Three days out from Hel and still no signs of pursuit. They rested now, backs pressed up against the cool north face of a boulder, one of many such stones strewn across this barren plain. Lin reasoned that this was the last direction Michael would expect them to go. The terrain was difficult, with little in the way of food and even less in terms of water. To their advantage the rocky soil left little in the way of a trail to be followed. Her decision would either save them or they would die of dehydration.
Lin rooted through her ever lighter rucksack and came up with the bundle she was searching for. She unwrapped the plastic bag and gave Dak two pisspods, taking two for herself. “We still have four left,” she said as she started chewing on the nasty tasting succulents. Dak held out his hand, offering his two back to her. “No. You need the moisture as much as I do. I sure the hell can’t carry you.”
He nodded and began to chew, gazing out over the expanse of desert still awaiting them.
“We should make for that,” he said, pointing with his half decimated pod toward a ridge line in the distance. “I don’t know much about geology, but I think I’ve heard escarpments are caused by fault lines and faults can allow springs to reach the surface.”
Lin shrugged. One waypoint was as good as another as far as she was concerned, as long as it led away from Hel, Michael Macdonald, and his immortal zealots.
“We should wait until the sun is down,” she suggested. With that they both curled up in what little shade they could find.
She awoke to find Dak sitting beside her reading by the dwindling light of dusk. His little book of poetry was his most prized possession. He found it on a scavenging run to Second City, and wisely kept it secret. She was the only person in Hel who knew he had it. There were damn few opportunities to read in Hel. Now he could read at his leisure. When she stirred he set the book aside.
They ate the last of their korba beans and then chewed a pisspod each, careful to suck out every last drop of moisture. They saved the last two for their hike. They marked the position of the Sentinel, just becoming visible in the darkening sky, and struck out for Dak’s escarpment.
Sometime after their third break Lin pulled up short, holding up a hand in warning. Dak drew close, and whispered, “What?”
“Listen.” She cocked her head, turning it this way and that as if it were an antenna.
Then he heard the yip.
“Kalecks?” he asked.
She shook her head, no. “Dingo.” That was good. Kalecks hunted in packs. Dingos usually roamed alone. “We better skirt west.”
Dak held her arm to keep her from moving. “No. I think we should follow the sound.”
She shook her head vehemently. “They are dangerous.”
“But it will be near water.”
She opened her mouth to object, then closed it again without saying a word. Water was a powerful lure.
~
They had damned little in the way of weapons – a walking stick and a few tools Dak had pilfered from his workbench: a knife, two screwdrivers, a pair of wire cutters, and a needle-nosed pliers. Not much to face down a forty pound desert-wise predator.
The yips were closer now, perhaps as close as the next valley. “The winds are right,” Dak said. “It should not smell us coming.”
He knelt to rummage through his sack. He came up with a length of nylon rope and an odd metal ring about three inches thick, slightly larger than his palm. He tied the rope to the ring, creating something akin to a bola. Standing, he gave it a few experimental twirls. “I’ve been practicing with this rig up at the shop,” he told her. “I’m pretty good with it.”
They climbed the hill cautiously, eyes constantly roving for movement, ears alert for any sound. The yips had been fairly regular. Now the pattern was broken and all was eerily silent. Dak took the lead, walking upright, his iron flail swinging loosely at his side. Lin brought up the rear, crouching, constantly glancing behind least they get flanked,
There was a yip off to the right. An answering yip came from the left.
“Hell.”
Both attackers came at once. Lin screamed even as she started flailing with the stick. She heard the sudden hum of the rope spinning up to speed and then an anguished yowl. She managed to hold one of the dingo’s at bay with the walking stick, striking it several times as it tried to come in low for her legs. As it attacked again there was a swoosh and the iron ring came down solidly, breaking the animal’s back. It yowled in agony until Dak fell on it with his knife to put it out of its misery.
All the energy drained out of Lin and she sank to the ground. “You son-of-a-bitch,” she huffed, catching her breath. “Don’t ever do this to me again.”
“What? You did great. And now we have enough food for a week.”
“We were almost food for a week.”
Dak laughed and began field dressing their kills.
Lin remained on edge, worried there had been two dingos. She had never before encounter more than one at a time. As Dak worked Lin got up and prowled the perimeter, staff in hand.
“Dak!”
He rushed to her side.
“Look.” A shallow den was dug in the side of the hill. Two dingo pups huddled there, yammering for their mother. “That explains it,” she said. “They were a breeding pair.”
“Kill them.”
As Dak walked away Lin knelt and reached for the nearest pup’s throat.
~
With the coming of sunlight they could see greenery near the base of the ridge. An oasis. Water. Life. Even from here they could see clusters of teruga trees.
They ate quickly anxious to be off. Lin threw strips of meat to the two dingo pups yammering at her feet. They devoured their mother greedily.
~
© 2011 by J. M. Strother, all rights reserved.
