The Baby Maggie River, three hundred meters wide, gurgled and splashed
over water-pocked rocks in its race to reach the Joe Junior Swamp and
filter through to the sea. The cliffs, a ragged wall of dark gray rock
tilted until the strata were vertical, lined the opposite bank.
Toal and I stood at the end of a track passing down between high rocks
to the river. Here the pontoon bridge had once spanned the current.
For two square kilometers around us, the trees had been cut and not
replanted. The place was a depressing scene of gulleys, brush, stumps,
and decaying limbs and sticks. A species of thorny, creeping vine with
blue-green foliage predominated in reclaiming the devastated woodland.
"Surely the Hog didn't swim," Toal said.
Dehydrated and soaked with perspiration that would not evaporate, I
mopped my streaming face with my sleeve. "He must have left the trail
somewhere," I said.
We had again failed to find the hisser near the vinetree, but the Hog's
hoofprints, usually following paths and roads, had led us to the river.
I unreeled the cable of the sniffer until its nose dangled just above
the ground. With the dial in my hand, I explored the edge of the road.
"That brush heap looks broken," Toal said.
I walked in the direction that she pointed. A labyrinth of stone lay
along the bank. Heat waves simmered over the ground, and my feet burned
in spite of thick boot soles. I reached the brush. The dial of the
sniffer lighted, and the needle turned to the right. "We're on!" I
said. "There's more blood. He was still bleeding after running this
far. He must be dead, after all. You stay there with the pentacycle,
and--"
"Had this argument yesterday," said Toal. "I'll bring part of the
dynamite and go with you."
Following the pointing needle, I tripped along through the brush.
Dry sticks popped under my feet, and the creepers quickly reduced my
oversuit legs to rags. The trail angled across a bend in the river and
moved into the shade of a vinetree grove. At first, there was open
space between the trees, so that we again reached the river without
difficulty. Small holes dotted the dirt beneath an overhanging rock.
Toothies swarmed in and out of the burrows and squeaked excitedly.
"Some dynalene might help here," I said. "These things will eat this
peninsula bare some day."
"Dynamite," Toal said. "Let them."
The sniffer led us deeper into the vine grove. The round, fringed
leaves meshed into a roof that stopped the sunlight and left us walking
in a sickly, greenish gloom. Abruptly, the leaves closed down to the
earth, forming a rough wall of vegetation across the woods. The mouth
of a tunnel opened in the mass.
Toal whispered, "The Hog goes to the swamp through there. We set traps
at other tunnels. He always avoided them. It's black as a cave inside."
The sniffer pointed directly to the tunnel. Cloven hoofs had indented
the ground. I said, "You go back, and--"
"No! I'll throw dynamite."
"All right. Be careful where you throw it." I grinned sickly. "Is there
any way around these vines?"
"Could circle to cleared ground. Would only lead to the swamp. Can't
walk in the swamp."
I put the sniffer in my pack and clipped the light to my belt. I
tiptoed into the tunnel. Toal followed.
The ground was slippery underfoot, and the amount of light filtering
through the massed leaves swiftly lessened. The tunnel curved gently
from side to side. One hundred meters from the entrance, I could not
see and turned on the light.
The Hog grunted. The ground vibrated.
Raising the heavy firearm to my shoulder, I waited. "Keenlogh!" the Hog
squealed. The sound of his breathing reached me. The oily stench of him
came through the tunnel.
Pausing between each step to listen, I moved forward. The tunnel
twisted sharply and then branched. Each branch again divided. The Hog
grunted, "Huh, huh, huh, huh!"
I moved to the right toward the sound. Down the leafy corridor, a red
spot glittered. It blinked from sight before I could aim.
I reached another branch in the tunnel, and my light chose that moment
to go out. I stood in total darkness, remembering that I had failed to
install a new generator.
"Go back," I whispered in terrified accents. "Light's gone. Toal?"
"Here."
"Go back." Walking sideways, I began a fumbling withdrawal. I brushed
against the invisible vines, slipped, and almost fell. "Keep together,"
I said. "Are you there, Toal?"
I retreated about twenty more steps and said, "Grab my belt, or we'll
be separated."