Flight of the Golden Harpy (24 page)

*   *   *

“Charlie, are you coming?” John said.

“I will come,” Charlie answered, following him across the dark lawn to his hover.

They soon were flying over the coastal road. “Who would have guessed she’d remember Dad’s cabin?” John said. “She was so little when he took her there.”

“Good memories are not easily forgotten.”

After an hour, they landed on the beach a good distance from the cabin. They crept up silently, John holding his laser gun, ready to kill.

“It is a mistake to take his life,” Charlie whispered on the beach. “Let him flee.”

“So he can come back later when he can fly? Not a chance.”

Holding a light and his weapon, John rushed the cabin door, but found the place empty. The cabin lights worked and water ran from the faucets. The old place was spotless, with clean sheets on the bed. The medicine in the cabinet and bandages in the trash revealed that Kari had definitely brought the wounded harpy there. A bowl of fresh fruit still sat on the table, conveying their recent departure.

“Bet McGill’s hover spooked them,” John said. Searching the grounds with solar lights, John discovered the camouflaged blue vehicle. Charlie held up the bloodstained harpy sash lying under scattered leaves. It sent John into a rage.

“If he’s touched her, I’ll hang him from a tree and cut off his balls,” John growled.

He eventually settled down, and they decided to wait until morning for the pursuit. In the dark, a footprint could be missed.

With the first rays of light, they canvassed the area, looking for fresh prints. “The harpy leads. She follows,” Charlie said.

John bent down and looked at the prints.

“These are the harpy’s,” Charlie said, showing John the barefoot print. “Harpies walk like waterbirds, toe to heel and tiptoe much of the time. They do not leave the deep mark of a strolling heavy man. It is sad we hunt such a graceful thing.”

“That’s your opinion,” John said and stood up. Eventually, they discovered that the freshest prints led north. “We’ll track them on foot. Sneaking up is the only way to catch a harpy off guard.”

They traveled the trail, following the two sets of footprints, one of a small shoe and the other the toes and ball of a bare foot.

Halfway up the mountain crest, Charlie stopped. “We should leave their trail and go around. The wind has shifted, and it rides our back. The male will catch our scent. We can pick up their trail at the top.”

“The prints are two days old, and they’re far ahead,” John said. “I’m not wasting time by going around. You have too high a regard for harpy instincts.”

Charlie shrugged. “If you say so,” he said. They went on and came to a stream. Footprints were everywhere. “They were here for a long time,” John said, “but there’re no fruit trees or shelter.”

“The answer lies under these ferns.” Charlie stared at a harpy nest.

John fell to his knees, swallowed, and gazed at the smashed moss, bundled in a circle. In the moss were numerous tiny feathers, all creamy yellow. Half-eaten fruit lay to one side.

“A male builds such a nest only for his mate and young,” Charlie said. “They are a bonded pair, and to kill one, kills both. She is lost, John. Let us go home.”

John stood, crossed his arms, and stared at the nest. “I’m not leaving without her. Kari is my daughter, and she’s strong. She’ll survive his death.” He looked around for more signs. After a while, he approached Charlie, whose knowledge of hunting and harpies exceeded his. “What do you think?”

“The few tracks that go also come back,” Charlie said. “They were flown away by other harpies or they went north into the stream. Either way, we have nothing to follow.”

“We’ll go back down for the hover.”

Following the northern track, they picked up their footprints by a valley stream, but it was the last sign. Two more days of searching in the hovercraft proved fruitless. Even with a broken wing, the harpy evaded them. Regardless of the dangerous mountain gusts that could throw a hover against the sheer cliffs, John pressed on through the night, relying on the heat sensor. He knew harpies came out of hiding and preferred traveling in the dark.

On the third day John’s com buzzed. “The swarms hit again,” said one of his mill employees. “It’s really bad, Mr. Turner. They took out the whole harbor. Every barge and boat is gone. You lost your whole lumber shipment.”

“Anyone killed?” John asked.

“No one local, but ten hunters from Terrance died. They were loading a boat for a trip to the islands.”

“All right, I’ll be back this afternoon to check the damage,” John said, and turned off the com. He sighed and glanced at Charlie. “She really is lost to me?”

