The Legend of Thunderfoot (9 page)

She looked too young to have died from old age. There were no teeth or claw marks that he could see.
Probably a rattlesnake
, he decided. But when he dropped his rock and landed a few feet from the bush with the long, sharp, pointed leaves, she blinked and raised her head from the sand.

“What's with the rock?”

Her voice was weak. Sad. Thunder glanced over his wing. Then, pretending not to see the rock, he glanced over the other wing. “Rock? What rock?”

She shot him a disgusted look before she lowered her head to the sand once more. “The rock
you just dropped,” she said, sighing. “I've never seen a roadrunner flying around with a rock. What are you doing with it?”

For a second he wanted to tell her that he was taking it back to show Berland. He wanted to tell her how he'd practiced and trained. How surprised he was, the first day his wings were strong enough actually to lift the rock from the ground. And how he wasn't satisfied just to lift it. He needed to carry it. Lift it high into the air and fly with it.

Even that wasn't enough. He'd decided to take it with him to the valley. Besides, if he quit working out his wings might get weak again. He couldn't risk that, so . . .

But he didn't even know this girl. So he lied. “Oh,
that
rock. Well . . . ah . . . er,” he stammered. “It's just a rock I found. I kinda liked it. You know . . . it's like my favorite rock. I just carry it around for . . . ah . . . for . . . good luck. Yeah, that's it. Good luck.”

Dust puffed from either side of her beak when she let out a little snort. Then she closed her eyes once more.

“What's with you?” Thunder asked.

“Nothing.”

“Are you sick?”

“No.”

“Hurt?”

“No.”

“Got bit by a rattlesnake, didn't you?”

“No.”

He frowned down at her. “Then why are you lying around like you're half dead? Winter's here. Food's hard to find. You should be out hunting.”

“I haven't eaten in two days,” she said.

“Can't find any food?”

“No. I'm just not hungry. I'm depressed.”

Thunder's beak fell open. “Depressed?”

“Yeah, depressed,” she snapped. “You probably don't even know what that means.”

Thunder looked down. He lifted a foot and shook it in her face. He wanted to say, “With feet like these, you can bet your sweet little tail feathers I know what depressed means!” Only when she looked at his foot—and didn't act startled or shocked, but just closed her eyes again—all he could say was, “Why are you depressed?”

“I got dumped,” she said.

“Dumped?”

“My boyfriend dumped me!” she sniffed. “He told me he loved me. He told me I was the only one. He said he'd come back. Four days ago, when it warmed up, I thought it was spring. I
thought he would return. He didn't.”

“Maybe something happened to him. Maybe a coyote, or a bobcat, or . . . something got him.”

“Yeah, something got him all right!” she scoffed. “When he didn't come for me, I went to find him. He's already got a mate. Two valleys over. They raised their first family last season. He didn't even tell me. He lied to me.”

“The guy sounds like a real jerk. What's his name, anyway?”

“Rocket.”

Thunder's head crest bristled. His eyes popped wide. “Rocket? Always preening his feathers? Smart mouth?”

“Oh, so you know the guy?”

Thunder felt a chill run from his tail to his neck. “We've met. You didn't happen to find out who his mate was? You didn't happen to hear her name?”

“No. I did see her, though. I watched them for a while from the ridge above their valley. She's very pretty. Lots prettier than me. I'm just ugly. Homely.”

“You're not homely,” Thunder protested. “You'd actually be kinda cute if you weren't moping around.”

The bird just looked at him. “She's
pretty.
She's
mature, and a good hunter, too. You know. Quick. Agile.”

Another chill swept through Thunder. It was so cold and so deep that he trembled all over. It took a while before he could even speak. Finally he chased the thought from his mind. “Why are you wasting your time over a bum like Rocket? Forget him.”

“I can't,” she sniffed. “I love him so.”

Thunder talked with her until it was almost dark. He tried to cheer her up. Tried to reason with her. Nothing seemed to work. No matter what he said, no matter what he tried, she wouldn't budge from under the yucca plant. The idea, or maybe it was more of a memory, hit him when he glanced at his rock and thought about Berland. He got to his feet, strolled over, hopped on the rock, and latched on with his claws. “Move.”

