Hunter's Run Part 15

The other man cut cane for the rest of the morning while Ramon rounded up food. It would have been easier with a pistol, but there were a few sug beetles to be found and he managed to trap three fat, mud-colored things that looked like a cross between crayfish and eels. He didn't know what they were, but the rule of thumb was that the poisonous animals were brighter colored, so the eel-things were more likely to be edible than not. Still, he might let the other man try them first.

When he found his twin, the man was squatting on the ground, his head hung low. The field knife was in his hand and pinked by the cane juice; it looked less like blood than some sort of cherry sauce.

The pile of cane on the sh.o.r.e was smaller than Ramon had expected.

Ramon cleared his throat hard enough to be heard over the water, and the man's head rose. The black eyes squinted at Ramon for a moment before his twin lifted his chin in greeting.

"Hey," Ramon said. "I got some things. They're probably good to eat. You seen these before?"

His twin s.h.i.+fted his focus to the eel-things.

"No," the man said. "But they're dead. So let's cook them, eh?"

"Right," Ramon said. "You okay, man? You look tired."

"Didn't sleep," his twin spat. "And before that, I was running for my f.u.c.king life with nothing but what I had on for a few days. And before that, I had my hand f.u.c.king blown up."

"Maybe we should take a day," Ramon said, dropping the dead creatures and holding his hand out for the field knife. "Rest up, you know. Get our strength back."

187 "f.u.c.k that," the twin said. He s.h.i.+fted his gaze to Ramon's outstretched hand.

"I can't gut these things with my f.u.c.king fingernails," Ramon said. His twin shrugged, tossed the knife in the air, catching it by the blade, and held it out grip-first for Ramon to take. He was f.u.c.ked up, no question, but Ramon's twin still had reflexes.

The eel-things had a simple enough gut. Ramon cleaned out everything that didn't look like muscle, on the theory that any weird digestive enzymes or venom sacs weren't likely to be in that tissue.

He roasted them on a spit, and, while cooking, they smelled like roast beef and hot mud. The sug beetles, he boiled in the tin drinking cup from the field kit. The other man sat at the riverside, looking out over the bright water, his gaze empty. Ramon decided he'd try the eel-things first after all. He carved off a sliver, placed it on his tongue, gagged, and threw the eel-things still on their spit out into the river.

"Sug beetles," he said. "We're having sug beetles."

The other man looked up at him, shading his eyes with his wrapped hand.

"They're here," his twin said.

"Who?" Ramon asked, but the man didn't answer. When Ramon followed his gaze, it was clear enough. Like hawks riding the ther-mals in the high air. The great black galley s.h.i.+ps.

The Silver Enye had returned to So Paulo.

Chapter 18.

After they ate, the man curled in a ball and fell into a profound sleep.

There were still a couple hours of daylight left, so Ramon took the knife and harvested cane. The stalks were green as gra.s.s before he cut them, and turned red within a minute or two of being severed.

It wasn't hard work, and by the time the sunset filled the western sky-distant clouds glowing gold and orange and gaudy pink-he'd almost doubled the pile that his twin had made. He washed his hands and the blade in the river, then rooted through the field pack until he found the rough, gray sharpening stone. His twin hadn't been doing much of a job keeping the knife sharp. But, then, the poor f.u.c.ker only had one working hand. It was a pretty good excuse.

He sat at the water's edge, listening to the sharp, dangerous hiss of steel against stone, and looking up. Even after the trees and the river had fallen into a deep gray twilight, the Enye s.h.i.+ps in their high orbit 189 189 glowed with the light of the sun. Brighter than stars. He watched as they fell into So Paulo's shadow, dimming like someone had flipped a switch until they were only visible by the violet and orange running lights-less obvious, but present just the same. It was like G.o.d had come and hung a skull in the sky to stare down and remind Ramon of the slaughter that he'd seen in Maneck's mind. And the slaughter that was likely to come once he and his twin returned to the city.

