Page 16 of Caveman Alien's Heat
The Big from earlier limps across the ice toward us, dark blood dried along its side where Nator’ax cut it. The second one is larger, its shoulders rolling under thick grey hide with each step. They move slowly, watching us. They’re not charging, but they move as if they’re keeping that option open.
I feel my stomach tighten. “That's not good,” I whisper.
Nator’ax doesn't answer right away. He studies them the way he studies tracks or wind direction, calm and focused. It’s the way a hunter looks when he's measuring the world, I think.
“They smell the meat,” he finally says. “And probably us.”
I glance toward the fire where we cooked the strange turkey-Smalls earlier. The smell must still hang in the air.
The larger Big lifts its head and sniffs, fogging the cold air. Then it takes another deliberate step toward us.
“So what we do?” I ask as I look quickly around. There’s not a lot of places to run.
“If they return in a pair, it is because they hunt better in pairs. I’d prefer not to fight them. But I may have to,” Nator’ax says.
That sounds reasonable.
He looks toward the wide glacier valley behind the saucer. Then toward the long line of shadow where the ice splits into a narrow crack running across the snow.
“I saw a crevasse earlier,” he says. “It was long and narrow.”
I follow his gaze. The snow there looks smooth, almost innocent. But I’ve heard somewhere before that a glacier hides its dangers. The upper layer of snow can look smooth, while the ice underneath is cracked and deadly.
“I’m lighter than you are,” I point out. “I’ll grab these and run.” I grab as much raw alien-turkey meat as I can carry in both hands. It’s all cold and greasy in my hands.
“I can deal with this,” Nator’ax growls, showing me his sword. “Chances are, I only need to wound that new one before they’ll both run.”
“Chances are,” I say, “that they’ll kill you. I saw the way that one moved earlier today. It was fast.” I’m painfully aware that a thick covering of fur doesn’t have to mean that an animal is cute and harmless.
“Run straight for the crack,” Nator’ax says. “Drop pieces as you go. Make them follow.”
“And you?”
“I'll stay out of sight for them. Make sure they follow you.”
That doesn't sound much safer than being bait.
The ice trembles with each step the dinos take as they come straight for us. The glacier creaks and cracks, and there’s an unpleasant noise from their long, pointy claws as they penetrate the ice. Fingernails on a blackboard would sound pleasant by comparison.
I look up at Nator’ax. His expression is serious but calm, the way it always is when something dangerous is about to happen. He’s not easily intimidated, this caveman.
“Try not to die,” I tell him.
He kicks at the ice with the toe of his sandal, testing it. “We’ll both try.”
I suppose that has to be good enough for now, so I take a breath and start running. The cold air burns my lungs as my thin, soft boots crunch across the snow. I toss a piece of meat behind me and hear it slap onto the ice.
A roar explodes behind me.
I risk a glance back.
Both Bigs have started after me.
Great. Also,shit. Because they’re fast. I may not make it to where I think the crevasse is.
I throw another chunk of meat and run faster, relieved that my boots aren’t slipping that much. The glacier stretches wide and white around me, and the wind whips my hair across my face. Behind me, the thunder of heavy feet grows louder, and I swear the ice bounces like a trampoline under my feet.
I can hear Nator’ax roar something. One of the Bigs veers toward him.
