'Con ...' said Joe.
'Rick's right. We'll save a lot of time, and I'll feel safer on the other side.'
'You're not going to do this,' said Joe firmly.
'You're not my father,' replied Con.
'Not that you listened to him, either,' said Joe. 'Okay, I know when I'm beat. Let's get this over with. Only this time, Con, no peeking at Rick.' He laughed at Rick's reaction. Joe and Rick unloaded two of the travoises and com-bined them to make a litter. Then they piled all the sup-plies upon the litter to form a single load. It was heavy, but manageable. They undressed, placed their clothes on the litter, and made a hurried crossing. Joe swore the entire time until the fire was lit. When the fire was blaz-ing, Rick called out, 'Con, we're ready for you to come over.'
'Then turn around,' she called back. 'I'll yell if I need help.' When Rick and Joe's backs were turned, Con quickly undressed and stuffed her clothes into a duffel bag. She was already cold when she entered the water, holding the bag over her head and dragging the empty remaining tra-vois. The freezing river felt like knives. When it reached her breasts, Con thought that she would be paralyzed by the cold, but terror forced her stiffening legs to keep moving. By the time she reached the shore, she was shiv-ering so violently she had difficulty drying herself and dressing. Without the fire, she was sure she would not have been able to dress unassisted. It was more than mod- esty that prevented her from asking for help. Con did not want Rick or Joe to see how prominent her ribs had be- come.
AS THE PAIN in the nightstalker's snout faded, the de-mands of hunger grew stronger. Still, she waited until darkness to visit the canyon and the place of strange smells. Even before she reached the ledge, she sensed a change. The big things with the terrible black stick were gone. She could neither hear them nor see them, and their strange scent was old. Drawn by the odor of food, she approached the ledge while her offspring prowled the snowy grove behind her.
There was the aroma of blood on the ground. It did not make any difference to her that it was her child's blood. The important thing, the only thing that mattered, was there were no scraps left to eat. She tested the air and detected another scent of food. It was the same smell as the meat left after the brightness and hotness had passed. She had grown familiar with that scent. The black flesh was good to eat, although it tasted strange. Everything was strange now. Things looked different, smelled dif-ferent, the very air was different. Despite that, she had always been able to sate her hunger . . . until now. Food had grown scarce, then disappeared altogether. If she did not find some soon, she would be driven to eat her re-maining child. That would be her last resort, for the child aided in hunts and would fight if attacked. The black flesh smell came from the ledge. The night-stalker climbed up to investigate. The smell was strong, but it was also old—one lightness old. She leapt off the ledge. Her child hissed when she landed and prepared to defend itself, but its mother did not attack. Instead, she sniffed the cold whiteness. The black flesh smell was there too, mingled with the odor of the big things. The cold whiteness made the scents faint, but not too faint for her to follow. They led out of the canyon and guided nightstalkers in the dark. When the scent led beyond the nightstalkers' territory, they did not halt. The world was different. Only the strongest of the old instincts still gov-erned—the need to eat.
31
CON, JOE, AND RICK HUDDLED CLOSE TO THE DYING FIRE
on the riverbank, trying to extract the last of its warmth. They rose from the muddy circle of melted snow only when the fire's final embers died out. 'We can probably make a few more miles before it gets dark,' said Rick. Without discus-sion, Joe and Con loaded up their travoises and headed out. As they marched, Rick tried to determine if crossing the river had been a wise choice. He was beginning to see their situation in terms of the harsh arithmetic of biology and physics. As mammals, they had to maintain a body core tem-perature of 98.6°F. A six-degree drop in that temperature meant death. As it got colder, more energy was required to maintain body heat. Ultimately, everything boiled down to a matter of calories, calories from fuel and calories from food. Fire warmed them externally and food warmed them inter-nally. When the wood ran out, only food would warm them. If the food ran out, their bodies would consume themselves in an effort to stay warm. The insulating fat would go first, worsening the problem of keeping warm and hastening the decline toward death. Every decision Rick made was a cal-culation based on that knowledge. The river crossing had cost them energy he hoped to recoup by shortening their journey.
As they tramped by the river, Rick looked at Con's pale, thin face and wondered if his calculation was correct.
Light faded from the sky, forcing them to halt before total darkness fell. 'We're going to need a place to store our food,' said Rick. 'Someplace safe from animals.'
'We haven't seen a living thing all day,' said Joe.
'We can't risk losing our food to raiders,' replied Rick. 'We'd best play it safe.'
'Why don't we keep it in the tent?' asked Con.
'And have visitors?' replied Rick.
Con grew wide-eyed at the thought of a nightstalker in the tent.
'I'm with Rick on this,' said Joe. 'Better safe than sorry.'
'The ground's too frozen to dig, and there are no trees to hang our food from,' said Rick, 'so a stone cache seems our only choice.'
