Global Warming Fun 4: They Taste Like Chicken by Gary J. Davies
Chapter 14: Tsiks Attack
In the early morning Mark was surprised to wake to the smell of cooking food. Ann, Walking Stone, and most of the wolves were gone from the den.
Not far outside the den Mark was astonished to find Ann sitting next to a big flat rock where she was butchering flies with his hunting knife. Nearby Walking Stone cooked fly pieces in a pan that he held and heated in one hand while with a diamond tipped finger of his other hand he flipped and stirred the simmering pieces of meat. Atop a big nearby rock cooked fly pieces cooled under the watchful eye of several wolves, who took turns eating the meat whenever it had cooled enough. Mark was very pleased to see Gray Shadow eating along with the others. The med-ticks had worked miracles.
"You're just in time for breakfast, Mark," said Ann. "Guess what? Just like us the wolves like their fly meat better when it's cooked! The three hunters keep bringing in dead flies and I keep butchering them and Walking Stone keeps cooking them and the wolves keep eating them!"
"This early in the morning the flies must be lethargic enough to be caught," Walking Stone reasoned. "After an hour or two more sun they'll be hunting wolves and humans."
Long Fang arrived with a big dead fly in his jaws and dropped it at Ann's feet. The reporter lay it atop the stone where she carved it to bits, throwing nasty fly pieces into a garbage bag and saving the meaty ones for Walking Stone's simmering pan.
"Eat, Man-Child" Ann told Mark, and Long Fang told him something similar.
Soon he was chowing down on yummy strips of fly meat. His Tribal diet was almost totally vegetarian, but he found the fly meet to be delicious. "Is this really what chicken tastes like?" he asked. "I would have said pheasant."
"You never ate chicken?" Ann asked, astonished.
"Maybe some bits of it now and again," Mark admitted, "but the Tribe gets very little meat to eat lately. We're big on beans and fish as protein sources. I figured I'd be eating mostly fish for most of my quest."
"I figured on eating MREs for most of my own quest, but almost half of them are gone already," said Ann. "If I am to survive for almost two more weeks during your spirit quest I guess I'll have to go native and eat mostly flies and fish also."
"First we have to live that long," said Mark. "The weakened wolf pack won't survive another attack like they had yesterday. What I gather from their thoughts is that Long Fang and the other two with him were spared the attacks because the three of them were out hunting miles from the den. They returned to find the rest of the pack decimated. Only the hunting party and Runner are strong enough to effectively fight the flies, but I have a plan that might work. We need to make the den fly-proof."
"How?" Ann asked.
"Only your tent is large enough to barricade the den entrance," Mark explained. "I'm sure the flies will chew through it eventually but we have no other options. We'll have to work fast to set it up. I'll fetch some wood to help hold the tent in place."
"Are you sure that the flies are coming back?" Ann asked.
"Ninety percent sure," Mark estimated. "From what I've been able to learn from the wolves Long Fang and his two best hunters killed hundreds of dormant resting flies last night, but most flies were resting on the high mountain sides where they couldn't be reached. The owls killed many others but not enough to make a difference. Besides, more might fly in from the west. In any case we can't take the chance that they won't attack; we have to be as ready for them as we possibly can. I'll get the sticks. Walking Stone, you cool off and help Ann do some quick clean up and prepare the tent, which may need some alterations. Prepare it for sticks that will be tied to it as a frame. And try to herd the wolves into the den. We don't want them to be out in the open when the tsiks come looking."
Several wolves looked at Mark quizzically and raised their ears when they heard him mention tsiks, and they seemed anxious when he run off with his hatchet. Runner went with him, but the remaining wolves stayed at the den and attentively watched Ann and Walking Stone move about urgently, doing things they didn't comprehend but could sense were important.
"Tsiks," Ann said once in a while, when she caught the wolves watching her work. Gray Shadow shortly led all the remaining wolves except her mate to the rear of the den, absolving Ann of any necessity to try to get them to go inside. Long Fang sat on-guard alone outside the den, calmly watching, listening, and sniffing the air.
Drawn by his motion, flies attacked Mark and Runner as they returned when they were only a hundred yards from the den. Burdened by a big bundle of sturdy sticks tied in a bundle with rope, Mark nevertheless killed the first fly skillfully with his hatchet. He and Runner retreated away as fast as they could while a half-dozen more flies converged on the dead fly and ripped it to pieces.
The tactic bought precious fly-free seconds for the fleeing pair, but too soon they were again discovered and again attacked. This time the attacking fly came too close to Runner and was decapitated by strong wolf jaws. This second dead fly was attacked by the other flies but now there were a dozen of them and they consumed their fallen comrade twice as quickly.
