Judgment Day (54 page)

Meaghan Slater was crabby much of the time they spent in New Jerusalem, while Congresswoman Sylvia Swanson managed to be civil but disapproving of everything the Fellowship did. Simon Ash was perpetually sick, afraid that every sniffle was a symptom of the next IT, every breath loaded with microbes that ate away at his intestines. He was of little use on work details, constantly complaining of muscle aches, scratches, and cuts, and starting every time the dogs chased off into the woods after an animal.

Eventually, the Fellowship gave up on Simon, leaving him on the screened porch where he spent the day writing in his notebooks, working as secretary for the fact-finders.

Archie Cox and Charlie Peng seemed to be enjoying themselves and the work. Archie was drafted to work with other engineers, helping to design a dam being built upriver. Although it was not exactly his field of expertise, he made many valuable contributions and many friends. The senator, who insisted he be called Charlie, was as popular with the members of the Fellowship as he was with Grandma Jones's people, spending most nights on someone's porch playing cards, laughing, and telling stories.

Roland Symes also enjoyed life on America, learning to drive a tractor, plowing, and planting. He called a few of the acres "his" and openly regretted they would be leaving before he had a chance to bring his crop in. Nights would find Roland sitting on a porch or under a tree, writing in his notebook or speaking into his recorder, preparing stories to run when he returned to Earth.

The weather improved each week and was pleasant by the end of their second month on the planet. It warmed to the low seventies on most days, the nights cool but not cold. Rain showers rolled through occasionally, but the long gray days of rain were behind them.

One night Christy came back to find Mark, Floyd, and Shelly bent over aerial photographs spread on the kitchen table. When she asked about them they quickly put them away, telling her nothing. They were secretive that night, whispering together out on the porch after she had gone to bed. It hurt her that Mark continued to leave her out of important matters.

Early the next morning Floyd and Mark returned to Shelly's home, joining them for a breakfast of pancakes and sausages. The sausages were made of an unknown meat and tasted gamy. There was fresh-churned butter for the pancakes, a jar of Evelyn's jelly, and two syrups, one they called honey. It was brown, and thinner than any Earth honey. What little flavor it had was overwhelmed by sweetness. The other syrup was made from tree sap. It was sweet but with a smoky flavor she had trouble liking. She ate her pancakes plain.

After breakfast they told Meaghan and Christy they were taking them on a hike. Outside they found Roland waiting, just as curious as the women about where they were going. Without explanation, Mark called for Junior who was going with them, and then Floyd whistled for dogs, five separating from the pack to follow. Squeaky appeared around the corner of the house and Christy called for her, tossing her a piece of sausage.

Mark and Floyd led them across a field of ankle-high corn and then along a road bulldozed through the trees. The dogs ranged from side to side, sniffing, males marking randomly with their urine, chasing off any small animals and birds that crossed their path. Spring was in full bloom now and the forest lush with new growth. The air was fragrant, a potpourri of strange organic smells, the songs and screeches of birds constant.

They passed two farms, then the road ended abruptly at a pile of debris bulldozed into a mound. They skirted the pile and continued on an animal trail, climbing a hill. Soon they were breathing hard and removed their light jackets. Mark, Floyd, and Junior carried rifles and Mark and Floyd carried packs. They stopped occasionally to sip water from plastic bottles. After an hour of walking they paused and Mark offered Christy a trail mix made up of native foods. She spread a small amount across her palm trying to identify what she was about to eat. The mix was made up of pea-shaped nuts, a toasted grain that looked like breakfast cereal, large red raisons, green twigs, and yellow flakes. Roland put his nose close to her hand and sniffed.

"It's all good," Mark said.

"Would you like to label the various parts?" Christy suggested.

"The red things are dried fruit—they grow on vines along riverbanks.

Those round nuts taste like walnuts. They're soft unless you toast them." Holding up the grain he said, "We're trying to cultivate this like wheat," he said. "It's a large grain and makes a pretty good flour—has a fruity flavor."

"What about the yellow flakes?" Roland asked.

"It's some sort of mutation," Mark said, watching their faces. "The first season we planted corn, we found one stalk with flakes like these instead of kernels. We've planted a field of this kind of corn now."

"Does it pop?" Roland asked.

