A Girl Called Badger (Valley of the Sleeping Birds) (23 page)

Wilson slowly pushed a stick into the fire. “I’ve had strange dreams. I wonder if it’s because of the tricks.”

“What dreams?”

“I run through sunflowers. A bird, probably a poor-will, asks me questions.”

Teacher thought for a moment. “It could mean anything. The poor-will is a type of nightjar. Did you know it’s the only bird that hibernates? The tribal people call it ‘The Sleeping Bird.’ It makes a nest under piles of rock and sleeps through the winter.”

“How did you know that?”

“Birds were one of my hobbies, a long time ago. Reed and I–”

The low baying of a dog echoed through the hills.

Teacher scrambled for a rifle and climbed the wedge sandstone to join the others. Wilson kicked dirt over the fire then scaled the north side of the balanced rock. He pulled himself up to the flat top and crawled to Badger on far edge. She’d been there for some time, watching the east.

“Cat’s teeth,” he cursed.

“Shhh.”

“Why don’t we run?”

“I’d like to see you outrun a dog,” said Badger.

Wilson thought the howling sounded off-key. “That sounds like tribals, not dogs.”

“They’re following behind. Once we kill the animals we have a chance.”

Wilson placed his rifle and extra bolts for his crossbow on his left. He heard Badger whisper under her breath. Wilson closed his eyes. He imagined a bright, full moon and said the phrases quietly.

Eyes made of light

Eyes made of sun

Eyes made of moon

Restore my sight

When he opened his eyes the world had changed to a gray twilight. On the wedge rock to their right the rest of the group lay prone with their rifles. He looked to the east and saw black, canine shadows darting forward, followed by sprinting, man-sized shapes.

“Kill enough and they’ll leave,” murmured Badger.

“Kill enough and we’ll live, you mean.”

The howls and barking came closer. A dozen massive black dogs rocketed through the brush and clawed around the wisps of the cooking fire. Two ripped apart a leather pack and the rest barked up at the travelers. Wilson and Badger were high above the ground and safe, but not the rest of the group. A slope of rocks led to the top of the wedge and would be an easy climb. The dogs began to scramble up.

“Fire!” Teacher shouted. Rifles boomed smoke and flame around him. A few dogs tumbled down the rocks or scrambled away through the brush. The rest barked at the foot of both the wedge and the balanced rock.

Badger’s trigger clicked and a feathered bolt jerked into the dark. Wilson aimed at a dog and pulled the trigger. The bolt hit the animal in the flank and it jumped away. A second volley of shots from the wedge killed or chased off the rest. The air smelled of hot metal and blood. The shots had dulled Wilson’s hearing. He lay on his back and reloaded the crossbow.

“Keep down,” said Badger.

Shots cracked from the dark hillside and chipped fragments of rock into Wilson’s face. The travelers on the wedge fired at targets in the shadows. Wilson shot half his bolts. From the number of curses screamed in his direction he knew at least a few were hits.

After ten minutes the firing stopped. A tribal walked into the flat area below the wedge. He stuck his arms straight out from his sides and showed no weapons. His red-brown overalls and strange skull cap glinted with tiny pieces of metal.

“Parlay!” yelled the man in the dialect.

The breeze changed and Wilson smelled cold earth. He watched Teacher climb down to the tribal. Wanting to help his father, he slid to the edge of the rock.

Badger grabbed his jacket. “Stop. Cover your father from here.”

Wilson picked up his bolt-action rifle and sighted on the tribal’s chest. Teacher and the strange man were still talking. Wilson wished he could hear what either of them were saying. He noticed the man had black thorns tattooed across one cheek, identical to the marks he’d seen on the Creeks and Lagos.

Teacher shook his head and backed away. The tribal leader whistled loudly. Shots and savage shrieks came from near the wedge rock and a mass of dark figures rushed the top.

The tribal leader and Teacher still faced each other. The tribal pulled a long knife from the back of his belt. He rushed forward and Wilson pulled the trigger. He missed.

Badger fired at the melee of fighting on top of the wedge. Wilson pulled back the bolt and ejected the shell. His heart was in his throat and his ears pounded. He fumbled with the reload then slammed the bolt forward and down.

