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  Very carefully, I bend my right knee and pull my foot up over the edge until it finds a bit of purchase in the dirt. Next, I slowly pull up with my arms, dragging my body toward my embedded machete. When my head touches my hands, I push my left foot down into the soil. I let out a long sigh of relief. I’m by no means out of trouble, but at least both my feet are in contact with good old terra firma again.

  Now comes the really tricky part. If I’m going to climb any higher up the slope, I need to pull my machete from the ground. I’m still just inches from death—if my feet slide out before I can sink the blade into the soil again, I’m finished.

  Taking a deep breath, I ease the machete slowly out of the dirt. I can feel my feet beginning to give way, but they hold their grip long enough for me to plunge my blade back into the ground a few feet higher up the pile.

  I suck in another few relieved breaths before repeating the grueling process several more times, inching my way upward. This is a far more difficult and dangerous climb than my recent ascent from the beach. Finally, I judge that I’m far enough above the edge to resume trying to make my way across the landslide area. I lie still for a few moments, gathering my strength, and then carefully push myself up to my feet.

  I’m about halfway up the slide area, a good twenty-five feet above the edge. I pick my way forward even more cautiously than before, carefully studying the spots where I’m going to place my feet and testing each step fully before committing my weight. This time, my machete is gripped in my right hand, ready to be stabbed into the earth to act as a brake should I have the misfortune to slip again.

  Happily, I make the rest of the crossing without incident. When I step off the dirt pile onto the welcoming blacktop, I feel safe for the first time in what seems like hours. I raise my eyes from the ground and glance at the road ahead.

  My heart jumps up into my throat. Can you say, “out of the frying pan and into the fire?”

  CHAPTER 14

  I’M STANDING FACE TO FACE with a monster. It’s a giant lizard-like creature that looks something like a cross between an iguana and a crocodile. The beast is twenty feet long if it’s an inch, with a long, tapering tail making up more than a third of its length. Thick, slimy green scales cover its body. Four short, bent legs lift it a foot or so off the ground, but its arched back and thick neck raise its elongated snout higher than my waist. The huge head is fully as large as my torso, and a two-pronged red tongue darts in and out between twin rows of yellow, dagger-like teeth. The thing has positioned itself diagonally across the road, blocking it completely.

  Whether this is a creature that came through a portal from There or is simply a mutant from my own world doesn’t matter. Its bulbous eyes are fastened directly on me, with a look I can only describe as hungry. I hold my machete in front of me, gripped tightly in both hands. The weapon seems puny compared to the monster confronting me. I don’t even know if the blade will penetrate the thick scales that protect the beast’s head and body.

  I glance around desperately, seeking some means of escape, but I’m trapped. Behind me is the landslide pile—any attempt to move quickly across that would surely send me plunging to my doom. To my left, the cliff drops vertically down to the ocean, while on the other side the trees and underbrush are thick and tangled. If I try to escape there, the reptile will be upon me before I can force my way more than a couple of feet into the woods.

  I don’t know what kind of intelligence lurks inside the creature’s brain, but the thing seems to know it has me trapped. It waddles slowly forward, seemingly in no hurry, its slimy tongue continuing to flick in and out of its gaping jaws.

  I wrack my brain for some way to deal with the monster.

  My long hours of combat training kick in. I remember one move Sergeant Moss taught us that just might give me a chance to survive this encounter. It’s a desperation move, for sure, but I can’t think of any situation more desperate than this.

  I take two quick steps forward. The creature raises its head and opens its jaws to meet my attack. Just before I come in reach of its terrible teeth, I throw myself into a forward roll, heedless of the rough blacktop scraping my skin. While I’m tumbling, I slash out with my machete at the monster’s leg, aiming for the joint, where the scales offer the least protection, just like Sergeant Moss trained me.

  My aim is true. My blade slices clean through the limb, severing it from the body. The creature howls in pain. I roll to the side and then dart backward, out of the thing’s reach, back to where I started.

