Lulu's Walkabout

Lulu was missing again. Mind you, he didn’t know that when he woke up.

The day started as usual. He said morning to Hannah as he got out of bed, reached up to the rough-hewn ceiling, and flipped open the skylight to let in daylight. Hannah reminded him that morning didn’t exist on Thabit. He replied he was born in a world where they had it, and he wasn’t going to change his ways of waking up after all these years. The light grew brighter as he ascended the spiral staircase from the underground bedroom to the one-room Quonset hut above.

The stairs emerged into an area under the half-cylindrical metal roof. Light came in from the two windows beside the door in the front and a skylight. Where he was born, they would call the front part a 20-foot wide by 30-foot long room, with a 10-foot tall ceiling in the very middle. He washed his hands then walked to the stove, slid the curved metal window panel aside, and let the stationary sunlight blaze in. The rays bounced off the curved mirrors beneath and focused on the metal plate above. He filled a kettle with water, crushed some native Igara tea leaves into a mesh infuser, and placed it all on the hot plate to boil.

While waiting he looked out the back door. The hut’s back wall nestled up against a natural cave in the mesa’s foot that acted as a barn and a deep shelter in case of bad solar flares. The underground barn also had a ten-thousand-gallon cistern for water, a five-gallon portable still, shelves for storage, and a long workbench. One chicken nested on the worktable again. He hated when they did that. He reminded Hannah about closing the chicken coop in the barn, and she asked why bother? The answer was because expensive hard-to-replace tools don’t need bird crap in their gears, that’s why. He grabbed a basket to go gather eggs and a bucket for the goat’s milk.

That’s when he noticed one of the damn nanny goats had escaped. Again.

Muttering vile curses under his breath so Hannah wouldn’t hear and get on his case about his language, he stormed out the back door, eyebrows drawn together in a fierce scowl. The chickens scattered as he plowed through them, clucking and bawking in indignation, but knew better than to get in his way.

Shafts of sunlight pierced the darkness of the barn. It fell through boreholes drilled and angled to align with the stationary sun, diffused by ceiling mounted semi-transparent glass domes. One goat in particular - Lulu - had been vocal for the past two days, but today he didn’t hear a sound from her. A few mirrors illuminated the back of the cave that reflected sunbeams into the otherwise perennial gloom. He walked all the way back just to make sure the goats weren’t hiding behind a crate or lying on the floor. Nope. They were gone.

Turning to head back to the house, he saw a gap of light where the edge of the Quonset hut didn’t mesh with the rough cave wall. Where an six-foot retaining wall once stood, a pile of shattered rock remained when it fell. How much of that collapse was instigated by stubborn goats, he didn’t know, but he suspected a lot. He inspected the area and saw hoof prints in the dirt outside. A stray tuft of tan hair stuck to a rock confirmed it. Sometime between him going to bed and waking up, the goats made their escape.

Looking through the newly created gap in the wall, caught sight of one of the nanny goats wandering around the yard, chewing contentedly on something she found. Going back indoors, he let Hannah know the goats were loose again. She asked if he was sure, and yes, he was sure. He took the kettle off the hot plate and went to round up the missing livestock. Princess and Boxarocks hadn’t wandered too far from the cave, so they were quick to capture. After securing the two goats back in the cave with a temporary wall made from pallets and bailing wire, he searched farther around the farm and spotted Lulu’s hoofprints.

He re-entered to gather more supplies, unsure of the search’s duration. He loaded up with a water canteen out of the fridge, threw a thirty-foot lariat over one shoulder cross-body, tied a sun-bleached bandana around his neck and placed a weather-beaten wide straw hat on his head. Finally, he grabbed his twelve-gauge double-barreled shotgun leaning beside the front door, checked the load, and shoved a handful of shells in his front pocket. He then set off to bring Lulu home.

******

The good thing about nanny goats is they’re neither stealthy nor subtle. Lulu’s tracks ran almost straight sunwards to the closest oasis. The bad thing about Lulu is she was a genius at making trouble, and in this case, it was big trouble. That oasis was the primary hunting ground of Ol’ One-Eye. He figured he’d best get to moving if he was going to catch up with Lulu before One-Eye did. His eyes scanned the scrublands to anti-sunward, left and right to the foothills of the surrounding mesas, looking in vain for a glimpse of the missing goat. No luck.

He made quick work of the distance with his measured stride. Her cloven hoof-prints wove through native black-leaved grasses with white flowers and scrubby bushes, with the occasional broken branch and twigs stripped of leaves showing where she took a nibble. Being a goat, she could eat the native plant life, but he knew from experience she’d get sick if she ate too much of it. Some species of Earth’s imported plants occasionally grew between Thabit’s dark-grey and black foliage plant life. Yucca plants with spear-shaped leaves, candelilla with waxy coatings on their tube-shaped stems, and long hardy clumps of dark green grasses dotted the terrain.

