Part Six
"Six miles to rescue." Neil mused to himself, scheming one plan after another, trying to figure out a means of crossing the deadly meadow. With a shake of his head and a deep groan, everything seemed futile. In every idea his imagination eventually lead to being surrounded and dead. There was no way to cut through the giant spiders, nor out run them. For now, the direct route was impassible.
Neil would have to go around the meadow, which added many miles of vicious forest to the journey. "Six plus miles to rescue," he corrected himself somberly.
The hunter finished wrapping and twisting long bark strips into the last section of rope. Two hours of labor amounted to three twenty foot lashings, and eighteen feet of rope. He ceased making cordage, as ignoring the hunger any further proved too painful. The phantom taste of moist fish, steaming with fresh heat from the fire, spiced with char and smoke, invaded his senses and mercilessly tested his sanity.
The berries ceased to sate. This discomfort made him sick, put his nerves on edge, and left his brain in a haze. Neil complained with his face in his hands, "hypoglycemia suuucks!" He eyed through parted fingers to the brook several yards away with a sharpened vigor.
He took the single new fishing spear he fashioned while making rope and approached the brook edge. Looking into the still pool's clear water, he spied the fat fish. The rookie hunter named it, Moby Dick. It was acceptably white, the biggest fish in the pool, and it earned his vengeance. Look at that fat fuck practically mocking him, swimming around like it owns the place, like he was no threat at all!
Or... maybe it was just minding its own business.
Before he dipped a foot in the pool, sudden writhing stomach pains struck violently. Gasping in fear of losing control, Neil dropped his spear, and raced for a bush. Nature hadn't called; it screamed. Apparently, eating one's fill of berries and crawdads for over twenty-four hours leads to violent, and foul, consequences.
After the purge, and cleansing as best as he could, Neil buried the mess, then walked with quivering legs to the campfire to recover his strength. He took a seat away from the heat. When mixed with the cold sweat, it worsened his nausea, for some reason. While hugging his knees to alleviate the pain, the puppy came by and bumped his ankle with its head in a feline fashion, then sat between his legs, locking big youthful eyes with Neil's pain saddened gaze. There was genuine sympathy in them. How curious.
"It's alright, girl." Neil rubbed a shaky hand over its surprisingly soft bark. In fact, the skin of this pup felt softer than cork. It even stretched, to his astonishment. And, yet, it was tougher and thicker than normal skin. Neil wondered just how durable it was. The timberwolf felt room temperature, perhaps no warmer than 70 degrees.
The pup panted like a dog, but it also began purring. Maybe, it's not merely imitating a dog, or cat, but genuinely has their characteristics? Neil gasped in a sudden revelation of insight: if that's true, then this creature, these timberwolves, are symbionts! How could some genus of plant life form a symbiosis with two different mammals during its evolution? The notion boggled Neil's mind.
How many established avenues of science would be shattered by this creature?
Maybe, he was getting ahead of himself. Perhaps, this really is just an imitation and not actual symbiosis. "Whatever you are, girl, you're certainly incredible." Neil smiled down to her. He decided to study it from now on, record the findings, and keep the journal for himself. It is unlikely anyone would believe it anyway, even if he escaped this prison.
His thoughts changed gear as the boy wrote down things about the timberwolf. Neil rhetorically asked while pointing at the creature, "do you have a gender?" He continued more to himself, "if you are a symbiont, you should have one. Even plants are dimorphic, so are mammals but in a different way."
The pup blissfully continued to purr and pant, still sitting by his ankle. Her little mycelium covered tongue hung to the side of her mouth. The boy reached down to scratch her behind the ear. She loved it.
Neil chuckled, then smirked while thinking sarcastically, maybe I should ask Luna.
