Robert Silverberg: Three Survived

“Can you tell me why? What’s likely to happen?”

“How do I know? I just got this feeling.”

“No,” Rand said. “That isn’t enough. We need a real reason for not stopping, or else we’re going to stop. Can you give me a reason—something more solid than just a feeling?”

Dombey shook his head.

“Then we eat here,” Rand said. He slipped his knapsack off and sat down beside it. Dombey remained standing.

“Do we have to eat here boss?”

“Yes,” Rand said. “Even if you don’t want to.”

Shrugging, Dombey sat down, looking worried and unhappy. They unpacked and got out some food. Rand found that he was a little worried, too. After all, Dombey had seemed to know that the last clearing was dangerous. And here—maybe—

No—it’s nonsense, Rand thought.

But he kept glancing off into the jungle to make sure nothing was sneaking up on them. Crackling twigs made him jump. When the wind rustled through the branches, he got up and looked around.

He felt edgy and tense. The picture of that slimy green arm creeping out of the pretty little stream still haunted him.

He didn’t see anything in the bushes, though. Except a vine that wound like a snake from bush to bush. Shiny little berries, about the size of grapes, grew on the vine. They were light blue in color and looked juicy and sweet.

Rand picked a few of the berries and said to Dombey, “You don’t mind if I try some of these, do you? I have your permission, I hope?”

Dombey said nothing. He just stared.

Rand put one in his mouth. It tasted even better than it looked. “Mmm,” he said. “That’s good! Sweet as honey! Dombey, you want some?”

“I got the other fruits, boss.”

“Suit yourself. Leswick, want to try a few?”

Leswick didn’t. Rand ate five or six more. Dombey watched him in an unhappy way, as though the big man thought something might be wrong with the berries. Rand didn’t care. He wasn’t going to put faith in every one of Dombey’s wild hunches.

He had to prove his point about stopping to eat here. He had to operate by logic and common sense, not by hunches and mysterious “feelings.” This place was turning out all right, no matter what Dombey said. It would have been a mistake not to stop here, Rand thought. Even eating the berries—that would show Dombey this place was okay.

By the time lunch was over, Rand was sure he’d been right. Nothing unusual had happened to them in the clearing. They finished eating, packed up, and went back to the path. Dombey’s second hunch hadn’t been as good as his first. Rand was glad about that.

They started marching again. Not for long, though.

When they were about half a mile from the place where they had eaten lunch, Dombey called out, “Hold it!”

Rand looked back. “What’s the matter now?”

“We got to get off the path here,” Dombey said. “Fast!”

This was starting to be a nuisance. Dombey wasn’t a silent man any more. Now he seemed to be trying to run the show.

“What did you say?” Rand asked.

Dombey jerked his thumb toward the edge of the jungle. “We gotta get off the path here. Into the woods.”

“Are you going to make trouble every step of the way?” Rand asked. “This is the third time in the last two hours that you’ve stopped us, Dombey. We’re never going to get there if—”

“No, boss!” A look of sheer agony passed like a cloud across Dombey’s face. He struggled hard to find words and get them out. “Boss, we gotta get off the path! Right now!”

“You said that when we stopped for lunch. Both times.”

“The first time he was right,” Leswick pointed out.

“That was the first time. A lucky hunch, nothing more. But if he’s going to get itchy about something mysterious every little while—“ Rand said.

It was a matter of principle, he realized. His leadership of the group was at stake. Either he made the decisions, using his intelligence, or Dombey did—using guesswork.

Rand glanced at Leswick to find out where the philosopher stood in the argument. But Leswick’s face completely hid his feelings.

“We aren’t getting off the path,” Rand said firmly. “And I’ll give the orders in this party, Dombey. Remember that. I’ll give the orders.”

A new expression entered Dombey’s eyes. It was one that Rand had never seen there before. The big man didn’t look easy-going and good-natured any more.

“You ain’t giving the orders no more,” Dombey said in a low growl of a voice. “We get off this path. Right now.”

He moved toward Rand. He was as agile as a big cat, in spite of the heavy load of gear strapped to his back.

“Get away, Dombey!” Rand ordered. “Keep back!”

But the huge man kept approaching. His fist was clenched, and he was swinging his arm around to throw a punch. Rand brought an arm up to block the blow. Dombey’s punch caught him just below the elbow. Rand’s arm went numb.

“Leswick!” Rand yelled. “Pull him back! Get him away from me!”

It was foolish to think that Leswick could be of any use against Dombey, Rand knew. Leswick didn’t offer help. He stepped back instead. And Dombey closed in.

A punch slammed into Rand’s stomach. He tried to fight back, but it was like fighting off a hurricane. Dombey grazed Rand’s jaw with a flat-handed slap that left him spinning dizzily. He followed with a head-rattling swipe to Rand’s right shoulder.

He’s gone crazy, Rand thought. He’s running wild!

But there was a strange look in Dombey’s eyes, and it wasn’t a look of insanity. In the middle of the struggle, Rand saw that look. It was the look of a man who knew what he was doing.

“Stop it!” Rand cried. “Dombey, cut it out!”

He tried to back away, but Dombey wasn’t letting him go anywhere. The jetmonkey grabbed him with one hand. Rand managed to land a weak punch on Dombey’s chest, and then Dombey slapped him again, just once, very hard, on his left cheekbone.

Rand’s head wobbled and his knees went out from under him.

He started to sag toward the ground. Dombey caught him. Rand felt as if he had begun to fly. Dombey was lifting him, swinging him through the air, dumping him over his broad shoulder.

Then Rand blanked out completely.

He woke up feeling as if a steamroller had hit him. He was lying on a thick carpet of sweet-smelling leaves, under a canopy of branches far overhead. The knapsack he had been carrying was sitting beside him.

Leswick and Dombey stood nearby. Dombey was completely calm, showing no hint of his earlier rage. Leswick looked away guiltily when Rand glared at him.

Slowly, painfully, Rand got to his feet. He was aching in a dozen places. His two companions watched him without saying a word.

“Where are we?” he asked.

Leswick said, “About fifty feet from where you and Dombey had the fight.”

“I feel like I’ve been out cold for days.”

“About five minutes, no more,” the Metaphysical Synthesist said. “Dombey tried to be careful when he hit you.”

“Nice of him,” Rand muttered.

Leswick said, “You might want to take a look through the underbrush. There’s a very interesting sight back there out on the path.”

Rand turned. He squinted through the tangled bushes in the direction Leswick was pointing. For a moment he saw nothing unusual. Then he did, and he shivered at the sight.

“They aren’t pretty, are they?” Leswick asked.

They were hideous. They were four-legged animals the size of wolves, lean and grim. Their heads and rumps were held high; their backs curved down in the middle. They were padding along silently, one after another in a long row.