He paused and wiped the sweat off of his forehead and took another large sip from the canteen. By his estimate, he was about halfway to the oasis and he figured he had another half hour of walking to go when he noticed an odd color to a thorny branch. A single dark red droplet suspended from a thorn, with a thumb length streak of black on the ground. Blood. This was bad. He knelt, reached down to check the stained dirt for moisture, and snatched back his fingers with a hiss. Harvester ants found the blood already and defended their find. He swatted at his arm and wrist, vigorously shaking his hand to dislodge the biting insects as he stood. A quick swipe down his pant legs ensured he didn’t have any painful hitchhikers attached, and he set off.

Komodo dragons had an exceptional sense of smell, and the bio-engineered ones adapted to Thabit’s arid and hot climate were no exception. If Ol’ One-Eye caught the scent of Lulu’s blood, he’d come a-running. He screwed the cap on his canteen, shifted the shotgun from his right shoulder into his hands, and kicked it up a gear into what the U.S. Marine Corps called a forced march. Not sure if they still called it that now. Or if there still was a U.S. Marine Corps. Or a U.S.A. The years had a funny way of sneaking past people, and it had been a while since he and Hannah got on that interstellar colony ship and settled here. Plus, this dirtball of a planet spun its tidally locked orbit around the red dwarf sun once every thirty-five days, not an honest three-hundred and sixty-five-day year like God intended. Still, this place was home.

About fifteen minutes later, he was panting with exertion, dripping with sweat, and worried he would not have good news for Hannah when he heard a faint bleat up ahead. Chasing livestock was a job for young farmers, and this hike made him feel his age. He rounded an outcrop that blocked his view, and there she was. Lulu had a mouth full of black leaves, chewing with her eyes closed, and either ignorant or oblivious to his arrival. His shoulders relaxed, but he swiveled his head to the left and right to confirm One-Eye hadn’t found them.

No sign of him. The Komodos camouflaged well with the native terrain, but if they smelled blood or found an injured animal, they could sprint in a straight line faster than a man could run.

He and Hannah had discussed the Komodo dragons many times. Back when they first arrived on Thabit, there weren’t any. Neither were there any Earth plants, Earth Nubian goats, Earth Aoudad sheep, or Earth feral hogs. But people being people and life being life, the critters got loose, bred out of control, and became an invasive species. Hannah wanted to leave them alone because any solution humanity came up with would be worse, but one of the scientists at the Corporation Le CS got the bright idea of introducing an alpha predator to cull the goats, sheep and hogs. What did Hannah know? She simply had dual Ph.D.’s in Ecology and Evolutionary Biology, and the other egghead sucked up to the boss. They went with his idea.

This is how we ended up with desert-adapted twelve-to-fifteen-foot long Komodo dragons that weighed almost four-hundred pounds roaming the northern badlands. The Komodos exploited the easy meals provided by fenced goats and sheep, worsening the problem. Why chase around wild critters that had lots of room to run away from you? The domesticated ones tasted the same and were less work.

He propped his shotgun up against a convenient rock and pulled the lariat off of his shoulder. She stood there, not making a move. He was just about a hand’s distance from her when the wind shifted and he smelled the buck.

The billy goat stood about twenty feet away. Because he was a male Nubian goat, he had a rounded nose and was a few inches taller than Lulu. More than that, he reeked. To say a buck stinks is like saying the sunward pole is hot or the anti-sunward hemisphere is dark. He now understood why Lulu ran off. For a lady goat looking for love, that buck was irresistible.

He heard a sound like a large metal barrel being scraped across concrete and froze in breath-pinching fear. It was a low choppy note; a hoarse, purring grind that lasted a few seconds. From behind him.

Diving to the left, he tucked his shoulder to roll and came to his feet a second later. An enormous mass of greenish grey shot past. The billy goat reared up on his hind legs. Maybe to head-butt the dragon, or maybe to turn and bolt, but either way, he failed. With a rib-crushing bite, the Komodo dragon sank its teeth into the billy goat’s side, savaging him. The tail of the helpless buck twitched as the Komodo crushed it to the ground.

Lulu bolted away from the carnage, back towards the homestead, disappearing around the outcrop in seconds. He sprinted behind her, slowing down just enough to grab the shotgun, rounded the rock, and caught up with her in no time. By then, they were about a hundred feet away and she was staggering like a drunk. Goats were great at climbing mountains but not at outrunning predators. Come to think of it, humans weren’t great at outsprinting predators either. He stopped, gulping air, safety off, pointing the twelve-gauge shotgun back at the way we came, quivers running down his trembling frame. Ready. As soon as that forked tongue flicked around that bend, it was getting both barrels.

He waited for a minute which felt like an eternity. No sign of pursuit. By that time, the adrenaline had turned his muscles to Jello, and he decided One-Eye was making a meal of his stinky steak and not bothering to come after us.