Charlie nodded, and John veered the hovercraft to the south.

*   *   *

A gentle breeze blew through the porch as Doc sat in his comfortable chair, sipping the last of the lemonade, his tree barren until next year. He glanced down the empty street of the deserted town. After the swarm attacked the harbor, most folks had fled to Hampton and perhaps beyond, into space. Nobody felt safe anymore, but he had stayed with a few others, determined to ride out the plague. He was too old and stubborn to relocate. No bug would drive him from his lifelong home. He glanced at the boarded up Baker store, missing his daily chat with Mr. Baker on current events. After Carol’s death, they had left.

Doc enjoyed Charlie’s visit, despite the slight hangover the following morning. Charlie had told him about the metal-reinforced room at the Turner mill, safe from swarms, and invited Doc to come if Westend was threatened. They had mainly talked about John’s daughter, Kari, and her golden harpy. Doc grinned, pleased he still had the medical skill to save the harpy’s life. He recalled Kari had said a vet at the Hampton Zoo was studying the harpies.

Doc took the last swallow and rose from the porch chair. Inside, he punched in the keys on his desk com. “Hampton Zoo,” responded a woman.

“You got some vet or researcher there doing a study on harpies?” Doc asked.

“That would be Dr. Watkins. I’ll connect you.”

A forty-something-year-old man appeared on the screen. “I’m Dr. Watkins. Can I help you?”

“My name is Doc White. I understand you’re researching the harpies?”

“That is correct.”

“Who’s paying for the study?” Doc asked.

“It’s a government fund, but I’m not at liberty to divulge the party’s name.”

“Is your so-called party interested in saving harpies or finding their breeding grounds, so they can be killed? The Dora senators are avid harpy hunters, and it’s been their policy to exterminate the species.”

“I assure you, sir, I’m a respected scientist and would never participate in a study that endangers an animal, and I’m aware of the senators’ policy. A few came to the zoo and voiced their objections to my work. What is your interest in the matter, Doctor White?”

“I live in the outback, Westend. We have a mutual friend, a Miss Turner.”

“Westend,” Watkins said. “I do remember her. She was extremely pretty and had an incredible encounter with a golden-winged harpy.”

“That’s her.” Doc chuckled. “Well, she found the golden again, and she’s with him now. She thought I could shed some light on your research and help the harpies. I have my own little harpy study going on out here.”

“Really?” Watkins said. “I’d appreciate any information on the harpies, and I’d love to hear about her and the golden male.”

“You’d have to come out here,” Doc said. “I don’t trust these coms. Too many ears can listen in.”

“To be truthful, I’m growing suspicious myself. Last week someone broke into my office and destroyed my research papers that showed the number of harpies killed yearly versus recorded sightings of the creatures. The math proved that the harpies are in trouble. I was preparing to recommend an immediate ban on harpy hunting.”

“That’s too bad your work was destroyed,” said Doc, massaging his white beard. “Makes you wonder who and why they want the harpies extinct. Maybe out here we can put our heads together and unravel some mysteries. My grandfather settled here when Dora was a new colony. His old chest is up in the attic. Sometimes the past holds present-day answers.”

Dr. Watkins pushed the hair back from his forehead. “You could be right. Honestly, my research is stalled here. I think I’ll accept your offer. Is there an inn in Westend?”

“There was, but it closed. People are running scared because of the swarms, but you can stay with me. I have an extra room and some outdated equipment, but there is a condition: You’ll have to bring a few bottles of scotch.”

Watkins chuckled. “I drink scotch myself. I need to wrap up a few lab tests and make arrangements to come out with my equipment. I’ve wanted to go to the outback ever since I met Miss Turner. She’s a very intriguing young lady.”

Doc nodded. “More than you can imagine.”

12

Shail stood in the sacred mountain, staring down at the throngs of bowing male harpies. “I sense your pleased minds,” he relayed, “I survived captivity and return when most needed. Though I suffered, I learned from the human creatures. They are unlike other animals that kill to protect or for food. Humans kill for pleasure, excitement, and greed. I detected evil in the hunters’ minds. The time nears when we rid our jungle of the deadly and growing human plague.”

