Survival of the Fittest Page 11

  Xhosa put her hand on his back. "Ant—what happened?"

  He looked up but couldn’t focus. Blood dripped from a gash on his arm. He carried only his club, no spear. Xhosa crouched and held his face in her hands.

  “Warrior—calm down. Tell me.”

  His gaze grabbed hers like a lifeline. "We scouted as far as the field that becomes one with the sky. There, the Big Heads appeared.”

  “How many, Ant?” This from Pan-do.

  Ant opened and closed both hands many times and drew a line from his cheek to nose. “That man, the Leader.”

  “Thunder,” Xhosa murmured.

  Ant’s chest heaved. "We hid our trail ..."

  Nightshade shook him. “When will they get here?”

  Ant trembled from fatigue, too drained to talk so Sa-mo-ke stepped forward, sweat streaming down his body despite the cold morning. He pointed upward.

  “There,” meaning when Sun touched that point in the sky.

  Two hands.

  Nightshade looked around, searching. “Where is the Lead Scout, Rainbow?”

  Sa-mo-ke motioned, “He returned early, sick. I replaced him.”

  Nightshade grunted and headed out with the People’s best warriors toward a bluff on the border. When Big Head’s dust cloud appeared, the People would have to flee. Xhosa weighed her choices. The People’s land would be strange to Big Heads while her warriors knew every corner, every hideout.

  A chill ran down her spine as she remembered Wind and Thunder. Had they been here for Moons? Was it now also familiar territory to them? In weapons, too, did the Big Heads have the advantage with their stone-tipped spears? Death did not worry her. It would come when it came, as it did with her father, but she wasn’t prepared to fail her People.

  Sun moved only a finger before a bloodcurdling shriek broke the air and Nightshade burst into the camp. “They are here.”

  Xhosa snatched her spear and warclub, as did every male and some females. “Warriors! Slow them! Primary Female—get the females and children away!”

  Hordes of Big Heads poured from the brush, screaming and pumping their weapons in the air. Xhosa met them head-on, wielding her warclub with deadly accuracy. She plunged her spear into the chest of one, yanked it from the male’s spasming body, and flung it again at a Big Head prepared to skewer Ant. She swung her club with her strong hand as she hurled stones with her weak one, stunning one after another with deadly shots to their temples, throats, and eyes. Blood sprayed over her face and chest but there was no time to clean it off. Her wealth of hair circled her body, entrancing the attackers as she bashed their legs from under them.

  She battled even as wave after wave of Big Heads spilled from the surrounding brush. The enemy fought like seasoned warriors, the nob under their mouths jutting high in arrogance, disdain curling their lips. To her side, Sa-mo-ke grinned as leering Big Heads surrounded him. He swung his club in a circle, smashing into ribs, arms, and shoulders until he broke free.

  But it didn’t matter how many the People brought down; more poured forth. Xhosa warbled the retreat call as she slashed a warrior’s neck sending a fountain of blood over the warrior next to him. He fell but two replaced him. Watching, like Leopard on a termite mound, lurked the scarred Thunder, vicious grin aimed directly at her.

  She tried to retreat but couldn’t find an opening. Thunder howled, lips split wide, eyes fixed on her, surely expecting to see her destruction.

  “Xhosa—I’m behind you!” And there was Nightshade, exactly where she needed him. They stood back to back, he covering her as she him, fighting their way out of the deluge of enemies, one spear thrust and club-swing at a time. Once they cleared a path, they caught up with the main group of warriors. She caught a glimpse of Rainbow at the front of the retreat, leading the females and children away.

  “Sa-mo-ke! Get out!” She called to Pan-do’s lead warrior, again surrounded by Big Heads. He swiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm, never removing his eyes from the enemy. Step by step, they advanced on him as he fought like a she-cat. Xhosa wondered how Sa-mo-ke kept upright. She shoved toward him but Big Heads had boxed him in.

  “Pan-do—he needs help!”

  Both flung one stone after another at the advancing Big Heads. Some collapsed; others toppled into their own warriors, slowing them enough that Sa-mo-ke escaped.

