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Authors: Robert Appleton
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liken their strength to that of a medium-sized canine.
"You OK, Baz?"
"Ask him," I replied. "He seems to be calling the shots."
"I think he scared the bastards away. The ones on me ran hell for leather as soon as he
showed up. Good thing, too. I was in bad shape."
The Cuban lay on his back, trying to catch his breath. "Well, you were right about one
thing, Baz. We were watched all along. I wonder which it was, though--them or him?"
The bear sat between us, quietly observing as we helped each other to our feet and
collected our packs. His pronounced, fleshy lower lip twitched open from time to time, as if he
were concentrating, attempting to figure me out somehow.
"What's he up to?" I whispered.
"I think he's asking that same thing of us."
"I dare say we need him with us. If we try for the time machine without him, those things
will be back for seconds. If we push on without him, God knows what else we'll come
across."
"All right, now the question," he said. "How do you make an eight-hundred pound bear
play tag-along?"
"Hmm...let's find out." As I tried to limp past him, the bear growled and shifted position
to block me. I went to pass him on the other side. Again, he barred my way.
"He seems to know more than us, Baz. I think he's trying to tell us the way back is too
dangerous."
"Great. So we should press on indefinitely?"
"Hey, it's not my idea. Like you say, he's calling the shots."
I turned to our new ally, and, seeing there was no way his instincts would ever let us
pass, I sighed and spoke to his loyal, adoring eyes for the first time, "OK, bear, let's see how far
we can get."
Chapter 8
Rodrigo's assumption was correct. The bear, to whom I gave the name Darkly--the
unknown deep of the rainforest ahead seemed to fit, in my mind, with the blackness of his
hide--followed us closely, never falling more than a few meters behind.
"He must think we have a chance in this direction," I said, "or else he just feels
compelled to keep us safe. Either way, it's a strange attachment he's formed, not that I'm
complaining."
"I've never really given much credit to bears," said Rodrigo. "I knew they were experts at
survival, but I've never heard of one extending that to protect a human."
"The bear's one of the Red Indian spirit guides, if I'm not mistaken. They definitely hold
them in high regard, at any rate."
"Darkly's some kind of guardian angel. But it's you he saved, Baz. He ran straight to your side. Maybe it's that English aftershave."
"Or perhaps he took one whiff of you and decided you'd be better off lining the stomach
of some butt-ugly beast," I retorted.
We made tracks into the sweltering forest for the best part of two miles, stopping
occasionally to rest and drink. Our water flasks were inadequate in this tropical kiln, though. I
sweated more than I drank. Darkly never faltered, despite bearing a hide that must have seen him
char-grilled beneath. I often wondered what his natural habitat would be like: mountainous
perhaps, or a cool, reclusive cave system, similar to the environment we had encountered
hundreds of feet below. So why was he here? What had compelled him to venture so far out of
his milieu?
I was intrigued to note how his attentions were ever on me, not my companion. If
Rodrigo and I rounded an obstacle on opposite sides, Darkly would take my path. Whenever we
stopped, his head would rarely swivel from my direction. Every so often he rushed our flank,
halted just ahead of us on all fours and thrust his snout high in the air. Bears have an incredible
sense of smell, far better than their lackluster eyesight. I believe Darkly utilized his as if we were
his surrogate family.
By early evening, I was ready to drop. In our few hours spent in this long-ago-buried
hour glass, we had swum, climbed, walked, fought and limped our way to nowhere. Our route
became less congested, though, while the temperature fell a few degrees.
"Is that what I think it is?" asked Rodrigo, pointing to open grassland
"You OK, Baz?"
"Ask him," I replied. "He seems to be calling the shots."
"I think he scared the bastards away. The ones on me ran hell for leather as soon as he
showed up. Good thing, too. I was in bad shape."
The Cuban lay on his back, trying to catch his breath. "Well, you were right about one
thing, Baz. We were watched all along. I wonder which it was, though--them or him?"
The bear sat between us, quietly observing as we helped each other to our feet and
collected our packs. His pronounced, fleshy lower lip twitched open from time to time, as if he
were concentrating, attempting to figure me out somehow.
"What's he up to?" I whispered.
"I think he's asking that same thing of us."
"I dare say we need him with us. If we try for the time machine without him, those things
will be back for seconds. If we push on without him, God knows what else we'll come
across."
"All right, now the question," he said. "How do you make an eight-hundred pound bear
play tag-along?"
"Hmm...let's find out." As I tried to limp past him, the bear growled and shifted position
to block me. I went to pass him on the other side. Again, he barred my way.
"He seems to know more than us, Baz. I think he's trying to tell us the way back is too
dangerous."
"Great. So we should press on indefinitely?"
"Hey, it's not my idea. Like you say, he's calling the shots."
I turned to our new ally, and, seeing there was no way his instincts would ever let us
pass, I sighed and spoke to his loyal, adoring eyes for the first time, "OK, bear, let's see how far
we can get."
Chapter 8
Rodrigo's assumption was correct. The bear, to whom I gave the name Darkly--the
unknown deep of the rainforest ahead seemed to fit, in my mind, with the blackness of his
hide--followed us closely, never falling more than a few meters behind.
"He must think we have a chance in this direction," I said, "or else he just feels
compelled to keep us safe. Either way, it's a strange attachment he's formed, not that I'm
complaining."
"I've never really given much credit to bears," said Rodrigo. "I knew they were experts at
survival, but I've never heard of one extending that to protect a human."
"The bear's one of the Red Indian spirit guides, if I'm not mistaken. They definitely hold
them in high regard, at any rate."
"Darkly's some kind of guardian angel. But it's you he saved, Baz. He ran straight to your side. Maybe it's that English aftershave."
"Or perhaps he took one whiff of you and decided you'd be better off lining the stomach
of some butt-ugly beast," I retorted.
We made tracks into the sweltering forest for the best part of two miles, stopping
occasionally to rest and drink. Our water flasks were inadequate in this tropical kiln, though. I
sweated more than I drank. Darkly never faltered, despite bearing a hide that must have seen him
char-grilled beneath. I often wondered what his natural habitat would be like: mountainous
perhaps, or a cool, reclusive cave system, similar to the environment we had encountered
hundreds of feet below. So why was he here? What had compelled him to venture so far out of
his milieu?
I was intrigued to note how his attentions were ever on me, not my companion. If
Rodrigo and I rounded an obstacle on opposite sides, Darkly would take my path. Whenever we
stopped, his head would rarely swivel from my direction. Every so often he rushed our flank,
halted just ahead of us on all fours and thrust his snout high in the air. Bears have an incredible
sense of smell, far better than their lackluster eyesight. I believe Darkly utilized his as if we were
his surrogate family.
By early evening, I was ready to drop. In our few hours spent in this long-ago-buried
hour glass, we had swum, climbed, walked, fought and limped our way to nowhere. Our route
became less congested, though, while the temperature fell a few degrees.
"Is that what I think it is?" asked Rodrigo, pointing to open grassland
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