Page 25 of Caveman Alien's Touch

- Noker-

Unin’iz is sending me angry glances, but I’m not affected by that. Before the game started, I had planned that if it came to this, and he and I each won a part, then I would suggest that we stop the game here and simply agree to be equally good. But now that I’m here and it did happen, I want towin. Unin’iz and I will never be friends, that’s for sure.

We stand next to each other, waiting for the boy to hit his drum and set off the race.

I know I run faster than the Borok man, and I’m nearly as accurate with throws. But I don’t think there will be any throwing required here.

Sarker’ox says some last words, and then theboomechoes from the trees and the village wall.

I let Unin’iz take the lead. He must know this part of the jungle much better than I do. I can pass him later on, when I start to understand the course.

We run into the darkness of the jungle. The course is marked with white stones and leads up hills and down valleys. We keep passing Borok men who’re making sure we don’t take shortcuts.

I’m easily keeping up with Unin’iz, but I make sure to stay behind him. I notice that I run easier and with longer steps than him. I don’t often run, because it’s a noisy way of getting through the jungle and I don’t want to attract danger. But now that I can run freely, I find that I really enjoy it, just like when I was a boy and kept jumping everywhere.

Unin’iz passes the roots of a huge tree. There are no tribesmen in view, which I take to mean that things are about to get tougher.

And they do — our way is blocked by a wide patch of thorn bushes. I know their kind — they have pointy thorns as long as my little finger. Running through them would mean flaying the skin off our legs. Unin’iz goes to the right without hesitating, and I should follow. But there’s a tribesman here, watching. And I have an idea that might save me some time.

I run straight at the bushes, not slowing down.

“Watch out there,” the tribesman yells. “Those bushes are nasty!”

I make a mental note to thank the man after the race — he didn’t have to warn me. But I keep running, speeding up to a sprint. At the last moment, I place the tip of my spear in the middle of the nearest bush and jump. The spear hits the ground and stays there, allowing me to push off the end of it, so that the stiff shaft carries me safely over the whole patch.

Landing on the other side, I yank the spear with me. My ankles miss the thorns by a finger’s width.

I run on, already spotting the next man in the distance. Unin’iz is far behind me now.

“Smart jump!” the tribesman calls after me as I continue. I send him a quick wave behind my back.

It’s going downhill. It’s the kind of place that no man would walk unless he was in a race like this. There’s another tribesman, but the course is obvious and there’s no alternative.

The hill goes steeply down, and I expect it to end in a stream. But there isn’t one, just a sandy patch that could be a riverbed or the bottom of a dried-up pond. While it would feel good to run on a flat surface after all the jungle and the rocks, I’m suspicious of the sand. It looks too easy, and if it’s soft, it can be harder to run in, slowing me down. I choose to run around it.

Then it’s uphill to the crest of a ridge, where the way forward is obvious.

As I pass the top I hear a scream behind me. It’s a scream of fear and distress, piercing and surprised. A man is in deadly danger.

I stop and look back, down the hill. It can only have been Unin’iz.

If he’s in real danger, then the whole race loses all importance.

I jog back down the way I came.

Halfway down, I see him. I speed up to a sprint.

Unin’iz must have chosen to run across the sandy patch, and it turned out to be quicksand. Now he’s sinking fast, and only his eyes are above the gray, bubbling surface. His eyes are wide with fear of death.

I stop at the edge of the dry land and reach the butt of the spear to him. “Grab hold of it!”

He barely manages to lift one hand from the sticky mud and tries to find the spear, at the cost of his head to sink completely under the surface.

“To the left!” I instruct him because his eyes have sunk beneath the surface.

Again he fumbles desperately around for the spear, finds it, and grabs onto it with one hand.

“Hang on!” I manage to slowly drag him to the bank, then thrust my hand into the quicksand to grab his other wrist and pull him out, still holding his sword.

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