She opened an eye. “What?”

“MOVE!”

“Why?”

“I've got to be on my way. It takes a few feet to get this rock clear off the ground. I don't want to hit you.”

She sighed and dropped her head back to the sand. “It doesn't matter if you hit me or not. I just don't have the will to live.”

Thunder rolled his eyes. He flapped his powerful wings. Lifted the rock straight up. “Maybe I'll see you around, kid,” he called. “That is, IF you get off your lazy tail feathers and do something. You know, like hunt, or run, or eat. ‘Course, you keep sitting there, feeling sorry for yourself, I'll see you in about a month or so. When I come back this way. Well . . . I won't really see you. I'll just see what's left of your lazy carcass after the buzzards and the fire ants are through with it.”

With that he swooped right over her and flew on his way. From behind him, out of the very corner of one eye, Thunder saw her head snap up. Her sad eyes narrowed to tiny, angry slits. Her head crest arched high.

“LAZY??!”

There was a large barrel cactus on the floor of his valley. Since there was more than one barrel cactus, and since it was dark, it took him a while to find the right one, the one where Berland had told him he usually stayed during the winter. It was dark when he dropped the rock next to the burrow.
That ought to get his attention.
Thunder felt a sly grin tug behind his beak.

He sniffed the burrow before he sat on top of it, remembering how Berland had warned him that rattlers loved burrows or prairie dog tunnels. There was no smell of rattlesnake. There was no smell of Berland, either.
It's winter. He should be here. Unless . . .

The burrow on the ridge of the canyon was the last place Thunder had seen his old friend. Berland told him that he went there only when it rained. That
was because sometimes the stream on the valley floor overflowed and ran too close to his winter burrow.
Surely it's not going to rain. It's too cold.

For a minute, Thunder thought about going up there, just to see. Then he decided against it. It was dark. Besides, the air that blew from the tops of the mountains was so thick and heavy it felt even colder than normal. No matter how strong he had become, cold was still cold.

It didn't rain that night. Always watchful, Thunder did see the white crystals. First they drifted from the sky. They floated one by one to the sand. Then they came faster, swirling and gliding through the air. Hours before daylight they filled the night sky—so thick and white he could hardly see his beak in front of his face.

“It is called snow.” His father had told him of it, but he had never seen it. Thunder's father had heard of snow from his father, who had never seen it either. Not even once in their lives.

Thunder was the first in three generations. He stayed awake, all night, watching the strange and marvelous feathers of white that filled the desert.

• • •

When first light came he eased from the cover of the barrel cactus and shook his feathers. The
sparkling white covered the valley floor, the cactus, the cholla. The strange crackling sound beneath his feet made him smile. He wanted to run. Listen to it. Feel it crunch beneath his—

Thunder hadn't taken his first stride when he saw the movement. He froze. Two roadrunners sat on the lowest branch of a mesquite tree. Another large branch, higher up, had given them a little shelter. The male shook his feathers and began to preen. “I can't believe this stuff. It's nasty. My feathers are all wet.”

He griped and fussed as he preened. “I'm a total mess. I must look a fright.”

“Now, Rocket,” Agile'eka cooed, “don't get yourself all in a fizz. You look as handsome as always. Here. Let me help you.”

She preened his neck feathers. Rubbed her beak, lovingly, against his chest. Thunder stood totally still. He
couldn't
move. His heart was frozen—colder than the snow beneath his feet. Agile'eka's promise to wait for him had been a lie. His true love had found another.

All was lost. All the searching. All the training. All the running and lifting and flying. It was all for nothing.

Thunder eased down until his feathers rested in
the snow. Feeling deserted, betrayed, and even scorned, he would hide here. Stay totally still until they went away. Then he'd slip off. Unseen. He'd take his broken heart back to the high mesa. There to live, alone, and never be seen by either of them again. He'd—

Another movement. Behind him. He had to turn his head to see. It was Brisk, with Speedette running right beside him. They weren't really running, though. Not for roadrunners. They were stumbling and jerking and lunging. Their feet sank in the deep snow. A huge male coyote and a smaller female were hot on their heels.

