Chapter 2

Camino was hoisted to his feet and with a grunt they were off running back towards the river bank, skirting around overturned cars, sandbag barricades, and rivulets of water that collected amongst fissures and cracks in the ancient walkways. As far as he could tell, the Gawth had only mounted the long transit vehicle and was starring after them, but it hadn’t budged.

Mii-May pulled Camino let along a tall wall that loomed large as the path descended towards the water’s edge, and soon they were sprinting through an inch of water that did nothing to hide their escape but did send a small army of two-headed polliwogs fleeing every which way.

A bow-legged billow, ignoring the Camino and and Mii-May because it stood three feet taller than Camino yawp’d excitedly and speared a wog between its stilt shaped beak. If it had know they were running from some kind of smart Gawth, it wouldn’t have been so brave.

Camino noticed that his apprentice, while moving faster than him, was struggling with the pain in her leg. His own lungs were burning with the exertion as well, but he could manage. They would need time to take care of her leg, and time was nonexistent…still it would have to be done.

As they clambered up out of the water and onto an old length of wooden decking that ran parallel to the bank and was held together with long rusted rivets, Camino loosened the knot on his pouch and started digging around blindly for a ridged back with three dull spikes. He absently noticed that the ancient deck was lined with tall, arched polls that used to hold lamps spaced about twenty feet apart as the tips of his forefinger and middle found a hard, bean shaped insect with three dull spikes. It was a scuttle bug—worst, most bitter taste of all the medicinal bugs, but cheap enough for the likes of him to buy in bundles of three, and so a frequent component of his inventory. He plucked the scuttled out of his pouch and held it firmly in his hand. They’d ran a good distance, and still no sounds of pursuit. Still, Camino had to know. Did they have minute to stop? He hoped so.

He caught Mii-May by the shoulder and stopped her. “I don’t hear anything. What do you see?”

She looked to be listening and then thinking. “Nothing from here.” His apprentice sprinted ahead and in one deft motion that almost hid the pain in her leg, Mii-May clambered up a length of bent city light and looked back the way they had come. “It’s a Gawth alright…It’s still just standing there.”

Good, thought Camino, but then why the horn?

In Camino’s experience, sometimes groups of hunters used signals—sometimes mirrors, sometimes flares, or other such devices—to coordinate hunts and the trapping of large prey.

Mii-May leapt to the ground, “come on.”

“What?”

Her gaze held steel but something small and fearful too. “It’s buddies just hopped up beside it.” The whites of her eyes told a story fear and instinct that couldn’t be disguised by training or cloaks of indifference. “And they move fast.”

Camino’s pulse quickened with fear as well, but she had to take the medicine now. There wouldn’t be time later. “Your leg?”

She frowned down at her leg. “It’s hurting. I took a bad step and got suck with a ripe thistle star.”

Camino wined. “That kind of poison cramps muscles up tight. Been know to damage mobility permanently too. A medic would say rest, broth, and elevation…maybe more.”

“Yeah…we don’t have time for that.”

“No we don’t,” Camino held up the scuttle bug and held her gaze, “Surry kid, it’s the only—

He didn’t have to finish his sentence, before he could Mii-May had snatched the bug from between his fingers, bit the thing in half to activate its latent properties, and swallowed the thing whole. Sulking bugs, when eaten dry, had two properties. They had a rejuvenating effect on worn tissue and they numbed the body slightly so that while the bugs did their healing, the user had the added benefit of being able to use their muscles for labor as well…which slowed the healing, but could keep a person alive as a near-last resort.

After a pause, Mii-May was about to run again, but Camino stopped her. “They’re going to catch up…So we have to get smart.” Camion looked around. They had reached the bank of the American Rio. In the fading twilight, Mii-May sucked air in through her nose producing a small hiss. Something she did when she was frustrated or stressed out.

“There.” Camino guided her towards the edge of the deck and began to climb over the side. Mii-May followed. “Got any poppers?”

“Yeah.” A popper was a small vial of gunpowder. As a rule, only the most elite military units had access to guns and projectile weapons beyond the complexity of a sling, but gunpowder was a different story. Camino took the vial she offered and lowered part of his body into the small lapping waters of the Sacramento Rio. To his surprise, the water only came up to his hips, which would make the perfect cover.

In a hurry, he tore off a chunk of his shirt and secured it to a two-pound clamper—a kind of sling-based projectile that was designed to catch on to anything it struck and main it. Of course, the two-pound clamper wasn’t heavy enough to maim much, at least not at the speed a human being could throw it.