He stepped off the ledge and walked through the flocks. “Harpies value all life, but we must change. To not, we lose all we love. We shall mourn many lives, but we must see ahead and see our past, before humans arrived, when our fledglings grew to adulthood and when our females dwelled nightly under our wings. This is the hope that comes with the loss.”

Shail reached the center of large expanse and raised his wings. He grasped his downy feathers and ripped out several handfuls, tossing the tiny feathers at his feet. “I force a molt so all shall know the gathering begins. Under the light of the next round moons, and deep within the southern river swamps, we meet and do away with our enemy. Fly swiftly, my brothers; my feathers spreading my words.” Each harpy walked before him, and picked up a yellow feather, and proceeded to the crevice. The harpies disappeared to the outside. They would travel the continent telling all harpies of the gathering.

Aron moved alongside Shail. “So the death begins,” he conveyed.

Shail glanced up into his bright green eyes. “It begins.”

Leaving Aron, Shail walked to Kari and put his arm about her shoulders. He detected her concerns. “Your thoughts are known to me,” he relayed. “You worry men have an unyielding nature. If we succeed in reclaiming the land, more humans shall come from the stars and keep coming until we are defeated. You think me unaware, but I understand those things. All shall end well.”

Kari watched the departing harpies. “On Earth wild animals once defied man. The bear, lion, rattlesnake, and shark showed courage and stood their ground. Those creatures are extinct. Only domestic animals survived.” She turned and hugged him. “Years from now, I don’t want some book to record the demise of the harpy species. Humans are not only unyielding, they are vengeful. To kill a few men brings the wrath of many, and they outnumber the stars. There must be another way, Shail.”

He kissed her cheek. “There is no other way. Though harpies are gentle, we shall not be tamed, and we prefer the death of the Earth bear. If this is our destiny, let it be so. Come. I shall take you to a place so you may eat and rest.”

Kari followed Shail around the fire pits and down a long corridor. “I can’t lose you to this war. I’ve waited so long to be with you,” she said as they walked.

“The wait was long. Many lights I flew the land from ocean to ocean searching for you. If not told of your life in the stars and your return when grown, I might have given up the hope of our bond.” He stopped in front of a doorway. “This is where we nest.”

“Who told you that I’d come back?” Kari asked and walked into the room. A circle of rocks encased a small fire in the center of the room. Smoke escaped through a ceiling vent. A moss nest rested near the fire, and at hand’s reach, a pile of various fruits. She sat down on the nest and picked up one of the fruits.

Shail sat down beside her. “The old man with long gray hair said that you dwelled among the stars, but would return when grown and free of your father. He is good at sensing an animal’s thoughts, and we sense him.”

“You’re talking about Charlie. When did that happen?”

“Several seasons past, I came upon this Charlie in the jungle. His respect for harpies is well known. He hunts, but only for food. For his kindness, we repay him by letting him watch us at a distance.”

“When Aron chased the grogins away, he knew Charlie was there.”

“He knew, but to let a man and a weapon too close is unwise. I lacked fear of Charlie after your mogel attack. When I brought you home, he fired his weapon to the sky to scare, not kill. Longing to know if you lived, I sought him.”

Kari stopped eating and huffed. “That liar; that hypocrite. He told me to stay away from you. He said you placed a spell on me, and my life would be over.”

“Your safe human life is over, and the spell was on you and me, for I wanted no other mate. His words were true. Like your father, he worries for you and warned you away from me and the harpy life I offer. As you learned, it is dangerous and deadly. Do not be angry with Charlie or your father. They, like I, wish to protect you.”

Kari leaned back on the moss and stared at Shail. “How can you be so supportive of Dad when he killed your father and also wants you dead?”

“I understand Turner. He is a good and honorable man. For many seasons he chased hunters off his land and protected my flock. His wife and daughter are harpies, and his devotion is unmatched. He does not hate the harpies, only my father and me, for we threatened the safety of his loved ones. My father wanted your mother to leave him, and you left with me. Those are his motives to kill.”

“You’re so darn rational and easygoing. Just thinking about Dad harming you makes my blood boil.”

Shail touched her arm. “You are cool.”

Kari smiled. “I mean I’d be angry if he hurt you.”