Robert Sawyer - Fossil Hunter

This screaming, this desperate bid for salvation, was Emteem’s undoing. As soon as it had finished with Dedprod, the blackdeath rose up and surveyed the field. Seven tasty morsels to choose from, all trying to keep as far away from it as possible. The blackdeath focused its attention on Emteem, apparently irritated by the noise and deciding to put an end to it.

Twenty massive strides took the blackdeath from what was left of Dedprod—not much—to Emteem, who foolishly allowed himself to be backed up against one of the stone walls. The blackdeath’s head darted out. Emteem, still screaming, feinted to the right. The blackdeath responded by darting out again and this time it connected, its jaws closing around Emteem’s head, that being the part from which the offensive noise had been emanating. It closed its mouth, the massive jaw muscles bunching together, shearing Emteem’s head from his body and then, moments later, it spit out the crushed bones of the Quintaglio’s skull.

The blackdeath evidently decided that its previous methodology had been satisfactory. It set about devouring Emteem’s carcass by tearing off the limbs one at a time, then dipping its now blood-slicked muzzle into the torso, enjoying the organs and entrails for dessert.

Two down, six to go.

There was a chance that the beast’s appetite might become satiated before all the siblings had faced its direct challenge. But it was unlikely—even eight Quintaglios would constitute a small meal compared to the blackdeath’s usual fare of thunderbeast or adult shovelmouth.

While the blackdeath had been picking over Emteem’s remains, Kroy from Arj’toolar, wearing a white belt, had decided to sneak behind the creature, assuming that by being out of its sight, she would also be out of harm’s way.

The strategy failed. No moving object escaped those giant ink-pool eyes. As soon as it had cleaned Emteem’s carcass to its satisfaction, the blackdeath wheeled around and made a direct path for Kroy. The governor-apprentice of Arj’toolar was full of strategies. She tried to weave left and right, but soon realized that this was simply allowing the blackdeath to close the distance between her and it more quickly. She ran in a straight line, back toward the north end of the stadium, toward the great wooden gate, now firmly closed, from which the blackdeath had emerged.

The predator closed the distance rapidly, and she realized finally that there was no escape. But Kroy was not one to go without a fight. She turned and ran toward the blackdeath. The monster was startled and faltered in its charge for an instant. Kroy leapt, claws out, arms extended, and slammed into the thing’s left thigh. Her claws pierced the black hide, and rivulets of blood ran down. She chomped her jaws together, taking out a bite of blackdeath. The creature made a rumbling grunt and tried futilely to swat at Kroy with its tiny forearms. Kroy tore out another hunk, but rather than swallowing, she spit it aside, then ripped out a third piece.

The blackdeath tried to swing its head around to get at the Quintaglio, but couldn’t contort its body in that way. Finally, with a hiss that sounded like a sigh, it simply fell on its left side, crushing Kroy beneath it. The blackdeath immediately rolled onto its belly and, using its forearms to keep it from sliding forward, pushed with its hind legs until it was back on its feet. Kroy, limbs askew in an unnatural fashion, was still alive, but dazed. The blackdeath stomped a foot onto the Arj’toolarian, the great three-toed appendage all but covering her chest. The toeclaws tore into her flesh, and she died.

The blackdeath feasted once more. When it was done with Kroy, it rose again to an erect posture and surveyed the playing neld. Here it was, back at the north end of the diamond. The five remaining Quintaglios had made their way down to the southern vertex. The beast seemed to be thinking that it was a long distance to that end, and that Quintaglios really were too puny to pursue. It turned its back, as if to go, but then stopped, its massive head swinging left and right. Now that it had had something to eat, it seemed to be realizing for the first time that it was trapped again, that there was no way out of this arena.

The beast threw back its ebony head and let out a massive, rumbling roar. It turned toward the spectator stands, two angled banks of compartments high up, out of reach. It could surely see the Quintaglios, each in its compartment, almost like a gift box of candy raloodoos . Hundreds of morsels, each good for a few bites, but maddeningly inaccessible. It roared again, sweeping its head in an arc as it did so, as if to make sure that each and every spectator understood that it was personally an object of the blackdeath’s anger.

But then it caught sight again of the five remaining contestants, milling around at the far end. They, at least, could feel its wrath directly. It began to march toward them.

The beast took the shortest course, its massive legs pounding straight along the line of orange powder that marked the major axis of the stadium. The powder rose in little clouds with each divot kicked up by its footfalls.

As it closed the distance, Cadool continued to speak to Afsan, trying to make the spectacle as clear as possible. “Nesster, Spenress, Wendest, Rodlox, and Dybo are left,” he said. “It’s hard to say which one the blackdeath is going to go for next. I think it’s Nesster—yes. Nesster, from Mar’toolar. His belt is pink. God, that thing can move! Nesster is running now, as fast as he can, I’m sure, but he’s no match—he’s tripped! He’s down, muzzle-first in the grass. The blackdeath is almost upon him, jaws gaping. The blackdeath’s head is coming in. Nesster is scrambling to get to his feet. The blackdeath’s got him—no, wait! It chomped down on Nesster’s tail, just above the rump. The tail sheared clean off. Nesster is scrambling again. He’s on his feet, but his balance is all off without his tail. He’s leaning too far forward in his run; he should be more vertical. The blackdeath’s throat is distending; it’s swallowing the tail whole. It’s lunging after Nesster again. Roots! I knew that was going to happen. Nesster has tumbled over onto his face again. The blackdeath—the blackdeath’s got him. Jaws digging into Nesster’s shoulders, a giant foot pinning his lower back, and—and—Afsan, it’s arched Nesster’s back, yanking up with its jaws. I’ve never seen a back bent that far backward. It’s ripping, God—the thing’s torn Nesster clean in two. And there goes the upper half—head and shoulders—right into the mouth.”

Silence for a moment, throughout the stadium. Afsan could hear the wet sounds of flesh being torn. Finally he said: “That leaves four. Dybo’s halfway there.”

“Maybe,” said Cadool. “Maybe not. The blackdeath isn’t spending much time on Nesster’s remains. It’s looking for another target, and I’m afraid—yes, it’s Dybo. The beast is charging toward Dybo.” Cadool shouted, despite himself. “Come on, Dybo! Run!”

“He won’t run,” said Afsan.

“But he is,” said Cadool. “He’s running for his life. No, wait. He’s—he’s stopped , Afsan. He’s just standing there, absolutely motionless, about twenty paces from the blackdeath.”

Afsan made a soft hissing sound that might have been the word for “good.”

Dybo froze completely, even his breath held. The blackdeath stopped charging and swung its giant head left and right, as if momentarily lost.

“I don’t understand,” said Cadool.

“You were once an animal handler,” Afsan. “I think you do.”

“I don’t see—I do see! But it does not! The blackdeath can’t see him unless he’s moving! Its tiny brain doesn’t register stationary objects.”