A chill up his spine cooled his warm gaze, as he stared into space. Luna, the dream named the disease that nearly killed his new pet, and mentioned its cure. A dream cannot grant someone knowledge they hadn't previously known... could it? If Luna had taught him something new, would that not count as evidence she was telling the truth? He couldn't know something beyond his mind, which logically meant she was not a part of it. Neil's challenge to Luna rang in his mind again. The line between fantasy and reality had grown dangerously thin of late.
Neil quickly took the book of edible and medical fauna, and under mosses and lichens he found a passage about Spanish moss, or old man's beard. It had antimicrobial properties and made a great wound dressing. Best of all, he knew of it before meeting Luna. Neil sighed in relief, thinking his brain was merely tricking him; yet, the disgusting eye of that mort-form still glared at him from the past.
The line grew yet thinner.
A knot formed in his stomach, and he placed the book back on the large slate next to him. According to Luna, she was a dream walking telepathic alien princess. Now, there were some strange things in this nightmare of a forest, Neil must admit; but, a line in all this crazy must be drawn somewhere! Murder symbiont monstrosities that also heal wounds with their saliva? Alright, that's apparently real. Giant fuck off spiders that will eat your face? Okay, why not? But brain invading aliens? Fuuck that noise! Neil would rather pee lightening than deal with such a mary sue of a creature.
What could he do against a thing like that, fight it with sharp sticks and sarcasm? Or, maybe it would just lobotomize him from a distance immediately. He could see how such an encounter might go:
Gadzooks, free will? Forsooth, I have no use for that.
Zink
Now, no slave has need of a personality.
Zap
And only a necessary amount of intellect is required.
Zzurt
I suppose that will do, for now. Come hither, slave, and follow.
"Uugh." Neil the lobotomite obeyed, dragging his feet like Igor from Frankenstein.
"Over my dead body!" Neil violently broke a thin tree limb over his knee and fed it to the campfire, then sighed at himself. This is nonsensical. He must be making some grievous mistake somewhere. Clearly, his mind is enfeebled by hunger. Things should start making sense again after a good meal.
Scowling, he took Manly's book, on Becoming a Cavemen, and flipped through it. Neil gazed upon a gripping and unsettling passage under Chapter 5, the Art of the Hunt.
One secret to the art of spear fishing is understanding that water refracts light. Objects under the water's surface appear higher than they actually are. Therefore, the trick is to aim slightly below the fish. If the goal is not to throw the spear, aim the tip underneath the surface before striking.
"Water refraction, I forgot!" Neil could scream at himself. Ranting under his breath, he knocked his head with both fists. "I'm so stupid, stupid, stupid." The would-be fishermen silently wished for a photographic memory. He stood to finally reap his dinner.
Curiously, the timberwolf watched Neil grab the sharp stick from the ground and return to the quiet pool. She followed and sat to peer over the still water. What was the friendly large thing going to do with that stick?
Neil took a centering breath. Gripping the pronged spear, shin deep in the pool, he poised the tip underneath the water and waited. Moby Dick drew close, chasing another crawdad for dinner. The sun, still young in the sky, had set for this trout.
Spear tip wet, predatory eyes locked on the pray, Neil aimed below the moving fat trout's image. It swam close enough, and before it ate the crayfish, the hunter drove the spear straight into the creature. A modicum of disbelief rushed with his quickening heart as the spear's handle tugged in his grip. Pulling the tool above the water, Neil beheld the beautiful sight of a first real meal. He howled to the wilds, "Thus, I give up the spear!"
After gutting and roasting the prize over the crackling campfire, Neil pulled off a piece of steaming flaky meat from the skewered trout. He ate and rolled his eyes in ecstasy, savoring slowly this most decadent thing. Although, that might be the hunger talking. Taking the skewer from the fire, the ravenous boy dug in. After finishing, Neil promptly left to catch another. He returned with three more fish and had himself a feast.
All the while, his pet timberwolf stayed at a distance, watching him with a keen interest. Neil finished the last of the fish after an hour of dinning. Finally, his hunger pains were gone. He tossed the leftovers beyond the tree line and face palmed in sudden realization they would've made a good broth. Too late now. The forest's blanket of dead leaves had eaten the bones happily; but, he managed to recover three heads and two tails.
