Approaching Oblivion (Jezebel's Ladder Book 4) (32 page)

“Move
to the middle in forty meters,” Risa announced.

The
nurse-turned-scout raced over to the center of the stream. Craning her neck,
she could see the desired path. “Check.”

They
navigated like this for some distance until Yvette asked, “Right or left around
this big rock?”

“I
can’t see,” Risa wailed.

“Guess!”

Toby
interrupted. “The river turns slightly to the right here, which means the right
side should be slower moving.”

She
swung the sled right. Seconds later, she spotted the mistake—a full meter drop.
“
Merde
!”

“Gun
it and hold it straight,” Risa ordered.

Yvette
was airborne for two long seconds, narrowly missing rocks to one side and a
vortex on the other. The angle of the plunge dragged her under to the bottom. Worse,
she couldn’t see anything in the churning water, not even which direction was
up. When she was finally able to surface, she whooped.

“Are
you okay?” Toby demanded.

“Ah.
That was fantastic,” she said, panting. “I might be wet through the zipper.”

“Stop
it. You’re getting me excited,” he joked. His wife giggled at the innuendo.
“Seriously, will you pull off and rest? At least let Risa steer for a while in
the clear stretches.”

“She
can do that?”

“For
a couple hours once the satellite is in range.”

“You
talked me into it.” Docking on the less traveled bank, she rigged the partially
drained battery for charge and collapsed into a nap.

The
battery-full chime woke her three hours later. “Hey. You let me miss the satellite.”

“We
took lots of pictures. Now any of us can use the rover feed to steer the sled
remotely,” Toby explained.

Risa
talked Yvette through creating a seat strap and a safety harness so she could
doze through the gentle parts of the river.

“But
my suit will be out of juice soon.”

“It’s
okay,” the engineer said. “We noticed this morning that in full darkness, the
suit barely uses any charge at all, partly because the wetsuit and helmet blur
your infrared signature already.”

“So
I travel at night and recharge during the hottest part of the day?”

“Classic
desert survival. At 190 klicks a day, we should get you there in a full three
days.”

“Sounds
good to me.”

****

Yvette
only had one other heart-stopping moment on the trip to the village. Her
armor’s proximity alarm went off during the morning of day three. The buzz woke
her from her daze, and she struggled to turn off the whirring motor while she
searched. Eventually, she pulled the harness tab out of the slot, and the
safety killed the engine. She searched the area, asking her radio listeners,
“Where’s the fur face?”

“He’s
not on my aerial photo,” Oleander said over the radio. “Hold on.” Covering the
microphone with her hand, she shouted for Toby.

“My
suit spotters are having a hard time triangulating,” Yvette said with
increasing panic.

“Could
be diffraction from the water or multiple targets,” Oleander said, trying
frantically to click on two computers simultaneously.

A
very sleepy Toby mumbled, “Got to be a raft or she would’ve passed them by now.
Slow her down for long enough and they’ll pull away.”

“I
don’t want to be stuck behind those slowpokes,” Yvette complained.

“If
you pass them now, they’ll float past you while you have your solar array
deployed. The hand must not be seen. Drift for an hour, then recharge for four.
By the time you catch up with them, they’ll probably be camped for the night.
Then you can reach the village and crawl out of the water before any of the
pandas are awake.”

She
growled at the delay, but followed his suggestion—mainly because she had over
380 kilometers to go before she reached the lake of meteors. In the predawn
dark, she hid the sled under some branches. By the docks, she stumbled across a
stone hogan dominating the hillside. The structure hadn’t appeared on the satellite
map. Again, the sloped roof was formed of bamboo covered by sod, rendering it
invisible from above. The rounded corners would have caused the building to
look like a dwarf castle if it weren’t for the lichen-covered rafts that leaned
against every wall. Pandas seemed to be sleeping in huddles under the makeshift
shelters. From this vantage point, the village was larger than anticipated,
perhaps thirty or forty snoring adults. Since the building seemed important,
she planted the obsidian-wrapped bug on top of the stone lintel and fled.

Toby
filmed the entire operation. “They don’t use wood for house frames or even
fences. You’d think they would at least put some of these homes on stilts in
case of flooding.”

