Read Online The Klaatu Terminus by Pete Hautman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Pete Hautman
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warning.” They backed away, looking around nervously.
“Boggsians?” Lia said.
“I don’t know. It doesn’t look like a Boggsian sort of thing.”
They left the path, giving the dead pig a wide berth. After pushing their way through a nearly impenetrable copse of thorny bushes, they angled back toward the path, but either they’d gotten turned around, or the path had veered off to the right. The sky — what they could see of it — had clouded. Tucker wasn’t sure which way was east anymore. He didn’t say anything to Lia.
A few minutes later, Lia stopped and said, “I think we’re lost.”
“Let’s keep moving. We’re bound to come across something.”
“I can still smell that pig.”
“We must be going in circles then. There’s a big tree that looks climbable. Maybe I can get a look at what’s around us. Wait here.”
Tucker didn’t know what sort of tree it was; it had smooth bark, large leaves, and some low branches he could reach. He climbed until he was above most of the other plants and could scan the surrounding forest. What he saw was more trees, in every direction. He climbed higher, until he feared the main trunk was too slender to hold him. He could see the river now, less than fifty yards away.
Lia screamed.
For a moment, Tucker didn’t know what he had heard. The sound hit his ears and traveled down his spine; his body went rigid, then he heard her shout his name. Heart pounding, Tucker scrambled down the tree. He dropped the last ten feet to the ground. Lia was not in sight.
He shouted her name and listened, but heard nothing. Even the birds were silent. Looking down, he saw where the leaves had been trampled. Some of the fern fronds were bent. He grabbed his stick and followed the broken vegetation, thinking,
Jaguar!
Slashing at the underbrush with his stick, he followed what he hoped was her trail, stopping every few steps to call out her name, then listen. Moments later, he stepped out of the brush onto a trail. He was back with the dead pig. He ran around the pig and started up the narrow, twisting path. His foot caught on something. He heard a hissing sound, like wind in the leaves. Something struck him hard from behind. His first thought was that a jaguar had attacked, but he was still upright. He tried to move. Something was keeping him immobile. Frantically, he swung his head from side to side, trying to understand what had happened to him. His feet moved, but were touching nothing. He seemed to be suspended a few feet above the ground. The pain in his back and midsection was excruciating, almost as if a stake had been driven straight through him. He looked down and discovered the pointy end of a sharpened wooden prong, as big around as a broom handle, jutting from his abdomen, just below his rib cage.
Isn’t that interesting
, he thought, and then he fainted.
T UCKER WOKE UP SITTING WITH HIS BACK PROPPED
against a tree trunk. Squatting before him with his arms crossed over his knees was a young man with long, dark brown hair and irises the same deep black as his pupils, looking at him curiously.
“What happened to me?” Tucker asked, his voice a whisper.
The young man cocked his head and furrowed his brow.
“Who are you?” Tucker said.
The man shook his head and waved a fly away from his face. Tucker looked past him. He could see the pile of pig guts on the trail.
“Lia . . . where is Lia? Where is my friend?”
The man licked his lips, then spoke in a strong accent. “You talk ugly like boggsey.”
“Boggsey . . . Boggsian?”
The man nodded and stood up. He was naked except for a pair of black cutoff shorts. A machete with a leather-wrapped handle hung from his belt. “Why do you not die?” he said.
“Why did you attack me?” Tucker asked.
The man shrugged. “The trap think you are
el tigre
. I cut
estaca
, but I leave it.”
“
Estaca?
” Tucker said.
The man made a jabbing motion with his forefinger, then gestured at Tucker’s belly.
“Boggsians?” Lia said.
“I don’t know. It doesn’t look like a Boggsian sort of thing.”
They left the path, giving the dead pig a wide berth. After pushing their way through a nearly impenetrable copse of thorny bushes, they angled back toward the path, but either they’d gotten turned around, or the path had veered off to the right. The sky — what they could see of it — had clouded. Tucker wasn’t sure which way was east anymore. He didn’t say anything to Lia.
A few minutes later, Lia stopped and said, “I think we’re lost.”
“Let’s keep moving. We’re bound to come across something.”
“I can still smell that pig.”
“We must be going in circles then. There’s a big tree that looks climbable. Maybe I can get a look at what’s around us. Wait here.”
Tucker didn’t know what sort of tree it was; it had smooth bark, large leaves, and some low branches he could reach. He climbed until he was above most of the other plants and could scan the surrounding forest. What he saw was more trees, in every direction. He climbed higher, until he feared the main trunk was too slender to hold him. He could see the river now, less than fifty yards away.
Lia screamed.
For a moment, Tucker didn’t know what he had heard. The sound hit his ears and traveled down his spine; his body went rigid, then he heard her shout his name. Heart pounding, Tucker scrambled down the tree. He dropped the last ten feet to the ground. Lia was not in sight.
He shouted her name and listened, but heard nothing. Even the birds were silent. Looking down, he saw where the leaves had been trampled. Some of the fern fronds were bent. He grabbed his stick and followed the broken vegetation, thinking,
Jaguar!
Slashing at the underbrush with his stick, he followed what he hoped was her trail, stopping every few steps to call out her name, then listen. Moments later, he stepped out of the brush onto a trail. He was back with the dead pig. He ran around the pig and started up the narrow, twisting path. His foot caught on something. He heard a hissing sound, like wind in the leaves. Something struck him hard from behind. His first thought was that a jaguar had attacked, but he was still upright. He tried to move. Something was keeping him immobile. Frantically, he swung his head from side to side, trying to understand what had happened to him. His feet moved, but were touching nothing. He seemed to be suspended a few feet above the ground. The pain in his back and midsection was excruciating, almost as if a stake had been driven straight through him. He looked down and discovered the pointy end of a sharpened wooden prong, as big around as a broom handle, jutting from his abdomen, just below his rib cage.
Isn’t that interesting
, he thought, and then he fainted.
T UCKER WOKE UP SITTING WITH HIS BACK PROPPED
against a tree trunk. Squatting before him with his arms crossed over his knees was a young man with long, dark brown hair and irises the same deep black as his pupils, looking at him curiously.
“What happened to me?” Tucker asked, his voice a whisper.
The young man cocked his head and furrowed his brow.
“Who are you?” Tucker said.
The man shook his head and waved a fly away from his face. Tucker looked past him. He could see the pile of pig guts on the trail.
“Lia . . . where is Lia? Where is my friend?”
The man licked his lips, then spoke in a strong accent. “You talk ugly like boggsey.”
“Boggsey . . . Boggsian?”
The man nodded and stood up. He was naked except for a pair of black cutoff shorts. A machete with a leather-wrapped handle hung from his belt. “Why do you not die?” he said.
“Why did you attack me?” Tucker asked.
The man shrugged. “The trap think you are
el tigre
. I cut
estaca
, but I leave it.”
“
Estaca?
” Tucker said.
The man made a jabbing motion with his forefinger, then gestured at Tucker’s belly.
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