Page 47 of Blacktail

At the foot of the cliff lay a great road, wider than any he had ever seen. Once he had thought of Car as a beast, a hunter something like himself. Now he wondered. Herds of them thundered by in either direction. The ones closest to him moved west. All day and all night they stampeded as an endless stream, moving as fast as anything he had ever seen. Beyond those, an equally great number moved toward the east. They, too, were in quite a rush. Blacktail could make no sense of it. If they had all been moving in the same direction, he might believe that they were fleeing something or moving toward food. Or maybe migrating? But it seemed to him that just as many moved one way as the other. If that is so, why don’t they all just stay where they are and save themselves the effort? They must be very stupid indeed.

Still, he remembered the sacrificial squirrels he had seen. Stupid or not, Car had ground them beneath its hooves well enough. The tiny black eye, squeezed from its socket, regarding me. Mindful of this, he waited all day and all night for the last of them to pass by so that he might make his way across in safety. But that, apparently, was not to be. Sometimes they were many and sometimes they were few, but the migration never truly stopped.

He pondered it as he watched. Just after sunset of the second day, understanding came to him. At night, when the eyes of Car shone out in darkness, the black path looked to him like a river made of light. That, he realized, is the essence of it. Car moves along the black path not as a migrating herd, but as water in a river. He sighed. He had his answer, but like most things lately, the taste of it was bitter. Herds, no matter how large, may be outwaited. Sooner or later you will see the last of them. Sighing, he gathered his feet under him and stood. But rivers must be forded.

He picked his way down the incline, his heart hammering in his chest. Once his foot dislodged a small avalanche of pebbles, something he had not done since he was a puppy. He cursed himself for his carelessness, but Car did not seem to notice. The sound was lost in its endless roar.

A shallow ditch ran alongside the path, half filled with black water. The things that floated in it stank of rotting man-food, carcasses, piss. He lay in it anyway, nervous to be without cover so close to the stampeding herd of Car.

In the predawn gloom, Car’s white eyes were clearly visible. At first Blacktail had had trouble judging their distance from him. After some days’ study, he realized that if he looked on them as prey, he could predict the time of their passing with the same casual precision that he predicted elk breaking from the herd. After this one passes, there will be a gap. He stood and made ready to run.

This close, the wind of Car’s passing blasted his fur off to the side and rocked him on his feet. My god, he thought. It’s so huge.

With a leap and a roar, he sprang from cover and began his crossing. The first half of the distance, he knew, would be easy. In the late hours the road was less busy. Car moved faster then but stuck mostly to the side farthest from him. That was good. Even so, the road was far from empty. Halfway across, he heard the roar of one bearing down on him. He skidded to a stop and glanced to his left, just as Car shot by directly in front of him. Half a beat later another—perhaps its mate?—went by to his rear, nicking the tip of his tail as it passed.

He sprang forward into the gap left by their passing, then leapt over the stone barrier that divided the eastern migration from the west. He was halfway across now. The copse on the far side felt very close, the safety of it tantalizing. His heart hammered in his chest. He sprinted for the far edge as fast as he had ever run. The muscles of his hind legs burned. The pads of his paws gripped the stone beneath his feet. Almost there, he thought. That wasn’t so—

Then the eyes of Car bore down upon him. He snapped his head to the right. I’m not going to make it, he thought. It’s so fast. But it was too late to stop and too dangerous to go back. Seeing no other choice, he turned into the flow of them and sprang into the air as high as he could.

The first one clipped his foot as it passed by underneath. That did no real damage, but it spun him in the air. Bright, he thought. The one behind it was larger. It caught him midair, slamming into his hip. It didn’t hurt, not really, but it knocked the breath from him. He felt warm, confused. He snapped out of it as he fell, bit down hard. That was just reflex, but it served him well enough—some part of the thing broke off in his jaws.

He came down in the soft weeds that lined the edge of the road. Scrambling to his feet, gasping and disoriented, he looked around. There seemed to be two of everything. He took a deep breath, then shook his head to clear it. Better.

