David Golemon: Primeval

For the Royal Canadian Mounted Police for assistance beyond the call of duty — my many thanks.

For Major Rudolf Anderson, a brave man and U2 pilot who helped save the world in 1962.

The grass was tall and abundant. The men watched as the herd of giants grazed on the sweet, salt-laden growth close to the edges of the warm seas. The waters lapped at the north and south shores of the narrow spit of land as it traveled eastward toward the new and unknown world where the sun was reborn each day. The land was widening as it traveled east, expanding into a vast plain of tall grass. The giant wall of ice lay to the north and was clearly visible from the vantage point of the lowlands. Soon, that wall would start its slow move south as the ice would return once again to the world of man.

The herd, far larger in stature and strength than the tusked, woolly creatures of their old home to the west, stood their ground, too ignorant to fear man even after one of their old males had succumbed to spear and stone.

The elder of this nomadic tribe suddenly straightened from the day's kill. The evening breeze had brought with it a scent he had come to know well since their trek began more than three months before from the steppes of Asia. It was They Who Follow —always within two miles of the band of forty men, women, and children, but never close enough to see or hear. The only evidence of their being near was the massive prints left by their alpha male: Prints so large, that two of his younger hunters could place their feet end to end into the eight-inch-deep depression.

A strong, young hunter stood next to his grandfather and followed his gaze to the west, toward the home they had been forced to leave. There was nothing there for the people except starvation and ravenous creatures driven mad by the same predicament as they themselves. The younger male sniffed the air, but the telltale scent was gone, blown away by the shifting evening winds.

The old man gestured for his grandson to continue the butchering and harvesting of the giant kill. His attention was still focused on the western horizon. He knew that the great man-beast was watching, waiting for the scavenger's chance at their kill. The elder didn't know for sure how many mouths the alpha male fed in its roving clan, but he knew that when he and his grandson backtracked, the carcasses of their kills were always stripped bare of meat, the marrow sucked from the bones.

As the young hunters bundled the meat from the old bull into the tough and woolly outer skin of the tusked one, the old man reached down and stayed his grandson from picking his ration of meat from the tall grass. The elder shook his head, his long hair flying free with the wind. The boy of sixteen looked from the familiar lined and chiseled brown face to the west, and immediately understood. They would leave one of the bundles for They Who Follow, an offering of goodwill to a clan of man-beasts that could easily kill them all if that was the path chosen, but had thus far let their small roving band be. Their only offense till now had been that of curiosity. The old man had puzzled over their strange behavior, never having come across this breed of creature in their old homeland, and had come to the conclusion that it may be the beasts only sought the comradeship of beings not far removed from themselves.

The grandson tossed the meat to the grass, nodding his understanding of the elder's intent. He turned to the other men and gestured with his spear that they should move back to their camp before the sun dipped below the hills far to the west. Before moving off, the boy thought a moment, then placed his hand inside the leather pouch draped over his shoulder and brought out his prize for bringing down the woolly beast. The liver, wrapped inside the slippery stomach, lay beside the bundle of meat. The delicacy was an offering of highest honor for the followers of men.

The old man nodded at the boy's offering, then turned and watched the tall grass behind them. He knew the eyes of the giant were on them. He sensed it — felt the presence of the creature that had picked up their trail in the northern reaches of the high country well over a year gone, following and forever watching.

The elder raised his arms to the sky, the sharpened staff crowned with the feathers of the great winged eagle held high as he swept his arms low, indicating the offering to the great creature he knew was watching. Then he moved the staff to the south and the band of hunters moved away, leaving only the bones of their kill and the offering to the great beast.

The giant creature stood over eleven feet tall. Its sheer weight alone was equal to eight of the humans it followed. The massive head had a broad brow, indicating the possibility of it carrying a brain near equal to that of a man's. Its ability to walk upright made the animal quick of foot and steady on uneven terrain. The eyes held the spark of intelligence like no primate before it. The mouth was filled with teeth capable of chewing the harsh grasses, twigs, and bushes of the western continent — being flat and broad — as well as the large, sharp incisors of the meat eater.

The great beast was not usually a scavenger. In its natural element of forest or jungle, its kind excelled at providing for its females and its young. The art of camouflage came naturally to the hairy beast, blending in well no matter the terrain due to its thickness of fur and its ability to vary the crevasse and valleys of that fur, creating many broken lines and never a clean silhouette.

The great creature watched as the old man gestured toward the spot from where he was crouching, hidden from the humans. The creature's brown eyes narrowed as the stick the man held indicated that there was something on the ground. The giant huffed, deep in its throat. The large, thick lips were pursed, as it thought and puzzled something through. Then it relaxed when it saw the old man follow his young away from the spot of their kill. When the humans were far from sight, heading toward the dunes of the southern sea, the beast stood to its full height. Its brown and black hair rustled as it tilted its head. The great beast liked the evening and its coolness. The large hands reached out, touched the tall, sweet grass, and ran its powerful, thick fingers over the tops of the growth. It blinked, sniffed, and looked as if it were enjoying its moment alone in the soft evening of this new world.

Then, like the old man a few moments before, it froze and sniffed the wind. There was a scent it had never smelled before — a heavy musk that was similar to the great cats of the beast's home region, only different somehow. The giant crouched and smelled the air, but as it did, it knew the scent was gone, vanished on the breeze as if it had never been at all.

The creature felt the approach of the three males and six females of its own clan, as they came from the taller grass where they had been hiding from the band of men. The two offspring, the last of their young, ambled out on unsteady legs and watched as one of the largest of the males in the group turned toward them. It eyed the male and female young, then turned around, and smelled the air once more, turning in a slow circle, huffing and sniffing at the air. Satisfied that there was no danger to their young, it grunted and then ambled toward the offering of fresh meat left for them.