To Camino, Mii-May had just finished looking at him like he had finally snapped and lost all his senses when he saw the bow-legged billow strode into view with it’s head in the water, still hunting for wogs. Mii-May might have noticed, or she might not have, but in answer to her unspoken question of what the hell are you doing master, Camino answered, “tie the my sweaty shirt to the weight for scent, and…” placing the weight in the saddle of his sling with the vial of gunpowder attached to it, he swung twice, building some formidable momentum and snapped the sling so that the weigh and the powder struck the billow above the buttocks, causing the vial to agitate and pop just as the clamps bit into the great fowl’s rump.

The pop resounded through the air probably louder than was wise, and the great big bird cried out in fear and confusion a sound like an angry flute played by all the gods of the six underworlds as it flapped its stunted wings and left up on to the deck before running away into the night and disappearing with a clamor beyond sight.

Mii-May’s mouth went slack as she mouthed the words, “…and the big bird leads the Gawth on a wild goose chase. And the water masks our scent, with any luck.”

Camino winked and was about to add that he’d only hoped that the billow would show up because the polliwogs were more plentiful than they had been where they’d first seen the bow legged billow. But in a hurry, Mii-May held a finger above her lips. Just then Camino heard it too. Footsteps. Lots of them just above the bank.

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Camino’s heart pounded in his chest. If the Gawth heard them now, it would be over. They were outnumbered if Mii-May’s orignial report of three held true, and his apprentice was hurting even if she masked it well, and they were only hunter-scavengers. Not warriors. They could probably put up a fight, but of what quality and for how long was anyone’s guess. Camino considered him self a champion bar brawler if he needed to be, but not a professional killer of men like some he’d served with along the I-5.

Suddenly the footsteps came close. Now was the chance to see how many there were. Letting his body drift beneath the deck so that he was peering up through the wood, through millimeter thick slits that obscured too much, and hopefully made him and his apprentice invisible. Pairs and pairs of feet and hands scratched across the deck. Camino counted seven pairs and then could no longer be sure. A full fledged hunting party. They faded down the length of the deck and seemed to recede past awareness.

Camino tried to swallowed his fear as his mind raced. They were being hunted. But Camino had been hunted before.

In his first year on the I-5 trades, Marconi and his crew had been out gunned and outmatched three times over in the disputed lands south of the belt, and in an effort to keep his crew alive and rejoin the fight, captain Marconi had ordered his men to set a course east…and into a snowstorm high in the mountains above the belt. Back then Camino had been part of a scouting party that watched as the heavy cruiser that followed them and one of its accompanying destroyers abandoned pursuit and returned back down the slope of the mountain. This had the effect of evening the playing field, and Marconi was able to sneak his corvette up along the destroyer’s aft in the dead of night and set it aflame with black oil before setting course for friendlier lanes in undisputed homelands. If Camino wanted to survive, he’d have to think like that mad bastard of a captain, Marconi.

In the now, Camino hardly breathed peered across the waters of the Sacramento Rio and mimed the folk hand for city to his apprentice. She replied with, really in the folk hand, and Camino nodded grimly. If he could have spoken, assuming that the Gawth were intelligent enough to wait for an advantage in numbers, they might just be smart enough to watch their rear or lay in wait. And it was a good chance that the Gawth had a better sense of hearing than they did, so their chance of sneaking by undetected might have just gone out the door.

Camion peered around checking his surroundings. It was quite dark, but up the bank a little ways was an overturned log drifting in the water beneath the deck as well. That might just be enough to keep us afloat. All we gotta do is cross in one piece. He ran a quick inventory of all the possible things that could be in the water waiting to drag them down and drown them or take a nibble of them while they crossed—it wasn’t the season for leeches and the krack dragons should have all been up in the mountain springs breeding, so that left the big cat’s fish. But they were slow moving and easy to spot.

Camino pulled Mii-May along the bank at a half-crawl and half float, both keeping their bodies low and straining with ever fibre of their beings to listen for footfalls or sniffing. Nothing but the lapping of the waves. When they made their way to the log it ended up being a long tube of rubber that was inflated and tied at one end to hold its air. They examined the tube quickly and pushed off, wading past the hip and then deep into the water with the tube wrapped around their torsos and their heads bobbing above the water like river otter.

Still no footsteps of sniffing, but Camion doubt they would have heard it as close as they were to the murmurings of the river.

By the time they reached the other side, the sun had set completely and the waters of the American Rio bounced with the light of the stars above, the sands of the city-side shore were black without light, and the city towered above them, a set of jagged shadows and crumpled forms that might have once been proud, but were now rusted, toppled over, and growing with fresh wilderness.