As the prisoner of Maneck and the aliens, he had spent relatively little time concerning himself with his return from the wild. It had, he supposed, been so unlikely a prospect that more immediate problems had kept his attention. But now that he was free and traveling toward home with his twin, the question loomed large. He brushed his hand over his arm, where there was now a thin white line, jagged and half-formed. The machete scar slowly welling up. What had Maneck said? That he'd "continue to approximate the source form."

He touched the thin line of knotting flesh with his fingertips. His beard was also thickening, his hands becoming rougher. He was becoming more and more like the other man. He closed his eyes, torn between relief at seeing his own flesh coming back again and anxiety about what would come-no one would mistake them for different men. No one would even think they were twins-they were too close for that. By the time they reached another human being, they would have the same scars, the same calluses, the same faces and bodies and hair.

He couldn't very well march in and announce himself to be Ramon Espejo, with the other man at his side. Even if there was no way to tell them apart-and who could say what traces Maneck's technology would leave?-the governor would hardly ignore it. And Ramon knew himself well enough to know what his twin would think of him.

It would be better to go quickly, and arrive at Fiddler's Jump while they still looked similar but not yet identical. Ramon couldengineer some excuse to slip away. Then south, maybe even to Amadora. He'd need to find someone who could give him fake papers.

Not that he had the money to pay for forged doc.u.ments, but again, there couldn't be two two Ramon Espejos. . . . Ramon Espejos. . . .

He let the knife falter, the whetting stone heavy in his hand.

No. He needed money to start again. He knew all of his banking codes, could pa.s.s any authentication tests the banks required. The thing was to go back to Diegotown while his twin was still recuperat-ing, clean out the accounts, maybe borrow some on credit, and then make his way south. It would leave the other man saddled with debts, but at least people would know him. He could start over. They both could. And it wasn't even stealing, really. He was Ramon Espejo, and that was his own money he was taking.

And if the police were looking for the man who'd killed the European, well, then perhaps his twin wouldn't mind the missing cash so much after all. Ramon chuckled. It wasn't as if they could hang him twice for the same crime. He imagined himself setting up in Amadora, maybe a simple beach house on the south coast. Once he had papers, he could rent a new van. At least until he found enough work to buy his own. He imagined waking to the sound of the surf, the cool light of morning. He imagined waking alone, on a cot too small for two bodies to share. Elena, after all, would have the other man. And he would have her. Ramon could start again. Like a snake shedding its skin, he could leave his old, gray life behind. Maybe he'd stop drinking so much. Stop going to bars and picking fights. Killing men or having them try to kill him. He could be someone new new. How many men had dreamed of that, and how few had the chance?

It all depended on getting south quickly, before the recapitulation had thickened his scars and coa.r.s.ened his hair. Before the wrinkles in his face matched the other man's, before the moles they shared became dark enough to be obvious on casual inspection. Ramon didn't know how long that would be, but he couldn't imagine it 191 191 would take long. Not so many days ago, he'd just been a severed finger, and now he was nearly back to normal.

Far above, one of the Enye s.h.i.+ps blinked out of existence and then back as the jump drives cooled. Ramon's gut tightened, remembering how it felt to be aboard those s.h.i.+ps when they stuttered like that. The first time had been with old Palenki and his work gang. The s.h.i.+p had launched from its...o...b..t, rising like a transport van and never leveling out. Ramon remembered the press of acceleration when the rockets fired. It had been like letting the water out of the tub after a hot bath, or like the torpor after s.e.x. The muscles themselves had felt heavy on his bones. He'd smiled and looked over at Fat Enrique-he hadn't thought about Fat Enrique for years-and grinned. The boy had grinned back. They were leaving everything behind, and by the time their journey ended, everyone they'd known or spoken to or been bullied by or f.u.c.ked or f.u.c.ked over or been f.u.c.ked over by would have died from old age. There were stories about the conquistadors burning their boats when they'd reached the new world. Ramon and Palenki and Fat Enrique and all the rest were doing the same. Earth was dead for them. Only the future mattered.