  I’m not certain what I expected to happen next—maybe that the thing would fall over, or lurch away in agony? I’m certainly not prepared for what does occur.

  The monster remains where it is, still blocking the road. Its long tongue flicks downward, licking at its severed leg. My eyes follow the tongue, and what I see causes my jaw to drop open in astonishment. At first I can hardly believe what I’m witnessing, but the evidence is right there in front of me. Amazingly, the missing section of leg is beginning to grow back right before my eyes!

  Regeneration, it’s called. I remember reading that some small lizards have the ability to grow a new tail if they lose it to a predator, but I never dreamed a creature this size cold grow a new leg.

  From the rate the new limb is appearing, I have less than five minutes before the beast regains full mobility. If I’m to have any chance to get through this, I’d better make use of them.

  I glance to my right, toward the thick woods. Could I cut my way far enough into them in the time I have before the beast comes after me? The tangled mass of foliage doesn’t bode well. I think I could probably climb one of the huge trees high enough to be out of the monster’s range, but then what? What if it simply remains beneath the tree until hunger or sleep brings me toppling out of the branches?

  I don’t like my odds. I have to think of a better way.

  In the end, I see only one real choice. And I need to do it before the reptile’s leg grows back.

  I walk to my left, as if I’m going to try to squeeze between the giant tail and the edge of the cliff. The creature turns its head, its bulbous eyes following my every step.

  Come on, I pray, take the bait.

  For several long moments, the beast is content to follow me with its eyes. I’m just a step or two from the cliff when the thing finally moves.

  Pushing itself up with its good leg, the monster shoves its huge body partially around, cutting off my escape. I immediately race back to my right, toward the newly created gap on the other side of the road. The creature lets out what I guess is a howl of rage and throws itself back in my direction, but it’s too slow. I narrowly make it past and begin racing down the road with the monster’s roars echoing behind me. The terrifying sound lends wings to my feet, giving me a speed I didn’t know I possessed.

  I risk one look back. The beast is not chasing me, not yet anyhow. What it will do when its leg grows back in the next few minutes is anybody’s guess, but I have to act like it will follow me down the road. How fast a thing that large might be I have no idea, but I’m not waiting around to find out. I need to put as much distance between us as I can.

  I run as if my life depends on it, which it probably does. The constant curves and hills of the road are both a blessing and a curse. I can seldom see much of the highway behind me, which prevents me from seeing whether the creature is pursuing me—and if it is, just how close it might be. On the plus side, the beast can’t see me, either. Perhaps its reptile brain will forget about me—out of sight, out of mind—or maybe it won’t want to leave its home territory. I’ll be happy with either.

  Finally, I can run no farther. My legs feel like they’re made of lead and my lungs seem like they’re about to burst. I stop on the side of the road, bent over with my hands on my knees, gasping for breath. Twisting my head around, I look behind me.

  I can see only fifty or sixty yards before the highway disappears around a bend, but at least that portion of the road is empty. I suck in
several more much needed gulps of air before straightening up and looking back in front of me. Lying ahead is one of the longest stretches of straight roadway I’ve come across in some time, a slight ascent easily a quarter mile long. When I reach the top, I’ll have an unbroken view of a sizable section of highway.

  I’m not really ready to move yet, but I know I must. I force myself onward, walking now, for that’s all I can manage. I glance behind me frequently, terrified I’ll see the giant reptile lumbering after me, but the road continues to be empty. My breathing slowly returns to a semblance of normal, but my legs remain tight and aching as I trudge up the incline.

  At the top, I stop and turn around. I breathe out a long sigh of relief. There’s no sign of pursuit anywhere behind me. I find a large boulder by the side of the road and sit down on it to rest, still keeping a close watch on the highway. Ten or fifteen minutes pass, and there’s still no creature. It’s either given up, or is much slower than I imagined. I hope it’s the former, but I’ll take what I can get.

