Tale of the Thunderbolt (41 page)

“Why are they digging?” the sailor asked.

“Food storage. That's an old riverbed, and they're going to put stuff they gathered in the clay. They've figured out how to dry fruit. You'll see apples all over the place lying on stones.”

“The Kurians thought they could feed off those? They look like they could stomp a Reaper.”

“Nah, the Grogs hunt them with tranquilizers from horseback, or vehicles. The 'fants haven't really worked out for them. I don't think they did much research on elephants, the wild things had a family loyalty they didn't count on. Upping the intelligence a couple of degrees was one of their dumber moves. We'd best get away from here soon though, if there are 'fants around, there might be hunters. Though the tracks I've seen today don't show it.”

“You want us to move at night?” Valentine asked

“Just for a couple more hours.”

“Light'll be gone soon — let's get moving, then. Eve, don't you ever say anything?”

“No sir,” Eve said, eyes wide on the elephants.

“You'd better go pack up the menagerie,” Baltz said to Eve. The girl took one long look, then scampered off. “C'mon boy, sightseeing's over. We should get away from here.”

“Is she a relative?” Valentine said.

“She's been with me since she was a babe in arms. The Kurians had a research station in a crossroads town called Eden. I never found out what they were breeding. There was a fire, and they called in everyone with two arms and two legs to help fight it. Well, for some reason there were human babies at this station, most of 'em died account of the smoke, they dragged them out in this cart-cage contraption. Looked to be five, or maybe six infants in this cage. I saw her fingers moving and got her out. She started coughing up a storm, and even with all the noise she was making, I snuck her to my truck. I didn't know who to trust, so I started living out of my truck with her in it. Whenever I had to deal with anyone else, I put her in a tool case, with air holes, of course. She seemed to pick up on the danger, even though she was barely crawling — she'd keep quiet for hours until I opened it up again.”

The next day it was Baltz who summoned Valentine. She sat her horse beneath a steel tower, a pair of power lines hanging from the arms.

“This is funny, Captain,” she said. Valentine startled; it was the first time she had ever called him anything other than his first name, or boy.

“You don't mean funny ‘ha-ha' I take it.”

“No. Funny-scary. This is a main source line. It runs back up to an oil-burning plant in Abeline. It's dead, and I mean long dead. I haven't been this deep into the Ranch in years, but I'd say this hasn't carried current in two or three years, judging from bird and insect activity. I climbed the tower and had a close look.”

“Maybe they found a new power source,” Valentine said, but it sounded wrong even as a guess.

“You know the Kurians, son, they don't bother with something that's working. Civic improvements are the last thing on their mind. You're talking about a shutdown to at least half the Ranch, probably more, if this line is dead.”

“Maybe they gave up on these experiments. Found them unproductive?”

“That might be. They have the patience of Job, though, which makes sense considering they don't die. What's wrong, guys?”

Her assorted mutts were whining worriedly and slinking around behind her horse. Valentine's horse began to toss its head. He dismounted and soothed the animal.

“It's coming from that brush over there,” Baltz said, her horse under better control.

Valentine unlatched the flap on his .45's holster. He handed his reins to Baltz, and pulled his machete from its saddle.

“That's what I call a pig-sticker,” Baltz said.

“A Grog would have shot by now. This isn't the right time of day for a Reaper, but I'm not taking any chances. Maybe he's got a motorcycle helmet on.”

Valentine cursed himself for not carrying one of Post's spearheads. He took a few cautious steps toward the brush, every nerve alert.

He heard grass move, and whatever was crawling through the brush changed course at his approach. Valentine made ready to leap forward or back, gun in his hand and machete held ready to swing.

A sound like fifty castanets came from the brush. It sounded familiar, only too loud; he hadn't turned up his ears that much. What kind of rattler would make that much noise?

He found out when the snake struck from cover. The king of all rattlers, its head as large as a melon, lashed out with mouth gaping and fangs pointed down and forward. It aimed for Valentine's thigh.

