Relentless Savage Page 2

  With the spear gripped firmly in both hands, point facing forward, legs braced, Tok finally spotted the cat. It was crouched low, in an expanse of brush no more than waist tall. The large male cat was undoubtedly drawn to the smell of the butchered boar, and now it saw an easy meal for the taking. Tok was almost directly between the saber tooth cat and the young hunter now quartering the dead boar; so intent on his work that he had not yet registered the low guttural growls.

  The cat’s eyes darted between Tok and the butchered carcass, sensing that Tok was an impediment that the cat would have to deal with. After a long pause, the cat charged and then sprang—flying through the air and striking Tok’s head. The leap was so swift and powerful that Tok had little time to react. He had just managed to raise the point of his spear, slashing a rear leg of the large cat, before the blow to his head knocked him to the ground.

  The animal landed and with a second, shorter bound, was on the boar carcass brushing the young Neanderthal hunter aside.

  Terrified, the young hunter lashed out with his flint knife. The knife sunk deep into the rear quarter of the cat, but the blade was a short working tool and it failed to reach anything vital.

  The saber tooth cat roared and swiveled, stretching a mighty clawed paw in an enormous swipe at the Neanderthal. The blow struck the young hunter in the chest, four sharp claws tearing his flesh, crushing ribs, penetrating deep into the hunter’s lungs and heart. The young hunter crashed to the ground, never even murmuring a sound, his lifeless eyes staring blankly at the sky.

  The cat roared in victory, the sound echoing off the mountains, and then returned its attention to the carcass. Biting deep into a 300-pound rear quarter, the carnivore raised its head, effortlessly picking up the huge chunk of meat.

  But Tok was not going to surrender his prize. He had killed the boar and claimed it for his clan. He slowly stood, shaking his head from the blow. He gripped his spear and charged the cat.

  With the thrusting spear low at his side and powerful legs pumping, Tok rushed forward toward the cat. He released a blood-curdling scream and threw himself at the beast just as it turned to face its attacker.

  With a mighty collision, Tok slammed into the cat and pushed the spear deep into the animal’s side. The two predators crumbled to the ground in a tangled ball. Tok was stunned by the collision and had difficulty catching his breath. The saber tooth cat recovered first, despite its wounds. It untangled itself from the Neanderthal hunter, spear still hanging from its side.

  With a defiant roar, the cat stumbled away from Tok and twisted, biting at the spear and the source of its pain. Tok rose—first to one knee, and then slowly standing on wobbly legs. He searched the ground for his spear, only to realize it was still stuck firmly in the cat. The cat now caught his gaze, and roared again.

  Tok lowered his hand to his waist and retrieved a long and stout hunting knife. Like his thrusting spear-point, Tok had painstakingly shaped the long knife from a superb specimen of obsidian, and he fashioned the handle from a large fang of a saber tooth cat his father had killed when Tok was a young child. The fang, filled with hardened tree resin for additional strength, was as long as the blade, with the point of the fang opposite the point of the blade.

  The saber tooth cat lowered its head and started to move toward Tok. Standing firm, the Neanderthal did not give ground. The cat was not accustomed to these creatures behaving defiantly—normally they fled in the face of a charge. But this one, this hunter, behaved very differently.

  Sensing something abnormal, the cat stopped and roared again, trying to intimidate Tok. But rather than run, Tok let loose his own war cry and then lunged at the large cat. They collided head on with Tok wrapping his massive arm around the cat’s neck. He stabbed his knife into the shoulder of the cat, attempting to strike a vital organ or artery, but the blade was not long enough to cause mortal wounds from this angle.

  The cat shook free of the hunter and lashed out with a powerful swipe with its paw. The cat’s claws easily shredded the bear-hide cape Tok was wearing, but were deflected by an undergarment of body armor fashioned from the shoulder cartilage of a boar. The blow knocked Tok aside, snapping the leather straps holding the cartilage plate over his chest, but he quickly recovered and regained his balance. Pushing the useless hide garments off, he stood naked, knife at the ready, facing the saber tooth cat.