By the time the dozen feeding flies resumed their attack on Mark and Runner, the commotion got the attention of yet more flies. Before this Mark hadn't understood how the flies had managed to overcome a wolf pack, but now he knew. Killing some of them only caused a feeding frenzy that brought more of them. They were almost within sight of the den, but Mark was tiring fast. Given the geometric growth in the number of their attackers he knew that they would be overwhelmed before they reached the den.
As the growing wave of the giant insects closed again on them and they turned to face them a big gray-brown something flashed past them and flew into the thick of the flies: Long Fang decapitated two flies and de-winged another in moments.
"RUN!" the wolf-pack leader commanded, as Mark and Runner also each brought down a fly. All three fled, reaching the den before the next attack. The tent covered most of the den entrance, but it zipped open at the bottom enough for Mark to shove in his bundle of sticks and crawl in after them, followed by the wolves. Mark turned when he was in to see that Walking Stone stood in the den opening, holding up the top tent edges in his big three-fingered hands, and holding down the bottom edges with his clawed feet. Mark and the wolves had entered the den by crawling between the Stone-Coat's legs.
"Let's have your sticks," said Ann, as she zipped shut the opening. Mark noticed that there were many short lengths of cord hanging along each edges of the tent. Ann had been busy while he was gone. These cords the humans tied to the sticks that Mark quickly trimmed to appropriate lengths. Meanwhile the first fly pushed its way in along an edge and buzzed into the den, to quickly die in the jaws of Runner.
The humans continued to work on the tent-barrier while the healthiest wolves picked off flies that got in along the tent edges. The recuperating wolves huddled in the rear of the cave and watched anxiously. The four healthy wolves were determined not to let any flies get past them and so far they were successful. Gradually the barrier conformed better to the den opening and the fly incursions decreased. Also, the barrier stood on its own without Walking Stone holding it.
"It's working!" said Ann. "We have a dozen killed flies in here but it could be a lot worse."
"If I had the skills of my more dexterous ancestors the barrier would have been twice as good in half the time, but it will do," said Mark. "The question is, how long will it hold up? They must smell us in here, or smell the dead flies, or something, because they keep on coming!"
Sunlight filtered through the tent material, and the shadows of a dozen flies walking on the outside of the barrier looking for a way in could clearly be seen. The buzzing of many others could be heard, and the buzzing was getting louder.
A half hour went by, and though the number of flies walking on the outside of the barrier doubled, none got in. Until one finally did. It pushed in along an edge and was immediately crushed by Walking Stone. Another immediately followed and met the same fate. While the Stone-Coat h
eld the spot closed, Mark made hasty repairs. Then another one got in. Alarmingly, this one had chewed through the tent material near its middle. Mark tried to tie it shut but two other flies attacked the hole, pushing through and ripping the hole even bigger.
Walking Stone finally placed a huge fist in the hole, but soon another hole was opened nearby. Then another. Suddenly there were more flies in the den than the four healthiest wolves could handle.
Walking Stone turned his broad parka-covered back to the barrier and backed into it, blocking the holes. The flies were slowed but they still crawled in around Walking Stone.
Walking Stone killed a few flies with ice-sickles shot from his mouth, while Ann used a stout stick to club the flies and Mark whacked at them and cut them with his hatchet and hunting knife. Four wolves attacked what got past them, and the five recuperating wolves took care of those that got past all their protectors. The flies seemed to sense which wolves were weakest and most tried to get to them, but some also went directly after the protectors. For Ann and Mark, as well as for most of the wolves, this was too much like their terrifying previous experiences with the flies. Soon they were mostly protecting themselves.
"This is unsatisfactory," noted Walking Stone. "The tent barrier is disintegrating and I will soon be in steam mode, followed by stationary mode. In minutes I will become powerless to aid you."
Mark saw that many of the flies were eating their fallen comrades. When the dead flies were gone, all flies would focus on humans and wolves, and all humans and wolves would die. Or worse yet, some of them would become food for fly larvae.
"You have to do some of that psychic stuff you do!" Ann told Mark.
"What psychic stuff?" Mark responded.
"Psychic fly talk or whatever," Ann added.
"I've already tried!" said Mark, as with his hunting knife he stabbed a big fly that tried to eat his face. "They're too stupid to communicate with!"
"Don't try to teach them quantum physics, geek," Ann replied. "Go primitive on them, like you tried to do with the fish."
"The fishing incident did result in unusual fly behavior," said Walking Stone. "You should try what Ann suggests. I will focus on protecting you while you make the attempt."