Teacher had avoided the knife and both he and the tribal struggled with hands around the hilt. Wilson couldn’t get a clear shot. The blade flashed and Wilson felt like the entire world had blinked. Teacher stood meters away and the tribal knelt in the dirt, the knife in his throat.

From the brush, a rifle boomed sparks and Teacher stumbled forward.

“Father!”

Wilson pulled the trigger and sent a tribal flying backwards. Badger fired her rifle and reloaded as Wilson scrambled down the ten meters of boulder. Teacher was on his back and trying to sit up.

“Keep still!”

He checked Teacher’s back. Blood spread in a wide patch below the shoulder blade. Shots cracked across the rocks as he cut through the cloth with his knife and saw blood oozing from a thumb-sized hole. Wilson touched the wound. Teacher jerked and mumbled.

“Father!” Wilson said. “Talk to me!”

He opened his eyes and stared at Wilson.

“Need more time ... ”

Wilson heard rapid footsteps and looked up. Two tribals with axes were on top of him. At the last second he rolled away from a slash. He dodged a kick from the other man and got to his feet.

“I’ve killed more wolves than you have teeth,” said one tribal.

“Don’t die too fast,” said the other.

They circled. Wilson pulled his knife and crouched next to his father. A shot rang out and one of the tribals fell backwards. His feet jerked in the red dust. The other ran east into the dark.

“You’re welcome,” Badger shouted.

Wilson put his hand on the wound in his father’s back. “Father, it’s me.”

Teacher had turned pale and breathed in rapid, shallow gulps.

“Too much ...” he said. “Artery ... need ... time.” He grabbed Wilson’s arm. “Station.”

“What? You’re going to make it,” said Wilson. “Stop talking like this!”

“No. Go back.”

His father let go and coughed more of the pink foam. Wilson held him as he sweated and breathed even faster. At last he jerked with an agonized shout and stopped moving. Wilson felt his neck. The pulse beat irregularly then was gone.

Badger and Carter were beside him. Wilson didn’t know how long he’d knelt beside his father but the night air was cool and quiet. He covered his father with a fur blanket.

Carter’s face was pale. “Your father is dead?”

Wilson nodded once. He climbed the dark wedge of sandstone and surveyed the scene.

The bloody bodies of more than thirty tribals and a dozen large dogs were scattered over the rocks. At the top of the wedge lay the bodies of three hunters from David, all stabbed or shot multiple times. After Wilson covered them with blankets the survivors gathered at his father’s body.

“We have to go back,” said Martinez.

“After we find what I’m looking for,” said Wilson. “Not now, and not before.”

Martinez spat in the dust. “Do you want to get the rest of us killed?”

Wilson stared and Carter pushed Martinez back.

“Think before you open your mouth,” said Carter. “It’s your fault they found us!”

Wilson shook his head. “I won’t force anyone go any farther. You’ll each have to make that choice.”

The two men from Station and the two surviving hunters from David mulled over their options.

“We should return His Grace to our village,” said a hunter.

“I understand,” said Wilson. “But it’s my wish that we bury him right here. He felt this was a majestic place.”

“Majestic or not, I’m voting with my feet,” said Martinez.

“Reed send us to help Wilson,” said Carter. “The first sign of trouble and you want to go back?”

“If you call half the party being dead the first sign of trouble, then yes.”

Wilson remembered Father Reed’s words on the implants. Vessels for the soul. He pulled Carter away from the others. “You have to go back. Something has to make it back to Reed.”

“What?”

“Part of my father.”

THEY WOULDN’T HAVE wanted to watch even if he let them. Wilson took the small throwing knife and sharpened it, then cut a meter of cloth and three smaller sections. He knelt beside his father and held the cold arm. He started an incision on the inside of the wrist and cut upward. Wilson cut shallow at first then used his fingers to spread the edges of the incision apart. Blood oozed from the cut and revealed silver threads around a white casing. Wilson carefully extracted the implant from the arm and placed it on the cloth.

Next was the chest. He felt on the upper left for a small lump and cut transversely to reveal a white sphere. He pulled carefully and the sphere came out, followed by several feet of thin yellow wire. The final implant was behind the left ear. An incision revealed a curved section of white metal. Wilson wrapped the implants in cloth and placed them in his father’s backpack.

