They all smelled like concentrated sweat and feces, and Brazil wondered idly if Murnies had good smellers. With no baths for three days and only leaves for toilet paper, he was certain that, in reverse circumstances, he could smell his party five kilometers upwind.
Cousin Bat was already waiting for the sun to sink completely behind them. Brazil went up to him quietly.
“You ready, Bat?” he asked the night creature.
“Not bad,” came the reply. “The wind’s wrong. If that plain’s too broad I might have to come down at least once. I don’t like that.”
Brazil nodded. “Well, I want you to land if possible, or at least skim close enough to get me a handful of those weeds.”
“Got something in mind?” the other asked.
“Maybe,” he replied. “If we’re lucky—and if we don’t have to run to the border.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” the bat replied dryly. We’ve got to clear this bunch in one sweep, you know. Once committed, we’ll have no place to hide.”
Brazil looked at the creature strangely. “You know, I can’t quite figure you out,” he said.
“What’s to figure?” Bat replied. “It’s my neck, too, you know.”
“Why not just fly over and away? You might not make it all the way in a stretch, but you could pick your own places. Why stick with us?”
The bat gave that ratty smile, exposing those triple rows of sharply pointed little teeth.
“To tell you the truth, I thought about it a number of times, particularly in the last few days. It’s extremely tempting—all the more so now—but I can’t do it.”
“Why not?” pumped Brazil, puzzled.
The bat thought for a minute. “Let’s just say that, once before, I was in a position to help some people I knew were in danger. I don’t want more people on my conscience.”
“We all have our crosses to bear,” Brazil said in an understanding tone. “Myself more than most.”
“It boils down to more than just conscience, Brazil,” responded Cousin Bat earnestly. “I’ve known some other men. They, like me, wanted power, wealth, fame—all the reasons for striving. They’d lie, cheat, steal, torture, even kill for those. I want these things, too, Brazil, but what more right do I have to them than they? Perhaps, though I don’t know for sure, the fact that they would abandon you and I would not makes me superior to them. I’d like to think so.”
And with that, as the last rays of the sun disappeared behind the rocks to the west, Cousin Bat took off into the dark.
A few seconds later, Wuju sidled up behind Brazil. “What a strange man,” she said wonderingly.
He gave a mirthless chuckle. “Bat, you mean? He let his guard down more there than I’d expected. It’s the most personal thing we’ve gotten in all these days. But, no, strange is not the correct word for him. Unusual, perhaps, even uncommon. If he was telling the complete truth there, he’s also a good friend, a particularly nasty enemy—and, quite possibly, one of the most potentially dangerous men I’ve yet met on this planet.”
She didn’t understand what he was talking about but didn’t pursue it, either. Something much more important was on her mind.
“Nathan,” she asked softly, “are we going to die?”
“I hope not,” he replied lightly, trying to break the mood. “With luck—”
“The truth, Nathan!” she interrupted. “What are our chances?”
“Not good,” he responded truthfully. “But I’ve been in spots as bad or worse in my long life. I survive, Wuju. I—” His voice broke off abruptly, and he averted his eyes from hers. She understood, and there were small tears in her eyes.
“But the people around you don’t,” she finished. “That’s it, isn’t it? That’s your cross. How many times have you been a lone survivor?”
He looked out into the darkness for a minute. Then, without turning, he said, “I can’t count that high, Wuju.”
Cousin Bat returned in a little over an hour. Brazil and Wuju were doing something just inside the shelter, and he was curious.
They looked up from their work as be approached, and Brazil asked the simple but all-important question: “Well?”
“Five kilometers, give or take,” the bat replied evenly. “Before you get any farther there’s a steep drop to a river valley, mud sides with slow, shallow water. It’s barely flowing.”
Brazil seemed to brighten at the news, particularly of the river’s speed and shallowness. “Can we get a straight run, more or less?” he asked.
The bat nodded. “Once we get down, I’ll position you and point you in the right direction. I’ll stay over you once you get started to keep you on the right track.”
“Good! Good!” Brazil enthused. “Now, what about the antelope?”
“Tens of thousands of them,” the other replied. “Together in big groups. Nothing too near us, though.”
“Excellent! Excellent!” Brazil seemed to get more excited with every word. “And now the clincher—did you get some of that grass?”
Cousin Bat turned and walked back to where he had landed, picking up a clump of straw with one foot. Holding it, he hobbled back to them and dropped the grass at Brazil’s feet.
The man picked it up expectantly, feeling it, even biting it. It was somewhat brittle, and gave a slight snap when it was bent too far.
“Just out of curiosity, what are you doing?” the bat asked.
Brazil reached down into a pouch and removed a small handful of the tiny sticks inside.
“Safety matches,” he explained. “Haven’t you noticed it, or thought about it, you two? Haven’t you seen out there on the plain?”
They both looked at him with blank expressions. “I haven’t seen anything except antelope, Murnies, and grass,” said Wuju, trying to think.
“No! No!” Brazil responded, shaking his head animatedly. “Not what you see! What you don’t see! Look out there into the darkness! Tell me what you see.”
“Nothing but pitch darkness,” Wuju said.
“Nothing but sleeping antelope, Murnies, and grass,” Bat said.
“Exactly!” Brazil said excitedly. “But what you don’t see, anywhere out there, is something we’ve seen in every Murnie camp we’ve passed up to this point.”
They still didn’t see it, and he continued after a pause. “Look, why do the Murnies build campfires? Not to cook their food—they eat it raw, even live. It’s because they think this is cold! And to protect themselves from the dog packs at night, of course. It must be very important to them or we wouldn’t have seen the campfires so consistently. But there are no fires out there on the plains! No dots of light, no sparks of any kind! And the riverbed’s wide but slow and shallow is it flowing. You see what it means?”
“I think I do,” Wuju replied hesitantly. “It’s the dry season. Out there on the grasslands, the danger of a brushfire exceeds their fears of the dogs or their desire for warmth.”
“It must be like a tinderbox out there,” Brazil pointed out. “If they are afraid of any fire at all, it must be so dry that anything will set it off. If the wind’s right, we can make things so hot for them down there that the least thing they’ll be concerned about is us.”
“Wind’s about as right as you can get,” the bat said quietly.
“Okay, then,” Brazil responded. He removed all his clothes, and jumped, stark naked, up on Wuju’s back, his back against hers. He pulled the shirt around his chest just under his armpits. “Take the ends on both sides, Wuju, and tie them tight around you. No! Pull it tight, damn it! As tight as you can! Yes, that’s better.” Next the stretchy pants were pulled around his waist and tied in front of her. It was several minutes before he was satisfied that he was solidly attached to her, riding backward. Tied just in front of him were the packs, the two pouches full of safety matches within easy reach. Then he applied the rest of the Slongornian cooking fat to as much of his exposed parts as he could. It was a sloppy job, but it would do in the dark.