They were right, Mark realized. Even if it was a longshot he had to try. Trusting his personal protection to Walking Stone, he defocused his 'normal' senses and reached out telepathically to the life around him. He immediately sensed the anger and fear of the wolves, but had to block that and reach beyond them to the flies. Beyond what the wolves could sense were other thoughts, thoughts that only few of the most talented humans could possibly detect. It didn't turn out to be too hard: there were dozens of the creatures in the den and thousands outside headed for the den and their thoughts were strong. Once Mark know what to look for their thoughts were so intense that it was difficult to tolerate them. They were essentially on the same 'wavelength' as trout thoughts, he noticed. Perhaps earlier he had influenced a fly when he was trying to influence the fish!
Figuring out what the creatures were thinking was difficult, but with his Grandmother Talking Owl he had done this with dozens of creatures, including birds, insects, rodents, and fish. From the flies he detected vague but strong, savage, instinctual feelings: "HUNGER, ANGER, KILL, EAT!" The creatures were incapable of complex thoughts and concepts, all they had were instincts and emotions that fed off the emotions of themselves and each other.
Right now they were in a feeding frenzy, to the point where they even ate the dead of their own kind. The creatures seemed to be almost totally out of control. That probably made sense, Mark reasoned. They attacked prey that was often dangerous to them, without regard for their own safety.
Could he change their nasty savage mindset? He briefly tried to appeal for peace and calm, but very quickly gave up. Such feelings were so foreign to them that they had no meaning, and their need to kill and feed was much too strong for him to overcome.
Hunger and attacking was the only thing they understood, so if he was going to influence them at all, there was only one way he could do it. Instead of fighting their feelings he added to them. "HUNGER, ATTACK, KILL, FEED," he projected as strong as he could, over and over again. It was exactly what he had done earlier when he was trying to catch fish, he realized. He could sense magnified feelings echoing back from them, stronger than ever. Too strong: insanely strong, such that all other instincts were completely overwhelmed.
Instead of bothering to look for prey, the flies attacked whatever living thing was nearest to them, which typically turned out to be another fly. In the den most flies were soon eating both each other and fly larvae. Outside the den swarming flies attacked each other by the hundreds and drew more flies that attacked and consumed each other by the thousands. The killing went on and on for what seemed to Mark like hours. The flies in the den were long dead but farther away he could sense more and he silently shouted his telepathic message to them also. More came and more died: wave after wave of flies mad with hunger. Mark didn't stop until he sensed no more flies at all anywhere.
Then he was tired; more tired than he had ever been in his life, and he sensed nothing.
****
In the early morning Mark was surprised to wake to the smell of cooking food. Ann, Walking Stone, and most of the wolves were gone from the den.
Not far outside the den Mark was astonished to find Ann sitting next to a big flat rock where she was butchering flies with his hunting knife. Nearby Walking Stone cooked fly pieces in a pan that he held and heated in one hand while with a diamond tipped finger of his other hand he flipped and stirred the simmering pieces of meat. Atop a big nearby rock cooked fly pieces cooled under the watchful eye of several wolves, who took turns eating the meat whenever it had cooled enough. Mark was very pleased to see Gray Shadow eating along with the others. The med-ticks had worked miracles.
"You're just in time for breakfast, Mark," said Ann. "Guess what? Just like us the wolves like their fly meat better when it's cooked! The three hunters keep bringing in dead flies and I keep butchering them and Walking Stone keeps cooking them and the wolves keep eating them!"
"This early in the morning the flies must be lethargic enough to be caught," Walking Stone reasoned. "After an hour or two more sun they'll be hunting wolves and humans."
Long Fang arrived with a big dead fly in his jaws and dropped it at Ann's feet. The reporter lay it atop the stone where she carved it to bits, throwing nasty fly pieces into a garbage bag and saving the meaty ones for Walking Stone's simmering pan.
"Eat, Man-Child" Ann told Mark, and Long Fang told him something similar.
Soon he was chowing down on yummy strips of fly meat. His Tribal diet was almost totally vegetarian, but he found the fly meet to be delicious. "Is this really what chicken tastes like?" he asked. "I would have said pheasant."
"You never ate chicken?" Ann asked, astonished.
"Maybe some bits of it now and again," Mark admitted, "but the Tribe gets very little meat to eat lately. We're big on beans and fish as protein sources. I figured I'd be eating mostly fish for most of my quest."
"I figured on eating MREs for most of my own quest, but almost half of them are gone already," said Ann. "If I am to survive for almost two more weeks during your spirit quest I guess I'll have to go native and eat mostly flies and fish also."