Filling his charred lunch box halfway with water by the brook side, the breeze shifted and Neil swore he smelled a smell, the kind of smell that smelled smelly, smelly like pizza. He spied a bushy plant with lush purple flower clusters growing from long green stems. Inspecting the plant closer, he recognized the pleasant odor. Sampling the plant's green leaf confirmed his suspicion.
"It's oregano, wild oregano!" This will make a great spice for the broth.
At the fire, Neil placed the fish parts and the herb in the box and set it on some glowing coals. Fed and content for the moment, he lied back to rest on the log and soak up some heat from the crackling fire. There was a slight nip in the air. The temperature had dropped fast; or, maybe Neil was too distracted by hunger to notice at first? Rubbing his exposed arms for warmth, Neil had no way of knowing the temperature without his phone.
Neil gasped like a fish out of water before raising to his feet frantically, startling the timberwolf pup laying by his side. "I forgot about my phone!" He searched his pant pockets and found them empty, save for some pebbles and crushed leaf residue. He felt this prickle slowly ascend his back palm suddenly. It was a tick!
"Graaaahhh!" Neil flicked the parasite off. How long had it been in there?! Apparently, the little bastard was fed tactical strike plans from the Viet Cong and ambushed him from his pocket! Wait, he shook his pants over by that pine tree yesterday!
Quickly searching the area by the very tree, he saw his smartphone atop the leaves on the ground. Snatching it, Neil checked the battery. It read 40%. The time was 8:43 P.M., and it detected no signal, of course. So much for calling for help. If there is a residence not seven miles away, then how can there be zero service? What the hell is this, Wyoming?
"Hey, Wyoming!" Neil yelled to the wilds, "you have a demonic mold and symbiont problem!" Hey, that explains why Wyoming is the least populated state in the country. Yeah, the people are too busy dying in the forest, alone, and without phone service! Disgusted, Neil just returned to camp.
Sitting on the log, and retrieving his fish broth from the fire, Neil ironed out what to do next while sipping the snack. "Huh, not bad." The wild oregano was fragrant, with notes of citrus, and the broth warmed his bones. It was like a comfort food.
Neil had some time left until midday... wait, what? Neil checked the phone again. The time read 8:54 P.M. His jaw slowly drooped. Disbelieving his eyes, they widened and swept side to side. Neil scowled at the sun peeking through the thick canopy, still hours behind hanging above his head. Both time instruments agreed, his broken watch, and phone, it should be near dusk already.
What the fuck? Neil's blood pressure rose. "Maybe I'm on a different part of the planet and switched timezones?" He placed a hand over his pounding heart to steady it. "Yeah, I'm just in a different timezone. That's all."
Suddenly, the treeline rustled. Head darting to see what made the noise, Neil noticed the puppy hugging low to the ground. Her branchlike ears pinned back to the head, she prepared to pounce on something moving in the brush.
She leaped into the leaves and rustled with whatever she caught. Frantic squeaks and eeps erupted from the commotion, then silence. The symbiont returned from the brush, holding a large dead rat in her jaws triumphantly. Little stick tail wagging, she placed the rodent at Neil's feet, panting with a smug grin.
"Wooah, girl! This is for me?" Wide eyed, he held up the plump kill. This forest rat was bigger than her, but it didn't stand a chance! "Look what you did!" He rubbed her head affectionately. "Good girl! What a little hunter you are! This will make a nice stew." Guess who'll guard the camp when I'm out?
Hunter, provider, protector, mmmm... that inspired Neil with a possible name. "Artemis."
The wolf's ears perked up, and the evergreen needles attached vibrated. She didn't know what that meant; but, something about the sound sent shivers through her body. Deep down, it felt like that was meant for her. The big thing said it again, louder, "Artemis." She barked and wagged her tail. It was definitely saying that for her.