"No, it doesn't."

"And the twigs?" Christy asked.

"Tastes something like nutmeg," Mark said.

Everything identified, Christy tossed the handful into her mouth, finding the mix of unusual flavors surprising, but not unpleasant.

"Well," Roland prodded. "Are you going to throw up? Die?"

"It's good," she said.

Roland dropped a pinch in his mouth, screwing up his face anticipating dislike. Instead, his face relaxed.

"Needs sugar," he said, then took a handful.

They walked another half hour, then broke into two groups. Floyd and Junior took Roland and Meaghan and cut into the woods, leaving the trail behind. Squeaky stayed with Christy, and Mark kept a rottweiler named Max. Refusing to say why they split up, Mark and Christy followed the trail, the dogs now tired, staying close, letting small animals get away with showing themselves. After a mile the trail leveled and they came to a clearing. Several of the large "bulls" were at the far end and the dogs gave chase, driving them into the woods. While they waited for the dogs to tire of the chase, Mark took an aerial photo from his pack and studied it, then whistled to the dogs and led off again

"Where are you taking me?" she asked.

"You'll see," he said mysteriously.

A short distance on the other side of the clearing, they came to a stream. Mark turned and followed the bank, the walking difficult since the underbrush was thick. After another quarter mile Mark stopped.

"You
go
the rest of the way by yourself," Mark said.

"Go where?" Christy asked, surprised.

"There's a lake through there," Mark said, pointing into the woods.

"Let's go together," she said.

"This is your lake."

"My lake?"

"No one has ever seen that lake, Christy. You'll be the first."

A sense of awe grew in her.

"Someone must have been here before."

"No," he said firmly. "We know the lake is here because of the aerial photos, but no one has had time to come up here to explore. This isn't like Earth, Christy. The mountains haven't been climbed, the lakes haven't been named. The sources of the rivers have yet to be discovered, the poles haven't been visited. Your footprints will be the first on the shore of this lake."

Thinking of the footprints she had left on the moon, Christy now felt joy as well as awe. These opportunities came to her because of Mark, her life richer because of him.

Mark held Max back so she and Squeaky could go alone. After just ten yards through the underbrush, Mark was screened from her view. Suddenly she felt vulnerable, but Squeaky was with her, staying close in the dense brush. Then they climbed a fallen log and came to a trail running roughly in the direction Mark had indicated. Nose down, Squeaky followed the trail, Christy hesitating—trails were made by animals. Trusting Squeaky to scare off the wildlife, she followed the dog down the narrow path. It sloped gently, then curved left through rocky ground where it almost disappeared. Skirting a large boulder she looked ahead to see blue through the foliage. Squeaky trotted ahead, disappearing when the trail turned again. Following, she came out of the trees onto the shore of the lake—a breathtaking sight.

The lake was a half mile across, towering evergreens bordering its oblong shore. At one end was a cliff so flat and smooth that it looked manmade. In the middle of the cliff was a small waterfall that fed the lake. The lake was a shiny blue jewel in a forest-green setting. The water was crystal clear and she could see pebbles and sticks on the bottom of the lake. A school of tiny fish swam along the shore—at least they looked something like fish. Farther out in the lake, Christy could see ripples, something larger skimming the surface. At the end of the lake opposite the waterfall there were white birds floating on the surface, occasionally ducking under.

Christy's eyes ate up the scene, wanting to be the first to consume it all—the first to see the waterfall, the first to see that particular species of bird, the first to skip a stone across the surface of the lake. Christy looked along the shore for flat pebbles, picking up three. Taking the first stone she bent to get a flat trajectory and sent it skipping across the surface. One, two, three skips, then just before it hit again something leapt out of the water, snagging the stone in midair. It happened so fast she got only a glimpse, but the animal was covered with fur, not scales. She dropped the other pebbles.

A few more steps along the shore and the insects found her, buzzing her head. Her long sleeves protected her arms and she kept her hands moving.

Some of the flying annoyances were bloodsuckers—she'd had experience with them—others she didn't know about.

