Chapter 426

The Prison Planet

With the thick stick he kept for that purpose, Morales broke apart and stirred the deer’s brain into the brain/piss mixture. Unconsciously grinning, he realized that this would have caused him to throw up only a few weeks ago. Oh, it was still very far from being an appetizing sight or smell, but necessity had changed things, he supposed. If he were away from the cave for a few hours, the smell of the place was obvious when he first returned, but living and working with the hides, both tanned and those undergoing the process, had deadened his senses to the intensity of that particular odor.

Odd, he thought, but even though I usually don’t notice the smell of the hides, my sense of smell is generally much better than when I was on Earth. Outside, he frequently used the sense as he walked through the area. He had first started noticing the odor as he crossed paths used by the wild hogs. Not totally amazing, since they stank, anyway, but it wasn’t long before he noticed other smells as he crossed still different game trails. He wasn’t to the identification stage yet – well, other than the hogs – but he hoped to one day be able to differentiate between the smells. At this stage, all the trails just smelled like animals.

He knew that his sense of smell would never approach an animal’s sensitivity, particularly Lobo’s, but he used the sense a lot more than he had ever thought of doing on Earth. Of course, he had to be much more aware of animals on 2214, not to mention that there weren’t any in the city stalking him like there were here. Here, it was either be aware or be dead. And a lot of the above pertained to his hearing as well. He heard better, probably because he now used the ability more and paid a lot more attention.

Thinking back, he was amazed that he even made it to the cave without getting himself killed that first day. The area was fairly alive with animals. Many of which are armed and dangerous, he thought with a chuckle, and bigger and meaner than they have a right to be, he added.

As he put his stir stick up and turned away from the brain/piss bucket, his eyes fell on Lobo, who was lying a dozen feet away grinning at him. What would have happened if that panther hadn’t attacked Lobo? Would he have gone after me? Shit! He’s probably the most formidable opponent on the whole fucking planet, because he’s so damn smart, not to mention his size, strength and that mouthful of jagged teeth. What would have happened if I hadn’t become his friend? Then chastising himself for his wandering thoughts, I don’t want to think about that. He’s the best friend I’ve ever had – and by far the most loyal. Then with a grin, he thought yet again, Hell, I already know he’s the smartest.

Startling Lobo, Morales went over, knelt down and hugged the wolf’s neck. On a whim, he got a handful of the blueberries to share with the animal, but as Morales sat to eat his share, the hens, and shortly the whole brood, were standing near watching and seemingly begrudging every bite he took. “Ah, shit,” he griped good-naturedly as he got up to get more of the berries. After giving each hen one, he cut the berries in half for the chicks, which left him only a few to eat himself.

When he finished and was wiping his hands, he looked over at Lobo who he could swear was laughing at him. When the chickens realized that the berries were gone, they went back to their area, but Lobo’s grin continued. “Next time, you get to share with them,” Morales declared just to see the wolf’s grin disappear.

“Oh, well. I guess I’ve put off the inevitable as long as I can,” he told his buddy. “Time to work on the hide.” Stretching and scraping the thing wasn’t hard – just boring. Finally, he worked the brain/piss solution into the skin side of the hide, then rolled it up to allow the solution to do its thing. After washing with his strongest lye soap, twice, most of the smell was gone from his hands. Even Lobo had retreated to get away from the odor.

Relieved that the noxious job was done for the moment, he checked his latest attempts at pottery. “I’m not totally sure what the ‘leather’ stage is,” he told the wolf, “but these seem to fit the description even though it hasn’t been as long as the article suggested it would take. Must be the dryness and the heat in here,” he decided. “Whatever. I’m going to try burnishing the things. If I screw up something and I can’t fix it, I’ll just make another one.”

Taking one of his latest jars, he sat on his padded rock and, using a beautifully smooth stone he had found in the bathing area of the stream, began to work it against the inside of the jar. Then, when that was done, he changed to the outside. It wasn’t fast, but it did smooth out the roughness until, after a time, the surface began to be beautifully smooth, even to the touch.

After he had worked through the few new pieces of pottery, he filled them with sand, molding it into a small dome to support the lid. Then mixing the clay to the correct consistency, he began making lids for the jars. Even though he had tried to be exact before, he now had a little more experience and spent extra time getting the lids to fit the tops of the jars as precisely as he could manage. When he had the fit as perfect as he could make them, he marked each jar and mated lid with his knife so he would always be able to position the lid properly for the best seal possible. So far, he hadn’t had any problem with ants, but the syrup would probably be a prime target for them if any did come visiting.

Shortly after three in the morning, thunder woke him. “Shit,” he mumbled. “Go somewhere else. I still have shocks of oats that I haven’t brought in.”

Unfortunately, the storm didn’t pay any attention, and a little later, he smelled rain a moment before he heard it pouring down outside. Normally, the late-night rain was welcome because it cooled things off, but, although it did cool the temperature down, it was a bit different this time. There was a puff of air as the wind shifted direction, and that puff of air was a lot cooler than anything he had felt in the cave to date.