"First we have to live that long," said Mark. "The weakened wolf pack won't survive another attack like they had yesterday. What I gather from their thoughts is that Long Fang and the other two with him were spared the attacks because the three of them were out hunting miles from the den. They returned to find the rest of the pack decimated. Only the hunting party and Runner are strong enough to effectively fight the flies, but I have a plan that might work. We need to make the den fly-proof."
"How?" Ann asked.
"Only your tent is large enough to barricade the den entrance," Mark explained. "I'm sure the flies will chew through it eventually but we have no other options. We'll have to work fast to set it up. I'll fetch some wood to help hold the tent in place."
"Are you sure that the flies are coming back?" Ann asked.
"Ninety percent sure," Mark estimated. "From what I've been able to learn from the wolves Long Fang and his two best hunters killed hundreds of dormant resting flies last night, but most flies were resting on the high mountain sides where they couldn't be reached. The owls killed many others but not enough to make a difference. Besides, more might fly in from the west. In any case we can't take the chance that they won't attack; we have to be as ready for them as we possibly can. I'll get the sticks. Walking Stone, you cool off and help Ann do some quick clean up and prepare the tent, which may need some alterations. Prepare it for sticks that will be tied to it as a frame. And try to herd the wolves into the den. We don't want them to be out in the open when the tsiks come looking."
Several wolves looked at Mark quizzically and raised their ears when they heard him mention tsiks, and they seemed anxious when he run off with his hatchet. Runner went with him, but the remaining wolves stayed at the den and attentively watched Ann and Walking Stone move about urgently, doing things they didn't comprehend but could sense were important.
"Tsiks," Ann said once in a while, when she caught the wolves watching her work. Gray Shadow shortly led all the remaining wolves except her mate to the rear of the den, absolving Ann of any necessity to try to get them to go inside. Long Fang sat on-guard alone outside the den, calmly watching, listening, and sniffing the air.
Drawn by his motion, flies attacked Mark and Runner as they returned when they were only a hundred yards from the den. Burdened by a big bundle of sturdy sticks tied in a bundle with rope, Mark nevertheless killed the first fly skillfully with his hatchet. He and Runner retreated away as fast as they could while a half-dozen more flies converged on the dead fly and ripped it to pieces.
The tactic bought precious fly-free seconds for the fleeing pair, but too soon they were again discovered and again attacked. This time the attacking fly came too close to Runner and was decapitated by strong wolf jaws. This second dead fly was attacked by the other flies but now there were a dozen of them and they consumed their fallen comrade twice as quickly.
By the time the dozen feeding flies resumed their attack on Mark and Runner, the commotion got the attention of yet more flies. Before this Mark hadn't understood how the flies had managed to overcome a wolf pack, but now he knew. Killing some of them only caused a feeding frenzy that brought more of them. They were almost within sight of the den, but Mark was tiring fast. Given the geometric growth in the number of their attackers he knew that they would be overwhelmed before they reached the den.
As the growing wave of the giant insects closed again on them and they turned to face them a big gray-brown something flashed past them and flew into the thick of the flies: Long Fang decapitated two flies and de-winged another in moments.
"RUN!" the wolf-pack leader commanded, as Mark and Runner also each brought down a fly. All three fled, reaching the den before the next attack. The tent covered most of the den entrance, but it zipped open at the bottom enough for Mark to shove in his bundle of sticks and crawl in after them, followed by the wolves. Mark turned when he was in to see that Walking Stone stood in the den opening, holding up the top tent edges in his big three-fingered hands, and holding down the bottom edges with his clawed feet. Mark and the wolves had entered the den by crawling between the Stone-Coat's legs.
"Let's have your sticks," said Ann, as she zipped shut the opening. Mark noticed that there were many short lengths of cord hanging along each edges of the tent. Ann had been busy while he was gone. These cords the humans tied to the sticks that Mark quickly trimmed to appropriate lengths. Meanwhile the first fly pushed its way in along an edge and buzzed into the den, to quickly die in the jaws of Runner.
The humans continued to work on the tent-barrier while the healthiest wolves picked off flies that got in along the tent edges. The recuperating wolves huddled in the rear of the cave and watched anxiously. The four healthy wolves were determined not to let any flies get past them and so far they were successful. Gradually the barrier conformed better to the den opening and the fly incursions decreased. Also, the barrier stood on its own without Walking Stone holding it.
"It's working!" said Ann. "We have a dozen killed flies in here but it could be a lot worse."
"If I had the skills of my more dexterous ancestors the barrier would have been twice as good in half the time, but it will do," said Mark. "The question is, how long will it hold up? They must smell us in here, or smell the dead flies, or something, because they keep on coming!"