"She is the Greek goddess of the hunt, and of magic." Neil leaned down to her. "Is that you, Artemis?"
Artemis jumped into the thing's lap, and let it know much she loved that sound by bumping him on the head with hers.
Neil smiled at how excited she was over her new name. He held her small form up. "It's settled." She licked his face. He didn't mind the strong smell of penicillin. It's the cleanest his cheek had been since the fall.
Wanting to test something, he set her down on the ground. Artemis had demonstrated an acute intellect, and Neil wanted to know just how smart a symbiont was. He pointed to himself and said his name. "Neil." He pointed to her. "Artemis." He did this two more times.
The timberwolf stared with its head cocked, studying his every move keenly.
"Okay, here goes." Neil breathed, then said without pointing, "Artemis."
The wolf remained staring quizzically. It did nothing more.
Neil face-palmed. "Ugh. What am I doing teaching an animal English?" But, just as he let his hand fall, Artemis had placed a paw onto her chest. His eyes bulged from their sockets. "Whoa!" He swallowed the lump in his throat, and dared to ask, "Neil?"
Artemis rose, walked over to him, then placed a paw onto his leg. Something of a knowing smile was plastered on her face as she panted up to him. He could swear the words, did I do it? lurked behind her young glowing eyes.
“By Plato's beard, how smart are you!?" Neil scratched both sides of her jaw, and she nearly fell over kicking her leg. "You're perfect, and so is your name."
The pup recovered, then contemplated this exchange. This thing was called a, Neil, what a strange sound. Neils are friendly, give wonderful scratches, can hold water, and save your life. Artemis concluded that Neils are amazing, and beautiful! This Neil is now a timberwolf. He is part of her family, and she will never leave him.
Sighing contentedly, Neil rose from his seat, and wrote down his discovery on timberwolves. After, he took the other notebook from his backpack and read the list of objectives for the week again. "Finding food in this forest with just a stone spear is proving to be bad idea. I need a ranged weapon." He pondered aloud, "I don't have time to make a bow today. That might take several days. I need something comparable in the mean time. Hmmmm." Neil considered his materials, and time, then snapped his fingers. "Ah ha! The atlatl! That compromises between a spear and a bow."
Neil took Manly's book and read the part about making the weapon:
As the ingenuity of primitive man expanded, so too did their weapons become deadlier and more sophisticated. When our ancestors hunted or fought for survival, simple throwing spears where used to great effect. However, this practice was done in groups that covered for those who deprived themselves of their spears. So, if but one man released his spear he would become the pray, unless the target died before reaching him. Further still, the throwing power of the human arm alone is uncomfortably limited.
However, one clever caveman discovered that using a notched cane to throw spears instead was a vast improvement. This is the Atlatl, or more simply, a spear-thrower. Its leverage launched the projectile with more power, at deadlier speeds, and from a safer distance to the target than by hand. The spears evolved into long slender darts with feathers fletched to the base for better stability. Small weights, called bannerstones, were later tied to the midsection of the atlatl to improve its power, range, accuracy, and to help further silence it when fired.
The atlatl dominated the face of primitive hunting and warfare until the advent of the bow. Any aspiring caveman would be foolish to overlook this tool.
All details for making the perfect spear-thrower were contained in this chapter. Using the picture provided as a guide, Neil gathered the supplies, and built an atlatl as close to the image as he could. Now, the sun was finally above his head, midday at last.
Wasting no time, Neil built a mud target and several practice fire hardened darts out of some black bamboo he found nearby. The length of the projectiles amazed him; they were like noodle spears. He couldn't fletch them yet. No need to anyway, not for practicing.
Artemis watched Neil toss a really long stick with a small stick at some dirt. She didn't understand this game; but, watching amused her.
