Hunter's Run Part 14

"You ever do any prospecting?"

"No," Ramon said. "Just go out, camp. Look around. You know.

Get away from people for a while."

The man's expression softened a little, as Ramon had known it would. He felt a twinge of guilt at playing on the man's feelings that way.

"What about you?" Ramon asked, and his twin shrugged.

"I spend a lot of time in the field," he said. "Not much point staying in town. It's a pretty good living, if you know what you're doing.

A good season, I can pull in six, maybe seven thousand chits."

That was a gross exaggeration. Ramon had never taken in more than four thousand, even at the best of times. Two and a half was nearer the average, and there had been several seasons he hadn't managed more than a thousand. The man's dark eyes seemed to challenge him, so he shook his head, feigning amazement.

175 "That's really good," Ramon said.

"It ain't hard, you know what you're doing," the man said, settling back.

"What happened to your hand?" Ramon asked.

"f.u.c.king aliens," the man said, and started to unwrap the blood-stiffened cloth. "I was shooting at them, and my gun blew up. f.u.c.ked me up pretty good."

Ramon leaned close. In the firelight, it was hard to see how much of the redness was the swollen flesh itself and how much was reflected flames. The skin of the palm looked like taco meat that had been left out overnight. Where the index finger had been was a rough stump, the flesh burned and scarred to an oddly beautiful opalescent silver.

"You cauterized it," he said. His mind went back to the camp where he'd found his cigarette case, where Maneck had revealed to him the story of his doubling. This was why the man had spent so long there. He'd been recovering from the self-treatment of his wound.

"Yeah," the man said, and his voice was casual and drawling in a way that Ramon knew meant that he was proud of having done it.

"I heated up the knife until it glowed and then used that. Had to. I was bleeding all over the place. There was some bone I had to cut out too."

Ramon suppressed a smile. They were tough sons of b.i.t.c.hes, him and his twin. He couldn't help feeling a little proud of himself too, for what the other man had done.

"Fever?" he asked.

"On and off," the man admitted. "No streaks up my arm, though.

So it looks like no blood poisoning. Or else I'd be dead by now anyway, eh? So tell me about how you got caught by those devils."

Ramon launched into his tale. A little over a month ago, he'd been out camping by himself in the far north. His lover, Carmina, had lefthim, and he'd wanted to spend some time alone where she couldn't find him and his friends couldn't offer sympathy. He'd seen a flying box, gone to investigate, and the aliens had done something- knocked him out, drugged him. He didn't remember much about that part. Then he'd been imprisoned in a tank until they pulled him out and told him to go hunting. It was a simple enough story to remember, and not so far from the truth that he'd be likely to get caught flat-footed. And the other Ramon would likely sympathize.

He talked about the explosion that had ruined the yunea, yunea, the forced march, the attack by the the forced march, the attack by the chupacabra, chupacabra, and his own escape. He pretended to be amazed when the man explained the strategy behind the flatfur corpses. The delight the other took in his own cleverness started to become annoying. If Ramon didn't nod or make appreciative noises at the right moment, his twin glared at him. and his own escape. He pretended to be amazed when the man explained the strategy behind the flatfur corpses. The delight the other took in his own cleverness started to become annoying. If Ramon didn't nod or make appreciative noises at the right moment, his twin glared at him.

The whole thing was a manipulation from start to finish. And it seemed to work. When Ramon explained how he needed to be away from civilization, that the comfort offered by friends was as painful and humiliating as being mocked, the man nodded to himself. And when the tale was finished, he didn't comment on it. He wouldn't. It wasn't the sort of thing men did.

"Sleep in shifts?" the man asked.

"Sure," Ramon said. "Probably better that way. I'll take first. I'm not tired."

It was a lie. He was deeply weary, but he'd had the period of unconsciousness that was almost like sleep after he'd pulled himself from the river. The other Ramon hadn't even had that. And anyway, it was best to do the sorts of things that a banker from Amadora would do to ingratiate himself to his rescuer.

The man shrugged and held out his field knife. Ramon hesitated for a moment, then took it. The slightly sticky feel of the leather grip, the balanced weight. It was familiar, and yet different than he remembered it. A moment's consideration told him that it was his 177 177 body that had changed; he'd never held it without calluses on his hands. The other man misread his expression.

"It's not much," the man said. "It's all that we've got. Won't fight off a chupacabra chupacabra or redjackets, but . . ." or redjackets, but . . ."

"No trouble," Ramon said. "Thanks."

The man grunted, lay down, and turned his back to the fire.

Ramon tested the heft of the knife again, growing used to it in his new hands. These unlikely companions he traveled with-men and aliens-seemed to be pretty comfortable handing him knives.

Maneck had done it because it knew it was safe. The man had done it because he a.s.sumed Ramon was an ally. It was a mistake he would have made himself. Obviously.

