Then, on the final approaches to the looming green barrier, Big Jon’s rauper lost a track, spun out of control and broke an axle on a tilting slab of concrete. At which, cursing his luck and anything else he could think of, the leader tossed his belongings down, dismounted, patted his sorry beast once on its red-rusted flank, and without looking back walked the last hundred yards into the resin-scented verdure of the massive trees.
And there, beneath those huge branches, a surprise awaited Big Jon; and not only him but the clan in its entirety. For indeed the forest had spaced itself out! The boles of the giants were not so close together that they denied entry to the smaller trundles; the lower branches were off the ground to a height where they would cause no real hindrance; and while needles and leaf-mould were thick on the ground, there was little by way of undergrowth. Moreover, the greater the penetration—and as the canopy thickened high overhead—there, apart from the deepening, dusty gloom, conditions in general even appeared to be improving.
Not that the leader intended to penetrate the forest to any great depth; the afternoon was already lengthening towards evening, and the sky beginning to darken, growing heavy with rainclouds. No, the night’s camp must be made right here and now on the forest’s edge…and then made safe! Nor would Big Jon try to bring the entire column in; it was obvious that the majority of the vehicles wouldn’t make it, and to try would simply be to clutter the entire area. Wherefore all the larger vehicles must be abandoned in the open, while the clan and their few precious possessions and beasts would be brought in beneath the trees to enjoy whatever small measure of comfort the forest would afford them. And tomorrow morning? Time enough then to move on, facing the problems that the new day would doubtless bring…
Garth was with Layla, putting up their rude shelter against the bole and between the spreading roots of a forest giant, when he was called to attend Big Jon at the small vehicle he had commandeered and positioned at the hub of the encampment. The battered old open-sided bus was one of just four transports which so far had shown their maneuverability over the forest’s floor and between its great trees. From this time on—in darkness or whenever else the clan made camp—it would serve as the leader’s command post; on the move it would carry sick or incapacitated passengers, such as Zach Slattery by reason of his troublesome leg. Thus the vehicle would be in use at all times, with everyone’s best interests in mind.
On arriving at Big Jon’s vehicle, Garth saw that the other night-watch bosses were already there; and so was Garry Maxwell and his “sniffers.” Appearing less than enthusiastic, Maxwell’s charges whined and fidgeted on their leashes, huddling as close as possible to his skinny legs and almost tripping him.
“What’s wrong with your animals?” Big Jon frowned and waved Maxwell back a pace or two. “Other than their smell, I mean…”
“Can’t wash dogs without water!” Maxwell protested. “‘Least ways not for some time now, not while it’s been hard to come by and we kept it for drinkin’. But for a fact they do stink some. Maybe I’ll give ’em a treat and take ’em back down to the river for a swim on the end of a rope—not that they’ll thank me for it! We came in that way, me and the sniffers, so’s I could stop and fill some bottles from the river—just for drinkin’, mind. And didn’t they kick up a fuss around that fallen bridge? You bet your life they did! Which is why I’m here reportin’: ’cause they don’t like it here, neither by that bridge nor here under the trees. Too gloomy for ’em, and damp with moisture risin’ up off the river. And then there’s the sharpish smell of these big trees and their gooey gum and what all, gettin’ up their noses, makin’ ’em sneeze and gen’rally confusin’ ’em. What I’m sayin’: they don’t much like not knowin’ what they’s sniffin’, and they can’t sniff any too good anyways, not with all these new smells gettin’ in the way and irritatin’ the hell out of ’em!”
“Huh!” Donald Myers issued a derisory snort. “Well, I don’t know about confused or irritated, Gangling Garry, but sometimes I fancy your dogs have a lot more sense than you! Should I tell you why they’re so nervous, so jumpy?”
“Oh, by all means!” Maxwell answered, trying to appear offended and failing. For with his thin or at best wiry frame, his shambling gait, unkempt hair and long nose, he looked almost as much a hound as his dogs! “Do tell, since it appears you knows so damned much about my business and my sniffers!”
“Then listen!” Myers growled. “Once I’d got myself settled in, I found I had a little time on my hands. So as not to waste any, I took a couple of lads from my crew and a pot of luminous paint out in the forest to mark up some trees in a circle round the camp: a perimeter maybe sixty or so yards in diameter, with pretty much clear line of sight from tree to tree. I was making myself useful, that’s all, and saving my good friends here some time and effort before nightfall—”
“—Which won’t be long in the offing now,” Big Jon prompted him, “so save us a little more time and effort by getting on with it! Then I’ll want to speak to all of you.”
Myers nodded. “Away from the forest’s fringe and the deeper we went, and with the sky outside clouding over, it was getting very gloomy; so I was pleased to note that the paint was beginning to glow, however faintly, but still enough to pick out the perimeter from tree to tree. Then one of my men noticed a different glow just a short distance deeper into the forest outside the perimeter. It was the sort of glow that some toadstools and rotting timbers make.
“Since we were well armed we investigated and found a deserted fly-by-night site. There were small animal bones and lots of other shit—I mean real shit: fly-by-night filth, I suppose—all of it softly alight with that unhealthy glow. And worse, at first sight there were what looked like human bones and a human skull mixed in with it! Or maybe not—no, definitely not human, not any longer—for the bones were horribly misshapen, crumbly as chalk, and as long and thin as Garry here; while the skull was like eggshell but very long in the jaw, with teeth as sharp as knives…!”
“Oh really!” Maxwell muttered. “So accordin’ to these skinny old bones of mine I’m scarcely human, am I? Huh! Well thanks a lot—I don’t think!” His indignation went for nothing, however, for Myers simply ignored him and got on with his story:
“Well, the site didn’t look all that fresh, and not having any burning desire to linger there I hastened my lads back into camp; but I reckon we’ve found the reason why Garry’s dogs have been acting up. Oh, resin and river damp may have played a part in what’s bothering them, but mainly it’s what they’re smelling out there: that glowing fly-by-night nest in the forest! And as for those freakish remains—” Seasoned scav that he was or had been, still Myers paused and shuddered, “—well, I reckon this must have been one very hungry pack, for it now seems to me…”