  I’m safe—for now, at least.

  CHAPTER 15

  THE SUN IS BEGINNING to sink low in the sky. I’m guessing I’ve got maybe an hour of daylight left—enough time to cover two or three more miles before I’ll have to start looking for a safe place to spend the night. “Safe” being a very relative term out here in the wilds, of course.

  In one section of the western sky, the high clouds have been twisted by upper level winds into an angry-looking vortex of gray and white. At least I hope the clouds have been shaped by high winds. The alternative is a giant Anomaly about to open in the sky and spew forth dangerous monsters. While flying creatures are rare, they’re not unheard of. Rocs and wyverns have been seen by people I’ve talked to, and tales are told of fire-breathing dragons, though no one I know has ever encountered one of those.

  Speaking of monsters, the reptile creature has still not appeared at the bottom of the hill, for which I’m profoundly grateful. With luck, the beast has found something else to occupy its attention and has forgotten about me completely. That doesn’t mean I’ll be letting my guard down, though.

  Keeping my machete in hand, I head off along the roadway at a brisk walk. Having seen the kind of monster I might encounter along the highway, I’m even more careful now whenever I come to a sharp curve. I creep forward as silently as I can at every bend, hugging the shadows of the trees until I’m certain no unpleasant surprise awaits me on the other side. I’m similarly cautious every time I crest a steep rise in the road. And I take lots of looks behind me, too.

  Fortunately, I see no more creatures of any kind. When I pass another small stream that flows under the highway, I duck off the road for a quick drink. I’m especially cautious now, since I know water attracts both hunters and prey. I’m not a hunter—and I certainly don’t want to be prey.

  I watch and listen carefully, but hear nothing except the gentle rustling of the leaves in the breeze. I choose a spot where a clump of leafy bushes growing along the bank provides partial cover. Kneeling down, I lower my mouth to the water and drink my fill. The cool water tastes as good as any beverage I’ve ever had.

  A little bit later, I come across the first automobile I’ve seen since I started walking on the road. It’s a silver SUV, slanted across the shoulder of the south lane. I’m a little surprised I haven’t happened upon more abandoned vehicles—thousands of purposefully disabled cars are strewn about the streets of San Diego. I guess there was never any reason for anyone to stop here on this isolated stretch of highway.

  The reason this one stopped is clear, though—the front half of the vehicle is twisted and torn like it had been stuck into a grinder. I’m pretty sure I know what happened. The car’s electrical system probably triggered an Anomaly, and the powerful forces of the opening portal ripped apart the metal hood as if it were made of paper.

  Afraid of what I might find inside, I don’t really want to look. But I suppose I have to. There may be something in there that can help me survive. I edge up to the car’s side and peer in carefully though the broken driver’s side window. Thankfully, I find no rotting bodies or skeletons. There’s a child safety seat still strapped to the back seat. Lying next to it is a dirty gray teddy bear covered with dark hearts. I imagine the animal’s fur was once white and that the hearts were red or pink, but years of exposure to the damp, salty air have soiled the toy.

  I’d like to think the occupants of the car simply walked away from this accident and made it to a safe haven somewhere, but the presence of the stuffed bear argues against it. I doubt that the bear’s young owner would have left it behind. More likely, the family fell victim to whatever emerged through the portal. I push the thought from my mind—alone out here and on my own, I don’t need to be thinking like that.

  The rear hatch is open, so I scan the back section of the SUV for anything that might be helpful. If these people were fleeing the dangers of the San Francisco area, I would expect to find suitcases filled with belongings, but the cargo space is empty. Earlier scavengers have picked this carcass clean.

  There’s nothing for me to do but continue on my journey, so that’s exactly what I do. I mumble a short prayer for the car’s departed occupants and resume walking north.