Shotgun still aimed towards the outcrop, he eased backwards until he reached where Lulu was still panting. She leaned up against his leg, either scared or worn out. God knows he was both. They trudged home, him looking over his shoulder every dozen paces, and she followed. They’d both had enough adventure for one day.

*****

They got home with no additional strife. After placing the last goat in the barn, he shored up the gaping hole with a metal door stolen from the outside shed, braced it shut with heavy crates, then released the other goats from their temporary storage pen. The plan was to secure it better in the immediate future, but at this moment, it would do. Between the sweat, dirt, and getting within twenty feet away from the billy goat, he knew he stank. He knew he needed a bath before he went inside and Hannah got a whiff of him. However, once adrenaline leaves a body, all a person knows is that they’re bone tired. He found a comfortable patch of dirt in the barn, laid the shotgun by his side, propped up his head on a bag of dry goods, and took a nap in the barn with the chickens and Lulu. The sounds of contented clucking lulled him to sleep.

He felt like he’d just closed his eyes when he heard Hannah screaming wake up! Jerking forward to sit upright to the sound of scraping of claws on metal, he snatched up the shotgun when a Komodo dragon battered down the sheet metal barricade and was in the barn. Twin roars of thunder barked from the twelve gauge. The shotgun kicked, bruising his shoulder. A red mist exploded from the gargantuan lizard’s side. It rolled, writhing in agony, biting at the excruciating pain in its side. He broke the chamber on the shotgun, ejecting the spent casings, and panicked when he realized the shotgun shells were in his front pants pocket, trapped while seated. He staggered to his feet, fumbling for two fresh shells, and with shaking fingers jammed them into the breach. The dragon issued a wet hiss of rage, locked murderous eyes with him, and charged.

A booming explosion detonated from both barrels, scything into the dragon’s spine just below its head. The dragon collapsed, paralyzed. Glaring with hate-filled eyes, it coughed a last gasping breath, lay still, lifeless.

The room reeked of the smoky, sweet taste of gunpowder. All he could hear was a high-pitched whine, deaf to the cacophony of hysterical chickens rushing around in their frenzy. He waved a hand in front of his face, squinting through the pillars of light cutting through the haze. Lulu was in the back corner with the other goats, their mouths open in a soundless bleat. He hoped his hearing would recover. He was going to need to call this one in.

*****

Dust from the all-terrain vehicles telegraphed their approach long before they pulled up, rising from a slight depression. By this time, he’d dragged the Komodo dragon inch by profanity filled inch out of the barn, patched the wall again, bathed and changed clothes. He saw three vehicles, two smaller ATVs, and one larger one with a flatbed trailer behind it. From this distance, the trailer didn’t look big enough, but that wasn’t his problem.

They stopped their vehicles about fifty feet away. They didn’t want to coat him in the cloud of dust that caught up to them when they quit moving, as they had plenty of respect for the armed man standing by a dead twelve-foot Komodo dragon.

He greeted them first. “Gentlemen.”

“Sir. I’m Deputy Cassius. You called us to collect a bounty for a Komodo dragon?”

“I did.”

The two other deputies stepped up beside Cassius, and the one on the left let out a loud, appreciative whistle. “Damn, that dragon’s huge! Is that Old One-Eye?”

He gave the whistler a piercing glare, his wrinkled forehead and weathered white eyebrows scrunched together in a scowl. “Son, you can see Komodo has both eyeballs. Do you think it’s One-Eye?”

Whistler had the grace to look sheepish, and his fellow deputies shot him a scornful glance. Cassius spoke up. “Sorry, sir, he’s new. We’ll take this beast off your hands. The Sheriff told me to not pay you directly, instead to leave credit for you with the General Store in Half-Noon?”

“Yep. That’ll do. Thank the Sheriff for me.”

“Yessir. Will do.”

The three deputies backed up the ATV with the trailer, slid the trailer bed off the frame until it made a ramp, and hitched a winch to the torso of the carcass. With a jerk and a whine, they dragged the dead Komodo over the dirt and onto the trailer, where everyone lifted and heaved the bed back on the frame. While the two senior deputies secured the trailer with pallet straps, Whistler looked around, gawking at the homestead. His eyes lingered on the ten-foot by ten-foot cemetery fenced in black metal two dozen paces away. A single tombstone, blanketed in dust and weathered by time, sat in the enclosure.

“Your family has been here a while, sir?”

“Original colonists.”

Whistler pulled off his hat and placed it over his heart. “May I ask who’s buried there?”

The old man fixed him with an icy glare. “Boy, you need to learn that some folks value privacy.”

Whistler scrunched his shoulders against his neck, cowed by the ice in the old man’s gaze. “My sincere apologies. I’ll be on my way now.” Whistler placed his hat back on his head and made a straight line for his ATV.

The three men waved once, made a u-turn in their vehicles, and drove away.

Hannah said some people have no respect. He agreed, walking past her grave and back into the house. What do you want for dinner?

Whatever you make, dear, she replied.