Confrontation (The Seamus Chronicles Book 4) Page 10

  “Seamus, stop advertising our presence and come on over,” Mike finally calls to me.

  As I make my way through the bushes, I realize that they are farther away than I expected. Mike and David have taken advantage of the large leaves and the thick vegetation; our tent is almost completely concealed.

  “If the creatures are watching for us, they will likely monitor the river plane and beyond it. They wouldn’t be looking here because it makes no sense for us to stop here. That’s why we stopped here,” Mike explains.

  Extrapolating further is not that difficult. If the natives live another hour beyond the river, we can arrive refreshed and ready. If we had left our village fully rested and made it to our destination, we would be exhausted for the important encounter.

  Do the easy thing while you’re exhausted and set yourself up to face the hard tasks with all your faculties. We won’t need water tonight and the tents we brought provide more than enough shelter. When we do cross the river, we can refill our canteens, effectively buying ourselves another day of distance.

  “Seamus, you get the first watch. If you see anything, wake me silently. I will alert the others if the situation requires.” Mike places a gun on the ground at my feet and ducks into the tent.

  My initial reaction is to laugh about the tent. There are no bugs and the chances of rain are slim. The temperature is perfect, so they don’t need the tent for warmth. For a few Locus weeks after we arrived, we slept out in the open. We had no choice. Now I guess we’re back to old habits.

  Once I hear Mike snoring, I close my eyes and go to sleep. I am not afraid of the natives and don’t believe that there is anything to watch out for. Hopefully I’ll wake up before Mike and avoid an argument.

  The walking is still my least favorite thing. We had a great night’s sleep, and I was actually the first one awake. Now I’m ready to go back to bed.

  Our group separated from the other guys before crossing the river. In the event that we have to beat a hasty retreat and the creatures try to track us, we can cause a little confusion. It’s logical, but feels kind of foolish. They know where our village is.

  We have no walkie-talkies or means of communicating with the other group. There was an elaborate watch synchronization ceremony before we split—another logical but useless act. It was arbitrarily decided that in ten hours both groups would be in position and ready to rescue Luke and Sonjia.

  Mike made the point that not knowing doesn’t have to mean not planning. We can correct or improve a flawed plan, but once we separate we cannot come up with a new approach. My guess is that they have an agreed-upon timeline in the event that we have not reached the native’s camp within the ten-hour window. They just didn’t clue me in on that plan.

  By my watch, we have been going for seven hours. Progress is slow and difficult. There is no natural trail and the underbrush here is denser than back where we made our village.

  If we were in a movie, there would be a guide out front mindlessly using a machete to chop at vines. There would be witty banter and a sense of camaraderie pervading the whole scene.

  We have no machete and the three of us have been mostly silent for the whole day. It is an un-cinematic scene, but I’m okay with that. The movie version would have the point person shot or blown up as soon as the camp comes into view. Seeing how I am walking in the front right now, I’m perfectly fine with the boring version.

  Ducking under a giant leaf, I lift my head up to a surreal sight. In front of me in a clearing is a structure that looks eerily similar to our central cabin. The noticeable difference is in size; this one is larger than ours, but the proportions appear to be consistent.

  Chapter 18

  Mike watched the cabin for a few minutes before we pulled back. The three of us sat in more silence and rested until the ten-hour mark arrived.

  We are all scared. I can tell because the ten-hour mark came and went without movement. Eventually Mike stood and declared that it was time. If the others were causing a distraction, we likely missed it. I can totally understand being scared, but Mike should leave leadership and guns to the people who can follow through on plans even when they are scared.

  The three of us quietly enter the clearing. Between the jungle and the cabin is nothing but open space. Mike darts across and turns his back to the cabin.

  After surveying the area, he waves David over. Both of our weapons are in the same spot and totally exposed. I’m not a military genius, but I can tell that this is a mistake. One of the weapons should have stayed in the cover of the jungle and provided support and protection to the humans inspecting the clearing.

  It’s easy to fall into the trap of fear. I regret thinking about defensive strategies to protect us from an unknown creature. Guns don’t belong in this equation at all. We need to identify strategies for peace.

  Before the apocalypse, I thought that to be an adult you needed composure and wisdom. David and Mike are reacting, not thinking. Why is there a cabin here? Did the natives build it to mimic us? How can we use this new discovery to better connect with them?

  Perhaps they have no interest in connecting with the natives. Maybe their anger and resentment over the perceived ruse of being on another planet has clouded their thinking. The psychological strains we have all faced could easily cause someone to snap.

  A blow in the back sends me sprawling forward to the ground. I hear a low guttural moan and tense my body in preparation for further assault.

  Sadly, I am rewarded for my fear. Something cold and rough strikes my left side and my body tumbles to the right while flashes of light pop off behind my closed eyelids.

  The sound of gunfire jars me back to awareness.

  Whatever hit me has changed its tone. The pitch is higher and the pace is far more rapid. I can sense fear and urgency in the creature’s cries.

  “Stop!” I scream, but my voice is lost in the ruckus.

