David Palmer - Emergence

(His reaction to frustration entertaining: Unaccustomed to failure [classes experience with me as “work in progress”]; regards even possibility might not triumph as personal attack on vaunted resourcefulness. Looks vexed. Grows a little defensive. Sometimes even pouts. But never gives up.)

Presently climbed onto commuter-bus roof, surveyed problem with hands on hips. Shortly got down, looking smug. Claimed had answer. But wouldn’t tell me plan; wanted to “surprise me.”

Located East St. Louis Yellow Pages, flipped through to “Machine Shops.” Underlined half dozen addresses, visited in order. Found what was looking for at third stop: vitamin-fed forklift truck — really big.

Managed to get monster running; returned to bridge (not quick trip; shop some miles away). Adam directed me to follow in rig as he assailed blockage. Ran forks under first car, lifted, set to side, moved on to next.

Progress quicker once got up onto bridge approach: Adam simply hoisted, tilted forks, pitched over side. Didn’t waste time, efforts: Cleared single-width path just wide enough for van, trailer. Soon into rhythm of forklift operation, drilled rapidly across bridge. Started crossing near noon; descended into St. Louis before dark.

Too late to continue then, so spending night on riverbank. Adam plans to locate railyard, pick up maps, get us “back on track” tomorrow (something about phrase seems to make him happy; wonder if be offended if I tore out his tongue…).

Goodness gracious — what a day! Whole complexion of travel now changed. Should have anticipated this; certainly would feel same way if were in their shoes. But shock, just the same.

All right — enough rambling; on to proper, orderly narrative while events fresh in mind:

Adam disappointed to learn St. Louis, despite (or because of) role as national-rail-network hub, impossible to get out of by rail. Same problem often encountered on roads near big cities: too much dead traffic. Endless switchyards, switch after switch set wrong; stopped trains, locomotives, isolated cars and/or car strings everywhere. Simply no room to move.

So found city map; began working our way out on streets. Not difficult, considering past experience, but not quickest travel thus far enjoyed. Adam’s driving skills even more apparent here, as squeezed around, between abandoned cars, trucks; popped into four-wheel-drive, low-low, to climb curbs; bypassing obstructions down alleys, along sidewalks. Necessary to use winch only once; then only to haul another car out of way, not unstick us.

Not bad, by and large; and afternoon found us well into semiresidential area, past worst of downtown congestion. Adam finding this type of driving sufficient challenge even at low speeds; plus remains ever conscious of trailer contents’ scatterability, fragility. Accordingly, were proceeding at entirely reasonable pace when, trotting in preoccupied manner from between two buildings, came rhinoceros …!

Prepoceros? Of course! But precise moment rhinoceros, size of house, discovered ambling across street directly in one’s path, bad time to debate probabilities.

Adam reacted well: Cut hard left, tried to dodge behind — and stupid clot stopped! Nowhere to go — slammed on brakes, skidded to stop nestled intimately against beast’s shoulder. No impact, just nudge.

“How ’bout that,” said Terry in awed tones.

Rhino turned head, squinted disapprovingly down over shoulder with mean little pig eyes. Snorted. Horn about four feet long. Looked sharp.

Adam calmly, deliberately eased van into reverse; backed slowly away, concentrating intently on trailer, visible in mirror. Kept rig lined up. Kept going.

Rhino stared. Snorted again. Louder. Then frowned. Turned. Pawed ground. Lowered head.

Calm, deliberate sternway gained momentum, acquired salient characteristics of earnest retreat — then precipitous route as rhino took several quick, purposeful steps.

Fast reverse driving not easy with trailer; requires concentration. Covered perhaps 200 yards without jackknifing before rhino slowed, snorted, veered off between buildings, disappeared.

Adam stopped, sat immobile, breathing like Thoroughbred after crossing finish line. Encounter spanned perhaps 30 seconds, but was wringing wet. Eyes blinked rapidly. Knuckles white where hands gripped wheel. No sound emerged when first tried to speak. Had indeed been concentrating.

He took deep breath, held momentarily, released in tremulous sigh. Then tried again: “Wouldn’t you think a city this size would have a leash law?” Grin unconvincing. “Where do you suppose that thing came from…?”

And just like that, I knew answer. Obvious, really; should have anticipated. And amazing thing is this was first encounter.

Rhinoceros trotting down city street, two miles from St. Louis Zoo. Coincidence? Haw! Isolated, unaided breakout? Not likely.

Trade places with zookeepers — warm, conscientious people who, if didn’t love animals, could make lots easier living, much better money, elsewhere. Utterly certain own deaths impending, how would react to animal friends’ prospects, locked in cages? Do nothing? Ensure agonizing deaths through starvation, thirst?

Not in million years…!

Safe assumption, therefore, most — possibly all — zoo animals now at large throughout country, probably world. Suggested as much to Adam.

“ ‘Lions and tigers and bears — oh, my !’ ” he quoted, with shake of head. “I’ll bet you’re right. Shall we detour and find out?”

Not keen on idea, but logic inarguable: Deliberately remaining ignorant of opposition bad strategy.

Proceeded to zoo. Conducted preliminary examination while driving, circling buildings. Exterior cages empty, but inconclusive: All connect to interior. Could be bodies inside.

Only one way to find out.

Reluctantly dug out, loaded M-16s, magnum pistols. Slipped holster belts around middles. Exited together, Terry on my shoulder (if failed to return, wouldn’t want him locked in, either).

Not elegant performance; probably looked like Abbott and Costello, engaged in burglary: back-to-back, tiptoeing with exaggeratedly sneaky steps, spinning one way, then another, trying to cover all directions at once ( I was; Adam maddeningly at ease). Cautiously we scouted every building, rifles at ready, set for fully automatic fire, safeties off — so keyed up that, had even Daddy appeared suddenly, I probably would have cut him in half.

However, no untoward encounters; merely confirmed my very worst fears: All — repeat all — enclosures open, empty. Even cobras…

“Good grief, what kind of person can manage sympathy for cobras …?” I wondered aloud, trying to walk without placing feet on ground.

“Nice people,” Adam observed, peering around interestedly. “Cobras have feelings, too.”

“Well, yeah, maybe…”

Returned to rig; departed immediately.

Discussed development en route: “The ecology of the planet will never be the same,” I ventured. “Lots of those beasties will do just fine in their new homes.”

“Do you think so?” Zoology not one of Adam’s specialties. “I suppose animals from temperate climates will do all right, but what about ‘lions and tigers and bears’ from the tropics?”

Settled back in seat, took deep breath, delivered thumbnail zoological history/geography lesson:

Cobras (while notion makes my skin crawl) unlikely to be enduring problem anywhere temperate or cooler. Poisonous snakes in general not gregarious lot; solitary wanderers, seeking food, shelter alone. Rodent population explosion following H. sapiens’ demise guarantees all species’ small initial populations’ wide dispersal in totally strange environment: Ample food available wherever might roam. Further, tropical foreigners incapable of lying dormant; never survive winter.