Yvette
put a finger to her helmet in the hand sign for silence. Avoiding the rest of
the village, she walked an hour to a tiny crevice high on the canyon side.
First, she hung a tan tarp over the entrance and smeared it with local dust.
Second, she activated the electronic guards: sensors and the subsonic
do-not-disturb sign. Third, she pulled out the bedroll and hung her wetsuit to
dry. Lastly, after eating a double ration of bars and emptying her water
bottle, she collapsed into sleep.

****

When
Yvette finally stirred ten hours later, Oleander asked, “Are you okay?”

“Just
tired,” Yvette replied. The relative cool of the cave felt wonderful, but she
was still sweating a little. “Sorry. I’ll download the bug results from
yesterday.”

“Already
did it remotely through the sled because the bug is so close to the river. The
analysis and new vocabulary will have to wait for Lou, but we can check on this
site any time we want to with just the sled. I might use this same technique
with the Gray village in the hills using the rover. Planting static listening devices
is expensive, but collection can be easy. You should get back here before the
full flare, girl. I’m already picking up static.”

After
a quick meal and the necessities, Yvette stuffed her leftovers back into the
bottom of her bag. She still had almost three hours of darkness left. Toby sent
a text message to her wrist unit that he was ready for phase two and pretending
to be asleep. As soon as she gave the word, he could trigger his distraction.

“I’m
going to head back to the river now,” Yvette said on the open channel.

While
rolling up the tarp, she spotted a creature creeping over the sand, causing it
to freeze in place. Filming with the UV gear, she transmitted the feed to base.
It had pink, wrinkled skin and beady eyes, like a coyote crossed with one of
those hairless cats.

Toby
broke radio silence. “The closest Earth analog to your pink friend would
probably be a sand puppy, also known as a naked mole rat.”

Sand
puppy
? This was a full-grown dog. “Aren’t they the ones that never get
cancer?” Yvette recalled.

The
pink creature’s pointy ears swiveled in her direction.

“Interesting,”
Toby said. “Could it be an adaptation to the radiation? Do you think the desert
animals crawl down into the cracks with us during surges?”

The
saber-toothed bobcats would flee if a scout made a loud noise or threw cayenne
pepper at its nose. Hoping to scare the animal away, she shook the dust off the
tarp, and the sand dog only sneezed.

With
the seriousness of a 9-1-1 operator, Toby said, “Distract it by throwing the
tarp over its head, grab your pack, and
run
.”

“But—”

The
sand dog wrinkled up its nose in a snarl, revealing chisel-like teeth. “He has
a rope collar. This is his territory, and he can target you by sound or smell.
Your only hope is to outrun him.”

Obeying,
Yvette tossed the tarp over the sand dog, and the brute attacked. She was
thankful that she’d already peed in a trench because seeing those incisors
shred the fabric would have caused her to soil her armor. She jerked the pack
onto her shoulder and ran.

A
hundred meters later, Oleander shouted, “Incoming on thermals.”

Something
smashed into her, and she rolled down the hill. How had it tracked her down so
fast? No, this second sand dog had old scars puckering its side. The dogs were
hunting in a pack! The new creature latched its jaws onto the base of her
backpack and shook the container so hard it ripped. Outside her armor, the pack
was still visible.
Merde
.

She
kicked the sand dog hard, and it bounced off a rock, dazed.

“Cut
its throat, and the others will feed on it,” Toby offered.

She
didn’t want to hurt an animal, especially with an unfair advantage like
invisibility.

Small
items from her backpack fell out the rip in the bottom, so she turned it upside
down. Shaking off the effects of her kick, the wrinkled monster sniffed at her
unfinished breakfast. Reaching into the hole, she also pulled out a wad of
jerky and scattered it on the ground. The dog took the bait, and she fled.
Live
and let live.

Oleander
barked directions for the easiest route back to the river while avoiding the
village.

Thundering
down the path, Yvette stuffed the backpack under the front of her shirt. As
long as nothing crouched directly beneath her, she would pass unseen. The water
rushed up to meet her as she fell off the riverbank. “Which way?” she asked her
radio angels.

“Downstream,
120 meters,” Oleander said. “Stay underwater because I see heat signatures
swarming.”

Toby
said, “Please, come home. Forget about the extra sampling. You and the armor
took a beating on that fall.”

“I
can still make it,” Yvette whispered.

“I
notified Herk when you were attacked. He’s on his way up to my lab now.”