Ramon peered into the darkness, careful not to let the light of their modest cook fire blind him to the shadows, and considered his options. The man had accepted him, for the time being. But it was a long way to Fiddler's Jump, and if what Maneck had said was true, Ramon would grow to more closely resemble his old self before they got there. Sooner or later, the man would figure out that something was wrong. And even if he didn't, Ramon didn't know what he'd do when they got back to the colony. A judge would be hard-pressed to accept that he was the real, legal Ramon Espejo. And the Enye might well decide that he should die along with Maneck's people. Nothing good would come from two Ramons walking out of the bush together.

The smart thing to do would be to kill the man. He had a knife, his twin was snoring and wounded. One quick slice to the neck, and the problem would be gone. He'd make his way south, resume his life, and the other man's bones would never be found. It was what needed to happen.

And yet, he couldn't do it.

Under what circ.u.mstances do you kill? Maneck's question echoed in his memory. Ramon settled down for the long, slow hours of his G e o r g e R . R . M a r t i n Maneck's question echoed in his memory. Ramon settled down for the long, slow hours of hiswatch and found himself less and less able to answer the question.

At first light, they went back to the work of building the raft.

Ramon retied the cane floats, his two hands cinching them tighter than his twin could manage. They considered how many branches they'd need to finish the structure. It was a quick, easy negotiation.

Ramon and the other man approached the problem the same way, came to the same conclusions. The only real difference was in his twin's refusal to give over a larger share of the work. It made sense that the uninjured man should bear the heavier load, but his twin was bent on putting the soft-handed Amadora banker in his place, and Ramon recognized the impulse clearly enough to know there was no point arguing.

By noon, they had enough raw materials to put the raft together. Ramon fashioned a rough harness from two cut branches and a length of bright blue panama ivy and used it to haul the cane and the branches down the short path to the water. The man allowed him that much, bringing the armful of stripped bark and iceroot leaves instead. Ramon figured it meant his twin was feeling tired.

The sandbar was smaller than Ramon remembered it, but just as cluttered with debris. Without consulting the man walking behind him, he pulled the load to the bank just downstream. The bar created a still place in the waters. The eddy was a good place to test their raft before they launched themselves out into the unforgiving flow.

Ramon shrugged off the harness and squatted on the bank. In the still water, he could see himself reflected, and his twin standing behind him. Two men, similar, but not yet identical. Ramon's growing beard was softer and lighter. His hair hung closer to his head than it had before, changing the shape of his face a little. Still, they might have been brothers. Since he knew to look for it, he could see where the moles on his twin's cheek and neck were echoed by minute discolorations on his own. The scar on his belly twinged.

"Not bad," the man said, and spat thoughtfully into the water, the 179 179 ripples disturbing its soft mirror. The raft was going to be big. The lower gravity of So Paulo lent itself to fast-growing trees, and rather than take the time to cut the long saplings twice, they'd used them all at their full height. It wasn't luxury, but there would be easy room for them both. "We should put some shelter on it, though."

"Like a cabin?" Ramon asked, looking at the collection of sticks before him.

"A lean-to. Something to sleep in, get out of the weather. And if we got enough wood, we can add a fire grate, too. Line the bottom with iceroot leaves, fill it a couple hands high with good sand, and we can keep warm on the river."

Ramon squinted at the man, then upriver, back toward where Maneck and the chupacabra chupacabra had done battle. He tried to guess how long he'd been in the water, how far he'd swum. He couldn't be sure. had done battle. He tried to guess how long he'd been in the water, how far he'd swum. He couldn't be sure.

It had felt like a long time, a huge distance. But he'd been on the verge of death, so his impressions probably weren't all that good.

"Let's put those on farther down the river," he said. "I want to get away from here first."

"You scared?" the man jeered. His tone was taunting, and Ramon felt anger and embarra.s.sment surge through him. Ramon could see the frustration in the other man, the anger always simmering under the skin, ready to be fanned awake, the desire to strike out and make himself feel better by hurting someone, and felt its twin in his own breast. He'd have to tread carefully here, or they'd end up in a fight neither could afford.

"Scared to face down a p.i.s.sed-off chupacabra chupacabra with a field knife and a stick?" he said. "Anyone isn't scared of that's stupid or crazy." with a field knife and a stick?" he said. "Anyone isn't scared of that's stupid or crazy."

The man's expression hardened at the insult, but he shrugged casually.

"There's two of us," he said, turning half away from Ramon. "We could take him."

"Maybe," Ramon said, letting the obvious lie stand. They couldno more take down a chupacabra chupacabra than flap their arms and fly to Fiddler's Jump. If he pressed it, though, they'd end up fighting about it. than flap their arms and fly to Fiddler's Jump. If he pressed it, though, they'd end up fighting about it.

