Page 1 of Caveman Alien's Terror

1

- Astrid-

“What do you think?”

I keep my voice to a whisper. We’re always really careful about not making too much noise in the jungle. You don't know what exactly you might attract, just that it's going to be really bad for your health.

Alba pushes back her fireman-style straw hat and squints. “Is that what asalentree is supposed to look like? Isn't it a little short?”

I look behind us. Anter'az, Alba's husband, is nearby somewhere. He won't let his wife out in the jungle without him to protect her. But he's good at staying out of sight, especially when I need him to identify various plants.

“I don't know,” I admit. “I've never seen one before. But the fruits look about right, don't they?”

“They do,” Alba agrees. “Delicious and really hard to get hold of.”

“We don't need the fruits,” I remind her. “Just the water.”

As the shaman apprentice of the Borok tribe, I have to be familiar with the wild jungle that surrounds the village on every side. I will need to gather plants and herbs and twigs and leaves and fruits and nuts, both for food and for various substances that the shaman of an alien caveman village needs. But it’s the scariest part of my duties.

One day I will be ready to go out into the woods on my own, but today is not that day. Walking out of the village gates always feels like stepping into a lion's cage with the lion sleeping lightly. It makes me tighten up inside, and I barely dare to breathe.

So I'm grateful to Alba for offering to come along and to bring her giant caveman husband. But the feeling of being one second from stepping on that lion's tail is always present. There was a reason Alba, Bronwen, and I lived in damp underground tunnels for years rather than above the ground.

And Cora,an inner voice reminds me. Cora, who vanished after I basically told her to get lost, and who never came back or showed any sign of life and who is almost certainly dead, while I live safely in a village protected by eight-feet-tall cavemen…

“So… do we go over there?” Alba asks.

The tree stands in a clearing, slender and alone. It’s shorter than most of the other trees around it. A single beam of sunlight reaches it from the canopy of leaves and branches several hundred feet up, making the smooth trunk shine like polished copper. It's the only sunlight we've seen since we left the village, and it makes the clearing look so inviting, and so much like a trap, that I hesitate to go on.

“Okay,” I decide, looking around for Anter'az again and not spotting him. “Follow me.” I grip my spear tighter and move slowly into the little clearing, heart racing.

The wet grass strokes against my bare ankles like slimy weeds. Looking up, I spot a small, blue break in the canopy. There's no movement, no shadow of a deadly alien pterodactyl that's about to swoop down on me from above.

I stop and look behind me. Alba is clutching her spear, specially made for her by Anter'az. She follows me into the clearing, looking up and around the way we have to in the jungle.

My heart is beating fast, and I look carefully at the ground, feeling like I'm about to walk into some deadly snare.

I'm not even sure why. There's nothing much that separates this spot from any other in the jungle. What the heck is making me feel so scared just here? If anything, this little clearing is more idyllic and peaceful than practically anywhere else. Maybe that’s why I don’t trust it.

The salen tree looks innocent as it towers over me. Yellow, mango-like fruits shine like little lights inside the dark green crown. They’re legendary for their taste and juiciness, and the cavemen say they contain a lot of ‘force’, which I take to mean energy. They’re also insanely hard to pick off the tree, because the salen tree tends to defend itself in dangerous ways.

“Do you have the tool?” Alba whispers from close by, making me jump. “Sorry! Didn’t mean to startle you.”

I put my hand on my racing heart. “It’s fine. I’m just a little tense.” I get the drill out of my backpack. “Can you hold the pot?”

“Sure.”

I slowly walk up to the tree and gingerly touch the smooth bark. It’s cool to the touch, and it’s as if I can feel some living tension in there. “Ready?” I put the tip of the simple little wood drill on the bark and begin slowly cranking the handle. If this were a lion’s cage, this would feel like pulling a hair out of its fur.

“Go slow,” Alba cautions me. “They say the tree is easily triggered.”

As if I didn’t know that.

The iron drill slowly cuts into the bark, revealing a layer of vivid green inside before it starts scraping softly against the wood. The vegetal scent of fresh bark wafts past my nose.

“I have to use more force,” I whisper.

“Be careful.”

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