Christy walked toward the waterfall but found it difficult going. The shore was littered with broken limbs and fallen trees. Squeaky found the going rough too and kept ranging into the woods to find an easier way. She came to a log that extended from inside the forest to deep in the lake. On the far side it looked like a marsh and smelled sour like a bog. When she climbed the log something splashed in the water to her left. She froze, then called for Squeaky who jumped up on the log next to her. Three more splashes followed, Squeaky barking at the movement. Tall reeds filled this part of the shore, growing from gray mud and spread from the shallows to the tree line. Where the reeds ended there were clumps of yellow and green plants floating on the water and shaped like bunches of bananas. She walked on the log into the lake and three more splashes followed, Squeaky whining, acting like she wanted to jump in after them. Studying the banana bunches, Christy spotted one of the animals. Shaped like a torpedo, the green and yellow animal had four legs, but no eyes she could see at this distance. She stepped along the log and the animal she was watching dove off the flower clump, disappearing into the lake. Squeaky tried passing her on the log, nearly knocking her off. There were such things as piranha on Earth, she knew, and she wasn't going to risk a dip in an alien lake that no one had ever seen before. Shooing Squeaky ahead of her, Christy walked back to the shore. With the bog blocking her way, the only way to get to the waterfall was to cut into the woods, which looked dark and forbidding, compared to the sunny openness of the lake. She decided that seeing the waterfall first was enough for her, and that she would walk back up the hill and invite Mark to go with her the rest of the way.

When Christy turned to retrace her steps, she saw something large disappear into the trees. Oblivious, Squeaky moved down the log, then jumped to solid ground. Christy studied the spot in the trees where the animal had disappeared, then climbed off the log, keeping an eye on the woods. Ahead of her, Squeaky froze, eyes riveted on the forest. Christy could see nothing, wishing she had gotten a better look at the animal, but all she had seen was a tailless rump. Suddenly a shape separated from the trunk of a tree twenty feet off the ground. Bark-colored and the size of a mountain lion, the animal hit the ground charging toward them—no screeching, no roars, just the sound of rustling leaves. With an angry bark, Squeaky charged. Terrified and helpless, Christy could only yell for help, screaming Mark's name.

The animal was reddish brown now, but changing color as it came, becoming the color of the grass. It had no tail and seemed furless, its skin smooth, shimmery. Its rear legs were larger than the front ones, and it used them almost exclusively, front legs more for balance. It had the jaws of a bulldog and bulging eyes, the head covered with the same shimmery skin. There were no ears, only symmetrical holes on either side of its head.

Squeaky's charge surprised the predator, which was used to having to chase down its food. When the two met, the animal leapt into the air, over Squeaky. With hardly any loss of motion, it turned and jumped on Squeaky. The first sound Christy heard from the animal was its jaws snapping closed, just short of Squeaky's neck. The jaws missed, but the front paws slashed Squeaky's sides, the dog squealing in pain. Recovering quickly, snarling and snapping, Squeaky jockeyed for position, but every charge was answered by a leap in the air and a slash. Squeaky was bleeding badly now, but the dog had heart and would not run.

Christy found a waterlogged branch and advanced on the fight, screaming, "Leave her alone, get off of her." Another blow from the animal and one of Squeaky's front legs collapsed, nearly severed by the beast's claws. When the dog fell, the animal's jaws clamped on her neck, Squeaky's squeal cut off by the strangling jaws. Running forward, Christy swung with all her might, cracking the beast across its spine. It made no sound, but with a powerful shake of its head threw Squeaky to the side and turned on Christy. Christy held the stick menacingly, but the animal had no experience with clubs, no basis for fear. Its back legs bunched, its eyes riveted on her, a tongue slithered out, tasting Earth blood for the first time. Satisfied, it crouched. Christy braced herself for the attack. Then she heard something thundering through the grass—it was Max.

With a snarl, the rottweiler crashed into the beast, Max's jaws angling for a death hold. The beast tumbled, Max on top, and jaw to jaw the animals struggled for dominance. Without the catlike claws of the predator, Max was losing the toe-to-toe struggle, his underside raked by the predator's claws. Sensing this, Max backed off, letting the animal up. Once on its feet the predator hesitated, now unsure of itself. The rottweiler wasn't as vulnerable as the golden retriever, with a powerful body and massive head and jaws. Max jumped just as the animal turned to leap away, knocking it down, then struggling to get a grip on the predator's neck.