"Thing is, what if the alien alien won?" won?"

"Against a chupacabra chupacabra?" the man asked, incredulous. It was easy to summon up the bravado to say they could kill the beast, but hard to stretch the imagination far enough to think that Maneck might win against the same odds. Ramon kept his expression somber.

"It was looking pretty even when I got out of there," he said. "The alien had a gun of some kind, and it shot the chupacabra chupacabra at least twice; maybe that weakened it. I wasn't going to hang around to find out how it ended, you know? Besides, if the f.u.c.king alien is still alive and still has that gun, we don't want it catching up with us." at least twice; maybe that weakened it. I wasn't going to hang around to find out how it ended, you know? Besides, if the f.u.c.king alien is still alive and still has that gun, we don't want it catching up with us."

"Fine," the man said. "If it makes you feel better, we'll head downstream for a day or two. We can pull in somewhere, add a lean-to and a fire pit. Maybe check the cane, make sure it's still tied tight enough."

That was a dig. The man was still smarting over Ramon insisting that he could tie the floats better with two hands than his twin could with one.

Once Ramon would have risen to the bait, taken offense, maybe pushed it into a fight, but not now. Fine, Fine, pendejo, Ramon thought. pendejo, Ramon thought.

Dig at me all you want. I know how scared you are too.

"Good plan" was all he said.

Lashing the branches together and binding them to the cane floats was long work, but not difficult. Ramon found himself falling into a rhythm-setting the wood in place, tying it on one side, then the other, then in the center where it crossed another branch. One, two, three, four, then start again. He fell into the work, abandoning himself to the sheer physicality of it. His hands and feet, unprotected by calluses, hurt and blistered. He ignored the pain; it was just part of the package. If the other man could cut away his own stump of a finger bone, Ramon could sure as s.h.i.t stand sc.r.a.ping up his palms a little.

181 His twin kept pace as best he could, but the crippled hand slowed him badly. Ramon could feel the frustration rising in the man as he struggled not to be shown up by a pinche pinche banker. As the sun dipped toward the treetops on the opposite sh.o.r.e, Ramon noticed, with some satisfaction, that the other man's bandage showed the bright red tinge of new blood. banker. As the sun dipped toward the treetops on the opposite sh.o.r.e, Ramon noticed, with some satisfaction, that the other man's bandage showed the bright red tinge of new blood.

At the end, they laid the iceroot leaves over the branches, tacking the broad, leathery fronds together until they were like a carpet. Not wholly waterproof, but enough that they wouldn't be getting their a.s.ses wet with river water all the way south. The raft wasn't much to look at. There was no rudder, and only an improvised paddle to steer with at the stern. It wasn't more than two and a half meters square; it was a decent size for a wrestling match, but as a way to travel, it would be pretty d.a.m.n close quarters. Still, all it had to do was stay on top of the big river long enough for them to float down to Fiddler's Jump. And when they dragged it out into the lagoon, it floated high off the water, and when they both clambered on, it felt solid and secure.

"Not f.u.c.king bad, David," his twin said. "You did a man's job of it, eh?"

"We did all right," he agreed. "You want to get out of here?"

And as the words left his mouth, they heard a sound-the distant, gurgling cry of a chupacabra chupacabra. It sounded as if it were in pain.

Ramon's belly went tight, and the other man's face was pale.

"Yeah," his twin said. "We might as well get going."

Ramon paddled them out from behind the sandbar and nearer the center of the river where the current was fastest. The other man squatted at the raft's edge, looking back. Neither the beast nor Maneck emerged from the forest, and the screaming call didn't come again. Ramon, settling back to steer, couldn't help feeling they'd had a near miss. Another night on sh.o.r.e would have ended badly for them. Maybe even another hour. It was a good f.u.c.king thing that histwin had tried so hard to keep up. A good thing that Ramon hadn't been able to bring himself to kill the man in the night. One man would never have been able to finish the raft alone in time.

But the sound of the predator-even if it was in pain-also filled him with a strange melancholy. If the chupacabra chupacabra lived, then Maneck was dead. The lived, then Maneck was dead. The athanai athanai of his cohort had been killed attempting to protect his people from the violence that had tracked them across stars and centuries. And the creature who had frustrated Maneck's of his cohort had been killed attempting to protect his people from the violence that had tracked them across stars and centuries. And the creature who had frustrated Maneck's tatecreude tatecreude? A jumped-up little monkey from the badlands of Mexico who'd stumbled on the hive while running from the law, and who even now didn't have any idea what the consequences of his discovery would be. At least Maneck had died trying. Died fighting. There was some honor in that, even if it had failed its people. In an odd way that surprised and disquieted him, he found he almost missed Maneck, now that it was over, now that he was free. And in spite of all the pain it had visited upon him, in spite of the hatred he'd felt for the alien at times, Ramon couldn't help but feel a pang of regret and sorrow at the thought of its terrible death.

