Chapter 12

We used the sun as a guide, so our route remained generally straight except for the occasional forced detour around an obstacle. The trip should take about a month to complete, I figured. Our planned route would take us southwest for a week, then we would turn right and head northwest for the next leg. The next course change would see us traveling northeast, and the final leg, southeast, would take us to the cabin. If everything worked as planned, we’d be home in a month, and by then we’d have a general idea of what was west of the cabin.

Not that I expected to find it immediately at the end of the month, but with luck we would find the stream that ran near the cabin and follow that home. I already knew what lay to the southeast; I had come through there after being transplanted. I thought I would recognize the area if we missed the cabin on our way back.

There might still be things of interest north or east of the cabin, but that would require another trip and I saw no need; the best location for our permanent home lay to the southwest. This trip would tell me which route was safer, at least starting out, and after the second week we could adjust.

We entered unfamiliar territory on the second day. I hadn’t expected problems before that point because we had explored the area while hunting, but from now on everything would be different. We might find almost anything except mountains where we were going, and even that might be possible; based on what the Futurist had said, the geology here might be completely different.

I anticipated that we would soon encounter large animals, including bovines, where we were going. If so, there would also be large predators. Lions, wolves, maybe even sabertoothed cats ... too dangerous! We intended to avoid them if possible. The bovines were dangerous too, but there would be deer as well as smaller game. I expected we would eat well.

We soon worked out a routine. Explore for six or seven hours each day, depending on weather and terrain, then camp. Some of the time I led the way while Lee followed a few paces behind and off to one side. After an hour or so of this, we would swap places. The primary task of the leader was to watch ahead, while the one in trail was ready to provide covering fire. We’d talked about what we might face, including human enemies. Streams and hills slowed us and we detoured around tall-grass plains, but by mid-afternoon we’d be looking for a campsite near a spring or stream. There would be trees and dry wood for a fire.

After setting up camp, we set out our snares and waited. We were usually successful; the animals had never experienced traps, so they weren’t wary. I concluded from their behavior that there were probably no people nearby.

On the fifth day we came to a river, wide, shallow and muddy. But there was little current, so I didn’t anticipate a problem.

The layer of soft mud on the bottom of that river saved our lives.

We had stepped out onto the riverbank to look for a good crossing, because even shallow rivers are dangerous. There might be quicksand or hidden currents that we hadn’t spotted, and while you’re crossing a stream you’re out in the open. Not only are you exposed to predators if there are any, the water slows your movements and even after you reach the bank, there’s no way of telling what might be waiting. You can’t retreat, you can only go forward or to the side, so options are limited. I had been leading, and when I stopped Lee joined me to discuss our options. He was making his own estimate of how we might go about crossing the river, so I don’t know which of us spotted the animal first.

But it had already seen us!

The cat crouched in thin brush across the river, some five yards back from the water and its yellow eyes watched intently. It was considerably larger than a bobcat, but built along the same compact body plan. Smaller than a lion, I guessed. Not a cougar, the short tail ruled that out, plus the color was wrong. This animal had faint dapples of dark brown among the tan shades of its fur. Not that it mattered all that much; whatever it was, it was dangerous.

The stream was at least twenty yards wide, probably more, and a very good thing for us it was because the cat couldn’t cross the river in a single jump.

If it hesitated, as the first cat I’d encountered had, we might have time to get back into the treeline. I glanced at Lee, and without speaking we began backing away, slowly.

But this cat saw us as prey, and we weren’t cooperating! As soon as we started to slowly back away toward the forest, it crept out of cover and headed toward the river.

Not fast, just creeping toward us—so far! We continued backing toward the trees, arrows nocked and bowstrings now almost fully drawn. Perhaps the cat’s approach was a bluff, but whatever its intention we were as prepared as we could be.

The cat sprang into the river, landing almost halfway across. Our arrows struck it immediately, before it could recover and leap again. Lee’s penetrated behind the foreleg, mine punched into its throat where it meets the chest. The cat squalled and tensed for another spring.

In the brief pause before it gained traction, we had drawn replacement arrows, nocked them, and were now drawing back for follow-up shots. The cat hesitated slightly while trying to find firm footing, and two more arrows thumped in. My arrow was slightly off this time, but still struck the front of the cat’s chest, low and inside the shoulder. Lee had also centered his second arrow between the front legs. Blood gouted, staining the dappled fur, as it sprang toward us.

No time for another shot! The beast had reached the water’s edge, and I registered long canine teeth--saber-tooth!--as I grabbed my spear. The heavy dart in the socket was one I’d made, and I had time for a brief thought: was the weapon lethal enough to make a difference, and could I hold off the cat until it collapsed? I was about to find out!