  Still, Big Heads flooded forward in an uninterrupted wave. They stepped over their dead, caring nothing for life or the loss of it. The People fought ruthlessly, buying time for others to escape. The trail of blood, entrails, and feces assaulted Xhosa as she flung rocks the size of squash into a group of charging Big Heads. She warbled to her warriors, encouraging them, her call echoing above the grunts and screams.

  Even this withdrawal, Nightshade had planned. As they withdrew, the People cautiously avoided the Lead Warrior’s tricks. The Big Heads, blinded by what must look like a chaotic exodus, hit every one of them. Some fell screaming into debris-covered holes the People had excavated, impaling themselves on sharpened stakes that lined the bottom. Others stepped through matted grass into beds of snakes. Most would find these traps if they looked closely which the Big Heads didn’t, thoughts only on killing.

  As Xhosa fled, following her People to safety, the Big Head onslaught slowed, wary of what else could be hidden.

  “They got what they wanted,” she muttered to no one. “Why risk chasing us?”

  Still, she set a ground-eating pace, moving to the front of the People where she waved her warclub over her head, motioning to the Rift. They never traveled in it because the danger of flash floods was too great but today, it was an escape the Big Heads wouldn’t expect, especially with dark clouds gathering. Somewhere up the valley, it rained, filling the rift with water, rushing toward them.

  Death by Big Heads or drowning? If descending into the valley discouraged the enemy, the People could climb back out before the flood arrived. And why would these invaders further imperil themselves when they now claimed the area’s richest land? No, they would let the People go as they had when they stole the meat long ago.

  She led the way, sliding down the long vines they had strung over the cliff, and dropped to the Rift floor, followed by everyone else. The last to descend cut the vine at the top and then monkeyed his way down. If the Big Heads tried to descend, the People could pick them off.

  The Big Heads didn’t follow, chose instead to cascade spears down on the People from the cliff’s precipice. A female fell, dropping her child who screamed, a spear through its young chest. Several elders, moving too slowly, collapsed, spears piercing their chests. No one could stop to help without becoming a target themselves. Pan-do, Xhosa, and Nightshade dispersed among the frantic group. Bellowing and flinging their arms forward, they exhorted them to hurry.

  "Nightshade," She panted as she caught up to her alpha warrior. "Beyond this narrow part, the Rift expands. We’ll be too far from the cliffs for their spears to hit us.”

  Nightshade nodded and pushed his warriors relentlessly, the pace one that would soon exhaust everyone.

  “Run or die!” His voice spurred the People on, mothers carrying exhausted children, subadults supporting tottering elders.

  Nightshade sniffed and peered over her shoulder and his eyes popped open. "Fire!"

  The Big Heads spears were now tipped with fire. They exploded into flames and fed by the dry scrub, soon covered the narrow tunnel that moments before was their escape route. If they couldn’t outrun the fire, they would die.

  "Faster!"

  Xhosa had never seen anything like this. How did they command such a deadly force? Nightshade, though, showed neither fear nor worry. In fact, he glowed with excitement, energized by the challenge. His breathing increased and muscles tensed. She watched, enthralled, as everything touched his senses in his search for escape. He was never as prepared as when danger intruded.

  Pan-do appeared calm, hustling his People, calling, ordering. Leading. When Lyta failed to keep up,
he hoisted her to his shoulders and carried another youngster in each arm as their mothers juggled other babies. Still, he outpaced everyone.

  Xhosa and Sa-mo-ke pushed from the back of the crowd, driving children and elders faster than they thought they could run. The screams of those who couldn’t keep up pierced the air, their burning bodies pyres, arms spread with no one able to help. Xhosa forced families to grieve their losses later.

  Another female, Mbasa, one of Nightshade’s many mates, hung back with Xhosa and Sa-mo-ke. A wail made Xhosa shiver.

  “My baby! I dropped him!”

  Mbasa didn’t hesitate. She plunged into the conflagration, seized a wailing infant too small to crawl, and flew back to the mother.

  “I can carry her, Red-dit. You take your other children.”

  Xhosa fumed that Mbasa would jeopardize herself for a tiny child, pleased it worked, and shocked at her speed and bravery. No female moved that quickly.

  Well, except for herself.

  Mbasa cast a quick glance at Xhosa and offered a shy grin.