" Still, better you than me, monster," Ramon said under his breath. Still, better you than me, monster," Ramon said under his breath.

"Better you than me!"

Chapter 17.

The first night was the worst. The river was placid so far north, so the only dangers were logs and debris floating invisibly in the dark water, aquatic predators like b.l.o.o.d.y mormons and carracao, carracao, and the cold. and the cold.

They were under no power, so unless the rocks or debris were stuck in the bed of the river itself, chances of a damaging collision were slim, and they were too far north to be in the range of most river predators. That left the cold.

Once the sun slipped behind the western trees, the river seemed to suck all the warmth from the air. Ramon was wearing the alien robe; warm enough, but too small to cover his legs and arms both at the same time. The other man, however, had sacrificed his shirt and the lower legs of his trousers to bandages and traps, so they'd agreed that the man should take the one-piece alien garment. He was curled on the iceroot leaves, wrapped tight and still shivering.

There was no call to sleep in shifts. The light of a near-full moon was too bright and the chill too uncomfortable to allow for anything like sleep. Ramon considered pulling in to sh.o.r.e for the night, but he didn't suggest it. His twin would only take it as a slight, and the man never made the suggestion himself. Besides, Ramon knew they were both anxious to put as much distance as they could between themselves and the chupacabra chupacabra. Ramon wondered how far a chupacabra chupacabra's range was. Fifty kilometers came to mind, but he didn't know where he got the figure from. By morning, it would be safe to pull to the side. But perhaps they could move to the western sh.o.r.e, just to be sure.

"Hey, David," the other man said. Ramon blinked back to full consciousness, only now aware how near he'd come to dozing.

"Yeah?" he said, and coughed. He hoped he wasn't getting a cold.

That would be just his luck.

"You ever spend time in Diegotown?" the man asked.

Ramon fought to focus his mind, looking over at the man. His twin was sitting up now, legs hugged to his chest. His frown cut deep lines in his face. He looked both brutish and desperately uncomfortable, but it was clear enough he'd been watching Ramon for a while.

"A little," he said. "Why?"

"I think I've seen you someplace before. What kind of things do you do in Diegotown?"

"Business, mostly," Ramon said. "You might have seen me around the governor's palace. You spend any time there?" He knew d.a.m.n well he didn't, so the other man's shrug was expected. Ramon felt the urge to echo the movement-it was the natural thing; the motion most familiar to his flesh. It took an effort to shake his head and smile instead. "There was a bar I went to a few times," Ramon said, not knowing why he was choosing the embellishment until he'd already begun. "The El Rey. It was down by the river. You ever go there?"

"No," the other man said harshly. "I've never heard of that one."

185 "Huh," Ramon said. "Maybe I got the name wrong. It had wood floors. And the guy who ran it was named Michael or Miko or something like that. I got sick in the alley out back. There was one of those shifting LED lights. I remember that."

"Don't know the place. Maybe you're thinking of a bar in some other town."

His tone made it clear that the conversation was over, but in case Ramon hadn't taken the hint, his twin shifted, turning his back.

Ramon permitted himself a smile and a shrug. He wasn't surprised the man had lied. If he'd met a stranger in the wild, he'd have been wary of the subject too. It was a good conversation stopper.

And yet there was also regret. His mind kept returning to the time before the fight, like a tongue exploring the hole left by a missing tooth. Killing the European, he had that like he was seeing it on a screen. But how exactly had things gone that far? He remembered a pac.h.i.n.ko machine. There had been a woman, her hair straightened to make her look Asian, at the European's side. He knew that the woman hadn't been there because she knew or liked the man; being with him had been some kind of work thing. But he didn't know how he knew that. He remembered her laugh-tight, short, frightened.

How would he have explained to Maneck that laughter could be more than what was funny? The alien wouldn't have understood that the same thing that people did when something was funny could also be a way to express fear. To cry for help.

Ramon grabbed the thought, trying to follow it back to some more solid recollection, but it swam away, just out of his reach. Only his twin knew it, and Ramon had no way to ask.

They didn't speak again until shortly after dawn. Ramon and his twin agreed to move the raft across the river and hug the western sh.o.r.e until they saw a good stand of cane. They could make the pit out of anything thick enough to hold the dirt and sand that kept the fire from burning the raft itself, but using cane would be the easiestway to make a lean-to. And judging from the stars, the cane might start getting scarce if they went much farther south.

They found a decent spot by the middle morning, and Ramon gently paddled them to a landing. The impact of the bank caused the other man to stumble slightly, but the raft held together just fine.

Ramon checked all the cane floats, to be sure, but none of his knots had come loose.