbed my shirt and lifted me up. “How dare you say that! Do you think Borlinga would’ve quit? We owe it to her, we owe it to the rest to make it, to let everyone know what happened here. If we give up, no one can tell the story. Do you think GBC will tell the truth? Do you think GBC will take care of Borlinga’s kids? Yash’s kids?” He was shouting now, angry at me, but probably angry at everything.

And he was right. I took a deep breath and grabbed his wrists. “You’re right, Hamlin. I’m wrong. But I’m back now. I’m with you.”

I looked at the dead bird. Even in death, the thing was impressive. I looked back at Hamlin. Despite his strength, his taking down that thing was nothing short of amazing. If we did get out of this, people weren’t going to believe it.

Lindadawn went to the spigot and got Borlinga’s leggings, now wet. She wiped Borlinga’s face and side while Hamlin and I butchered part of the bird. We carried huge pieces to the fire where we set it around to roast. Going back, we got more than enough to smoke. Finally, admitting that we had enough, we rolled the carcass to the edge of the cliff. Even butchered, this was easier said than done. Finally, we pushed it over the edge.