Ramon shook his head, but his mind refused to leave its track.

This was another memory growing back. This time, though, he could think as well-observe the river, the Enye s.h.i.+ps, the stars, the full moon hardly risen in the east. It was less like experiencing the thing again, and more like a powerful and autonomous daydream.

When they'd stepped onto the Enye s.h.i.+p, his first thought had been of how odd the place smelled-acid and salt and something reminiscent of patchouli. Palenki had b.i.t.c.hed that it was giving him a headache, though that had probably been the cancer. They'd unloaded and stowed the equipment, found their way to their quarters by following the painted lines on the walls, eaten a small meal in the pleasant weight of the rocket acceleration, and taken to their couches when the klaxon sounded and the jump drives were set to warm up.

It had been the way Ramon had always imagined a stroke would feel. The world narrowed to a point, peripheral vision dimming, sounds growing distant, and then the discontinuity. He'd never been able to say what changed during a jump; everything could be in precisely the same place, a wrench he'd just dropped still partway to the floor, and still he knew- knew knew-that time had gone by. Quite a lot of time. That something had happened while he was unaware. He'd hated the feeling.

It was a week after that that he saw his first Enye. Ramon remembered Palenki's smile; knowing and smug and pleased with himself, as he'd gathered the work gang and instructed them on the etiquette their hosts expected. And then the thing had lumbered through the hatchway . . .

Ramon screamed. Then the memory was gone, nothing there but the river and the forest. His heart was tripping over fast, his grip on the field knife so hard that his knuckles ached. He scanned the tree line and the surface of the water, ready to attack or flee as if the Devil himself had risen up with a whip in one hand and a flaying knife in the other. The image of the Enye-huge, boulder-shaped body; wet, oysterlike, inscrutable eyes; squirming fringes of cilia; incongruously tiny and delicate hands, like doll's hands, sprouting from its middle; barely visible pucker where its beak was hidden within its flesh-faded slowly from his mind and the electric fear abated.

Ramon forced himself to laugh, but it came out thin and tinny. He sounded like a coward. He stopped and spat instead, anger filling his breast.

Maneck and that pale alien f.u.c.k in the hive had made a weakling of him. Just remembering the eaters-of-the-young was enough to make him squeak like a little girl!

"f.u.c.k that," he said. There was a low growl in his voice that pleased him. "I'm not afraid of a G.o.dd.a.m.n thing!"

He was still in a foul mood when he got back to the campsite, 193 193 which meant, he knew, that he'd have to be even more careful to avoid getting into a fight with his even more short-tempered and irritable twin. The fire was down to the embers, the other man still asleep on the ground nearby. With a flash of anger, Ramon realized that he'd have to take the first watch again. He threw a handful of leaves and tinder on the coals and slowly rebuilt a small fire. The flames hissed green and popped, but they cast light and warmth. Ramon knew that the fire was as likely to draw danger as to drive it away. He knew that the brighter it got, the harder it was to see beyond it, but he didn't care. He wanted some pinche pinche light. light.

One of the moons rose, sailing slowly past the stationary Enye s.h.i.+ps-that was Big Girl, to be followed before dawn by the smaller, closer-orbiting Little Girl. Ramon waited, brooding over how little cane had been cut and how many hours of work lay ahead, until the great pale disk was directly above them before he tried to wake the other man. Calling his name didn't work, and the effect of calling his twin "Ramon" was unsettling enough to keep him from trying it again. He went over and shook the man's shoulder. His twin groaned and pulled away.

"Hey," Ramon said. "I've been up half the f.u.c.king night. It's your watch."

The other man rolled onto his back, frowning like a judge.

"What the f.u.c.k are you talking about?" he demanded, his voice thick and sleep-drunk.

"Keeping watch," Ramon said. "I did the first watch. Now you get up and I'll sleep."

