Chapter 304

The Prison Planet

Morales' entrance fire had burned down some. He got up to stretch and add more wood so it would blaze up a little higher. Before dark, he had dragged in a longer log to put on his fire to make a prolonged burning base. It was slow to catch fire, since he had not split it, but once it finally did catch, it would burn for a much longer time than the smaller pieces of split wood, although it wouldn't blaze up very much. The idea for a longer-lasting fire had come from one of his books. He desperately wanted to maintain his fire, not only to hopefully prevent animal attacks, but because he was afraid if he lost the fire, he would be unable to start another one, since he had failed to gather more tinder before it rained.

He vowed to collect ample tinder once the woods had dried again, but the need hadn't previously occurred to his city-oriented mind. In case things should go wrong, he selected a piece of fairly soft squaw wood from his stash and used his knife to shave off a small pile of slivers that he thought would catch from a spark. If that didn't work, he had the lighters in his case, but he intended to save them for desperate times. I wonder what other things I haven't thought of. He took a sip of water before setting his canteen near him. "Shit, why didn't they send some coffee with me? Even without the proper way to make it, I could at least boil some in a pot," he snarled aloud. I'm so damn sleepy I'm having trouble concentrating, but I need more knowledge of this world to survive. Fuck those bastards. I am not going to let this place kill me.

Fighting sleep, he picked up his canteen and poured water over his head, making sure none spilled on the book he was trying to read. They said the pages were nearly indestructible, but I don't dare risk any of my books. Hell, without them, I would probably already be dead.

"Damn!" he exclaimed aloud in his frustration. I read too fucking slow, and I don't understand some of the words. Why couldn't these fucking scientists, or whoever the fuck wrote this stuff, have written their shit in plain English? At least someone had sense enough to put a dictionary in my case, but I spend too fucking much time looking up words and terms. Some of them, I can't even find in the dictionary. Shit, why didn't I spend time reading like my mother tried to get me to do? Hanging with the guys when I was in high school seemed like the thing to do at the time, but I didn't learn much about anything that really mattered. C's and D's got me out of school, but I didn't learn shit. I wish I had been as smart as I thought I was then.

He remembered a counselor telling him that he was reasonably intelligent, and the guy had tried to encourage him to study. At the time, he was too rebellious to listen. Now, he fervently wished that had not been the case.

Frustrated, he got up to piss in his brain bucket. Shit, that stinks, and sooner or later I'll have to put my hands in it to rub it into the hide. That's fucking gross, but come winter, I'm going to need something to keep my ass from freezing to death. He put the lid back on the bucket and resumed sitting on his rock.

This rock is going to put calluses on my ass. I don't have a fucking thing to put under me to sit on. Another reason to cure some hides, he thought as he resumed trying to study about his new planet. Then a thought struck him. Crap, I left Robertson's shirt soaking in the stream. I put a rock on it to keep it from washing away. I hope the damn shirt is still there.

Again, he heard the eerie scream in the distance. Is that bastard closer? he wondered. Goose bumps formed on his neck and arms as he looked toward the entrance. The boulder that must have rolled down the mountain sometime in the distant past had partially sealed the opening of the cave. Dirt, either coming with it or from a later slide, had buried most of the boulder until it had become almost part of the cave, leaving only a narrow entranceway. He had positioned his pole barrier/gate just behind the rock, and with the barrier, coupled with the narrow entrance, he hoped that any large animal wouldn't bother trying to get in. Staring at the entrance and the darkness beyond, he unconsciously shook his head.

If I can squeeze through that, a big cat might be able to as well, but with the narrow passage and the pole wall, surely the two would slow it down long enough for me to fill it full of crossbow bolts and arrows.

The thing, whatever it was, screamed again. Shit, it is closer. For the seeming hundredth time, he checked his weapons, suddenly no longer sleepy.

As the night drifted on, he continued trying to scan first one article then another. But even with his worry about the occasionally screaming animal that he figured was one of the large tusked cats he had seen pictures of in the books, he dozed off, eventually dropping the book onto his lap as sleep overcame his exhaustion.

Sometime later, he jerked awake. He didn't know what had awakened him, but as he closed his book, he heard it: a snuffling/sniffing sound and an odd something that sounded like a cough from a huge beast – at least that was what his mind screamed at him. The crossbow was in his hands without conscious thought, the adrenaline surge stronger than anything he had ever felt.

Momentarily, terror froze him in place, but he managed to fight through it to some extent. With his crossbow in hand, he grabbed up another piece of wood to add to the entrance fire, then when nothing happened, he added several more pieces. As the fire slowly increased, he crouched fifteen feet or so from the entrance, his shaking hands clutching his cocked crossbow, and his bow with an arrow lying across it at his feet.

There was total quiet for a time, then he saw glowing orange eyes reflecting the firelight and a faint image of something huge as the cat, snarling and scratching at the dirt wall, tried to force its way through the narrow channel. With his mind just this side of gibbering insanely, he brought the crossbow up and yanked the trigger. Unnoticed by him, the bolt slammed into one of the gate poles, the sound of the crossbow's release loud in the stillness of the cave.

He fumblingly re-cocked his crossbow, slotted another bolt, then finally thinking more rationally, grabbed the end of a burning branch and shoved it as hard as he could between the poles. It traveled only a few feet, but then the cat was less than a dozen feet away. He must have hit it in the face because it screamed in fury and pain, then before his shaking hands could bring the crossbow to bear, it pried itself from the entrance and disappeared from sight.