The water broke far behind them and then again, but in a soft way. Perhaps a two-headed crane bent over the water, one head skewering grubs as the billow had done and the other keeping watch—wasn’t an uncommon sight by daylight. But…

Camino’s eyes were beginning to adjust to the light, and Camino could just make out the other side when he thought he saw movement along the deck. Just when he thought he made out the arched sheen of a Gawth, its head pressed to the ground of the Eastern shore like a bloodhound’s, he saw the thing pause, and he could have sworn that the angle of its face above the swift and smooth waters of the American Rio would have had the thing starring right at him. Camino imagined that it wore a leer, perhaps of excitement, but he told himself that it was just fear playing tricks on his imagination.

“What do you see?” Mii-May whispered as she stooped beside him and she was palming water off of her arms and legs.

Camino watched the thing rear as if it just caught a scent, and then gracefully, with roller-bug like speed, disappear around low growth and barren salvage following the path of the bow legged billow.

Camino tried to formulate a response. “I…for a second I thought I saw one Gawth that had doubled back, sniffing, and maybe sniffing our spot, but it ran off after the billow. Still…where did we push off?”

Mii-May surveyed the deck for twenty seconds and then pointed across the flat, lapping waters, “Just about there.”

“I was afraid you’d say that.” Camino felt his frown deepen and fatigue in his limbs loosen with fear as that same fear tightened around his chest. “I thought I saw the Gawth just were you said. If you’re right, and you most likely are right, then that thing had found us, and maybe it just pretended to be tricked by my decoy. It hopped up the slope behind the deck like lightning and took off the way the billow had gone.”

“But why would it do that?”

Camino frowned, “give us a sense of security. Get us to let our guard down.”

“So…How long till it comes back?” Mii-May didn’t sound small or agitated in the least, but Camion sure felt agitated by the whole situation. Camino shrugged and got to his feet with an effort. “It’s damn fast. If it did fall for my little trick, then it’ll find the billow and be back double time. An hour or two maybe. Definitely be back before morning, and by that time we’d better be well hidden…in there.”

Mii-May sighed. “I was afraid you’d say that. How many things in there can kill us?”

Camino stared off and then blinked up at the stars. “Known and charted? More than two dozen including man-eating rats, grizzly gores, and shroomfangs,” Camino swallowed. “Listen Mii. It’s a bet, right? We’re betting that we can survive better than the Gawth can…We’re betting that they’re dumb enough to follow us in there and that we’re good enough to be the ones that come out alive.”

“Evening the odds.”

“Exactly.” Camino peered deep into the city, its outline becoming more clear but hiding its depth and the true nature of its shape and layout. “What kind of traps have you mastered?” And just then something up ahead caught his eye—a known shape.

“All of them.” Mii-May hadn’t seen it. Her voice held a note of pride in being able to make any trap Camino could name. Camino decided that he’d believe her when he saw it, but he liked the confidence in her voice. It boded well, and even if the tension was still there in her voice, and tension was healthy in a situation such as theirs, he’d need help setting a few good traps before they could safely make they’re way up the I-5 overpass and either head home and signal for help.

“That’s good that you can—Make traps that is—…but maybe not so good as this. Not to you.” He walked ahead and pulled a torso sized sheet of metal out from under the rusted tire of an old vehicle once known as a van—make and model unknown in its current state. He brushed the dust off the plate and peered down at the lettering on its face. It was weathered but still clear s day.

“Is that…”Mii-May took the thing from Camino and held the broad side below her nose. She studied it. “It’s too dark to make out.”

“It says Jay, just Jay.” Camino wondered what she’d think of it. “Probably said Jay Street once upon a time, but 200 years of bull and jag took the word street right off its face, and so by custom, only what’s left behind matters. So you’re name is Jay and you are a master hunter now…or you will be if we get back.”

Jay dropped her pack and anchored the plate to its straps with a spare shirt and Camino noticed that her leg didn’t seem to be bothering her any more. The numbing effect had done what it was supposed to, still, she’d need jell and safety before morning. Something in Jay’s posture changed and Camino thought he saw a smile break out across her mouth and then he saw her subdue that same smile with a little effort to bring back her stoic countenance that she valued so deeply. Camino had thought the smile was fine even in a situation such as theirs, still Jay—no long Mii-May—took a deep breath and with a clam fire in her voice, she said, “My name is Jay, and we will make it back.” She peered up at the city. “Not if but when. When we get back…We got this.”

Camino used the folk hand for agreement and pulled her into a one armed hug. “Yeah. We do,”