He was also upset because not all of the Big People had departed; three of them, lying flat out on the soggy ground, still remained. He watched them for some time after the small man had taken the shiny moving box and driven away, but from where he was he couldn’t tell if they were sleeping, sick, or what had happened to them. He knew from the color of their skins that they weren’t dead, but then why were they just lying there?
The storm itself had been scary, but, nestled in his new home, safe from flying junk, he’d experienced no more than some minor flooding. The aftermath was more interesting, as it had thrown all kinds of strange and intriguing bits of flotsam around, all of which he was itching to explore, but that would have to wait; no way was he going out to scavenge with those three crazy Big People hanging around.
Not to mention, there was another Big lying there dead as a rock. Already a small cloud of flies had formed around the body and the Kid was well aware of what would happen next. Bloating, the terrible stink, carrion-hunters circling, maggots and flies and beetles, all of which meant that he couldn’t just leave the body where it was. He’d have to dispose of it somehow.
For a while he thought about what to do. Eating it was out; something deep down made his stomach twist at the very thought and, besides, there was too much there to consume before it would go rotten. So what else? Digging a nice deep hole would be good; toss the body in and bury it. But that would take forever and by the time he’d finished, who knew what nasty thing would come nosing around for dead meat? Then it hit him; there was a deep hole at hand, some sort of man-made pit that he’d found near the ruined farmhouse that, judging from the smell, he suspected had been used as a place for going poop. Yes, that would work. Heck, it already smelled terrible! But how to get the body to the pit?
Experimentally, he tried dragging the corpse, but it was so heavy that he could barely budge it. For a moment he stared at the poor dead Big Person. Then he noticed that, among the man’s odd and numerous garments, stuck in one of his weird foot-bindings, was a very nice knife. With a little grunt of appreciation, he pulled the blade from the dead man’s body and waved it around in the sunlight. He knew about blades; unlike tire irons, they cut things. He had one of his own, but it was dull and chipped. Not like this one, nice and clean and sharp.
Eyes narrowing, the Kid looked at the knife. Then he looked at the body. Then back to the knife. And then he bent down and got to work. It was hard and messy, what with the blood and the flies and all, but he didn’t much care about that and, since the Big Person himself didn’t seem to mind, being stone dead, there was really nothing to give him pause. Diligently, knowing that time was an issue, he hacked and sliced and chopped.
Once he’d reduced the man to manageable pieces, he toted each over to the old poop pit and tossed them in. Splash, plop, splash, and soon enough, the whole thing was gone. With a last look down the smelly hole, he decided that he’d done all he could with the body and, putting it easily from his thoughts, went down to the stream to wash off some of the blood.
That took care of one problem, but there were still three more, just lying there on the ground. After considering them, the Kid decided to simply wait for these remaining Bigs to either wake up and go away or to just have done with it and die
After a long time—the sun was well past its high point—he was still waiting when he suddenly caught sight of a Ripper, a big, shaggy one with a huge head full of yellow teeth, as it loped silently toward him across the fields. The Kid knew it must have smelled the blood, all that filthy innards-stuff from inside the dead man. Instantly, he grabbed his tire iron and froze, tensed and ready to strike, but the Ripper passed right by him, no more than twenty feet away, en route to the prone figures of the sleeping Big People.
For a long moment, the Kid considered doing nothing; after all, if he just waited a little while, the Ripper might very well take care of all three of the Bigs for him. Better them than he! But then something rebelled in his mind, some quite novel (and terribly alien) scrap of humanity that told him no, that wasn’t right. He had to do something. He had to help.
But why? argued the rest of his mind. Why should he risk himself for these crazy Big People? What had they ever done for him? Or anyone else, for that matter? No, better to leave ‘em to the Rippers. That way, they’d be gone, the Ripper, well-fed, would eventually be gone, and things would go back to normal. Problem solved.
But the other voice still nagged. You know what you have to do. You can’t leave those people to be eaten by Rippers. And why? Because that’s what they are: People, just like you. Oh, they’re big and crazy and probably meaner than any six Rippers combined, but they’re still people and that means you have to help them. It might not even make sense, but you still have to do something. And you’ll be glad you did. Trust me.
In the end, the voice of reason, the one that said to leave the crazy bastards to die, finally lost out and the other voice, the brand new one that sounded as crazy as any Big Person, was triumphant. But that didn’t stop the Kid from cursing it in every way he knew as he emerged from cover and went to fight the Ripper.
The beast sensed him at once. Whipping around to face off, crouching low and ears flat, it bared its fangs and growled. Suddenly this didn’t seem like such a hot idea anymore; this was a very big Ripper, maybe the biggest he’d ever faced. It had to be more than twice his weight. The metal in his hand suddenly went slippery and the sun seemed blinding and far too hot. But it was too late for regret; the Ripper was advancing. The Kid could see the drool on its parted jaws, the scars on its face and its one mangled ear, and smell its gamey, greasy hide. Grimly, a fierce scowl on his muddy baby’s face, he raised the tire iron and braced for the attack.
Obviously one of the smarter representatives of its kind, the Ripper didn’t rush at him right away. Instead, it circled, low and ready to spring, and eyed the Kid like he was a big piece of raw meat. Angrily, his blood singing with the thrill of battle, the Kid growled back and brandished his weapon. Come on! he thought. Come and get me, you big ugly monster!
But it wouldn’t; it just kept circling and snarling. Then it stopped, just for a moment, to throw back its head and emit a loud, long howl before continuing to circle him. The Kid, well aware that the Ripper was calling for help, maybe a whole gang of his friends, knew then that his time was up. He had to kill this Ripper, and right now, or he’d end up as dead as the Big in the poop pit.
Snarling deep in his throat, moving low to the ground, he darted forward but, fast as he was, the Ripper was faster and darted to one side and away from the sharpened steel tip of the tire iron. Balanced lightly on the balls of his unshod but leather-tough feet, the Kid struck again, going for a slashing blow to the Ripper’s head, but again the beast was too quick for him and the weapon fell on empty air.
Then it was the Ripper’s turn to strike; launching itself from ten feet away, fangs bared and claws flailing, like a big furry ball of teeth and talons, it flew wildly at the Kid, who only just managed to twist aside. The Ripper thudded to earth but then slid on the slippery wet ground and fell, scrabbling madly, onto its side. Instantly, the Kid saw his chance and rushed forward, raised the tire iron high, and brought it down with every ounce of strength he could muster.