He could hear it crashing through the undergrowth as it charged down the hill. Long minutes passed as he hunkered near the entrance, waiting. After an interminable time, he stumbled back to sit on his rock, his body still shaking as the aftereffects of the adrenaline flood continued to course through his veins.

Putting the crossbow down beside him, he grabbed up his canteen, his shaking hands spilling water down his chin as he tried to drink. "Shit. Shit. Shit," he muttered aloud as he capped his canteen and tried to set it upright beside him, only to see it fall over. It took two tries to get it to stay vertical.

Fuck. I panicked. I fucking panicked, he derided himself. If I hadn't thought to throw that burning stick at him, no telling what would have happened. Why didn't I take my time and shoot the bastard? Instead, I snapped off a shot without aiming. But how in the hell did I miss the thing? It seemed to be filling the entrance as best I could see. As he focused on the entrance poles, he suddenly spotted what had happened to his crossbow bolt.

"Shit," he snarled aloud as he got up to check the obviously broken bolt. The broadhead had struck the very top pole, penetrating a couple inches or so into the hard wood, but the dangling shaft was only attached to the broadhead by a fiber or two. Shit, even if the bolt had not hit the pole, it would have missed the cat by several feet. "I fucking panicked," he muttered to himself.

Setting his crossbow close to hand, he took out his knife and carefully carved the broadhead out of the pole. The head was mangled, but intact. He knew it could be straightened, but it would never be perfect again. The shaft of the bolt was a write-off. Maybe I can save the fletching, anyway. Shit. I've only been here a couple days and I've already lost a bolt. I should have moved closer to be sure I didn't hit a pole, and ... I should have taken my time and fucking aimed. "Shit, shit. Shit!" he half screamed.

After he had calmed somewhat, "I lived through it," he lectured himself. "Learn from it, Dummy. Yeah, right. Learn or die," he continued the thought silently. Back at his rock/chair, he took out his straightening tool to work on the broadhead, his hands having finally stopped shaking. When it was as straight as he could get it, he put it aside and returned the tool to the pouch on his belt.

With the way the cat had crashed down the hillside after having its face burned, he figured it would think twice about coming back tonight. With his desperation to bring in enough wood, kill an animal for food and develop a torch to see with at night, he had put off exploring the cave, but after the adrenaline surge and the cat attack, he was too pumped to sleep.

Opening his case, he took out the short fishing rod and removed the reel. There were two more spools of line, their labels stating that there was 300 meters of 80 pound test line on each. The line already installed on the reel seemed to be the same. He pulled some of the line off, tying the end securely to one of his entrance poles, making sure the line would stay clear of the fire.

After attaching the reel to his belt in the back, the brake adjusted to its lowest setting, he took down one of his reading torches from the wall, and with an extra unlit one stuck under his belt in the front, and his crossbow over his shoulder, he picked up his bow. Cautiously, he began to make his way into the darkness of the cave, the fishing line playing out behind him.

The flickering light of the torch cast eerie shadows on the walls as he made the first turn and continued deeper into the cave. I had no idea it extended this far into the hillside, he thought as he paused to look back behind him, but all he could see was blackness. I need more light than this, he told himself, worried about stepping into an unseen hole or shaft in the darkness, not to mention the fear of getting lost. The cave branched several times, but each time he kept to what seemed to be the wider of the passages.

As he edged deeper into the cave, the slight breeze that blew toward the entrance felt a little stronger. Finally, with the rough walls and ceiling seeming to press down on him, even though the passage had not diminished in size, he stopped. Turning yet again to look behind him to make sure his line was still spooling out properly, he let out an audible sigh. He knew it was mental, but the flickering light of the torch seemed to reach out less and less as he held it high above his head to look around. The passage varied occasionally, sometimes staggering its crooked way past walls that consisted mostly of hard-packed dirt, but there were areas of boulders and jagged rocks that made him wonder yet again what had caused the cave to be created.

He glanced at the burning cattail torch. I don't know much about these things. What if it goes out and I can't get the second one to light? The two I have used lit fairly easily, and they seem like they are going to last for several hours at least, but can I really trust them? What if I break the fishing line? Stopping again, he looked both ways. Blackness in either direction, but he could see the fishing line trailing behind him, at least for the short distance the weak light provided. I know the line is strong, but what if it got in the fire as I let it out behind me? Deep down, he knew he had secured the line tightly and made sure it would stay clear of the fire, but his imagination grew stronger the deeper he went into the darkness of the cave.

Shit, I'm scaring myself, but still... After what seemed like an hour, but was likely only twenty minutes, he turned back toward the entrance, exasperated at himself. He cautiously made his way back out of the rubble strewn passage, reeling in the line as he went. Later, back at the entrance, he sat and took a drink of water from his canteen, ashamed at his fear of the seemingly endless cave. Does this thing come out on the other side of this big hill? he wondered. Do I have to worry about that cat coming up behind me from another entrance? That's all I fucking need.

He decided to warm some of the meat to eat. I need to hunt tomorrow – or today. Who the fuck knows what time it is? The meat still looked okay and it didn't smell as if it had gone bad.

I should back my ears and explore this cave all the way. If there's another entrance, I need to block it so that thing can't come in on me from another direction. Stopping his pacing, he held his torch out as he stood looking at the nearby walls. Mostly dirt with occasional rock outcroppings, he thought. I could cut shelves in the packed dirt with my shovel and pick. Then I would have a place to store the contents of my case, which would allow me to more fully understand what I have, and just as importantly, allow me to get at it when I need it.