  As the day moves toward its end, the air becomes cooler. I don my sweatshirt against the chill. I don’t think I want to risk a fire tonight—no matter how much I try to hide it, the tell-tale glow might be seen by eyes I don’t want to attract. Which means I’d better start looking for a place that will not only provide concealment, but might offer some shelter from the cold night as well.

  Since I don’t relish climbing down the cliffs in search of a nocturnal haven, there’s really only one place to look—in the woods off to my right. I slow my pace and peer into the underbrush as I walk along the edge of the road, seeking something suitable. I’m not sure exactly what I’m looking for, but I’ll know it when I see it. The hillside is less steep here than it has been, so when I decide to leave the highway for the evening it shouldn’t be too difficult to make my way at least some distance back into the trees.

  Finally, with the sun dangling only a few degrees above the ocean and lighting up the patchy clouds in a dazzling display of reds, purples and golds, I spot what looks like a good place to spend the night. It’s a shallow, V-shaped gully that runs up the hill into the woods, probably a natural runoff channel for water during big storms. The gently sloping walls will give me some shelter from any wind and cold, and the bottom is filled with dead leaves I can scrape into a pile to burrow my body into, just like they taught us in survival training.

  I remember the sailor’s “red sky at night” axiom and wonder if it holds on land as well as at sea. If it does, I’ll have another dry day ahead for me. Not that I really need to look that far ahead. First, I need to make it through the night.

  Turning off the blacktop, I push my way through the low undergrowth until I’m forty or fifty feet from the road. I avoid using my machete to cut my way through the brush because I want to leave as little a trail as possible behind me. From where I am now, I can’t even see the highway through the dense foliage. Heck, I can barely even see any of the fiery sunset. Hopefully, that means nothing passing by on the road will be able to spot me, either.

  I take a few minutes to shove a bunch of dead leaves with my feet into a thick pile on one side of the gully. The leaves will serve as my bed and as camouflage when I’m ready to sleep. Famished now from my long trek and my way too close brushes with death, I take out my uneaten half of energy bar and begin nibbling on it. I force myself to eat slowly—tiny bites and lots of chewing—to make my meal last. I don’t have any water to wash it down with, but I drank enough from the stream a short while ago to last me through the night. I make a mental note to begin looking tomorrow for a way to carry at least a small amount of water with me, just in case.

  I finish my “dinner” and shove the wrapper into my pocket just as night descends. Half a bar wasn’t nea
rly enough, but it will have to do. Unless I miraculously run across an abandoned grocery story filled with canned food I can hack open with my machete, the energy bars have to last me as long as possible.

  Back here in the woods, the transition from twilight to blackness is startlingly swift. With the thick canopy of leaves above me, no moonlight or starlight can penetrate down to the forest floor. One moment I’m sitting in deep shadows, and the next it’s so dark I can’t even see my hand in front of my face. I’d like to think that means no one can see me, either, but I know there are creatures from There with far sharper night vision than any human. That’s another reason I’ve chosen the concealment of the gully to spend the night.

  Moving as quietly as possible, I remove my foil blanket from my pouch and wrap it around me before burrowing silently into my pile of leaves. I keep my machete gripped in my right hand. In addition to hiding me and keeping me warm, I’m counting on the dead leaves to mask my scent as well.

  Tucked away in my makeshift bed and shrouded in darkness, my imagination adds fear and worry to every sound I hear around me. The scraping of branches against each other in the night breeze becomes the clicking of weapons; the furtive rustling of some small animal—a squirrel perhaps?—transforms itself into the stealthy tread of a thirsty vampire. The entire forest seems to have but one purpose—to terrify poor little me.

  With nothing else to occupy my mind, the hopelessness of my situation engulfs me. This was only my first day out here on my own, and already I’ve nearly slid to my death off a hundred foot cliff and was almost eaten by a giant lizard. Even in the best of circumstances, it would take me more than a week to walk all the way to San Francisco. How am I possibly going to survive that long alone?