The Dig (28 page)

The screamer on top of him quaked slightly every few seconds as the one stabbed by Wil lay dying beside him. He could hear but not see both his and Pwig’s prey squirming and quivering in their final throes. The shriek pierced their ears again, and they heard scritching from the dark area where Pwig had been knocked.

The fifth screamer padded forward with quick lunges until its dripping mouth entered the edge of the blue light. Its bulging eyes seemed to search the darkness. Irin tried to wriggle his way free, but the weight of the head on his back, and the twisted neck over one of his legs held him fast. He couldn’t see Wil on the other side, nor could he hear Pwig moving in the darkness. As the screamer moved, its head turned toward Irin and released a series of barking chirps near his face. Irin recoiled as the monstrous face lurched toward his several times until it finally twisted all the way to one side, its eyes now below its mouth, and pressed its nose against his shoulder. It snorted. The nose pushed violently and slid up to his neck, just under his chin. Irin knew that it would be nothing for the creature to bite his head off. The thought made him go stone still. He wasn’t sure whether it thought he was part of the dead beast trapping him to the floor, or was preparing to feast on him, but the blood burned his eyes, so that he could not keep them open for more than a second before squeezing them shut again. He wondered what Wil was doing or whether he or Pwig was even alive.

The huge nose snorted repeatedly, inhaling all over his face and smearing around the thick ooze. He felt a sharp tooth scratch against his face, cut his cheek, burning, stinging pain, thoughts of imminent death, his own, his brother’s, Wil’s, his people returning to Pwin-T in defeat and fear, pain again. The head continued upward to sniff the dead screamer’s neck above Irin. As he choked back any moans or grunts of pain, he felt the warmth of his own blood begin to pour out of the gash that ran from his cheek all the way up to his right eye. Irin suddenly became aware of his left hand again and realized that it still clutched the short cutter. He could make only a pitiful swing at the creature from where he lay, but perhaps if he held on tightly, the killer’s own retreat would extend the damage.

The screamer’s head pulled back and turned in the opposite direction, exposing the area under its mouth. Irin noticed that the blue light on the ceiling was beginning to move slowly away, toward the back of the screamer, and he wondered whether it was simply the lightstick rolling on the floor, or Wil suddenly finding the courage to attack. Irin looked back at the pale area half-circled by the lower jaw and recalled that it was through that same soft opening that he had delivered the killing thrust to Ilter with this very blade.

He decided to wait no longer, and bringing the hilt of the blade to his own chin, he put the palm of his right hand behind it as well, then shoved it forward with all his strength. It pierced deep, and even the cutter hilt and the tips of Irin’s fingers penetrated the killer’s flesh. It twisted away and shrieked again, swinging its legs furiously at Irin and the head of the dead screamer. Irin felt several smashing blows to his legs, and he turned his head aside as the pummeling and the horrible screams continued for a few seconds longer. Then it released a new squeal of pain, and the glow of the last lightstick winked out. Now all was black. He heard the struggle continue in the dark, and finally something heavy landed on his legs and remained there, writhing.

The cave grew silent again except for the sound of heavy breathing above him. He felt something on his face and realized at that moment that the fifth screamer had taken his cutter with it.

“Irin… ?” He heard Wil’s voice above him.

“I’m here, Wil… alive.”

He heard Wil’s sigh of relief, but he had only one thought now. “What about Pwig?” he asked.

“Here, Irin,” came Pwig’s voice, from the same spot as Wil’s.

Irin felt his eyes well with tears, and he reached for their legs or arms or whatever was nearest him. They huddled in close to him, and all three cried and laughed together for a time.

“Is either of you injured?” Irin asked as his thoughts and emotions began to clear.

“My belly and side, between k’yot,” Pwig replied from the darkness.

“My hands sting with their blood,” Wil said. “I think I opened them with my cutter. What about you, Irin? Can you get out?”