The other man lifted his ruined right hand as if to rub his eyes, snarled, and used his left instead. Ramon took a step back, waiting with growing impatience as the man failed to rise. When his twin spoke, his voice was clearer but thick with disdain.

"You're telling me you haven't gone to sleep? Are you f.u.c.king stupid? You think the f.u.c.king chupacabra chupacabra is swimming across the G e o r g e R . R . M a r t i n is swimming across theriver to get us? That's a candy-a.s.s banker talking, all right. What a p.u.s.s.y! You want to watch, go ahead and watch. I'm I'm sleeping." sleeping."

And the man rolled back over, tucking his arm under his head like a pillow, his back to the fire. Rage hummed in Ramon's ears like wasps swarming. The impulse to roll the little s.h.i.+t back over and poke the knife into his neck until he saw reason warred with the desire to kick his kidney until he was p.i.s.sing blood all the way back to Fiddler's Jump.

But if he did either one, he'd then have to follow up with handing the knife over and going to sleep vulnerable and defenseless a few feet from a p.i.s.sed-off cabron cabron. Ramon growled low in the back of his throat, wrapped his robe closer around him, and went to find a place to sleep where any predators that happened on them would be likely to eat the other man first.

Morning came. Ramon groaned and rolled onto his back, his arm thrown over his eyes to keep the sunlight out for another minute more. His back ached. His mind was foggy and reluctant. The smell of the cook fire roused him. The other man had scrounged a handful of white-fleshed nuts and caught a fish, which he'd wrapped in monk ivy leaves and set in among the coals. It was an old trick for cooking when there was nothing to cook with. He'd forgotten it, or else not yet remembered.

"Smells good," he said. The other man shrugged and flipped the packet of ivy leaves onto its other side. Ramon could see his twin start to say something and then stop. It occurred to him that the meal hadn't been meant for two, but the other man was too embarra.s.sed now to refuse to share. Ramon rubbed his hands together, squatted close to the fire, and grinned.

"Lot of work to do," the other man said."Looks like we got enough cane, though."

"I cut some last night," Ramon said. "Some iceroot leaves for bedding and to make the roof. Then a few good branches for the fire pit.

195 I figure we can get the sand from down on the river. Find a sandbar.

That'll be better than just mud from the bank. And firewood."

"Yeah," the other man said. He plucked the ivy leaves out of the coals with his left hand, tossing the bundle up and down a little to keep his fingers from burning until it cooled. A few moments later, he cut it in half with the field knife-Ramon realized that the man had taken it from him while he slept-and sliced the packet in two.

He handed Ramon the one with the fish's head.

The nuts were oily and soft. The fish's skin had hardened and cracked, thin as paper and salty. Its flesh was dark and flaky. Ramon sighed. It was good to eat something he hadn't had to prepare himself. He was glad the other man had been too chickens.h.i.+t to refuse to share.

"How do you want to split this up?" the other man asked, gesturing at the pile of reddened cane with the knife. "You want to make the lean-to, and I'll go find the leaves? Maybe some good branches?"

"Sure," Ramon said, wondering as he did whether there was an angle he was overlooking. Gathering leaves and sticks was easier than construction, but he was the one with both hands to work with. And his twin had gotten up early to make the food. It almost made up for not taking the second watch. Without discussion, they both went to the river and washed their hands. The other man's hand looked worse than Ramon remembered it, but his twin didn't complain.

"I want you to know something," the other man said as he re-wrapped his palm and the remaining fingers.

"Yeah?"

"I know we're in this together, you and me. And the work you do-getting the sug beetles, building the raft, all that s.h.i.+t? It's better with the two of us than just one, you know? But if you go through my pack one more time without asking, I'll kill you in your f.u.c.king sleep. Okay, partner?"

His twin locked eyes with him-irises so dark Ramon couldn'tmake out the pupils, the whites bloodshot and yellow as old soap.

