CHAPTER
48
Morning came and they began their trek again. As they left the building they noticed the empty ditch where they’d buried the corpses and the drag marks leading into the nearby brush.
Though it was morning the heat had already reached into the hundreds and without water walking was becoming more difficult.
The first thing Eric noticed about severe dehydration was the numbness in his lips. They began to crack and sting whenever he licked them. Soon his legs began to feel sore and he couldn’t think clearly. After a few hours in the heat, the last of his body’s hydration leaked out onto his skin to try and offset the intense heat. His muscles began to cramp and he realized that he wouldn’t be able to walk for much longer.
A rustling behind some nearby trees.
William stopped and lifted his rifle. Eric took a step back and pulled out his gun, holding it low rather than waste the strength to point it.
There was a patch of gray fur spotted black in the thick shrubbery.
William pointed his rifle and fired, a swarm of birds leaping from the grass and taking flight. The crackle echoing across the valley.
The fur ducked low and was gone.
“What the hell was that?” Eric said.
William tried to spit on the ground and it spattered onto his boot. Dust and dirt were constantly swarming with the wind and it gave him a taste in his mouth like he had been sucking on sand all day. “It’s him,” he said.
“How do you know?”
“I just know.”
Another streak of fur, this time farther away and heading in the opposite direction. William took aim and fired and the fur ducked low again.
An icy chill went down Eric’s back. “Stop,” he said.
“What?”
“Don’t shoot anymore.”
“Why?”
“He’s doing it on purpose.”
“Doing what?”
“Making us waste our bullets.”
William stared at him a long while and then back out over the grass. The wind had died down and a breeze was rustling through the trees, an invisible hand stroking the leaves as gently as a mother running her fingers through the hair of her child.
“Let’s get moving,” William said solemnly.
Walking soon became torture and Eric had to break down his goals into smaller chunks. Finding civilization was reduced to finding a good road and then walking a hundred feet and then fifty, twenty . . . and then all he could do to keep his body in motion was to focus on the next step. One step, and then muster strength for one more. He kept his eyes on the tall grass surrounding him, his ears attuned to every sound. But he couldn’t help his eyes from falling to his feet, concentrating on each step so as not to fall. If he fell, he wasn’t sure he could get back up.
After two hours of scorching heat, pain and blistering skin, they reached a clearing. There was nothing to hide behind, no bushes or trees and all the life had to be out in the open, each animal sizing up the others. There was a carcass of a deer on the dirt road and William looked it over as they passed by. There were no signs of it being attacked.
“I think it died of heat,” William said.
“I need to rest,” Eric said.
They sat down on the dirt road as there was nowhere in sight that provided shade. William lay flat on his back with his arms and legs wide, trying to cool down. Eric began fanning himself with his shirt but the small amount of breeze created was hot and moist so he stopped and just wrapped the shirt around the top of his head to keep the sun off.
In the distance were a series of glimmers, like sunlight reflecting off water or metal. They watched the glimmers get larger for some time before they realized it was people moving toward them.
William stood up and began waving his arms to attract their attention. Eric sat motionless, too fatigued to move. William found he couldn’t wave his arms for long and eventually just sat down, exhausted. The people were moving toward them.
“Let’s hope they speak English,” William said.
As the group approached Eric could see they were two women and probably six or seven men. The glimmers they’d seen was sunlight reflecting off their weapons.
The men carried long staffs and a couple of them had older rifles. Their faces were tattooed with dark blue ink and their earlobes had been stretched down to the base of their necks. One of them had a necklace made from some big animal’s teeth. William guessed they were a small band of gypsies. Though rare in India, they did exist and led agrarian, almost hunter-gatherer lives. Moving from town to town and village to village.
William stood up, smiling, and nodded hello. The group watched him with curiosity but William didn’t detect any fear. He couldn’t decide if that was good or bad.
“We need water,” William said. He motioned up to his lips like he held an invisible glass. “Water,” he said again. They remained silent. William wiped at the small amount of sweat that had gathered on his brow and showed it to them before licking it. “Water.”
One of the men said something in a harsh, abrupt language and one of the women stepped forward. She took out a little leather pouch and laid it on the ground. William approached the pouch cautiously and picked it up; the contents swished. He took a sip; warm water.
William handed the water to Eric and let him drink before finishing it. He was surprised; he never imagined that water could taste so good. He laid the pouch on the ground and nodded again. “Thank you,” he said. He put his hand on his heart and bowed low. “Thank you.”
The group watched them a moment longer and then began moving away. The man that had allowed them water stayed behind and watched them a bit longer.
He patted his hand against his chest. “Tuu’.”
“Tuu’,” William said. He tapped his fist against his own chest. “Will.”
The man nodded. He waited a second and then spoke some words. Seeing that the men didn’t understand, Tuu’ motioned with his large spear in the universal gesture to follow and began walking away.
William looked around. “I wasn’t sure if bushmen like this existed in India. I can’t tell if they’re genuinely good people or just trying to get us to trust them, but there’s nothing out here. My vote is to follow them.”
Eric stood up, his legs burning and nearly buckling underneath him. “Let’s go.”
The Extinct
Victor Methos's books
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