I Missed. Neil sighed, the first of many. He had practiced archery when he was young; that was far more difficult than shooting a rifle. But, this was in a league of it own. How anyone could feed themselves with this awkward 'weapon' seemed like magic. The next shot stayed on the notch and embedded itself two feet in front of him. If this wasn't real life, the Seinfeld theme would be playing. "This could take a while."
For the rest of the evening, Neil practiced his ranged skills, and after coming to terms that his phone will die eventually, he wanted to build a sundial, but lacked the sunlight to do it. The scowling boy flipped off the sun choking canopy above. "Prick."
Taking a break from shooting, the survivor built some more advanced tools: a stone axe, hatchet, and an adze. The hardest part was shaping the basalt chunks into axe heads and grinding the edges to a smooth polish to strengthen it. While scouting the woods for handles, he also found a nice straight branch that will, eventually, become his bow. After the work, his back ached from being hunched over for so long, not to mention his fingers felt like falling off.
With these tools, improving the campsite was only a matter of time, and nothing could stop him now.
At least, the boy believed his success was inevitable, and operated with the conviction as he practiced shooting, gathering supplies, fishing, and foraging. Three days later, Neil felt confident enough to leave the camp for the first time since nearly dying in the deadly meadow. Artemis stayed behind.
The plan today was to hunt his first deer. His darts where flint tipped and fletched with crow feathers after he caught one in a deadfall trap. Luckily, the bird loved fish heads a little too much.
The boy traveled in a new direction over the brook. He saw no deer, but remained optimistic. They where everywhere when he wasn't hunting them. Of course, now, he couldn't find one after an hour of trekking. He didn't give up and pressed on. Soon, he pushed through some thick brush that came up to his abdomen before hearing something snap some twigs nearby. Neil ducked into the bushes and waited.
Maybe it's a deer, he wondered hopefully, holding fast his atlatl and dart quiver strung to his hip. An excited smile grew on his scarred features. However, the steps grew louder and heavier. Moments later, the forest vibrated under his feet with each step the thing took. The shaking grew stronger, and Neil's skin tingled as the hair of his neck stood up. His gut screamed danger. This was no deer.
Nothing could have been more true.
Just when Neil wondered if he should slowly edge out of this quagmire, it swallowed him in. Something, some massive creature ruptured from the forest's shadowy edge but twenty yards away. It lumbered forth. The ground shook under each monstrous step.
Neil's blood chilled in his veins. His muscles spasmed before solidifying in paralyzed terror. His frozen wide eyes took the beast's form in its every unholy detail.
The living horror, drawing close enough he could smell it, was nearly too heinous to describe. The creature looked as though hundreds of equally horrible beasts tried to kill it, but failed. Scars and patches of missing gray fur both large and small tore across it's muscled furred body, leaving it a hideous patchwork of pain and past savagery. Huge mud stained paws gripped into the ground with claws that better resembled dirty scythes.
It's bat-like wings were ripped in the fleshy webbing and healed over chunks of missing meat dotted the wing frames. While, a giant scorpion tail hung above, poised to strike at a moment's notice. Scratches and light gashes littered the tail's thick exoskeleton.
Sniffing the air, and grunting in low bone rattling growls, the thirsting thing loomed its massive head to stare at the boy. A crazed unearthly look in its eyes sucked the courage from Neil's soul.
Surely it couldn't see him, hiding in the shadows of the brush. The hole between Neil and the patchwork beast was just large enough to peer through, but not see into from the other side... right? Every inch of the thing screamed death and doom. He was dead if it saw him.
Its eyes scanned the treeline, then walked on and vanished into the darkness of the thicker undergrowth beyond. Neil's muscles relaxed and shook as he breathed like the oxygen had been sucked from his blood. He rose slowly to retreat back to camp. No deer is worth whatever that thing was.
Then, in mid rise to his feet, he knew exactly what it was: a manticore, and a goddamn freak of one too. A living mythological beast stalked this forest. This is actually impossible. Manticores are not real. They can't be! He must have... have... Neil tried to calm his breathing. Despite everything, the monster wasn't the only issue, the insinuation bred by its existence was.