He didn't think for a second that the man was joking. Now that he thought about it, he knew what he'd think of some half-a.s.sed banker pawing through his his stuff. He wondered if this was what it was going to be like, going back. Maybe he'd resent his twin having all his things. stuff. He wondered if this was what it was going to be like, going back. Maybe he'd resent his twin having all his things.

His knife, his pack. Even Elena, maybe.

"Okay," Ramon said. "I just didn't want to leave the knife dull, you know. It won't happen twice."

The other man nodded.

"I do need it, though," Ramon said. "The knife. I've got to strip bark to tie the cane with. And if I need to cut more . . ."

He shrugged. The other man growled without making a sound, and Ramon braced himself for violence. But the other man only spat into the water and handed the blade over, handle-first.

"Thanks," Ramon said, and tried for a placating smile. The other man didn't answer. Ramon went back to their little camp, the other man tramping off into the forest, presumably to gather the leaves and wood. Ramon waited until he was sure he was out of earshot before he muttered, "And f.u.c.k you too, ese ese."

Ramon began working after the other man left. He got enough ivy and stripped bark to complete the design he thought would work best for the lean-to, then hauled the cane to the raft and the river. He saw at once that his first thoughts on how best to connect the shelter to the body of the raft had been optimistic. He had to spend an hour redesigning the thing. Giving his mind over to the task, losing himself in the physicality of his work, was like taking a drink of good whiskey. He hadn't realized that the knot had formed in his gut again until it released a little. Being with his twin was totally unlike being alone. Even being with Maneck and having that f.u.c.king sahael sahael stuck in his neck hadn't wound his guts up this way. It was being around another human-any other human. And in particular stuck in his neck hadn't wound his guts up this way. It was being around another human-any other human. And in particular this this p.r.i.c.kly sonofab.i.t.c.h! p.r.i.c.kly sonofab.i.t.c.h!

197 At the same time, he understood that he was also setting his twin's teeth on edge. How could he not? Better to worry about which knots best bound the cane to the branches of the raft. He was already quite aware of his own failings as a man. No reason to stew in them.

By afternoon, Ramon was satisfied with his new design, and it still took him hours to lash the cane onto the raft, build the framework, and then lace the remaining lengths together as a support structure. He set aside four long poles to tie down over the layer of leaves that would actually serve to slough off the rain. Providing, of course, that the other man ever got his lazy a.s.s back. Ramon had been working all day. How long did it take to pull down some leaves and find a few pinche pinche branches? branches?

They were in a forest; wood shouldn't be that hard to find.

As it happened, his twin emerged from the forest an hour or so before nightfall. He had what looked like half a bushel of iceroot leaves bound to his back with ivy and an improvised stretcher of branches trailing behind him, loaded with sticks the right size for burning. Ramon had to admit it wasn't a bad load for a man with a broken hand and no knife. The other man dropped his burden at the riverside, squatted, and cupped handful after handful of water up to his lips. High above, the Enye s.h.i.+ps hung in the sky.

"Looks good," Ramon said.

"Yeah," the other man said, weariness in his voice. "It's okay. May need a way to keep the firewood from rolling off, though."

"We can do that."

The other man looked at the raft and rubbed his cheeks with his palm. Ramon came to stand at his side.

"Solid," the man said. "Good design. Kind of small, though, eh?"

"Didn't figure we'd both be in it at once," Ramon said. "One of us is going to be steering. Sleep in s.h.i.+fts. That kind of thing."

"What if it rains?"

"Then whoever's steering gets wet," Ramon said. "Or else we both crawl out of the rain like we're humping each other."

"We get wet, then. Right. You got the knife?"

He held out his hand. Ramon dropped the leather grip into the man's palm.

"Thanks," his twin said, then spun and brought the tip of the blade to Ramon's throat. The man's eyes were narrow and furious, his mouth in a wide grin that had nothing to do with pleasure. It was the expression the European had seen; Ramon was sure of it.

"Now," the man said through clenched teeth. "How about you tell me what the f.u.c.k you really are?"

Chapter 19.

"I don't . . . I don't know what you're talking about, man," Ramon said.