Sunlight filtered through the tent material, and the shadows of a dozen flies walking on the outside of the barrier looking for a way in could clearly be seen. The buzzing of many others could be heard, and the buzzing was getting louder.
A half hour went by, and though the number of flies walking on the outside of the barrier doubled, none got in. Until one finally did. It pushed in along an edge and was immediately crushed by Walking Stone. Another immediately followed and met the same fate. While the Stone-Coat h
Walking Stone finally placed a huge fist in the hole, but soon another hole was opened nearby. Then another. Suddenly there were more flies in the den than the four healthiest wolves could handle.
Walking Stone turned his broad parka-covered back to the barrier and backed into it, blocking the holes. The flies were slowed but they still crawled in around Walking Stone.
Walking Stone killed a few flies with ice-sickles shot from his mouth, while Ann used a stout stick to club the flies and Mark whacked at them and cut them with his hatchet and hunting knife. Four wolves attacked what got past them, and the five recuperating wolves took care of those that got past all their protectors. The flies seemed to sense which wolves were weakest and most tried to get to them, but some also went directly after the protectors. For Ann and Mark, as well as for most of the wolves, this was too much like their terrifying previous experiences with the flies. Soon they were mostly protecting themselves.
"This is unsatisfactory," noted Walking Stone. "The tent barrier is disintegrating and I will soon be in steam mode, followed by stationary mode. In minutes I will become powerless to aid you."
Mark saw that many of the flies were eating their fallen comrades. When the dead flies were gone, all flies would focus on humans and wolves, and all humans and wolves would die. Or worse yet, some of them would become food for fly larvae.
"You have to do some of that psychic stuff you do!" Ann told Mark.
"What psychic stuff?" Mark responded.
"Psychic fly talk or whatever," Ann added.
"I've already tried!" said Mark, as with his hunting knife he stabbed a big fly that tried to eat his face. "They're too stupid to communicate with!"
"Don't try to teach them quantum physics, geek," Ann replied. "Go primitive on them, like you tried to do with the fish."
"The fishing incident did result in unusual fly behavior," said Walking Stone. "You should try what Ann suggests. I will focus on protecting you while you make the attempt."
They were right, Mark realized. Even if it was a longshot he had to try. Trusting his personal protection to Walking Stone, he defocused his 'normal' senses and reached out telepathically to the life around him. He immediately sensed the anger and fear of the wolves, but had to block that and reach beyond them to the flies. Beyond what the wolves could sense were other thoughts, thoughts that only few of the most talented humans could possibly detect. It didn't turn out to be too hard: there were dozens of the creatures in the den and thousands outside headed for the den and their thoughts were strong. Once Mark know what to look for their thoughts were so intense that it was difficult to tolerate them. They were essentially on the same 'wavelength' as trout thoughts, he noticed. Perhaps earlier he had influenced a fly when he was trying to influence the fish!
Figuring out what the creatures were thinking was difficult, but with his Grandmother Talking Owl he had done this with dozens of creatures, including birds, insects, rodents, and fish. From the flies he detected vague but strong, savage, instinctual feelings: "HUNGER, ANGER, KILL, EAT!" The creatures were incapable of complex thoughts and concepts, all they had were instincts and emotions that fed off the emotions of themselves and each other.
Right now they were in a feeding frenzy, to the point where they even ate the dead of their own kind. The creatures seemed to be almost totally out of control. That probably made sense, Mark reasoned. They attacked prey that was often dangerous to them, without regard for their own safety.
Could he change their nasty savage mindset? He briefly tried to appeal for peace and calm, but very quickly gave up. Such feelings were so foreign to them that they had no meaning, and their need to kill and feed was much too strong for him to overcome.
Hunger and attacking was the only thing they understood, so if he was going to influence them at all, there was only one way he could do it. Instead of fighting their feelings he added to them. "HUNGER, ATTACK, KILL, FEED," he projected as strong as he could, over and over again. It was exactly what he had done earlier when he was trying to catch fish, he realized. He could sense magnified feelings echoing back from them, stronger than ever. Too strong: insanely strong, such that all other instincts were completely overwhelmed.
Instead of bothering to look for prey, the flies attacked whatever living thing was nearest to them, which typically turned out to be another fly. In the den most flies were soon eating both each other and fly larvae. Outside the den swarming flies attacked each other by the hundreds and drew more flies that attacked and consumed each other by the thousands. The killing went on and on for what seemed to Mark like hours. The flies in the den were long dead but farther away he could sense more and he silently shouted his telepathic message to them also. More came and more died: wave after wave of flies mad with hunger. Mark didn't stop until he sensed no more flies at all anywhere.
Then he was tired; more tired than he had ever been in his life, and he sensed nothing.
****