She
wanted to curse but didn’t dare let anyone on the shore hear. She floated
unmoving until the sled’s hiding place appeared. Reunited with her vehicle, she
typed a message to Toby on the wrist comp. “Send
Cerberus
to the lake
instead.”

“That
will leave you too unprotected,” Toby replied.

“Send
it, or I go.”

“Roger.”

Swallowing
the bile and resentment, Yvette launched into the current. “Back to Hades.” The
return could take an L week.

When Yvette stopped for lunch and a recharge on a sandbar,
she opened her backpack to check for damage. River water poured out. Her Taser
was ruined, as was most of her food; however, her sleeping bag just needed to
be dried in the strong breeze.

Talking to the air, she said,
“Toby, I’m going to need help finding more food and a ranged weapon.”

Oleander answered, “I’ll help you
use your hunting knife to carve a spear, but he’s out cold.”

“Why?”

“The whole time you were asleep, he
was busy downloading all kinds of data onto your wrist unit. He was worried
storms are going to interfere with satellite reception. It’s cute to see him
fuss so much, like Dr. Frankenstein sewing together a teddy bear.”

“I’m still pissed at him for
ordering me around,” Yvette complained, laying out her damp gear and attempting
to patch the hole in her backpack with Superglue.

“If you’d stabbed the hound, you’d
have enough food,” Oleander replied. “Say what you will, but psycho boy is on
your side. How are you fixed for water?”

“I have my camel pack, thank God.
If I had to boil all my water, the extra delay would make me crazy. Where’s the
closest spear wood?”

“Behind you on the far side of the
sandbar,” Oleander directed. While her friend worked, she chatted. “Toby’s maps
will be your best bet to know what’s in season.”

“We’re spoiled by
Sanctuary
.
Something ripe was always ready to fall into our laps.”

“At least you know what plants to
avoid.”

Sawing the young tree off at the
base with the back of her knife, Yvette said, “Yes, if my deranged husband had
a picture of it on his wall, I don’t want to be anywhere near it.”

Oleander laughed. “You called him
your husband.”

“I’ve taken his pomegranates long
enough. He’s due the payment. I probably wouldn’t survive the trip back without
him.”

“So that’s all it takes?”

With her blade, Yvette hacked the
green branches off a trunk the size of a broom handle. She said nothing as she
whittled the end into a point. When she was done, she strapped the weapon to
the sled and repacked the dried belongings into the repaired carrying case.

Because the battery had a little
time remaining, she swam over and took pictures of the dark berries on the
opposite shore, checking them against Toby’s database. Finding nothing
conclusive, she picked a sample baggy full and raised her helmet to give a
sniff. The scent made her mouth water.

It was after dark when Toby rang
onto the channel. “I checked the transcript,” he said cheerfully.

Oleander said, “Someone’s happy
about the word husband. I’m going off duty so you lovebirds can chat.”

“Survival,” Yvette reminded him.

“Berries can be tricky. Avoid the
white ones and use the arsenic test kit on others. The rover can fetch more
food bars,” Toby offered.

“No. Stay on mission.” Over the
wrist computer, she typed, “Shouldn’t the rover be to the lake area by now?”

On the screen, he replied, “Yes,
but the shoreline is extensive. A complete density mapping will take time.”

Out loud, Yvette said, “You can
help me live off the land.”

“Okay. In general, we can eat
anything the pandas do as long as we cook it. Muscle meat is good, but pitch
the organs because some of the poisons can collect there,” Toby lectured. He
didn’t repeat the generic survival rules about testing small doses of food
first. “Um . . . tomorrow is an eclipse. You won’t be able to recharge during
umbra
.”

“I have an extra battery.”

“Every time you take a risk, you
twist a knife in my gut.”

“Shut up and pilot me while I take
a nap.”

“Yes, dear.”

****

When heated on a tiny camp stove
the first L night, the tart berries proved edible but not filling. An aurora
borealis-like curtain of light wove through the sky. On the second night the
lights were even brighter and seemed to move. By this neon guidance, she came
upon an anchored raft filled with nuts, guarded by two sleeping sailors. On
full stealth, she stole an entire bag of protein-rich treats. Even these, Toby
made her roast because they’d been contaminated by river water. Of course by
the end of night three, she was sick of them.