Irin tried to pull himself free, but he felt separate weights holding his legs and his body fast. The three of them groaned and heaved the head away, and Irin was able to drag his legs from beneath the last screamer to die, then slid out from under the monstrous head of the middle one. He heard them drop it back down as he tried to stand up, and a pain shot up his lower leg. Still, it was bearable—for the moment, at least.

“Tell me, what happened?” Irin asked. “I saw your light, Wil, and Pwig, I thought you were dead in the darkness.

“I landed on the legs of the fifth one,” Pwig replied excitedly. “It shoved me away like nothing, and I felt the claws in my back, but the k’yot did its job. I stayed there and watched its shape in Wil’s light. It seemed only interested in the one on top of you, so I slowly got back on my feet and walked around behind it, where I found Wil.”

“I thought that my vision was wrong,” Wil interrupted. “I thought you dead, and I had lost my cutter on the ground somewhere. I found it as I moved around the last screamer, and that is when I saw Pwig. We agreed with our faces to attack it, but then it suddenly turned on us before we could start, and we had to stab at it until it finally dropped.”

“That was me,” Pwig said. “I sent the cutter through its eye, and then it was over.”

“Very well, my friends,” Irin said with a sigh. “You’ll have a story to tell the new for the rest of your lives. Now, let us get out of here and return to our people. We don’t know, but these caves could be teeming with screamers. This is the only one that we
know
is safe now. We must return with new lightsticks and more men.”

They held one another’s arms and shuffled in the dark, Wil and Pwig on either side of Irin, their free arms outstretched and feeling for the walls. They finally made it around the bend and could see the light at the mouth of the cave, far away. Irin hadn’t realized how far in they had gone. As they approached the entrance, they could see that the sky was beginning to brighten. Only a short time remained in which to get everyone sheltered before sunrise.

As they climbed down the wide rock path to the dirt, Irin saw that most of his body was covered in blood, and he felt the stinging along the side of his face. They would need to pack the cut to stop the bleeding, he realized. He looked at Pwig’s face and then turned to Wil.

“Wil… ,” he said, his voice quaking a little, “I thought that was it.”

Wil looked at him oddly, then realized that he was speaking of the vision. His mouth curled as if the idea was absurd. “I was worried also, for a time, but I knew that wasn’t your time.”

“How?” Irin asked.

“It’s during daylight.”

Irin turned and peered ahead at the masses awaiting them. Daylight? Would it be in the coming daylight, or the next? He still did not want to know.

As they neared the band of travelers, his face and blood-covered k’yot became visible to those nearby, and a panicked whisper shot through the crowd. Orin gasped and came running to him as thunder rumbled in the distance. She tried to examine his whole body at once, then pulled her hands away when she felt the thick wetness.

“I’m well, Orin,” he said. “We killed them all… There were five.”

She stared at him in awe, and Irin peered up to see a sweating Owil clutching her man’s head as he rubbed her swollen belly. He heard the tale pass through the group and back toward the rest, who still sat waiting on rocks all along the mountain.

“Five screamers!”… “Irin killed them all!”… “Covered in blood—three men against five screamers!”… “We are stronger than they”… “Irin promised… five!”

Irin touched Orin’s head and moved away, climbing up the rocks to see everyone. He saw that all had eaten though not everything had been repacked into the n’wips. He wanted to shout out to them in his loudest voice, but he feared waking and attracting more screamers. Instead, he climbed down from the rocks and called for all the fighters nearby to come forward and surround him.

“Listen to me, because we must work quickly…” Irin spoke quietly and quickly. “We need to empty two of the least-packed n’wips and carry them to this cave—Wil and Pwig will show you. Bring others, n’wip pullers, and many lightsticks. You must go inside and remove the carcasses from the cave. Throw them over the far edge where the cliff is highest. Try to cover any blood inside with dirt from outside. Anything you see inside that might frighten a woman or child—or yourself—get rid of it. There are also shards of broken lightsticks and cutters on the floor. We need it all cleaned out. Don’t grow distracted by the screamers. They are dead, understood?”

Some of the faces appeared frightened, but all agreed, and off they went to work.