  Finally, every one of the People cleared the bottleneck. The area they crossed now was heavy with dust. Without sagebrush and bunchgrass to feed it, the fire died out. The Big Heads lined up along the Rift’s lip knowing if they tried to descend, her warriors would cut them down. Instead, they shook their spears in victory, bouncing rhythmically, their raucous shouts jeering the People onward.

  Still, Xhosa forced everyone forward. The dark black clouds ahead told her they would soon meet a new enemy. She ran until her heart drummed in her throat and threatened to burst through her skin and then ran more. She heard fatigued grunts but no male would quit when she didn’t.

  When the Big Heads were finally well out of sight, the group stumbled to a stop and collapsed around her, filling their lungs with air, quivering muscles refusing to resume. Nothing, not even the storm raging up the Rift, persuaded the exhausted People to continue.

  “Xhosa. Look,” Nightshade motioned.

  Fire cracked in the distance. That meant rain, which brought floods. She peered up to the lip of the Rift. That’s where they needed to be but how to get there?

  “My father built an escape but I don’t know where it is.”

  She hadn’t even searched, thinking it would never be needed.

  “Here,” Pan-do called from ahead and fingered a succession of tiny ledges that would serve as hand- and footholds.

  She barked, “Everyone. Leave your spears—if you still have one—and warclubs. They will get in the way.”

  “No, they won’t.” This from Nightshade.

  “We can make new ones.”

  Pan-do motioned, “Or we can connect them to our feet and arms with a sinew and drag them up with us.”

  Xhosa stared into the distance. “Untie them if it fails.”

  She attached her spear to her ankle, warclub to her waist, and started the climb, motioning everyone to follow. Nightshade and Pan-do came next. Rainbow pushed Sa-mo-ke out of the way and ascended immediately after the Leaders.

  As rapidly as possible, the People clambered up the steps her father’s warriors laboriously dug into the hard wall. Dust sifted into Xhosa’s nostrils as she tested each new position, tugging and yanking, before committing. Eagle squawked.

  “Eaglets, in the nest,” and she veered away. No sense presenting themselves as a threat to the tearing claws of a mother Eagle.

  Sunshine gave way to a cloud-choked sky that quickly became a cold drizzle. Xhosa sped up, afraid it would become rain. The faster she went, the more the spear dangling from her foot swung wildly. She wished she had tied it to her waist with the warclub. People screeched when hit by loose spears and howled when it was a club. A child’s wail ended in a splat. That was the first but not the last. Risk was part of escape.

  Rainbow lagged a full body length behind the leaders, panting and whining to anyone who would listen.

  "Rainbow. Move faster!”

  He ignored her.

  “You are too slow,” she barked. "Let the others pass," but he trundled clumsily on.

  She heard Pan-do encourage his People as Lyta voiced her beautiful calming bird-song. Though clumsy on flat land, she moved with the agility of a mountain goat up a route by her father.

  Xhosa let her People pass. She would be more useful in the rear, encouraging those frightened. Rainbow pushed past her without a glance, wheezing, dampness matting his hair and dripping on those beneath him.

  As Xhosa started again, a female screeched, “My child!”

  Xhosa lurched her head upward, spotting his falling body, knowing she would have only one chance to save him.

  Chapter 19

  A howl erupted as a mother snatched frantically for a tiny hand and missed. The boy screamed, bounced off those below him and slammed into the cliff before continuing his downward plunge. His fingers grasped someone’s hair but couldn’t hold on. Most of the People spun away, afraid they would die with him if they tried to help, but Xhosa never considered that. His body flew by, hands flailing, eyes wide with horror, mouth an O. She snatched his hair and leaned into the cliff, fingers anchored to an outcropping. His momentum yanked her arm down but her grip held. A squeal escaped his mouth when he smacked into her legs with an oomph.

  “Calm—you are safe.” The boy shook uncontrollably as tears streamed down his cheeks. “Now, climb onto my back and put your legs around my waist.”

  “I can’t—I will fall!” he whimpered.

  “You must or I leave you here.”

