There was no food, but a small spring coming from the cliff allowed them to refill canteens. Thirty minutes later they were secure inside and with the use of a lever slowly slid the top log back in place, leaving the faintest sliver of light at the top. It was enough for fresh air, but not enough for the beast to get in.
The lanterns were lit and positioned, and MREs were opened. They were all ravenous. Even Hunter ate one, unaware of the taste. Ghost was inside with them, and they lit a huge bonfire outside that would easily rumble through the night.
Now all they had to do was wait.
They ate in silence until Professor Tipler, propped on a pillow, spoke in a low tone.
"I believe… that I know what it is… that we face," he said weakly. "If it were not… for my diminished capacities, I believe I could have told you sooner."
Hunter looked at Tipler, at Takakura. The Japanese had stopped in mid-chew and stared at the professor.
"Finish your meal, please," Tipler continued. "You are…exhausted. I want to thank you… for saving my life. And, afterwards, I will tell you who our enemy truly is."
"I think," said Tipler, as they finished eating, "that it is time for me to give all of you my thoughts." He coughed hoarsely. "Yes… time, I believe, while I still… have time. And you were right, Nathaniel, in having us barricade ourselves within this cavern."
"Sun Tzu said it is always better to take the defensive when strength is insufficient," Takakura muttered. "First to be victorious with your life, then do battle."
Tipler smiled and nodded. "Well put, my friend. And that is why I will tell you… as best I can… what you confront. Forgive me, if it seems I do not, at first, make sense. Indulge me. First, listen closely, and hear a small analysis. Nothing I say shall be ultimately irrelevant, as you will soon see. Nor will I test your patience. Nathaniel, do you remember the Arctium lappa on the far side of the stream at our first campsite?"
Scowling, Hunted nodded.
Arctium lappa, or burdock, as it was commonly known, is a bush with a huge dome of head-size leaves elongating to a sharp point. It commanded a large area of a bank, for even one bush of burdock with its mushrooming bowl top of green leaves will usually shade a wide expanse of soil and other plants.
Tipler followed, "And do you remember how this plant aided you when you were sick last year? The time when you were injured and feverish in the Canadian Rockies?"
"Yeah, I remember," Hunter said. "I made tea from the leaves. It got rid of the fever."
"Exactly," the old man nodded. "And do you remember how you used
Euratorium perfoliatum when you broke your leg near your cabin not five years ago? The tea you made from the leaves caused the leg to heal twice as quickly."
"Yes." Hunter had no idea where the old man was going with this, but knew the time was not wasted, especially if it helped them to understand what horrendous force was probably even now pacing around the small compound outside, slavering, searching, staring at the logs and debating its next move.
"Plants, roots, herbs, all of nature is a laboratory," Tipler said, and coughed violently for a long moment before continuing. "If one only knows where nature's secrets lie, the world can provide untold bounties. And that is only the world we know. But ten thousand years ago this area we inhabit was probably the most ecologically diverse land the world has ever known. Yet for years the earth has been suffering the extinction of probably 100 species of animal or plant every day. So the creatures and plants that inhabited this area in that time were far, far more diverse than what we know now. Imagine that unspeakable volume of medicinal qualities? Imagine what secrets they contained? And imagine, what if a race of people, a species similar to Homo sapiens, had known those secrets?"
No one spoke.
Hunter and Bobbi Jo exchanged glances.
"Yes." Tipler nodded, smiling. "Already you see. For if some ancient ancestor of man had known which plants enhanced strength, which ones promoted healing, produced paranoia, granted voyages of the imagination, increased musculature and bone density and inhibited aging, what would such a race have resembled after a hundred generations of subsisting on this rich treasury of physically and psychologically altering substances?"
Hunter stared at him. "They would have assimilated some of the qualities into hereditary genes?"
"Exactly!" Tipler snapped his fingers as he laughed. "I knew you would understand, Nathaniel! Variations of a genetic pattern would have developed!"
"So you're saying that thing out there is some mutated form of ancient man?"
"I am saying more, my boy." Tipler leaned forward. "I am saying that that creature out there is a species that was quite probably physically superior to Homo sapiens even without the assistance of that plentitude of nature's medicines. Yet in altering their DNA through dozens of generations of substance usage, in selecting strength and predatory perfection over their higher qualities of reason and conscious thought, that particular species was left with only one thing to dominate their minds." He paused. "And that is the Unconscious."
Hunter squinted. "The Unconscious?"
"Yes, Nathaniel. That part of the mind that responds as it will respond, regardless of the conscious interruption of morality, community, responsibility, love, or temperance. All of the higher qualities that make us men. Those things that have built civilizations and make us proudly human! Yes, I am saying that what lurks for us outside that wall" — Tipler pointed with condemnation at the logs—"is the unconscious mind of man unleashed on the earth in the body of a being that should have been extinct from the planet over ten thousand years ago!"
Half submerged in shadow, Taylor spoke. "So what in the world's it doing here now?"
With a deep sigh, Tipler sat back, raised his brow briefly. "Ah, Taylor, that is a question that we have yet to answer. But I do know this." The elderly professor fixed them all with a penetrating gaze, "What is outside that wall is a being that kills at the slightest impulse. A type of…of proto-human, if you will, that understands neither mercy nor compassion, but will fulfill the slightest whim, the slightest impulse, simply because it is there. It is unrestrained by thought. Unrestrained by the inclination to stay its hand against the most common or meaningless or wanton act of wholesale murder. Its only drive is the fulfillment of subconscious desire. Any desire. And it will fulfill the slightest want. You cannot reach its mind because, frankly, it does not possess a mind as any of us recognize such a thing. It possesses only whatever dark and violent impulses and desires are hidden and repressed in the cerebral cortex — that most primitive form of man. And there is nothing… nothing that it will not do, simply because it desires. And, tragically, because whatever race that bred it used generations of alteration by nature to enhance its predatory powers and unconscious essence, it has the power to do much, indeed."
Hunter felt whiteness in his breath, a slight adrenaline surge. He looked at Takakura and the Japanese was staring solidly at him. They made no gestures, said nothing. With a glance he saw that Bobbi Jo had quietly closed her eyes, was leaning her head back against the wall. Taylor had taken his Bowie knife and was scrawling slowly in the dirt. His bent face was hidden in shadow. He remained silent.
"Professor," Hunter asked, "how do we kill this thing?"
Tipler nodded his head. "We will know, my boy, when we know who created it."
Ghost lifted his head, ears straight. Hunter looked at the log wall. "Game time," he whispered to Bobbi Jo. He lifted his rifle as he rose.
Chapter 12
It was three A.M. when Chaney arrived at Brick's home, located near the diner. But Brick went to work at five, so Chaney knew the retired marshal would be awake.