M
ATT AWOKE TO THE SOUNDS OF
a thousand birds. The warmth inside his sleeping bag held him there. He poked a hand out and ran it down the cut on his face, but, of course, the cut was not there. That had been Irin’s face, not his. And he was not asleep inside a dark cave, but in a bright red tent. He felt his body shudder as he remembered the night before, as if the ordeal with the screamers had happened to him and not someone else, millions of years ago.

Someone was at the food tent, making coffee. Two people, at least. He could hear an unintelligible conversation and occasional laughter. He rolled onto his side and tried to rest a while longer. It was nice to be wearing a T-shirt, he thought, his skin rubbing up against something with no worries. He wondered, would he be home yet if he had left yesterday? Probably not. They would be somewhere over the Atlantic by now, nearing the East Coast.

He listened for a little longer to the crunching footsteps of people passing his tent, before braving the morning chill and slipping out of the bag. Dressing quickly, he donned a fresh pair of jeans, gray turtleneck, and black watch cap, all from his bag. Tomorrow he would need to dip into the bag of new clothes that Peter had gotten him.

After zipping up his tent door, he went to the food tent, where a dozen people were already congregated.

He found some cold wieners in the big metal ice chest and decided to have a couple, along with a can of pear halves in syrup. Tuni arrived as he was dipping his bare fingers into the can.

“Ooh, that looks tasty,” she said, and reached into the can after him, snatching the last one and slurping it down. “Sorry, dear, was that repellent?”

He smiled in reply and glugged down the remaining syrup in the can.

“Gross,” She slapped his shoulder. “You don’t know where my hands have been!” Then she nodded and puckered her lips toward the RV.

“Yeah,” Matt replied. “That was intense last night, huh?”

“I dreamt about it. But in my version, the screamers just kept coming and I was running and running into this endless cave. Woke up soaked in sweat with my heart racing like a coke fiend.”

“Sorry…”

She waved off his apology and stirred the steaming coffee in her Styrofoam cup.

The whine of a car engine announced the jouncing approach of an old, rusty Subaru. It stopped a little too close to the tents, sending a cloud of dust drifting over the pit.

Matt and Tuni watched Peter jog over from the pit. “Who d’you suppose this is now?” Tuni asked.

A man stepped out of the car and stretched. He wore black sunglasses with the curved leather flaps on the sides. His long khaki cargo shorts and tan button-down made him look like a travel clothier’s representation of an explorer. Matt thought all he was missing was the safari hat.

“Now,
that
is some large hair,” said Tuni. “Wait, I know that hair! That’s Hank Felch from the museum. I didn’t know he was coming—actually, I didn’t know he ever went outside.”

“I don’t think we ever met,” Matt said.

Peter jogged up to Hank, and they shook hands, with Peter patting him on the back repeatedly. It looked to Matt as though Hank was not altogether enjoying all the glad-handing and physical contact. Peter ushered him about the site as the driver unloaded four large duffel bags from the trunk.

Matt and Tuni watched the interaction in silence as the recently-caffeinated crowd around them grew progressively louder. The current conversation was a six-degrees-of-separation exercise based upon the intimate relations of people both present and absent. Tuni and Matt shared a shocked look as it became clear that no more than two degrees of separation appeared necessary.

Matt heard a whistle and found Peter, alone, waving him to join him near the light tower. Hank Felch was busy with his gear on the opposite side of the site. Matt excused himself from Tuni and walked to Peter.

Peter said, “I have to request something of you that I have no business requesting, and you have every right to say no, but I’m going to ask it anyway in the interest of this project.” Matt raised his eyebrows in anticipation. “I would like you to bring Hank into your circle.”

The request was not unexpected. “I take it you trust him?”

“Implicitly. And I’m not just saying that. In fact, if you agree, I suspect he will receive the information in such an impassive manner that you will think he doesn’t believe you. But his brain will start working away, and he’ll put all the pieces together.” Pete smiled. “It’ll quite simply
make sense
. As for trust, he would have no interest in revealing your secret to another soul for the rest of his life.”