  I struggle to my knees and painfully lift my head. It only takes the creature a few steps to close the distance between the edge of the jungle and the cabin. When it arrives, it does so with authority.

  The creature strikes Mike cleanly in the chest and crashes back into the building. His body goes limp and he crumples to the ground.

  David evades a direct strike, but I can see his shirt tear and a streak of crimson grow across his back. He fires as the creature coils to strike again. The bullet hits the creature’s back at an angle, but I can’t see an entry wound.

  Unleashing a powerful blow, the creature sends David skidding across the ground. David cries out and grabs for his right arm.

  Turning its attention back to Mike, the creature lifts him high above its head and shakes him violently. It throws him toward the jungle and Mike’s body hits high up in the foliage. I can hear him hit branches as he does a human plinko back toward the ground.

  The attention paid to Mike has given David enough time to gather his weapon. He fires once at the creature’s back. There isn’t even recognition of contact, let alone any pain or damage caused by the bullet.

  Once the creature turns to face David, there is a new opportunity for attack.

  Firing four times at the creature’s head results in at least one direct strike. I watch as small amount of mist sprays from the head and the chin drops lifelessly to its chest. It takes a couple of seconds, but soon the body follows the head and collapses to the ground with an audible thud.

  David collapses backward and lets out a soft moan. I cannot bring myself to move.

  Violence is never the answer. I was struck first and I am hurt and sore, but I’m not angry. We do not know enough about these creatures to fear them or to assume that they are violent.

  Short of my death, this is the worst possible outcome to our expedition. We have not found Luke and Sonjia, and we have sustained significant injuries. Instead of strengthening our position, we have weakened it.

  Watching in horror, David gets to his feet and walks to the fallen creature. His gun is pointed at the
head and he pulls the trigger over and over until the only noise is an empty click.

  With his gun stuffed into his waistband and his left hand holding his right arm, David limps in my direction.

  “You okay?” he asks.

  “No, I’m not okay. We just killed a native without having any clue about how they live and what they are like,” I answer.

  “Don’t give yourself too much credit. I killed the native. Saved your ass in the process.” David tries to stand a little taller but a grimace creeps across his face as he hunches forward.

  “What if they can kill twenty of us for every one of them? You kill one of them and they wipe out our species. Congrats on winning your little battle; the war may already be over.” I stagger to my feet.

  I can count each rib with every breath I take. They all ache, the left side more sharply and strongly than the right. I don’t even want to sit still because it hurts too much.

  “Where did Mike go in?” David asks with labored breath.

  “Over there.” I point. “He was maybe twenty feet off the ground.”

  “Let’s get to him and get out of here. Who knows how many more are in the area.” David shuffles off towards the spot I pointed to.

  “Did either of you even consider looking for Luke, or was this all a ruse?” I ask his back.

  “Just shut up and help me find Mike.” David keeps shuffling away.

  I refuse to follow him into the jungle. The initial blow that knocked me down triggered my fight-or-flight mechanism. In my head I wanted to run away, but my body took some time to catch up. Now that my adrenaline is ebbing I can think more clearly.

  These creatures are large enough to lift a human with ease. Case in point, Mike was thrown twenty feet in the air and probably another twenty feet away. This is in addition to our experience with one of them lifting Jake and inspecting him like a G.I. Joe figure.

  If it wanted to hurt me, why didn’t it pick me up?

  The blow that knocked me over felt clumsy and the strike that sent me tumbling was rushed. Those were two instances where a powerful, intelligent being could have easily killed me.

  When it wanted to stop Mike from shooting, the creature did so easily. It was about to dispatch David when the headshot ended its life.

  Once again I don’t believe we were attacked. I think it was a surprise encounter that humans escalated to the point of deadly force.

  While I have been thinking, I’ve absent-mindedly made my way to the replica of our cabin. I walk around it, surveying the construction and am amazed at the similarities with what we built.

  On the far side, opposite where we came in from the jungle, is a pile of materials. It looks like they are building something else. After a minute or two of turning my head to review the pieces it hits me: a table. They are trying to recreate our table as well.

  Walking as fast as my aching ribs will allow, I go back to the jungle path where we came to the clearing. The footprints and disturbed soil make it easy to find the exact spot I had been standing.

  Pushing aside the large leave I hid behind, I take a few steps into the jungle. There on the ground are several pieces of wood and a couple of small ingots of rock. They are not neat and organized; they are scattered like someone dropped them in a rush or by accident.

  One of the pieces is flat, almost like a shingle. The grain is different from anything I have seen on this planet so far. With a smooth and shiny finish, it definitely appears to be something that was made. There are no obvious natural imperfections.

  Inspecting it closely, I think I can make out writing or hieroglyphs. The same shape appears in multiple places and I can sense a pattern to the organization. This may be their version of a notepad.

  “Seamus! Where the hell are you?” David yells from somewhere else in the jungle.

  “In the clearing,” I lie, but I make my way back to the clearing. By the time he speaks to me again, it will be the truth.