Finally, Toby informed her that the
rover had located a deposit of odd minerals in the desert—zirconium and
calcium.

Excited, Yvette wrote him back,
“Shimmer ceramic. You’ve found the hand of the Magi.”

“Is it wrong to be turned on that
you know the composition?”

“How big is the deposit?”

“A meter thick and twenty in every
direction.”

“Like the shuttle bay,” she
deduced. “We could build a fleet of invisible cars and boats with that. Check
for signs of a crash.”

“Right now, I need to pay attention
to the satellite feed and sled sensors to keep you safe. You’re not far from a
bamboo farm.”

“That means food!” Yvette said with
excitement.

“Too risky,” he ruled. “Fishing
will take tools and time you don’t have, as well as expose you to traveling
pandas.”

“Is this like
Taming of the
Shrew
, where Petruchio won’t let Kate eat anything because it’s not good
enough for her?”

“Once you pass the farm, we’ll
forage. I promise.”

During evening number four, he let
her pick between borer beetles and grubs. She chose the grubs because she was
sick of crunchy. She roasted the larvae, closed her eyes, and envisioned crème
brûlée. She drank a lot of tea to rinse the taste out of her mouth.

The next afternoon, she spotted
green banana-ish fruit, but Toby convinced her not to risk diarrhea. Early in
the morning of day six, another crop was visible from the sled. Yvette crept
from the river and added small yams from a recent harvest site to her larder.
She had to work hard to find food the pandas had missed. However, Toby would
only let her eat one a day due to the high iron content. “Too much could be
fatal,” he warned. “Even this much will probably tie up your intestines.”

The famine continued until Yvette
was 90 percent of the way home. When she heard the waterfall in the distance,
she started crying.

“Cheer up,” Oleander said. “You’re
only sixty kilometers from home!”

“I couldn’t portage this sled
downhill when I had energy. There’s no way I can do it uphill now,” Yvette
said, sniffling wetly.

“Don’t make me come out there and
slap you, girl,” Oleander threatened. “You will
not
go all hysterical
and embarrass every female astronaut on this mission. Just pick your ass up and
walk. You like hiking. You can be home in twelve hours. Rachael says you’ve
earned a week of rest and relaxation. We’ll even meet you at the perimeter.
That’s one less hour!”

“I feel like a zombie. There’s no
way I can move that fast. Please, can’t you point me to some decent food?”

“No. You’ve nearly caught up to
that party of Green harvesters. It’s too dangerous with that many natives.”
Oleander mused over the data. “Mmm. A little beyond them, you’ll pass close to
that trader fellow, Pacino. If you want to sneak close enough, you could
download his latest language recordings.”

And steal a little snack
,
Yvette thought. “Yeah, talk me in. It should be cake.” Her mouth watered at the
thought of dessert.

She followed Oleander’s directions
for almost four hours. “You told me he was close.”

“Yeah, well if I told you the
truth, all I would have heard was more whining. Do you see his fire yet?”

A gentle hint of smoke rose in the
distance. Creeping through the underbrush, Yvette discovered the trader’s camp.
Pacino was indeed napping in the crook of a tree, with a broad leaf over his
face to block out any sun that filtered through the jungle canopy. A bamboo
shovel and a stack of bobcat pelts lay on the ground beneath him. On an
opposing branch, she saw a dead bird hung by its beak to tenderize. She
remembered her uncle doing this for days for pheasant. Drool dripped onto the
inside of her helmet. Drawing her knife, she crawled into the camp. From here,
she could see that the pelts actually rested on top of a wooden carrying frame
similar to a travois.

“That’s close enough,” Oleander
said. “I’m pulling the data now.”

Yvette continued to approach the
bird with every ounce of stealth Toby had taught her, downwind so the panda
wouldn’t smell her. She was reaching for her dagger to cut the line on the
bird’s ugly beak when she heard the creak. Suddenly, she lost her bearings. The
horizon spun as she flailed at the branches that separated to swallow her.
Darkness. Something slammed into her right leg hard, bending her foot farther
than it was designed to flex. She screamed until she tumbled backward, and the
second impact knocked the wind out of her. Yvette’s vision whited out
momentarily.

When she felt the warm, wet trickle
on her knife hand, she prayed it wasn’t blood. Examining her surroundings, she
deduced that she was in the bottom of pit. The floor was uneven, and the
incredible torque had caused the shooting pains in her ankle and knee. She had
to reach up with both hands to adjust her helmet because it had turned
slightly.

