Authors: Chad Oliver
There
were
some
animal
skins
scattered
about,
evidently
for
sleeping
purposes.
Behind
the
fire,
there
was a
curious
arrangement
of
bones
and
stones
that
could hardly
have
been
accidental.
Mark
judged
that
the pattern
had
some
sort
of
ceremonial
significance.
He noticed,
too,
that
the
bones
were
placed
in
distinct groups
of
four.
Evidently
the
symbolism
of
a
lucky number
had
made
an
early
appearance
in
human society.
As
Mark
watched,
there
was
a
call
from
the
man
at the
mouth
of
the
cave
and
shortly
five
more
men
came in.
They
were
burdened
down
with
the
carcasses
of several
small
bison,
and
one
of
them
carried
a
pile
of roots
and
berries.
All
the
men
were
armed
with
spears, and
Mark
was
relieved
to
see
that
they
had
no
bows. They
dumped
the
meat
in
front
of
the
women
and snarled
at
each
other.
Mark
could
not
catch
any distinct
words,
but
the
half-men
obviously
had
a
language.
From
their
gestures,
Mark
judged
that
they were
arguing
about
the
division
of
the
meat.
One
of the
men
became
angry
and
grabbed
at
a
bison
leg
for himself,
but
two
others
instantly
shoved
him
roughly away.
Except
for
three
men,
the
Neanderthals
then split
into
several
family
groups
and
retired
to
separate parts
of
the
cave.
The
three
men
grunted
at
each
other
and
one
of them
pointed
toward
the
cavern
in
which
Mark
was imprisoned.
They
started
toward
him.
Mark
drew
his .45
and
waited.
The
time
was
not
yet
right
to
make
a break
for
it,
but
it
might
be
that
he
would
have
no choice.
As
the
Neanderthals
approached,
Mark’s
fear
returned.
Human
or
not,
the
half-men
were
not
a
pleasant
sight.
Mark
stared
at
their
sharp
teeth
and wondered.
.
.
.
The
three
Neanderthals
moved
the
boulder
away from
the
cavern
entrance.
Mark
got
to
his
feet
and faced
them,
the
gun
ready
in
his
hand.
He
could
smell them.
What
did
they
want?
If
only
he
could
communicate
with
them,
talk
to
them!
Mark
understood
full well
now
what
his
uncle
had
meant
when
he
warned against
trying
to
go
into
a
time
stratum
unprepared.
If he
could
talk
to
them,
he
might
at
least
have
a
chance.
One
of
the
Neanderthals
kept
pointing
at
him
and jabbering,
and
Mark
finally
got
the
idea
that
he
was showing
him
to
the
other
two.
Mark
was
a
prize
exhibition.
But
he
could
see
that
the
Neanderthals
did
not seem to be surprised at what they saw; they accepted him as a perfectly normal part of their surroundings. One of them poked at his clothes with what appeared to be curiosity, and another eyed his short-cut hair, but that was all.
Mark waited, the germ of an idea growing in his brain. It might be significant that the Neanderthals accepted him as an everyday part of their lives. Of course, it was always possible that they were simply too dim-witted to notice any difference between himself and the animals they saw all the time, but that was not probable. These Neanderthals, Mark knew, were in all likelihood much smarter than they looked. No, there must be some other explanation for their calm behavior. And Mark could think of only one possible answer. The Neanderthals must have seen men like him before. But where? How? Mark thought he knew …
After a time, the three half-men left him, resealing the mouth of the cavern with the boulder. Mark holstered his
.45
and lay down again on the cold rocks. His hunger began to assert itself again, and he licked some more water from the side of the cave. What next? If something did not happen soon, it would be too late to do anything. He was growing weaker by the minute, and the rawness in his throat was getting worse in the damp air of the cave. He looked outside and judged that night had come once more.