  The cat charged.

  Tok parried bringing the blade down across the side of the cat’s neck in a vicious slash. The serrated obsidian blade cut deep through the thick muscles.

  The animal’s momentum carried it beyond Tok. It roared in pain and turned to face its nemesis. Again the cat charged—and again Tok deflected the blow by pivoting to the side. This time he swung outward at the passing cat with the heal of the knife. The saber-tooth-fang handle connected with the shoulder of the beast, sinking deeply into the muscle. The beast stumbled, weakened from its wounds and loss of blood.

  The cat staggered, nearly falling. Tok knew it was near death. But the beast, with adrenaline still coursing through its veins, would not quit the fight. Again the cat charged, slower this time. Tok stood his ground. With a closed fist, he delivered a mighty blow to the cat’s head while at the same time sinking the hunting knife into its neck, severing the carotid artery.

  The cat stumbled and toppled to its knees. Slowly, the beast rolled over onto its side; breathing shallowly—its eyes not focusing. Tok took a deep breath, and looked down at his foe, knowing the cat was mortally wounded and would soon die. Tok retrieved his spear and raised his arms, bellowing in triumph.

  By the time three adult males from Tok’s clan arrived, the boar was cut into quarters and placed on the creature’s hide, separated from its body in one large piece, hairy side against the dirt. Tok had just laid the young hunter in a shallow depression he scrapped in the earth. His arms were folded across his chest, the short flint knife clasped in one hand. All three males helped Tok gather stones to layer over the corpse. Eventually, they knew, scavengers would pull away the rocks and scatter the bones.

  This basic ritual completed, each Neanderthal lifted a quarter of the boar and began the hike back to their cave. Tok kneeled and wrapped the boar hide around the last rear quarter, then he hefted the load to his shoulder, gripping the thrusting spear in his right hand. He watched for a few moments as the other three Neanderthals walked away single file, each loaded with meat for the clan. One by one they fell from sight as they crossed a slight rise and descended down the far side.

  Tok stood motionless. He flared his nostrils, drawing in the air, sifting out the hundreds of unique scents. He pinched his eyebrows and slowly turned his head, searching for movement. Again, Tok inhaled deeply. There it was, a foreign odor—almost, but not quite, masked by the musky smell of blood and urine and viscera.

  Slowly Tok turned to face into the slight breeze, his eyes searching, piercing the flora for signs of movement, of danger. Several moments passed as Tok remained absolutely motionless, scanning left to right and back again.

  And then he saw them, three of them. They had arms and legs, like Tok, but they looked different—not Neanderthal at all. These creatures were slightly taller than most of the males in Tok’s clan, and they were thinner.

  They approached Tok, initially attempting to conceal their movement, but once Tok spotted them the closest one stood, and then the other two did as well. Their skin was dark, and they carried spears and clubs.

  This was the first time Tok had encountered Homo sapiens. Like Tok, the Homo sapiens were also confused by this new discovery that looked something like themselves, but yet not the same. But they certainly recognized the meat Tok held on his shoulder—and they were determined to take it.

  The closest of the strangers was noticeably taller than the other two, and a full hand taller than Tok. Staring directly into Tok’s eyes, he spoke in a commanding voice. Tok understood the attempt to communicate, but it was an unfamiliar tongue. Then the tall stranger nodded to his compa
nions, and they began to separate while also moving toward Tok, spears gripped firmly with both hands, points lowered.

  Recognizing that they intended to surround him and attack, Tok dropped the boar quarter and planted his feet, legs slightly spread and knees bent. When the two shorter Homo sapiens were about opposite each other, they charged Tok. As they closed, Tok quickly took three steps to his left and thrust his spear into the stranger. Yanking the hickory shaft, Tok swung the obsidian point like a broad sword just as the second Homo sapiens approached within reach. He swung his own spear down to block the blow, only to have the shaft snap in two on contact with Tok’s massive thrusting point.