I need to get that wall finished and the hides hung over it. Winter can’t be far off. Shit. The storm must have come from the mountains, he thought as he pulled a hide over Junior and himself. In moments, he was asleep again, only wakening for brief intervals at the crash of nearby thunder.

The storm lasted for thirty minutes or so. Then just before daylight, Lobo came to his feet snarling, which caused Morales to throw the hide back and grab his crossbow. When he was fairly certain whatever had alerted Lobo wasn’t coming down the passageway just yet, he switched on the lantern, and still nude, strapped on his weapons

By then, Lobo was at the bars growling and making noises Morales had seldom heard the wolf utter. Seconds later, something roared. It was a sound that was capable of causing loose bowels in many people, but in the short time he had been on 2214, Morales had heard, seen and done things he had never even imagined on Earth. Thankfully, when he was still in the prison cell, he had believed and immediately started learning how to use a bow, plus reading all he could of the material he had been given. However, even after his tangles with the saber tooth, the bear’s deep, almost subsonic roar was something straight from a nightmare.

Approaching the bars as he held the lantern high, he and Lobo stood to stare out the passageway for a few seconds. Suddenly, there were two, great green eyes looking back at them as Morales hung the lantern on its peg so that his hand would be free. The animal was obviously trying to find a way in other than the narrow passageway that was much too small for its monstrous size. Even on all fours, the bear’s head seemed to be level with Morales’. The rest of the animal was only faintly discernable in the darkness, because of its dark brown/black fur, the narrowness of the passageway and its angry shuffling about as it tried to find a way in.

“Fuck,” Morales hissed, “that son-of-a-bitch is back.”

Raising the crossbow, he aimed into the mass of thrashing fur fifteen feet away. How many bolts will it take to stop this thing? he wondered. If I fire and don’t kill it, I’ll lose my bolts. Then in frustration, Hell, all I can see is black and movement. The fucker takes up the whole space and then some. No fucking way is the crossbow going to kill this thing, and unless I’m fighting for my life, I refuse to wound something and cause it to suffer for a long time before it finally dies.

The logical part of his brain insisted that he should put as many bolts into the bear as he could – no matter where the bolts struck, but another part kept insisting that the bear was no danger to him just now. It would take a lot of digging before the animal could get through the passageway, and he would have ample time to fill it full of bolts then.

As it squalled and roared in its frustration, Morales remembered the pictures the scientists had taken of the cave bears, and the estimates of the brutes’ height and weight. One shot showed a superimposed image of a grizzly standing on its hind feet beside the cave bear that was also standing to reach up into a tree for something. The difference in size was appalling, almost making the grizzly appear to be the cave bear’s small cub.

The bear left the entrance, and Morales was beginning to hope when he realized it was above on the rock that had rolled down the hill sometime in the past to partially block the entrance to the cave. He could hear scratching, and assumed that the animal was trying to dig them out.

The noise stopped for a few minutes, but the bear eventually jammed his head and part of his body into the channel again, roaring out its anger and wafting his bad breath into the cave. Suddenly, it began to dig with a purpose, tearing giant chunks of dirt from the passage walls with each swipe of its huge claw-armored paws.

Again, Morales raised the crossbow, having decided to fire bolts until he ran out or the bear retreated, but the animal stopped to stare at them, seeming to radiate its hate before suddenly turning away.

“Now what?” Morales questioned aloud.

Lobo continued his rumbling growl for a while, but after a time, wandered over and got himself a drink of water before lying down.

“He’s gone?” Morales asked.

Lobo just looked at him.

“Well, shit,” he said, not really knowing why he said it.

As he took his weapon belts off and hung the crossbow on its peg, he realized that his hands were noticeably trembling. As soon as he had gotten his shirt and pants on, Junior ran toward him and launched, his little wings paddling frantically. This time, he almost made it, and wound up clinging to Morales’ shirt just below the shoulder. With a little push, the yellow ball fluttered the rest of the way to cheep loudly while staring at the human’s face.

“Cave bear,” he told the chick. “Big bastard that wants to eat us all.”

“Cheep. Cheep. Cheep,” it insisted.

“Yeah. Me, too,” he agreed.

Realization hit and he looked for the other chickens as he called out to them. Grabbing the lantern, he held it up and walked a few steps farther into the cave before seeing the hens and the other chicks just at the edge of the light. “Come on back, Ladies. It’s gone,” he called out.

He knew that the chickens were normally afraid of the darkness farther into the cave, but apparently they had chosen the lesser of the two evils. Somehow, it made him feel better to think that they would survive even if the bear got to him.

As soon as the chickens ventured back, he fed them corn and oats, giving them an extra portion this morning.

It wasn’t daylight yet, but he knew he wouldn’t go back to sleep after the excitement, so he started the cook fire. Glancing over at Lobo, he remembered that the wolf had not left his side during the confrontation, but continued growling and snarling the whole time. It worried him more that the wolf stood his ground rather than retreating. He knew that Lobo would attack as soon as he could get to the bear – attack and die. There was no room to maneuver in the passageway, or even in the cave, as far as that was concerned.