Arrival (35 page)

“MAAAC!” she hollered, ignoring the pain it elicited.

“
What?
” his voice came from the distance. She turned to her right, looking in the direction of his voice. “MAC!” she yelled again.

“Jeez, woman! Would you stop yelling?”

There he was, not thirty meters away, dragging several large branches from the forest into the open grassland.

“Have you ever heard of a comm-set?”

“My control pack is gone. I must have lost it in the flood,” she admitted.

“Figures,” he grumbled as he dropped the branches and turned to head back into the forest.

“I’ve been looking for you for nearly half an hour!” she complained. “Didn’t you hear me calling you?” she asked as she approached him.

“I was cutting down those branches. Probably couldn’t hear you over the chopping,” he lied with a smile.

“What are you doing?” she asked as she passed the pile of long, straight branches.

“Building a shelter,” he responded calmly.

“Shelter? What for?”

“Didn’t you hear?” he asked. “Ah, yes. You lost your comm-set pack, didn’t you?”

She had been around Mac long enough to know his particular brand of sarcasm quite well. “Hear what?” she asked hesitantly.

“We’re stranded here, at least until tomorrow.”

“You’re kidding,” she responded, crestfallen. She thought for a moment before her expression changed to one of curiosity. “I don’t suppose you’re making a shelter big enough for two, are you?”

“Nope,” he lied again. He could tell by her tone of voice that she needed his help after all, and she knew it. And he couldn’t resist the opportunity. “But don’t worry, there’s enough branches in the forest for you too.”

“Mac,” she pleaded. “Come on.”

“What?” He was going to play it for all it was worth.

“You’re going to make me ask, aren’t you?”

“Ask what?” he responded with mock innocence as he carried on the charade.

“You know what,” she accused, trying not to be drawn into his little game.

“Sara, I have no idea
what
you are talking about,” he protested as he found his next branch, pulled out his knife, and began to chop away.

“Okay, fine. I’ll build my own shelter.” Sara looked around, trying to figure out what to do next. “Can I borrow your knife?”

“Of course,” he responded politely. “Just as soon as I’m finished with it.”

“And when will that be?” Sara fumed.

“Let’s see,” Mac calculated as he continued to hack at the branch. “I still have to chop down a few more branches, haul them back to the pile, and build my shelter. Then I have to cut some firewood. Oh, and I’ll have to cut some cord to fasten the rain cover. After all, it is getting kind of cloudy out, and I wouldn’t want to get wet. So, say two hours, maybe three.”

“But it’ll be dark by then.”

“That’s true,” he admitted. “That
will
make it more difficult for you, won’t it?”

“Why do you have to be such an asshole?” she protested.

“How am I being an asshole, Sara? You asked to borrow my knife, and I offered to let you use it as soon as I’m finished with it.”

“You know damned well that I won’t be able to build a shelter in the dark. How am I supposed to survive the night?”

“Why are you asking me? I thought you said you didn’t need help from a
man
. No, wait. I believe you called me
an ape
, right? So if you don’t need help from a man, then
surely
you don’t need help from an ape? That would be laughable.”

“Oh, I get it,” Sara conceded. “Fine, if that’s what you want. I apologize.”

“Apologize for what?” Mac teased.

“I apologize for calling you an ape. Alright?”

“I believe you called me a ‘big ape’,” he corrected.

“I’m sorry I called you a big ape,” she said. “Please forgive me.”

“Why, thank you, Sara. I accept your apology.” Mac scooped up the last of his freshly cut branches and began dragging them back to his pile in the open grass.

“Then I can use your knife now?”

“Nope, not until I’m finished with it.”

“What?”

“Hey, you said you didn’t need my help. So go to it, girl.” Mac glanced up at the sky as if to check the time by looking at the sun. “But you’d better get busy, daylight’s fading fast.”

“Ugh!” Sara groaned as Mac dragged his branches away. She watched as he walked away, dragging his long branches behind him. Looking up, she could see the clouds forming overhead. They seemed to be following the two moons, as if they were being dragged along by their abnormally strong gravitational influence. She couldn’t believe what was happening to her. And at the hands of her archenemy, a man who embodied everything she hated about Daedalian men. But without him, her chances of surviving the night were slim to none, and she knew it.