This is not earth, Neil finally admitted to himself as he fell to his knees. Only the rotting dead leaves greeted them. Everything culminated into this one moment; the manticore was the catalyst. He was marooned on an alien planet. Helen was an alien. Trisha was right; and, Neil is a deadman. He wished he died in that fall. Rescue was never coming. There is no hope for safety, save the amount he can carve from this hell for himself with his bare hands.
Looking at them, then his arms, and feeling his body, he concluded coldly that he is pathetic. A worm of thin muscles and frail constitution, he is weak. He needs to get stronger, faster, smarter, quickly. It will take more than sticks and stone age wisdom to avail life here. No. Not even his ancestors can help him now. Neil will need every ounce of his humanity to survive at all.
There is no longer a six miles to rescue. There is no red roof of safety; whatever built that roof is not human.
He is the only human here.
It's only him, and the monsters.
Neil scanned his surroundings with new a perspective. He wasn't going home. This is now home. "I'm going to live here for the rest of my life; and if this place will be my grave, I won't live quietly." Something powerful came over the boy, something old, and dark; it swallowed him. Only a light at the end remained, where he must go from here. "I won't cower in the shadows, or in the night. I will become them.
"Let every abomination in this foul place hear me, from the tallest branch to the lowest pit." Neil swore in a low growl, as he turned to face the cracked stump of a pine the manticore snapped in half, "there is no nightmare imaginable here that I cannot defeat. None can eclipse my right to live." In disgust, he scowled intensely at his skinny arms. "This worm will train and grow. I will wear the hides of my predators on my shoulders and clean my teeth with their bones! I will be the scariest creature on this foul planet."
Neil turned and left for home-base. The fire burning inside his soul set any doubts alight.
It's only him now; but, soon it will be the monsters that will run and hide.
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Before I read this, I must know: Why wouldn't the ponies welcome him with open arms?
Alright, another chapter 😃
9513198
If a space gorilla came into your back yard from the woods, covered in animal skins, and loaded with spears and other weapons, would you?
A human to them would be like that.
I made an error about the time during the fishing part. I fixed it.
Not all plants or animals are dimorphic. And one species of lizards are somehow all female.
Where do you live that 70 degrees is room temperature? Near an active volcano in the middle of summer?
Now for (potential) errors:
many?
mary?
Was the comma to indicate a pause?
9514074
and reproduce without a mate, right?
9514125
Potatoes, ferns, mosses, and other types can and do reproduce asexually and there self pollinating plants. Most if not all fungi reproduce asexually. And plenty of reptiles and insects have been observed to reproduce through parthenogenesis, an asexual form of reproduction. I see no reason a possible plant/animal/fungle hybrid couldn't reproduce on it's own.
9514125
And Smurfs! In my head cannon they're some kind of animal/fungus symbiosis and the "magic" that Gargomel is after is more along the lines of halucinogen or other drug and less hocus pocus.
9514074
True. Certain species have unique ways of dealing with dimorphism. Some, like the earthworm, can change their sex at will. It’s really cool.
9514124
70 degrees Fahrenheit is room temperature to certain people.
9514124
Nicely done. Fixed.
9514124
that's a good temperature for my wife. My daughter and I prefer it a little cooler.
9515189
My mom is the same. Anything below 68 is freezing.
9515066
Yeah, I live in not america, so I use the metric system.
9516159
I kinda wish America would go with metric so we can stop having to convert. I'm not for conformity in all things, but metric is so much easier to convert within than American standard. And Japan has a lot to teach US in education for sure.
2 Chapter later Neil discover the Bronze Age.
Well see, I hear there's this unique creature called an apostrophe, it looks like this '.
I hear that if you pray hard enough you might find one, twice every golden moon.
On a side note, good so far.
The pain is quite realistic, mostly.