Scruffy and Winterfat were having trouble running in the snow, too. But not nearly as much trouble as Speedette and Brisk. With each leap and lunge, they gained on the two roadrunners. His friends were goners.

Thunder ran. That's what roadrunners do. That is what every instinct, every fiber of his being told him to do. The Law of the Desert. Survive. There was no thud or sound of thunder as he ran. Just a light crunch and crackle as the snow compressed beneath his weight. As if he were running on fine sand, his enormous feet barely broke the surface. There were no twigs to
trip him. No pebbles or rocks to stub his toes on.

He'd never run so fast before. Rocket and Agile'eka were still preening when he shot past the mesquite. Behind him, Thunder could hear their clattering. “You hear something?” Agile'eka asked.

“I think so,” Rocket answered. “I thought I saw something, too. But it went by so fast I'm not sure.”

“It wasn't a roadrunner, was it?” she wondered.

“No.” Rocket kept preening. “I can see Brisk and Speedette. There aren't any other roadrunners in our—”

Suddenly his clattering was high-pitched and terrifying. “It's Winterfat and Scruffy! They're right behind Speedette. They're coming this way! RUN!!!”

Thunder glanced back. The coyotes were closing in. Another five or six leaps and Speedette . . .

It's a shame
, he thought.
She wasn't very bright, but she was nice. She never made fun of my feet. She had a sweet disposition. Nasty old coyotes. I ought to . . .

Another thought scampered through his head, stopping the first one. It was as if two voices were arguing inside of him. He could almost hear his father's voice—the day this parents had found him beneath the creosote bush:
At The Naming, you must be on your own. We can no longer help you. You cannot help us. It is the Rule. If something happens to me, your mother must survive. She must find another so the roadrunner will continue.

And his mother's voice, soft and cooing inside his head, answering,
He doesn't yet have his name. Maybe it would not be breaking the Rule of Nature. Perhaps we could just bend it a little.

The only thing faster than a roadrunner's feet is his mind. The thoughts, the memories of Mama and Daddy bringing him grasshoppers, lizards, scorpions . . . the memory of Rocket laughing at him . . . of Agile'eka not laughing . . . All these things and more flashed through his head in less than two strides of his big feet. And on the third stride . . .

Sheets of white billowed into the crisp air when Thunder leaned sharply to the side, and set his feet. The plume of snow hadn't even begun its downward fall to the desert floor, when . . .

He spun and charged! Chances were that neither coyote had ever been charged by a roadrunner. Fact is, they'd probably never seen a roadrunner from this angle before—only from behind while chasing it. The sight of one racing toward him like an angry hornet must have startled and confused Scruffy. He slowed and veered off to the left.

Winterfat, on the other hand, was closer to Speedette than Scruffy had been to Brisk. She was so intent on a plump, juicy roadrunner for breakfast that she didn't even see Thunder coming.

When he darted between Speedette and Brisk,
they didn't slow down, they didn't look at him, they didn't so much as blink. Eyes wide with the panic of imminent death, they just ran.

Winterfat didn't look at him, either. Her eyes were focused only on the tail feathers that were almost within reach. When the sharp, hard beak stabbed her right behind her ear, she
did
yelp, though. Angry and hurt, she snarled and snapped. As fast as Thunder ran on the soft powder, he was past her tail before she even felt the pain, much less turned to bite at whatever had caused it. From the corner of his left eye, he could see her reel to the side, stumble, and plow head over heels into the snow. Her speed rolled her a couple of times before she staggered to her feet again and shook the snow off.

From the other eye, Thunder saw Scruffy. Finally recognizing the strange thing as prey, the coyote snarled, licked his lips, and leaped. Thunder dodged and ran—not very fast at first, not until he was sure Winterfat was after him, too.