It was the pain from her injury that forced her hand. A pain that even now jabbed her in the side with every breath she drew. Even if she had all day, she still couldn’t build anything with her sore ribs. She was out of options.

“Mac?” she pleaded, her voice suddenly losing all its defiance. “Wait up, will you?”

Mac showed no signs of stopping, forcing Sara to follow him all the way back to his building site. He dumped his last load of branches onto the pile, wiping off his sweaty brow as he pulled out his canteen for a drink.

Sara approached from behind him, determined to say whatever he needed to hear in order to get him to help her survive the night. She could always make him pay for it another day. “Mac, please. You know I can’t make it out here without you. Please help me, please?”

Mac looked her in her eyes. He knew she was only acting. But he also knew she was right, she couldn’t make it through the night without his assistance. She was just refusing to admit it to herself. “So, you admit that you need my help?”

“Yes, I admit it,” she responded humbly.

“The help of a man? An ape? A Cro-Magnon?”

“Yes, Mac. I admit it. I need your help.
Your
help, Mac.”

She was really giving it the hard sell, and Mac was impressed by the effort. But he wasn’t going to give in that easily. “I don’t know, Sara. I hate to see you go back on your principles so easily.”

“Oh, come on!” Pain shot through her side again as she yelled.

“Alright, Sara. If you insist. I’d be happy to help you.”

“You will?”

“Hell, Sara,” he admitted. “I was planning on building this thing for the both of us from the start.”

“Really?” Her fear was beginning to turn into anger.

“Of course,”

“You really are an ass,” she sniffled, “you know that?”

“Yeah, well, a guy’s gotta play to his strengths, right? Besides, you kind of had it coming.”

“Perhaps.” She watched him for a moment as he began to assemble their shelter. He appeared to know exactly what he was doing, carefully selecting his construction site, and laying out his frame for assembly. She knew that she could not survive without this irritating, brash, arrogant man. She had accepted that fact several minutes ago, as bitter a pill it had been to swallow. By all rights, she should hate this man with every fiber of her being. But right here, right now, she was just thankful he was there with her.

* * *

Will held up his whittling handiwork proudly for inspection. Now that it was hollowed out and he had fashioned a mouthpiece at one end, he was ready to test it out.

Wetting his lips first, Will wrapped them around the tip of the mouthpiece and blew. A shrill tone emitted from the open slit in the wood just past the mouthpiece, varying in pitch as Will blew unevenly through the long tube.

“What the hell was that?” Jack asked as he poked his head out of his tent.

“Sorry about that, Jack. I didn’t realize it would be so loud,” Will apologized with embarrassment.

“Hey, it works!” Jack noticed excitedly. Will had been working on it for over a week, and Jack was awaiting its outcome with great anticipation. “How many notes can you produce?”

“I don’t know,” Will admitted, raising the instrument to his lips to try again. He blew more evenly this time, producing a long, steady note, warmer and softer than his first attempt. Pleased with the results, a broad smile crossed Will’s face. He tried a few more times, attempting to produce different results by varying his technique. The instrument would only play one note since there were no holes yet drilled into its long, slender body. But he was able to create a surprising number of variations in tonality, ranging from a shrill, piercing note to a soft, mellow one. He even managed to trill his tongue, producing a rapid series of staccato notes.

“Man, I can’t believe it,” Jack exclaimed in amazement. “The damn thing really works!”

“You can’t believe it! I can’t believe it! I never dreamed it would actually work this well!”

“Get busy and drill some holes in it!”

Will set the instrument down beside him. “I think I’ll wait until tomorrow night. I want to triple check my calculations.” Will carefully wrapped the recorder up in a small scrap of cloth to protect it from damage. “I’d hate to make a mistake this far into the project.”

“Good thinking,” Jack agreed. “But I’ll be expecting some tunes from you before long.” Jack smiled at him as he ducked back inside his tent to sleep.

Will was pleased with himself. He had worked long and hard at creating his little toy, and soon he would be finished, and the process of teaching himself to play would begin. He placed his bundled instrument deep into his pack, where it would be safe from all the bumps during the next day’s hike. Tomorrow, he would review his calculations before marking his drilling points.

Will opened up the side pouch on his pack, removing his journal and pen. After reviewing his last entry, he put pen to paper and began to write.

