The Basingstoke Chronicles (7 page)

Rays of intense sunlight extended to the forest floor every now and then, illuminating all
manner of insects and dry particles in the air, similar to a cinema projection beam in a darkened
theatre. As we stopped to rest, I tried to absorb as much of this humid realm as I could.

"I wonder how much of this is extinct in our own time," I said.

Rodrigo sighed. "We're talking paleobotany come to life, that's for sure. I didn't even
realize there was
ever
a land mass where we're standing, so Christ only knows how far
back this is."

"Tell me about it. Dumitrescu said the fabric was from an animal that vanished nine
thousand years ago. He never said how long the species was actually around."

"Would it have made a difference?" Rodrigo asked.

"Probably not."

"Well, I have to say, Baz, this is the most reckless time travel I've ever been a part
of."

I laughed. "Don't thank me now. We're not even lost yet."

His faced remained deadpan as he shook his head and replied, "English optimism."

A remarkable acoustic effect was created by the dainty chirruping of birds we could only
partially glimpse, perched high above us, atop lofty lianas. These adaptive, draping vines either
climbed into the tree canopy, reaching for sunlight, or started life already up there and sent roots
down to the ground.

Rodrigo took to naming new, strikingly colored species of birds he spotted through these
creepers as a means of keeping his spirits up. It proved a helpful distraction for me, also, from the
ever-so-elusive rustling sound I swore kept pace on either side. By the time our path opened up
into a stunning glade awash in a deluge of sunlight, my friend had named over a dozen fresh,
possibly endemic, species: 'Nice With Soya Sauce', 'Robin Under-the-Hood' and 'Luke
Vinewalker' are the ones I can recall.

The heat in the forest hollow was stifling. A liquid haze emanated from its singed yellow
grass like the flames of a phantom inferno. An hour earlier, our bones had creaked in a cavernous
chill. Now, fully thawed, we were roasting. I'm inclined to believe the old adage for persistent
rotten luck was prefixed thousands of years before by our own "from the freezer into the frying
pan."

Rodrigo laughed as I winced, tilting my head from the sun.

"Kill for some sunglasses, wouldn't you, Baz?"

"Phew, what's next in this kitchen? Served on a platter?" I replied.

"How long before you think we should give this up as a bad idea?"

"Shall we say another couple of hours? If we don't reach the other side by three, let's
kick this into touch. I'm certainly not spending the night in this jungle. No bloody fear!"

"No arguments there."

As we left the middle of the glade, I felt a stitch in my side. I had to stop. Rodrigo threw
his carrier on the grass and stretched out in the sun, using the plastic pack as a pillow. I was about
to kick his shins when a terrifying roar drew my eyes to the trees.

Over a dozen ravenous, hyena-like creatures tore out of the foliage from every direction.
Dark brown, emaciated, they sprinted straight for us with bared teeth. I tried to turn but Rodrigo
held me at his side.

"Christ! Aim for the leaders," he snarled.

He took steady aim with his revolver and fired. His first shot missed its target but
snapped me into action. My belt buckle snagged the Beretta's trigger guard as I pulled it out. I
cursed the world and flicked the safety off. Rodrigo fired a second, then a third time, stopping
two creatures dead in the dirt. My own first shot plugged its target less than twenty feet away. I
emptied my clip, picking off the quickest onrushers with frightening rapidity. The odds against us
were too great; my Beretta held twelve bullets, Rodrigo's revolver only six. We were
outmatched.

Our rounds were exhausted in a matter of seconds. The creatures were upon us an instant
later. One leapt at me, slashing my shoulder with its claw as I barely managed to side-step. As it
landed, I launched a hefty kick to its throat, crushing it with my boot. Straight away, another one
bit into my right calf. I let out a terrible cry. The brute shook me in its grip. All I could do was
drag it closer by its knotted mane. Red-hot stabs tore through me. Using both hands, I managed to
prize it free from its bite and wrestle it into a head-lock. With a tremendous yank and a twist, I
snapped its neck. Its head flopped silently to the ground.

Two more attacked, side by side from behind, while I was still crouched. They must
have leapt at my back simultaneously. They knocked the wind out of me. I gasped for air and
waited for their second strike. With half a breath, I turned to face the end with every bit of hate I
could muster. The bastards weren't going to eat for free.

One of the beasts lay eviscerated before me, its stomach practically cleaved in two. The
other, circling behind, was engaged in a struggle with the most ferocious animal I have ever
encountered.