A blur of reflexes saved him from a strike moving faster than the eye could follow. He spun, pulling his leg out of the way as he brought the blade around and down as fast as a propeller. The fine steel edge severed the neck of the rattler two feet below the neck, and the head flopped to the grass, biting at nothing. The decapitated body thrashed back and forth, rattle still buzzing angrily.

“Jesus, that's a hell of a snake,” Baltz said as the serpentine body slowed and stopped.

Valentine breathed until his heart slowed and the burning above his kidneys faded.

“You moved faster than the damn snake, boy. I didn't know what happened till it was over. You touched by God or something?”

“Or something,” Valentine agreed. “Don't tell me the Kurians made smart, venomous reptiles.”

“I don't think it was smart. Creeping up on all of us like that.”

“If it wasn't smart, then why did they bother? Breed a few thousand of them and drop them on farmland in the Ozarks from planes?”

“I wouldn't put it past 'em. But they're new here. Dead lines, big snakes, no Grog patrols away from the borders. It adds up to something. I'd say the Ranch is under new management.”

“Anyone see a sign that said ‘Animal Farm'?”

The reference was lost on Baltz.

 

That night Valentine worked with the snakeskin. He found something in it appealing and with Ahn-Kha's help he turned the hide into a bandolier. He didn't intend to be without a spearpoint or two in the future. After the camp trooped past the hide to whistle, gape, and ask the same questions over and over, he and Ahn-Kha went to work. They stretched lengths of snakeskin from wagonwheel to wagonwheel on one of the supply wagons, peeling off the remaining muscle and salting down the skin.

“The Gray Ones like snakemeat, my David. Even better than beef.”

“They're welcome to it — there's enough to last them a week.”

“This is good skin. Very light and strong. I think I will try layering it, so the scales go different directions. Make armor for the chest and shoulders. Better than sharkskin.”

They ate and drank as they worked, with the other two Grogs squatting by the campfire, toasting snakemeat on sticks and watching their every move.

“Whatcha makin' boy?” the familiar voice of Baltz called in passing. She approached them with the rolling walk of someone constantly at sea or on horseback.

“A conversation piece, most likely,” Valentine said. “There's some coffee left.”

“No, really, looks like a big-assed belt. New clothes, Uncle?”

“It's for me,” Valentine said. “Thought I'd keep a couple of spearpoints in a bandolier.”

“Ah, yeah, your precious wood. Word around the campfire is that you've got some kind of weapon against the Hissers.”

“Reapers, we call them.”

“Hissers is more accurate.”

“Depends on if you're describing what they do or what they sound like.”

“So these spears kill 'em?” she asked, eyes narrowed.

“I've seen it more than once, more than twice. If the wood is fairly fresh, when it hits their bloodstream, it kills them. Fast.”

Baltz laughed, a barking sound more suitable for one of her dogs. “'Bout time we found something that did. Can I have one of your stickers?”

“Take a couple. It's the least we can do for your help. Help yourself to some seeds and a sapling while you're at it. When you get home, you can plant it. Maybe someday it'll be a liberty tree.”

“A liberty tree?”

“Something old, so old it's forgotten. Has to do with the founding of the old United States. It's an idea I've been working on ever since I found out what I had to bring back. I picture these trees growing in all the freeholds.”

“Pretty much everything worthwhile in life started out as somebody's dream, boy. This one's worth a chase.”

An orange explosion of teeth and claws shot out from under Valentine's snakeskin-adorned wagon. Ahn-Kha dropped his blade in alarm, and Valentine jumped.

“That's Georgie, my cat. Wonder what spooked him?” Baltz said, squatting to look under the wagon.

“Shit!” she screamed, falling backwards in alarm.

Valentine knelt, hand on his machete and ready to jump, and looked under the wagon. A chimpanzee form hung under the wagon, glaring at him with red eyes and a rat face. But the oversized back legs were all wrong, and the tail . . .

“Nusk!”
Ahn-Kha bellowed, and his Grogs grabbed cooking implements from the campfire.