He was out of the path of the monsters now, safe enough on the far side of the road. The Car that hit him paused a little ways down, panting at the edge of the black path. Light poured out of the hole he had bitten in the skin of the top—or head, or whatever it was called. Not metal, but not flesh, either—something like the imitation skins that men covered themselves with, but thicker. The taste was unpleasant, chemical and raw. Blacktail spat it out.

The wound must have hurt, though.

The eyes on Car’s hindquarters—or whatever they were—flashed red. It’s angry, he thought. It’s not the only one.

Car puked up a man. The man lifted its forepaw to shield its eyes from the oncoming lights, peering into the dark.

It’s looking for me. Blacktail thought. Very well. Here I am. He took a step forward, baring his teeth. When he was sure it could see him, he made the killing sound, deep in his throat.

The man’s eyes grew wide. A moment later the ammoniac scent of terror-piss wafted to him, unmistakable even mingled with the smoke of Car farts. The man stumbled backward, tripping over his own feet. He scrambled back into Car and darted out into the distance—going…going…Gone.

Despite everything—or perhaps because of it—he found this a little funny. I didn’t realize they could run that fast. His tail twitched. I wish Renren was here so I could—No.

He cut the thought off and turned back to the south. The patch of trees, meager as it was, beckoned to him. He smiled a little when he took his first step, thinking, I’ll be safe in there.

Only then did he realize that his hind leg was broken.

ii

At first the pain was not so much. Probably he was in shock. He put the road at his back and limped far enough away that the eternal din of Car’s migration grew soft and distant. But with each step, the pain bit a little deeper. Soon his hip began to swell. He tried to ignore it, to crush the pain down with his mind. By the time the sun was high in the sky he was punctuating every limping pace with a yelp.

Water was scarce here. Soon the thirst burned his throat. He could smell a stream, but he thought it was very far. At the rate I’m moving, it will be tomorrow before I come to it, he realized. Maybe the day after that. And what of the hunt? He had not eaten in a long time.

By sunset he was reduced to crawling. Holding his hind leg off the ground as he moved took a toll on his strength. The muscles of his hip thrummed with effort. Even so, try as he might, he could not keep his wounded leg up all the time. When it brushed against the ground, the pain was such that the rim of his vision went black and fuzzy. Around midday he lost his balance and fell, crushing the broken leg between his body and a tree trunk. That time he actually lost consciousness, for how long he did not know. When he came back to himself, he did not try to rise. Instead he lay on his unwounded side and began to drag himself toward the scent of water a whisker’s length at a time. When the moon rose, he allowed himself to sleep.

He woke the next day with a gasp, then coughed until his throat was raw. With no small horror, he realized that in addition to his other woes he had become ill while he slept. First he felt a terrible chill. Only a few minutes later he burned like the sun. The sounds of the woods buzzed strangely in his ear. His thirst had become bad enough to challenge the pain in his leg for his attention. If I do not find water soon, I will die, he thought. I must stand. I must walk. He did stand, even walked a step, but his vision grayed out again. He fell, landing on the broken leg. The pain jarred him awake as nothing else could. With a groan, he rolled back on his side and resumed his slow lurching progress.

All through that day he inched forward. The sun beat down. The thick gray fur that kept him warm in the snow was worse than useless here. His tongue, swollen and dry, hung out the side of his mouth. He panted to cool himself, but with little effect. By the time the sun began to set, he was losing consciousness regularly. Even when he rallied enough to drag himself along, he was not sure of his direction. The fever affected his senses. Sometimes he moved in circles.

He woke the next morning to the sight of vultures circling overhead.

He dragged himself forward and winced. Even his unbroken side was raw and bloody from dragging himself over rocks. With an agonal effort, he moved forward an inch. Then he passed out again.

This time when he woke, there was a two-legs standing not far away, looking down at him. He thought at first this might be a dream. The man did not go away when Blacktail blinked and shook his head. It cast a shadow. It smelled of rage and sour sweat. It breathed. It was holding something in its forepaw, something bright and sharp and metal. It took a step closer, though not close enough to bite.