  Out of nowhere, Lyta scampered to Xhosa. One hand secured to the wall, she stretched the other out to the boy. “El-ga—is that your name?” When he nodded, Lyta continued, “Do as Xhosa asks, El-ga. I’ll help you.”

  The boy visibly relaxed, sniffling but nodding, and scaled Xhosa’s legs, up over her hips, and with Lyta’s help, wrapped his legs around the Leader’s waist.

  “I’ll stay with you,” and Lyta smiled at Xhosa.

  Xhosa breathed out and began again to climb, El-ga clinging to her, tiny fingernails digging into her skin. The wind stiffened and the drizzle hardened into rain. Finally, Nightshade motioned everyone to halt and he cautiously pulled himself over the top and disappeared from view. After what seemed forever, he motioned the line up and over the lip.

  Xhosa pulled herself over as Nightshade hoisted El-ga off of her, his mother crying with relief. Lyta scampered to her father who crushed her to his chest, tears filling his eyes.

  Xhosa closed her eyes and breathed in deep ragged gasps. When she finally forced her breathing to slow, her senses searched the new world—carrion, a wolf pack, water, blood, and at her side, Nightshade’s sweat.

  What she didn’t smell was Big Heads.

  She opened her eyes. A stark plateau flowed in front of her, stained a patchwork of dull colors with few trees to break the whip of the wind. But there was no time to rest. The rain had become a torrent as if a whole river was lifted into the sky and dropped on them.

  "This way!" Nightshade shouted above the roar and the People took off at a sprint.

  Xhosa dipped her head against the force of the rain, feet sloshing through puddles that deepened with each step. Without expecting it, she tumbled into a cave, stinking of urine and decayed tissue. The floor was coated in bone shards and molted fur but it was dry.

  Xhosa stared into the darkness and felt a slight breeze.

  “I’ll check the rear,” and left Nightshade grunting something to his warriors.

  She traced the uneven crumbling rock, ducking at times to avoid low ceilings. She slipped on a slick spot, jammed her fingers into a fissure to hold her balance, and felt the tickle of a spider racing for safety. Often, she brushed away strands of Spiders’ webs that caught on her face and in her hair. She peered down each tunnel but discovered no predators so returned to the group.

  “How many spears did we lose?” She motioned to Nightshade and Pan-do.

  “One, and no warclubs,” from both.

 
; “I told my people to abandon theirs rather than fall,” Rainbow whined.

  His use of the phrase ‘my people’ brought a searing glare from Nightshade but Xhosa responded levelly, “I see you did also,” nodding to his empty hands.

  “Carrying them was dangerous,” he growled a pitch too high.

  Xhosa didn’t hide her disgust.

  She mentally ticked off everyone who should be there, and then, with a frown, again.

  “Someone is missing.” She shuttered her eyes, seeing every member move across the horizon of her mind. A hole appeared.

  “Primary Female—where is she?”

  “I saw her,” from Lyta. She swayed, anguished. “A spear in her chest.”

  Xhosa felt no sorrow. The elder lived a full life serving the People. The question was who would step up to serve as Primary Female? Someone would. That’s how it worked.

  “Xhosa.” Pan-do touched her arm. “Thank you for saving El-ga. He is Wa-co’s only child and she is without a pairmate.”

  “Of course. Anyone would.”

  “But no one did except you. You never pick the safe path over the right one, do you?”

  In fact, Xhosa didn’t know how to.

  The People settled on their haunches, arms wrapping their legs for warmth, as the gale transformed the dry Rift valley into a roaring killer. Torrents of rain pounded the ground like a stick against a hollow tree trunk. A booming crack echoed as a chunk of the cliff gave way. Bolts of fire fractured the sky joined by thunderous roaring that echoed off the cave walls, often drowning out the pounding rain.

  They ate travel food, tipped their heads to drink from the curtain of water falling across the cave’s opening, and waited for Sun. When Xhosa ventured outside to relieve herself, a wolf trotting along the edge of the plateau glanced her way, its fur soaked, a squirming rat in its mouth.

  The People slept curled together against the cave wall. When a bedraggled wolf—maybe the same one she’d seen earlier—stumbled in from the storm, pale yellow eyes dull with hunger, tail tucked between its legs, Nightshade chased it out and added guards to the entrance.