  “I have Mike, but I need your help to carry him,” he yells again.

  “Stop yelling, I’ll be right there.” I have triangulated his voice and progress toward him.

  When I finally get to the two men in the jungle, David is agitated. His color is off and he is sweating profusely.

  “Help me carry him. We need to get out of here fast,” David says, slurring his speech.

  “Nope. We’re going to the cabin. You two are staying here, and I will go back to the village and get someone to come help.” I’m not discussing this; it’s the plan.

  David is useless. He must have a concussion or internal bleeding or both. I am not much better, with the exception that I am lucid and physically capable in short bursts.

  My damaged body manages to drag Mike a few feet at a time. His breathing is shallow, but at least he’s breathing. Before all this aggression, I didn’t agree with Mike on most things, but I respected him. At no point have I been so frustrated with him that I wanted him to die.

  When we finally arrive at the alien cabin, I am totally spent. I reflect on the fact that we don’t need shelter but somehow I equate being inside to being safe. David is siting against the back wall, glassy-eyed.

  The steps are the hardest part. Every time I contract my abs I can feel pointed, shooting pain race through my ribcage. Each step causes me to growl with agony, but I manage to complete my task: Mike’s body is safely resting in the cabin.

  I collapse in a heap next to him and fade to black without even thinking about sleep.

  Chapter 19

  Waking up in the cabin brings a smile to my face. The excursion and alien encounter must have been a dream. I am home and I am safe.

  I expect Dad to come out of the root cellar at any moment. The door in the floor is closed and tough to make out. It also seems like the back wall is further away than I remember.

  On the walls are an amazing array of shapes, colors and patterns. I don’t remember seeing any of these in our cabin before.

  There was no dream. I am not home or safe.

  Mikes body lays in the same spot I left it. His chest rises and falls slightly. I look down and see that his foot rests at an unnatural angle. His ankle is clearly broken.

  As I bring myself to a sitting position, I remember the damage my own body sustained. Bruised or broken ribs make every movement painful. Fortunately I don’t sense any other damage. My legs should work fine, which means I can walk.

  Along the back wall, David’s’ head is slumped off to the side and I can hear raspy breath coming from his mouth.

  If I leave them here, will they die?

  Do I care?

  More pointedly, do I have a choice?

  I do care, but I don’t really have any choices. If Mike ever comes to again he won’t be able to walk. I know that I cannot help him get much further than to the edge of the jungle. Getting him from there to the cabin drained me completely.

  My eyes are drawn back to the walls. These are works of art. They are different and not like paintings that I remember seeing on Earth. They mix texture, color and shape to convey a message. I want to liken it to painting with foam, but that is too simplistic.

  One piece holds my attention. The two moons are represented in colors I haven’t seen on this planet. The larger moon is painted a golden orange that reminds me of a particular tree in our yard during foliage season. The smaller moon is done in a deep blue-green like the ocean in some tropical paradise.

  The art is beautiful and it evokes emotions in me. The only museum I ever went to with my family was the Museum of Science. Dad used to take Grace to the Isabella Stewart Gardiner Museum in Boston, but I refused to go waste my time on art. If I knew that paintings could make me feel this deeply, I would have gone with them.

  Using the internet to view classic works of art was a mistake. I feel like I have seen the greats: the Mona Lisa, Whistler’s Mother, The Last Supper, and others. In truth I may have seen them, but I never experienced them.

  Maybe it’s sentimentality talking. I miss
Earth and the life we used to have. Being able to dismiss art as something I could see anytime I wanted was a luxury. It was also a mistake.

  Once again I am reminded of how not well-rounded I am. I don’t know how to interpret the significance of a painting. I also do not know what art says about the culture that created it.

  Can I use this work to change the minds within our group that are thirsty for blood? Surely a culture that creates things of beauty cannot be evil.

  My mind drifts to the Nazis stealing art from across Europe. Hitler was an artist, and a monster. His collection of art was about greed and power. Anthropologists reviewed his personal creations and deduced plenty, after the fact.

  If these works were stolen, they certainly weren’t stolen from us. Any underlying message is lost on me. The subjects are simple and I notice no depictions of violence.

  In fact, I can’t stop myself from smiling.

  After blindly bouncing around solar systems, we crashed into a planet with a breathable atmosphere and potable water. The planet not only supports life, but it supports complex life forms and an actual society. Earth was unique, but it was not alone.

  With all of the works on the walls, there is one thing missing. Implements. Nothing in this cabin gives any clue about how the art was created. There are no canvases, paintbrushes or pencils.

  While I thought about art, my mind decided that I would leave Mike and David here in the cabin. I have faith that the creatures are peaceful and curious. If they are not, I feel that David and Mike will be getting what they deserve. It kind of conveniently takes their immediate survival out of my hands, which eases my mind for the time being.

  Navigating these decisions where my heart and my head are in conflict is getting easier. Opposite of everything that has ever been a strength of mine, it seems that not thinking about them is the best way to see them clearly.