on something, and saw the green-tangled ground jerk towards him. His guns flew out of his hands and vanished in the ferm growths. Rude hands banged him on to his back, and he stared up into the gnawed and lacerated face of Duke Parmelee. Hi-Hit Chuckie Watz was standing behind him, his face puffed up, scabby, the lower lip merely a crust. They were both holding heavy butcher's knives.
Wildly, Ralf tried to communicate with them in the forced medality of the deaf, but all that he could voice was whimpers. The Duke stooped to start in with his knife, but something beyond the trees distracted him. It was Hi-Hat who screamed first. Ralf saw his face stretch with horror as he shuffled backward. His foot tangled, and he fell to his back. Before he could rise, there was a blurred flurry, and a huge segmented bulk with frantic legs and membraneous wings descended on him. The Duke gawked bug-eyed and was still gawking when a lamprey with stalk-eyes lolled on to his back. He fled crazily this way and that, shrieking, trying to stab the slug-ball off his body, but it clung to him, melled into his flesh.
Finally, the slick mass swelled over his head, and he collapsed, still clutching at it.
While the Duke was convulsing, Ralf rolled off, bucked to his feet, and ran headlong into the clumsy hooked arms of something loathsome. The claspedforebrains of its head swung from side to side, and its mandibles swivelled with maniacal joy. But before it could crush him, Ralf unsprung his butterfly blade and slammed it into the shimmering bulk. He spun backward, wheeled crazily to get his balance, and then kicked off into a cloud of leaves.
On the other side was a steep bank, and Ralf plunged down it, head over heels, in a clatter of stones and dust. He splashed through rocky shallows and crashed to a stop against a thrust of boulder, his head and shoulders underwater. The cool current revived him, and he shuddered to his feet, teetered like an old man, and plopped back into the water.
Above him, among the high bank's shrubbery, he could see humps of things lumbering in and out of view. Quickly, he rolled to his belly and dragged himself out to the deeper water. The stream buoyed him and carried him off.
Hours later, he came out of a faint and found himself washed upon a gritty shore. Pale ferns fronded nearby, and beyond them he could see the tin roofs and cardboard doorways of a trenchtown. He pulled himself to his feet, slowly, painfully, and limped towards higher ground. His ears were still whining, and his head felt heavy, but he could make out the shadow of sounds: the stream rushing over pebbles with a murmur that was almost song, the curse of gravel under his feet.
He staggered towards the town mindlessly, in a daze, his eyes small and shiny as a reptile's. His mind was shut, and he moved mechanically. The people who saw him coming shied away, except for the children who pelted him with stones and ran close enough to snag him with wire-strung tin cans and garbage. Ralf shuffled on, unaware, his face empty, his eyes drifting. He had sunk into his mind.
A day later, the local police picked him up outside North End. He was being baited by a pariah dog and kids with slings and crude blow darts. Though he had been lurching frantically from street to street, occasionally lashing out with a pitiful cry, he gave the police no trouble when they cuffed him to take him away.
Days afterward, his mind shuttered into place. It took a long minute for him to take in the stained and pitted walls. Then the cretinous look drained entirely from his features, and he hunched over, weeping.
When he had got hold of himself, he stood up by the bars of his cell. He could see in the faces of the police and his cellmates that he had been raving. They wanted to know what had happened to him, if it had been mushrooms or village anis that had gone bad.
Ralf waved all speculation aside, and in a halting, fragmented way, told them what he had seen in the hills.
Wildly, Ralf tried to communicate with them in the forced medality of the deaf, but all that he could voice was whimpers. The Duke stooped to start in with his knife, but something beyond the trees distracted him. It was Hi-Hat who screamed first. Ralf saw his face stretch with horror as he shuffled backward. His foot tangled, and he fell to his back. Before he could rise, there was a blurred flurry, and a huge segmented bulk with frantic legs and membraneous wings descended on him. The Duke gawked bug-eyed and was still gawking when a lamprey with stalk-eyes lolled on to his back. He fled crazily this way and that, shrieking, trying to stab the slug-ball off his body, but it clung to him, melled into his flesh.
Finally, the slick mass swelled over his head, and he collapsed, still clutching at it.
While the Duke was convulsing, Ralf rolled off, bucked to his feet, and ran headlong into the clumsy hooked arms of something loathsome. The claspedforebrains of its head swung from side to side, and its mandibles swivelled with maniacal joy. But before it could crush him, Ralf unsprung his butterfly blade and slammed it into the shimmering bulk. He spun backward, wheeled crazily to get his balance, and then kicked off into a cloud of leaves.
On the other side was a steep bank, and Ralf plunged down it, head over heels, in a clatter of stones and dust. He splashed through rocky shallows and crashed to a stop against a thrust of boulder, his head and shoulders underwater. The cool current revived him, and he shuddered to his feet, teetered like an old man, and plopped back into the water.
Above him, among the high bank's shrubbery, he could see humps of things lumbering in and out of view. Quickly, he rolled to his belly and dragged himself out to the deeper water. The stream buoyed him and carried him off.
Hours later, he came out of a faint and found himself washed upon a gritty shore. Pale ferns fronded nearby, and beyond them he could see the tin roofs and cardboard doorways of a trenchtown. He pulled himself to his feet, slowly, painfully, and limped towards higher ground. His ears were still whining, and his head felt heavy, but he could make out the shadow of sounds: the stream rushing over pebbles with a murmur that was almost song, the curse of gravel under his feet.
He staggered towards the town mindlessly, in a daze, his eyes small and shiny as a reptile's. His mind was shut, and he moved mechanically. The people who saw him coming shied away, except for the children who pelted him with stones and ran close enough to snag him with wire-strung tin cans and garbage. Ralf shuffled on, unaware, his face empty, his eyes drifting. He had sunk into his mind.
A day later, the local police picked him up outside North End. He was being baited by a pariah dog and kids with slings and crude blow darts. Though he had been lurching frantically from street to street, occasionally lashing out with a pitiful cry, he gave the police no trouble when they cuffed him to take him away.
Days afterward, his mind shuttered into place. It took a long minute for him to take in the stained and pitted walls. Then the cretinous look drained entirely from his features, and he hunched over, weeping.
When he had got hold of himself, he stood up by the bars of his cell. He could see in the faces of the police and his cellmates that he had been raving. They wanted to know what had happened to him, if it had been mushrooms or village anis that had gone bad.
Ralf waved all speculation aside, and in a halting, fragmented way, told them what he had seen in the hills.
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