Day 35;

Another day has passed, and another challenge has been faced and conquered, Jack once again finding a solution. The things that I find myself agreeing to do on a daily basis would have undoubtedly gotten me tagged for a psychiatric evaluation back on the Daedalus. But with each passing day, the severity of the extremes lessens.

This evening, I produced my first note with my little recorder. It was surprisingly gratifying. Recorder: it seems so technical a word, not nearly poetic enough to adequately describe the beauty of what it will eventually be capable of producing. I think, “flute” would better suit the instrument. A “Cetian Flute,” that’s what I will call it when it is completed. The first indigenous instrument for our new world. Perhaps it will earn me further mention in our history files. I think I would like that association. It’s much more romantic than any of the geological references my adventures here might generate.

Despite the many challenges we have been forced to contend with, soon we will face perhaps our most formidable one to date. Within a few days at the least, we will begin our journey across the vast mountain range that Jack suspects to be the last geographical barrier between us and the coast. I only pray, that after all we have been through in our attempt to reach it, the rest of our crew are alive and well, waiting for us with open arms. To find otherwise, I fear, would prove emotionally catastrophic for Jack.

* * *

By sundown, Mac and Sara had finished constructing their shelter. An odd looking structure made of tree branches, grass and packed mud, Mac had decided to cover it with the rain cover he carried in his survival pack. The last thing they wanted was for rain to wash away all of the insulating mud Sara had so diligently packed against the outside of the structure, despite her pain.

The triangular-shaped hut was only three meters long from front to apex, with an opening that formed a symmetrical triangle a meter and a half in length on all three sides. At Sara’s request, Mac lined the floor of the hut with long, soft blades of grass after she cleared it of rocks and debris to make it more comfortable. It had been an effort that Mac felt was a waste of time, but one he chose to perform out of guilt for making her beg for his assistance earlier.

Mac had taken great pains to ensure the hut was sturdy enough to withstand the elements, double lashing the main members and anchoring the entire structure to the ground with two long stakes at each anchoring point, driven into the ground at opposing angles to prevent them from being pulled up by strong winds.

“That should do it,” Mac announced as he walked around the hut, tugging at it to test its integrity.

Sara stood back, admiring their handiwork. Her ribs were not bothering her as much as before, thanks to the pain killers from Mac’s survival pack. She looked toward the back of the hut, stepping to one side to take in the full splendor of the setting Cetian sun.

“Wow, would you look at that,” she said.

Mac turned from his inspection to witness the sunset. The canyon floor was a good twenty-five meters higher than the main valley, a spectacular vista that stretched out before them. The sky above the valley was littered with dark, brooding storm clouds, backlit by the lavender glow of the setting sun, with amber and blue highlights provided by the planet’s twin moons hanging high in the evening sky behind them.

“Beautiful,” Mac agreed, returning to his work.

“You know, we should’ve built this thing with the opening facing the valley. That’s where the view is.”

“It’s also were the wind comes from,” he pointed out.

Sara turned around to look at their little shack. Suddenly, she understood why Mac had chosen the triangular shape. “I get it.”

“Get what?”

“Why you chose this shape. It’s aerodynamic, right?”

“Bingo. Any wind that the valley sends our way will tend to push down on the structure rather than try to lift it up or knock it over.”

“And that’s why you covered the windward end of the tarp with all those rocks and dirt, huh?”

“Right again. Who knows, I may make a builder out of you yet.”

“No thanks,” she immediately rejected the idea, brushing the dirt from her hands. “It’s definitely not my strong suit.”

“I don’t know,” Mac said thoughtfully. “You were pretty good at packing that mud on the roof.”

“You forget, dirt is my specialty,” she reminded him.

“Ah yes. Speaking of dirt, why don’t you dig a shallow hole, say one meter in diameter, in front of the hut,” he instructed as he picked up his knife and replaced it into its sheaf on his hip.

“What for?”

“Fire pit,” he answered as he turned and began walking toward the woods. “And don’t dig it too close. We don’t want to burn the house down. Say, two meters?”

“Where are you going?”

“To get some firewood,” he announced as he strolled off.

“Sure, why not?” Sara answered.

“And while you’re at it, see if you can find some rocks to line the edge of the pit with!” he added as he walked away.

“Of course,” she mumbled to herself as she shivered in the light evening breeze. It was getting cold, and the last thing she wanted to do with her sore ribs was lug around a bunch of rocks.