The hunters collected stone and piled them over the bodies of the three hunters and his father. Carter looked through the campsite for usable equipment while Badger kept lookout.

After the graves were finished they gathered together. Wilson stood over the four piles of stone. He spread his hands.

“I ... don’t know what to say. I can’t believe any of this has happened. All of you deserved better than this. Especially you, father.”

He waved his silver necklace up and down, left and right.

“By the sweat of your brow you will eat your food until you return to the ground, since from it you were taken; for dust you are and to dust you will return.“

He gave the backpack with his father’s implants to Carter. “I’d take these back myself, only ...”

“I understand, sir. Should I wait for you at the village?”

Wilson nodded. “We’ll be there within a week. If not, you can return to the valley.”

Carter gripped Wilson’s hand in both of his. “Good hunting.”

He walked with Martinez and the other two hunters over the broken road. Wilson watched until they disappeared around the curve of the hill.

Badger handed him a full backpack. Wilson tied his crossbow on the back then slid his arms through the straps. He picked up a long tribal rifle with reloads sewn to the stock. Badger walked with him through the scrub pine and sandy red soil, following the sleeping sunflowers to the east.

ELEVEN

B
etween the mountains and the prairie lay the chewed and scattered bones of the city. The bleached fragments of her crumbled highways stretched north and south. Fallen buildings and piles of rusted machinery clogged the faded trails of local streets. Trees and tall grasses grew haphazardly and seemed to Wilson like a wild garden planted by children.

Badger pointed to the eastern horizon. “What’s that?”

Wilson squinted in the gray blur of starlight and saw a barren area a kilometer away. A few shapes spotted the center, probably trees.

“It looks like a crater,” he said. “Basically, a dry lake.”

They continued north and passed a valley where blades of rock stood high in the night sky.

“Wait–” said Badger. She dropped her rifle and leaned forward.

“Kira?”

Wilson caught her before she hit the ground. He pulled up her sleeve and hit the reset code. Her chest and ribs pushed against his arms as she breathed rapidly. It gradually slowed to normal.

Wilson brushed a long strand of hair from her face and she yawned.

“You’re warm,” she said sleepily.

“Give me a warning next time, okay?”

“I’m tired ... just want to sleep,” murmured Badger.

Wilson touched her cheek then looked back at the tall blades of sandstone.

“None of this seems real to me,” he said. “Especially my father. I guess I’d accepted his death, then he was alive again. Alive, and now dead again. It’s like a story you’d hear from a toothless, jibbering medicine man. But here we are, just the two of us. Alone and in the middle of nowhere.”

“I’m sorry about your father,” whispered Badger, her eyes open.

“Come on, we can’t stay here.”

She didn’t move. “Before the sickness happens I always have same feeling. I don’t know who I am or what I’m wearing. I don’t recognize people or things around me.”

“I know what you mean,” said Wilson. “I can make myself feel the same way. My mind separates from my body and I wonder, who am I? Then it just goes away.”

“Why would you do that to yourself? It’s a horrible feeling.”

They walked north through rock-covered hills to avoid the dead zone, then east through open country. A few kilometers of walking over the rolling hills brought them to scattered buildings on the northern edge of Springs. Gunfire cracked in the distance and Wilson’s left arm started to ache with pain.

“We need to rest,” said Badger. “Head for those buildings.”

“Don’t go south. The radiation–”

“Come on, I’m not three years old. I can see the north star.”

They kept to the center of roads and avoided the overgrown humps and piles of rock. The grass on the piles concealed holes that would break an ankle and sharp, rusted metal.

Later in the night they walked through a road crossing and heard a low-pitched human whistle. With no place to hide, the pair scrambled into a nearby pit and waited.

Wilson covered his nose. “What’s that smell?”

“Shhh! Don’t think about it,” whispered Badger.

The whistle became irregular and more distant. When it was too faint to hear the two climbed out of the pit.

After thirty minutes of walking they found a two-story building with three walls and no roof. Badger watched for a few minutes then climbed tilted stairs to the second floor. A corner provided a good sleeping area and Badger used a rusty table to block the stairs. She unrolled her furs and lay down first.