Old Hunters on the New Wild Page 16

  Chapter 11 – Finding New Hunters…

  The mudders sang their morning song as they walked across the savanna, synchronizing their feet to the rhythm of their music so that their formation didn’t break into smaller clone pieces more susceptible to the predators that lurked in the grass.

  Each clone held a long pole topped with a wavering flame in his or her right hand. The still wind promised it would be a good day to ignite the fires and to shepherd the blaze through the veld, a day of opportunity, a day when many wonderful creatures would rise out of the new wild and stand before the many rifles of the hunters.

  The mudders knew of nothing more to do to help those hunters shoot their mighty guns, and so they hoped the hunters would better find their courage if there was no wind to blow it away. The mudders were hungry, and so they hoped they would have an occasion to sing their celebration song that day when fortune introduced a new hunter to their world.

  Perched atop a gentle rise, Cayden Holmes watched the clones put fire to the grass. “I think I’ll set the tripod here, Jarvis.”

  The favorite guide of Cadyen’s father nodded. “A wise decision. You can scan the veld in any direction from this vantage point, and the elevation will increase the ranges of your weapons. Your father would like this spot, Mother-son.”

  Cayden frowned. The day was very young, and yet Jarvis had already reminded him many times of what his famous, hunting father would do.

  “Well, he’s not here now, Jarvis. I am. Check the rifle projectiles while I mount the gun, and give me a little quiet so that I can get my head ready.”

  The clone instantly followed Cayden’s request. Cayden shook his head. Did he have any justification to feel upset every time Jarvis mentioned his father? Did Jarvis believe that Cayden wasn’t very well aware that their hunting hero was sidelined in the camp due to his hesitance to fire his weapon the previous day? Cayden didn’t enjoy Jarvis reminding him of his father’s injury each moment Cayden made a decision. He doubted the mudders placed any pressure on the other men and women of the expedition, all of whom showed no inclination at all to raise their weapons. Yet they put the pressure on him, the son of the great Wyatt Holmes. Cayden believed the chances of finding his mettle would improve if the clones simply gave him a little space.

  He reminded himself that he couldn’t fault the clones for needing to eat. He calmed his ire by recalling Kendra’s body and scent during the night. He calmed by thinking about the marks she had left upon his body, the scratches that none of the doll girls had ever etched upon his back. Thus he felt much calmer when Jarvis returned to him carrying several wooden boxes filled with the rail-rifle’s projectiles. His fingers worked steadily as the loaded several into his weapon’s chamber. By the time he glanced down his scope and made a few adjustments to his its dials, Cayden felt confident that he would find his conviction on only his third day upon the savanna. He wondered how many days his fellow hunters had wasted on the palanquin cushions. He wondered if his father had killed on that original moment the savanna challenged him to fire his weapon.

  He watched the mudders guide their fires towards the tallest and thickest of the grass. He pressed his shoulder against his rifle’s stock. He stared down the scope, and he was ready. Cayden watched that line of fire progress further and further across the land, but no creature scurried into his view.

  Cayden peeked at Jarvis. “Have we chased away the game without realizing it?”

  The mudder inhaled deeply through his nostrils before shaking his head. “We’ve moved very quietly to reach this ground, Mother-son. There is game within the grass. We must only be patient.”

  Cayden concentrated through his scope. The fire continued its disciplined march across the savanna without an erratic wind. And then Cayden noticed a thicket of grass waver on the flank of the clones tending to those flames. He squinted and increased the magnification of his lenses. He held a breath, and his heart pounded to see a barbed tail raise a little higher above the camouflage of its surrounding blades of grass. A twist of another dial engaged his scope’s powerful thermal sensors, and the scope’s powerful computer erased the savanna’s grasses to reveal the glowing heat signature of a splicer-lynx prowling towards the line of marching clones. Cayden tensed and swept his scope across the savanna so that he spotted three more dangerous felines lurking in the grassland. The splicer-lynx had circled back upon the clones. They had escaped the coming fire without detection, and they were now inching closer to the fire-tending mudders, none of whom gave any indication that they realized such creatures prowled at their backs.

  He disengaged his rifle’s safety as the scope calculated the distance separating Cayden’s weapon from each of the splicer-lynx the computer marked in the field. The images of the felines shifted once the scope locked onto the position of each splicer-lynx. The thermal glow became an enhanced vision of each cat, and Cayden once more marveled at what the genetic creators made for the new wild. The splicer-lynx’s thin coat hung to its muscle like skin, and the shadows upon the feline’s hide seemed to migrate to optimize the cat’s ability to blend into the surrounding environment. That thin hide thickened into a series of ridges along the splicer-lynx’s spine, providing a protective armor to cover the nerves that so quickly fired the great cat’s limbs. And those limbs were powerful and lean, capable of sprinting for many miles before the splicer-lynx strained for a breath. The wide, back paws ended in curved claws that bit into the hardest of ground to give that cat the ability to turn on an edge while chasing the nimblest of prey, or to climb the savanna’s occasional rocky outcropping or tree to gain a view above the grass. The claws that extended from the front paws were longer, curved like sabers to slice through the thickest grasses that might impede its chase, or to slice through the muscle, intestine and bone of its conquered game. The great cat’s length extended nearly ten feet, not counting the coil of its barbed tail. Sunlight filled the sky, and yet the splicer-lynx eyes still burned with hungry fire.

  The presence of a single splicer-lynx was enough to shock fear through any mudder’s system. Cayden recalled his father’s story regarding the time he and Jarvis had made a stealthy retreat from a pair of the felines, and he especially remembered his father’s opinion that his party on that day had been most fortunate to leave the savanna without a man or mudder falling victim to the splicer-lynk’s sharp teeth. Cayden had never heard a story told by his father of a hunter ever tripping across three splicer-lynx.