A huge, lumbering bear, eight feet tall on its hind quarters, and obsidian black, delivered
a devastating swipe that tore the second brute's limb completely from its torso. The bear
immediately settled on all fours and sank its teeth into the hyena's neck, shaking until the struggle
was no more.

Fully expecting to fall under its scything claws, I lay there shivering, cowering before
the black behemoth like a rodent in a tomcat alley. As it strode forward, its dark, penetrating eyes
chilled me to the bone. I was paralyzed, infused with utter hopelessness. My eyes closed as I felt
his awful breath on my hair. A hollow opened up inside me, waiting for my release.

Yet, something coarse, wet, almost tickly, dispelled the feeling almost instantly. It pulled
me back from the brink. The monster, obsidian black and ferocious, was not a monster at all. As
he licked my face, the way a dog expresses affection to a worthy human, the bear reminded me I
was still alive. To this day, I have never felt a greater sense of providence.

Rodrigo crawled over, nursing multiple wounds on his arms. Luckily for us, the
slavering assailants did not have the jaws to match their appetites. Their bites proved painful, but
shallow. I would 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."

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 through the trees
ahead. It was lit by a sliver of sunset.

We had reached the far side of the forest. The relief was so potent, I felt my knees
buckle. I let them collapse from under me. "We've made it," I sighed.

"Come on, Baz, one last effort," said Rodrigo, lifting me to my feet.
"Antes de
caídas de noche."

"What's that?"

"Before night falls," he replied with a wink.

Dusk outpaced us. It covered the forest in a matter of minutes. My tired eyes barely
remained in focus.

Silhouetted in the distance were the peaks of a mountain range to the east and the forest
to the west. Vague, rolling grassland threw up undefined shapes in the dark ahead. In a matter of
minutes, we could see only by feeble moonlight.

"You got that torch handy?" said Rodrigo.

I retrieved it from my carrier and replaced the battery with our one and only spare. I
made sure Darkly was still with us before we continued. My idea was to put as much distance
between us and the hostile forest as possible. Yet I was honestly too spent to take another step,
and was ready to order Rodrigo to make camp then and there. But as we reached the top of a
shallow hillock, a noticed small fire flickering ahead.

I snatched the torch from him and killed the beam. "What shall we do?"

Rodrigo hushed me. "Well, we're exposed now, no matter what," he whispered.
"Whoever inhabits this place, I'd sooner have the element of surprise on our side than theirs. Let's
introduce ourselves. If there's any trouble, we have Darkly. If not, maybe we're out of the woods
on this trip--in more ways than one. Either way, it's better than being ambushed in the middle of
the night by some band of Neanderthals who've almost certainly seen our torchlight by
now."

"Wait a minute. What the hell kind of strategy's that?"

"You've got a better one?"

I was far too tired. Rodrigo's plan may have struck me as bull-headed, but in an
exhausted state, one is wise to default to another's more lucid reasoning. In hindsight, Rodrigo
probably thought along the same lines. That I didn't offer an alternative only proves what a
dangerous thing trust can be. Each assumed the other had faith in this bold course.

"We'll have to be damn quiet," I insisted.

"And hope Darkly doesn't give the game away," he added.

We crept over ankle-high grass for what seemed an eternity. Finally, when the flames
were not twenty feet ahead, we saw two figures sitting on either side of the campfire. Their faces
were turned away from us and up toward the heavens.

We were soon upon them. So stealthy was our approach that I was able to alert them of
our presence before they noticed us.

"Hello there," I said amiably.

The two strangers whipped their heads round to see. One of them fell back with a jolt.
Both scrambled to their feet and stood, in defensive poise.

My God, they were enormous! Rodrigo and I, each at around five feet ten, were no
pygmies, but these fellows dwarfed us with head room to spare. My first guess of seven feet was,
as it later turned out, not far off the mark.

The only sound was the lickety-click of ravenous flames devouring timber. The
strangers' faces towered above the fire, and thus were lit from beneath to produce a cruel
appearance. I could tell they were as apprehensive as we, for their eyes darted between us and
Darkly with dizzying rapidity. Rodrigo and I waited to see how they would react. As I later
learned,
both
sides had the same idea, waiting for a sign that the other meant them no
harm. Such a simple commonality, yet eons apart.

They broke the stalemate first. The giant on the left, who seemed fascinated by our furry
companion, took a few bold strides forward and placed his hand tentatively on my shoulder. I
didn't recoil. His expression was gentle and full of hope. His handsome face suggested a similar
age to ours. A woolen fabric covered his broad shoulder and draped down to below his knees,
which immediately led me to believe there was some skill evident in his tribe.