“Hey, it's — ,” Valentine said as the creature dropped from its inverted hiding place, spun like a cat, and hit the ground running. The Grogs howled and ran around the other side of the wagon in pursuit. Valentine jumped up into the driver's seat of the wagon for a better look.

The oversize vermin shot like a brown bolt of lightning through the camp, startling and scattering men and animals. Someone managed to bring a shotgun up, but blasted only trampled-down grasses in the thing's wake. A flick of its cotton-tuft tail was the last Valentine saw of it, but his ears followed the scrambling claws through the darkness, northwest into the heart of the Ranch.

Valentine shook his head, wishing they were off the Ranch. He'd had enough of the Texas hills with creatures from an H. G. Wells novel popping out of the brush.

“Okay, so they made some cross of jackrabbit and rat the size of a raccoon,” he said, turning to Baltz. “What else do we have to look forward to? Cockroaches built like armored personnel carriers?”

Baltz passed one of her assorted handkerchiefs across her face. “Boy, oh boy, I didn't know about those things. They must be new. Did you see those red eyes?”

Valentine sat down on the bench seat at the front of the wagon, rubbing the back of his neck under his black mane. “That might explain the rattlesnakes. To hunt loose rat-rabbits, whatever. Rodents. Snakes are the best rodent-killers on earth.”

“My David, I think it is more than that,” Ahn-Kha said.

“What's that?” Valentine asked.

“It was here to listen. Perhaps it understood us.”

“Rats are smart, but English-speaking?”

“Smart at surviving, anyway,” Zacharias said, coming out of the dark. “It got away. The pickets didn't even notice it.”

Ahn-Kha pointed under the wagon. “It was here for some time. It got bored and started drawing, or gnawing.”

Valentine looked at the scratchings. They looked like a cross between hieroglyphics and Indian cave paintings.

“Huh, an artist,” a Texan crouching at the other side of the wagon remarked.

“My David, a hunted animal doesn't bother to doodle. I think the Kurians bred the creatures for their auras.”

“I believe you've got it, old horse. Colonel Hibbert said something about that. Rodents breed like crazy, eat anything, and grow fast.”

“True,” Ahn-Kha rumbled. “The rat-things perhaps didn't like being eaten any better than you humans do. I think they fought back.”

“Successfully,” Valentine agreed.

 

Two days later, the Rangers riding screen for the convoy called up Zacharias and Valentine. They saw more of the “ratbit.” The scouts had paused at the middle of a notch in the hills the wagon train would have to cross as they moved north. They were traveling through scattered trees, what in this part of Texas might be called a forest.

A smokehouse filled with cuts of meat Valentine guessed to be snake stood near a trampled out area that had the trodden-on look of a campsite. Tracks of wheeled vehicles, perhaps off-road bicycles, could be seen.

“The Grogs travel on four-wheelers and motorcycles sometimes,” Baltz said. “Bicycles, too. Maybe this is a camp of theirs.”

“Auntie Amy! Look over here,” Eve called. They rode over and found a notch in the hillside filled with piles of apples, ears of corn, nuts, berries, and even alfalfa and hay for the animals.

“Hell, the Grogs didn't do this,” Zacharias said.

“The ratbits?”

Eve gasped: “Look at the bark!”

Valentine saw a piece of bark tucked in the crotch of a sapling over the gathered supply.

 

TAK AND LEAV WOODS

 

“What is this, a bribe? They're afraid we're going to move in on them?” Zacharias said, after sounding out the words on the sign.

“Maybe they're trying to hurry us through. You think we're drawing something they're afraid of?”

“We don't know who wrote this,” Valentine said. “It could be a bunch of well-read kangaroos.” Valentine wouldn't have been surprised to meet Toad of Toad Hall after skirting the Ranch.

“Agreed,” Zacharias said. “Nice gesture, to speed us on our way.”

Valentine nodded, and turned his horse. “Something to tell your grandchildren about, Zacharias. The helpful ratbits of Central Texas.”