  And the scope alerted Cayden to the presence of four of the felines.

  A mudder whistle shrilled in the air, and Jarvis instantly gripped Cayden’s shoulder.

  “Careful, Mother-son. We have spotted a lynx within the grass.”

  Cayden’s eyes never left his scope. “There are three other cats, Jarvis. You must warn the other clones.”

  “We cannot risk alerting the lynx,” answered Jarvis, “if that first whistle hasn’t already done so.”

  “The lynx already know we’re here. They’re already stalking us.”

  Jarvis paused. “All the more reason why we can’t risk another sound. The cats will leap at the first mudder who retreats.”

  “Then what do we do?”

  Jarvis’ grip tightened. “You must fire your weapon. The lynx will scatter at your rifle’s roar. They will not press their hunt should they see how your gun can stain the grass with their blood.”

  Adrenaline surged through Cayden’s blood. He worked to steady his breath so that his rifle wouldn’t tremble.

  He thought the splicer-lynx remained too still, and so he swept the scope back and forth from one cat to another. His heart lodged in his throat. The mudders continued to march behind their fires in their disciplined line, pushing their flames forward, doing their duty to flush game for the hunters. The mudders moved more slowly following the shrill of the first whistle. Cayden felt for them. He admired their courage. That whistle told them all a splicer-lynx was near, and yet the clones continued moving steadily forward. W
ere they truly so dutiful? Was it hunger that motivated them to face such danger? Cayden read the expressions of several clones through his scope’s imaging. He saw how the mudder eyes scanned one direction to another trying to locate a barbed tail rising above the thick, savanna grass.

  Cayden scowled when he again centered his scope upon one of the splicer-lynx and saw how that cat approached the clones. The geneticists were fools to introduce such cunning creatures into the new wild, creatures with the intelligence to trap those mudders between their terrible claws and the fire line. Cayden thought the cats could easily claim one or two mudders if the predators jumped forward at that moment, but he realized that the lynx were maneuvering to take more. Those lynx were denying their impulse to take a simple trophy to appease their immediate hunger. Instead, the lynx showed discipline and exercised strategy in order to place more clones within their reach.

  The cats seemed to feel whenever Cayden centered his scope upon them, for the lynx in Cayden’s crosshairs froze, while the remaining three inched still closer to the marching mudders. Thanks to his weapon’s powerful enhancements, he knew the range of each splicer-lynx, how the trajectory of his rail-rifle would arc as it roared over that distance. His rifle’s advanced targeting system would nearly guaranteed that Cayden would hit his intended target. He only needed to pull his weapon’s trigger.

  “Please, Mother-son,” urged Jarvis. “It doesn’t matter if you miss. The roar of your gun will be enough to save those clones. But you must frighten the lynx. You must pull the trigger.”

  A scream carried above the grass, and then it was abruptly silenced with a bloody choke. A splicer-lynx pounced, and the first mudder fell to the fang.

  “Shoot before the cats take more, Mother-son!”

  Cayden’s finger tensed, yet he again failed to discharge his weapon. He couldn’t deny the predators centered in his scope were magnificent creations, pieced together so well to become masters of the new savanna. His father told him that killing remained humanity’s last purpose, and still Cayden balked at his responsibility. Why did he fear to destroy the splicer-lynx, the razor boar and the genolope? Why did he feel so ashamed of the extinction the men and women who came before him made of the original world, and why couldn’t he kill that beautiful animal he watched pounce so terribly upon those dutiful mudders? The genetic labs would refill the new wild no matter how many creatures Cayden took for trophies, no matter how many he killed in order to feed the clones. He had not been alive when his ancestors spoiled and emptied the first creation. He had no reason to hesitate. He owned no excuse to keep watching the lynx feed upon the clone.

  “You must shoot!” Jarvis shouted.

  “I cannot!” Cayden cried.

  “You must! It is your duty!”

  But once again, Cayden Holmes failed to pull his weapon’s trigger.

  Another clone cried in the grass, and Cayden watched another lynx pounce within his scope. The splicer-lynx abandoned their concealment and hunted in the open. The mudders in the field pressed their backs together and wildly swung their long poles at their tormentors, who slowly circled the group of clones, as if they were toying with mice.

  And still, the weapons of those hunters remained silent.

  Jarvis jumped upon Cayden, who cried as that clone planted his boot into the man’s ribs, squarely at that bruise where Wyatt had struck his son only a few mornings ago. Cayden relinquished his grip on his weapon. He made no attempt to prevent that rifle from falling into a clone’s hands. He no longer cared whether or not a pair of blue bands circled his guide’s eye. Cayden gave the last purpose remaining to man to that mudder without an argument. The old world continued to fade, increasingly replaced by the colorful, new wild.

  It took only a wink of time for Jarvis to aim the long rail-rifle upon a splicer-lynx, and that guide didn’t waste any more time before he pulled the trigger. The rifle recoiled with a roar of energy, and the projectile screamed out of the barrel, churning the air behind it into a rending, ripping wake of energy. The mudder’s aim proved true, and the splicer-lynx furthest from the trapped mudders exploded into blood and bone. The remaining cats recoiled at that weapon’s thunder before bolting away into the grass, vanishing just as quickly as they had appeared.

  “What a shot, Jarvis!” Cayden grinned. “I don’t need to pull the trigger after all.”

  Jarvis nodded. “No, Mother-son, you do not.”

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