Oleander shouted questions, but
Yvette didn’t dare answer.

Through her fingers, she could see
L Pacino staring down into the seemingly empty trap, scratching his head. The
photos never conveyed how incredibly massive these creatures were. She stopped
breathing for a moment. Pacino’s arms were thicker than her thighs and could
crush the life from her in a heartbeat. He mumbled something, and moments
later, Mercy’s perky voice whispered in her earbud. “Thicker branches needed.”
The translator program had her best friend’s voice. The trader then proceeded
to cover her gravesite with alien palm leaves.

In spite of the tears pouring out
of her eyes, she chuckled. For the sake of listeners, she whispered, “It’s a
Stone Age booby trap, and I fell for it.”

“How are you?” asked two or three
voices at once.

As Yvette attempted to stand, even
her good leg protested from the abuse. Liquid drizzled down her side—water. Her
camel waterskin had ruptured from the fall. The sharp rocks littering the
bottom of the pit had also bruised her legs. If she had fallen forward or
sideways, she might have died. On the wrist computer, she typed, “After
sunsdown, I might be able to get out of here using my spear and knife, but I
won’t get far.”

Toby said, “Then you’ll have to get
help from the native.”

“She can’t be seen,” said Herk.
From the slight echo, he was probably in the same room as the scouts.

“But she can be
heard
,”
countered Toby. “Oleander, send Pacino’s recent recordings through translation
and find out what he’s been doing the last few days. Maybe we can use it to
fool him into obeying.”

“I can’t authorize this,” Herk
said.

Over the radio, Toby roared as a
locker door slammed again and again. His breathing was reduced to a pained
squeak.

Oleander said, “Careful. You’ll
hurt him.”

Yvette lifted her helmet visor to
wipe the sweat and tears off her face. She was the one stuck in the pit. Why
was she so worried about Toby?

When his breathing calmed, Toby
said, “I’ll tell you something you need if you let me save her.”

Yvette wanted to shout ‘no’ but
couldn’t risk being heard.

“I’m here with you, girl,” Oleander
said in her ear over the private channel. “The boys just stepped out for some
air. Stay calm, and I’ll get you out of this. How easy is the dirt to dig in?”

To remain silent, she replied on
the wrist keypad. “Loose. Why?”

“When the panda goes back to his
nap, scoop up as much dirt as you can from the deep end and pile it in the
shallow end. It will make your escape easier later, but do it softly. I have
eyes on him for another seventeen minutes.”

She pulled out the trenching tool
Toby had packed for her, unfolded it, and tightened the tool into place.
Oleander cheered her on.

As Yvette rolled over to dig in the
desired area, she let loose another involuntary scream.

“Shh! He picked up his ears at
that. Keep this up, and he’s going to find you. If you’re in pain, use the med
kit.”

Yvette didn’t hesitate, but
injected herself with a minimal dose of the strongest painkiller available. She
didn’t have any branches long enough to splint the leg. Instead, she removed
the armor, pulled up the wetsuit legging, and wrapped the injuries with her
spare shirt.
That should give me just enough support to crawl out of this
hole.
Replacing her armor over the bandage, she dug, scraping furrows in
the ground with the tool. Soon, she reached a layer of sandy soil and shoveled
like mad. When the hiss of the metal shovel was too loud, she used her hands.
She had to stop when water filled the trench.

Dizzy from the effort, she could
hear her own breathing echo in the helmet. The drugs were kicking in, making it
difficult for her to focus.

“Quiet. Rest up,” Oleander said.
“The panda is up and moving. Nice. A bear does go
thplut
in the woods.
I’m reading the transcript. Pacino came to sell chew-leaf, but his buyers are
nowhere to be found. His last trade was three days ago, where they told him
pelts are the hot item this season. A week ago, he used a different name when
bargaining, and I think the other guy taught Pacino how to dye his elbow ruffs
blacker to disguise himself. We think Pacino’s real name is Shuulagar. Hold on.
Herk’s trying to get my attention.”

While the panda was away performing
his ablutions, Yvette jammed her spear in halfway up the sides of the pit and
anchored it with all her strength. Then, she reclined against the wall and
watched a dust mote spin through the one ray of light.