  Tok allowed the point to continue its arc, and brought up the butt of the hickory shaft, connecting with the stranger’s cheek. Bone shattered and blood and saliva sprayed outward from the impact, forming a mist that wafted over Tok. The stranger fell to the ground, dead.

  Seeing his two companions defeated, the leader gripped his spear in one hand and a club in the other. His arms outstretched, he bellowed a fierce cry—his eyes showing a rage that burned inside. He ran at Tok, slowing just enough to throw his spear when he had closed the distance a dozen paces. The spear sped at Tok, who fell to the side to dodge the deadly projectile.

  With Tok off his feet, the Homo sapiens pressed his advantage, closing the gap and rearing his club. Tok had only risen to one knee when the club swung downward at his head. He ducked to the side and raised his arm, the heavy club striking squarely on Tok’s upper arm. The blow would have crushed the skull of another Homo sapiens, but the Neanderthal’s thick muscles and heavy bone resisted the impact.

  Tok had to regain his footing. He pushed upward, knocking back the tall stranger, who still had a tight grip on his club. Now Tok had the advantage with the longer reach of his spear. The two warriors circled each other, each watching for the other to make a move.

  It came with blinding speed as Tok swung the butt of his spear downward. As expected, the stranger blocked the blow with his club, but in doing so opened up his other side to attack. Tok instantly reversed his swing and brought the obsidian point slashing down across the stranger’s neck and chest.

  The club slipped from the stranger’s hand. He collapsed to his knees and briefly looked up at Tok, his face devoid of expression. And then he fell to his side, blood still draining from his wounds even though his heart no longer beat.

  The leader of the Neanderthal clan did not live through the coming winter, succumbing to a disease that had mysteriously infected his clan following Tok’s encounter with the strange beings. Tok, the mightiest hunter and chief of his clan, was buried in a nook at the far depths of the cave, his spirit believed to offer protection over the clan much as he had done in life. Primitive paintings applied to the cave walls commemorated his hunts, which had allowed his family to thrive.

  In the cool and dry depths of the cave, Tok’s body very slowly desiccated, preserving his tissues for many centuries. Eventually, over the millennia, only his bones remained—as they were left in reverence by his clan.

  Tok’s spirit could offer no protection to his extended family. Within three years the last of Tok’s clan had succumbed to disease.

  Chapter 1

  Darfur

  March 14

  The guards never got used to the frequent grunting and howling. It was a primitive form of speech, one which they did not yet understand. The linguists were studying these sounds and patterns, but since their subjects seemed to have lost most of their ability to communicate in their native language, progress was slow. The creatures’ appearance was no less unnerving than their speech: exaggerated eyebrows, heavy cheekbones, jutting jaw, and thickly muscled neck. Hideous abominations, the guards thought.

  The brute strength of these creatures was also intimidating, and the guards always worked in pairs when socializing and training them. Armed with cattle prods, pistols, and clubs, the guards still felt uneasy. They relied heavily on the cattle prods to instill rudimentary obedience before the more sophisticated military training could commence.

  It was like breaking a wild horse, one guard said. But once accomplished the results were impressive—an obedient soldier that possessed enormous strength and keen senses. Even more significantly, these soldiers did not fear battle, and they never questioned orders.

  The compound housing the creatures had been built mostly in secret and had been completed only six months earlier. The Chinese government exercised complete authority over the camp and the 360-degree perimeter around the compound extending two kilometers beyond the outer fence. Roving patrols of heavily armed foot soldiers and mounted units ensured that no one accidentally, or intentionally, strayed too close.

  It was no secret that China and Sudan had forged very close relations, but exactly how close was still a carefully guarded secret. The relationship was symbiotic—China needed oil, provided by Sudan. In return, Sudan needed—craved is really a better term—more money and military weaponry.

  But President Hassan al-Bariqi was not about to spend his newfound wealth on his impoverished citizens. Rather, his money was spent on palaces, yachts, lavish aircraft, weapons, and other expensive toys of war and status.

