Could that be true? The Runners had to enjoy something like full humanity, in planning and vision and concentration, when making the axes. But could they then abandon that humanity and revert to some lower level of instinct, as the axes became a symbol of sexual prowess, as unconscious as a bird’s bright plumage?
It was all another reminder to her that no matter how human these beautiful creatures looked and sometimes behaved, they were not human. Their small heads contained shards of humanity, she thought, floating on a sea of animal drives and instincts: humans sometimes, not other times…
Or maybe she was just being anthropomorphic. Maybe she shouldn’t be comparing the Runners to herself, seeing how human they were, or weren’t; the Runners were simply Runners, and they fit into their world as well as she fit into hers.
Though it was a full hour since they had abandoned the trek for the day, Fire was still wandering around with his hands clasped together. He couldn’t drop his hot burden until the others had gathered kindling and fuel for him, and as long as the sun was up and the air was warm they had no interest in doing that — in fact it didn’t even seem to occur to them — and so Fire was stuck.
But he had more than that on his mind. He was vainly pursuing one of the girls, Dig: a real knock-out, Emma thought, with crisp auburn hair, full, high breasts and hips to die for. Poor Fire seemed to have no idea how to get through to her; he just followed her around, holding out his handfuls of ash, and plaintively calling her name. “Dig! Dig!”
Being the fire-carrier was obviously a key job, a cornerstone of this untidy little community. But as far as Emma could see his role didn’t win Fire much respect from the other Runners, especially the men. Each night he would deliver his embers to the latest heap of kindling, and then would be pushed and slapped away. It was as if he was the runt of the litter. Certainly his handful of ashes just didn’t get him the girls the way the hand-axes of the other boys and men did.
But this time, for once, Fire was getting closer to the object of his desire. She backed up against a tree, and he walked towards her, hands clasped, that ridiculous, tragic erection sticking out like a divining rod.
But a rock hit him hard in the side of the head.
The rock had been thrown by Stone.
Fire went down, toppling like a felled tree. He opened his hands to save himself before he hit the mud. His precious ashes scattered.
Runners ran forward. Dig and Blue got to their knees in the mud, and tried to scrape together the ashes and embers. But the embers were hissing, quickly extinguished in the mud.
Stone hadn’t grasped the chain of events that led from his own hurled rock to the death of the fire, or else he just didn’t want to know; either way he capered and howled, pressing the useless embers into the mud with his bare feet, and he aimed hefty kicks at Fire’s ribs.
Fire curled up, arms wrapped over his head, whimpering in misery. Emma winced, but she knew better than to try to intervene.
After that, the daylight seemed to run out quickly. As the sun descended towards the horizon, the golden air turned to a dismal brown. The shadows of trees to the west lengthened, clutching at the cowering Runners like claws.
In the absence of a fire the Runners gathered more closely than usual, the women clutching their children, even the usually solitary men huddling close.
The first predators began to call.
Sally came to Emma. “You have to use your spyglass,” she said. “Make a fire. And you have to do it now, before we run out of sun.”
Emma sighed. “I’m frightened of showing them too much of what we’ve got.”
“They aren’t going to steal your glass and start using it all over the savannah,” Sally said. “They don’t learn.”
“It’s not that. Right now they seem to think we are like them. If they think we’re too strange, they might reject us.”
The shadow of a distant tree slid across Sally’s face. “Sister, I don’t think it’s the time for philosophical dilemmas. In a couple of hours the hyenas are going to be chomping on our bones. And anyhow these guys have attention spans that make Maxie look like Michelangelo. By the morning, they’ll have forgotten it all. Come on, Emma. Just do it.”
“All right. Let’s try to keep our tools out of their sight, though.”
“Agreed.”
They spent a few minutes gathering dry wood, and building a little tepee a couple of feet high. Then they scraped together dried leaves and tinder.
Emma crouched down on the ground, folded her magnifying glass out of her knife, and angled it until she caught the crimson light of the low sun. She moved it back and forth until she had focused a tight spot of light on a few bits of dry tinder. Then she waited, the cold of the ground seeping into her, her awkwardly angled arm growing stiff. She grumbled, “I don’t know why the hell the South African air force didn’t just give me a box of matches.”
Some of the Runners came to watch what they were doing. They hooted excitedly, one woman even making rubbing-hands-warm motions. But when the tinder didn’t catch light immediately, they became baffled and quickly lost interest.
Her spot of light disappeared. She looked up to see a small silhouetted figure, a grasping hand.
“Maxie’s. Maxie’s!”
Sally scooped him up. “Get away, Maxie, for heaven’s sake.” Maxie, denied the toy, began wailing.
Unnoticed, the tinder had started smoking.
Emma immediately dropped her glass. She cupped the thread of smoke with her hands and blew gently. The smoke trail billowed, nearly died.
She sat back and beckoned to Fire. “Hey. Come over here. Come on. This is your job.”
Poor Fire sat squat on the ground, clutching his ribs, an immense lump forming on the side of his head.
“Umm, Fire smoke Fire. Fire Fire!”
At last he came forward, hobbling painfully. Shivering, he cupped his hands around the thread of smoke and blew, lips pursed.
It seemed to take him mere seconds to have a small flame going. With the precise motions of a surgeon, he began to feed the tiny red-yellow spot with bits of tinder.
When the smoke started to spread, the other Runners were drawn back. As the fire grew, they settled down around it, just as they did every night, and the men began to drag over heavy branches to make night logs.
Sally watched the Runners with cold contempt. “Not a word, not a gesture of congratulation or apology. Or surprise. Or relief. They’ve already forgotten how Fire lost his embers… The fire is just here, and they accept it. They really don’t think like us, do they?”
Emma stretched stiff limbs. “Right now, I couldn’t care less. Just so long as the fire keeps away the bad guys with the teeth.”
As Emma fell into sleep, a rough hand grabbed her shoulder.
She froze. Her eyes snapped open. The sky, full of ash and smoke, retained a lingering purple-black glow, enough to show her a lithe, crouching silhouette. It, he, leaned over her. She was pushed onto her back. She could smell Runner: a thick, pungent, meaty smell of flesh that had never once been washed.
In the back of her mind she had rehearsed for this, from the first day here. Don’t resist, she told herself. Don’t cry out. She had seen the Runners copulate, every day. It would be fast, brutal, and over.
For a moment her assailant was still, his breath hot. She stiffened, expecting hands to claw at her clothing. But that didn’t come. Instead a head, heavy, topped by tight curls, descended to her breast. She felt shuddering, a low moan.