  The price for this one desert compound and associated real estate was the equivalent of 500 million U.S. dollars, paid to al-Bariqi’s government, and the People’s Republic of China didn’t hesitate to consummate the deal.

  “Colonel Ming. Seven new subjects have been prepared for the treatment. Do you wish to examine them first?”

  Ming was conducting his customary morning inspection of the holding cells, accompanied by two junior medical officers.

  “Were the subjects recently captured? Where are they from?” Ming inquired.

  “They are from the Masalit tribe. They were turned over yesterday by the Janjaweed militia under the command of Korlos. All are male, between the age of 16 and 30, and all are in satisfactory health. None were shot; they suffered only the usual beatings.”

  “Very well. Instruct Dr. Hsu to continue using procedural modification 33vK. He can use a different test group for his experiments with the new viral infection procedure 26rh8.

  “And make certain Dr. Hsu knows that I want a detailed report on the subjects’ initial physiological responses by 2200 hours today. Is that understood?”

  Ming did not wait for a reply before walking away at his usual brisk pace.

  Chapter 2

  Eugene, Oregon

  March 14

  “So, we would take the summer term off from the academic curriculum, but get credit for the volunteer work? Sort of like a short stint with the Peace Corps?” Ethan asked the speaker.

  He was dressed in gym shorts and a yellow polo shirt, gym bag over his shoulder. Standing next to him, arms folded across his chest, was another young man, similarly dressed. Joe was Ethan’s best friend. They had just completed a session of racket ball and were on their way back to their dorm.

  Of Scandinavian and Irish decent, Ethan had blue eyes, light brown hair, a moderately pale complexion and average build—very common by any measure. His personality, however, made him stand out from a crowd, or draw the attention of one. He was outgoing, engaging, both witty and humorous—at times overt and at other times very subtle. He was intelligent and focused; two attributes his professors especially valued. But he had yet to declare a major and he was halfway through his second year at the University of Oregon, his father’s Alma Mater.

  Ethan’s grandfather was a Professor Emeritus at Oregon State University, and the rivalry between the two universities was as intense as any. Despite the fact that both schools were highly ranked and had good athletic programs, the family arguments were known to get somewhat heated during the Civil War basketball and football games, although always in good nature.

  “Yes,” the speaker replied. “That’s basically the way the program works. We recognize that a multiyear commitment is difficult for many people, especially students. It’s understandable
that recent graduates would want to start their career path right away, and they may be uncertain if serving with the Peace Corps is the right step to take. This program was designed to provide a hands-on introduction while earning college credits, so you can determine first-hand if volunteer work helping impoverished people is right for you.”

  Ethan Savage nodded understanding. He had often thought that helping poor and under-educated children would make the world a better place for everyone. But how much difference can one person make? Or even a bunch of people? The problem is so enormous, and the gap between the wealthy and poor growing ever larger, he thought. Ethan found appalling the fact that nearly one-third of the world’s population—about two billion people—had no access to electricity.

  Even as a young boy, Ethan remembered his father, Peter, talking about these issues. His father had explained that education was the key to improving, albeit slowly, global standards of living and improving ethnic and religious tolerance. Ethan believed this and wanted to do something meaningful, but he felt like he never could find the right opportunity.

  Maybe it’s because opting out is easier than getting involved? Ethan shook his head; he wasn’t ready to truthfully answer that question.

  Now he had an opportunity to travel with a student group—the Peace Corps Reserve—and spend three months working at an impoverished village in Darfur—literally meaning Land of the Fur—or maybe at an aid camp for refugees, victims of on-going persecution by the government of Sudan. He had read a bit about the political unrest and violence in the western region of Sudan. Although there appeared to be some abatement after the Republic of South Sudan seceded as a new nation, the region was still rife with ethnic violence on both sides of the new border. Still, that was half a world away, and it all felt so abstract and remote to Ethan.