Chapter 53 - Abandon Trap
Canyon hiked along the forest trail, his mind working overtime. In front of him, Timber tracked the scent of the males, “Six,” and “Thirteen.” Behind him, Predator wheeled along quietly. Darkness was falling fast, bringing freezing temperatures, but Canyon was warm.
They moved in silence for ten minutes, Timber taking seemingly random turns, cutting them through the underbrush and onto various trails.
Canyon caught thin scents of forest animals, and of the two males, but he left the tracking to Timber, who was better at it.
Ahead, Timber stepped left off the path.
Canyon followed him, pushing through leaves and branches to follow, with Predator slipping under.
After a minute, Canyon found his brother standing on another trail, a grassy one wide enough for an ATV. Timber had a hand over his mouth, his stance alert. Canyon nodded and stopped short, listening and scenting.
They’re close, Timber said, then he went down the trail for twenty paces. Timber stopped abruptly, staring at something—a wooden sign made from a rough piece of lumber and topped with an arrow-shaped board. INN was painted on the board and the arrow pointed down a slim, dark, deer trail.
Why do I suddenly feel like Hansel and Gretel? Timber said.
Because it's a trap, Canyon said.
What do you want to do?
Canyon considered, then said. Three choices. One—circle back. Try to catch them unaware. Two—leave the bluff. Return with backup. Or three—see what's up with the trap.
Timber nodded thoughtfully, then stepped directly onto the path. Canyon followed. To their left, a male laughed softly. With a whir and a clunk, the ground opened beneath them, and they fell straight down.
“Oh shit!” Timber yelled. “Abandon trap!”
Snickering, Canyon flung his arms and legs out, grasping for handholds, but finding none.
Falling fast, he looked down and up and all around, but it was too dark to see.
His feet hit something and his body crumpled, forcing a grunt from him.
Instead of pancaking, he slid feet-first, down some sort of giant waterslide.
Freezing water drenched him to the skin as he slipped and slid like he was at Six Flags.
“We gon’ diiiieeeeeeeeeeeeeeee,” Timber yelled from behind him, his voice echoing back like they were in a tube.
Canyon dug into the slick rock covered with mud and moss below him with his hands and feet. No matter what he did, he couldn’t slow himself down. He bent his knees and bowed his back, dragging the metal frame of his rucksack through the muck, trying to find a root or a crack to wedge up against.
“I can’t stop!” Timber yelled. “It’s too slimy—you alive, little bro?”
Yeah, Canyon grunted in ruhi. For the next couple seconds.
The frame of his pack caught on something, grinding and pulling, slowing Canyon down.
He dug into the muck until he found a tree root and grabbed on, stopping himself.
Water sluiced around him, and then Timber slammed into him, his weight pushing Canyon free, and the two of them sliding madly again.
Grab on! Canyon shouted. Handholds!
His left heel found a tree root, and he wedged against it, dragging the rucksack through the muck, until it stuck again. He and Timber grunted and swore and called out to each other, grabbing ahold of whatever they could find, until they managed to stop themselves.
Canyon lay almost fully-supine, his weight on his rucksack, his heels wedged against roots, one hand holding onto a root, the other free. Water streamed all around him, pushing and pulling at him.
“Now what?” Timber called out, like he was having the time of his life.
Canyon wasn’t having such a great time. His fucking socks were wet, and he hated wet socks.
“Predator!” he called. “Status report!”
No response.
Damn. Canyon didn’t want to lose Predator in some fucked up trap.
“Wulf?” Timber said.
Predator spoke from somewhere above them and its screen flashed, spilling light. Canyon shook his head, irritated anew at his creation not responding to its name.
:I am Wulf—
“You doing okay there, buddy?” Timber said.
:I am doing okay—
“Could you, ah, give us some light?” Timber said.
Predator’s screen flared brightly, silhouetting a snarling wolf with dazzling white teeth against the wall of the tube.
Oh so carefully, Canyon leaned his head back, evaluating their situation.
Timber’s boots were wedged up against a tree root next to Canyon’s head.
Water ran and splashed all around them. They were in a tube like a cave.
Predator was a few feet above Timber, holding onto a tree root with its mechanical arm, water flowing around its wheels.
“Predator, report your battery level,” Canyon said, wanting to calculate how much time they could afford at this level of light.
Predator did not respond. Canyon’s blood pressure rose. He growled.
“Ah, Wulf,” Timber said, “Report your battery level.”
:Battery level sufficient for all purposes—
“Give a percentage,” Canyon snapped.
Predator did not respond.
“Maybe this little father-son spat could wait until we have our feet on the ground,” Timber said lightly. “Got any ideas?”
“Ask Wulf,” Canyon snarled, suddenly suspecting his brother. He couldn’t fathom how Timber could have made Predator disofuckingbedient, but he was the only one who had the access and the know-how.
Predator spoke.
:Tunnel goes on for another 20 feet—
:62-foot drop to the ground—
:Ground surface is rocks and dirt—
:96.9% chance of survival for Timber for the drop—
:97.8% chance of survival for Canyon for the drop—
“62-foot drop!” Timber shouted. “You expect me to survive a 62-foot drop?”
:All KSRT wolven are trained in the art of injury acceptance and speed shifting—
“Shit,” Timber grumbled. “Easy for the robot to say.”
Canyon blinked water out of his eyes, shaking his head slowly. This didn’t make any sense. The trike was equipped with a laser to measure distance, but Predator wasn’t programmed to provide chances of survival. What was it basing the percentages on?
“I’ve got rappel gear,” Canyon said quietly, still musing. “Nobody’s gotta break their legs.”
“Fuckin’ hero.”
“Not like Reynard.”
“Never like Reynard,” Timber agreed.
:Never like Reynard— Predator intoned at the same time as Timber.
Canyon gaped at Predator.
I fucking knew it! he shouted at his brother in ruhi.
“Knew what?”
Knew you fucked with Predator. You better be able to undo whatever the fuck you did.
“What are you talking about?”
Canyon was pissed. “What are you talking about, what am I talking about?” he shouted out loud, which made him slide three or four inches. He dug in and kept shouting. “Demanding to be called Wulf! Won’t do anything I say! You fucked with my program!”
“Yo, little bro. Take a deep breath or something. I’m fucking flattered you think my coding skills are that good, but I’m telling you, I didn’t do it.”
Canyon didn’t say anything. He ran through code in his mind, trying to think of something that would make Predator act like it was acting but he couldn’t think of anything—and Timber was lousy at coding.
Still fuming, Canyon maneuvered himself until he could get one hand into his pack.
He fished for ropes, D-rings, carabiners, and pitons.
He passed rope to his brother, and they fastened harnesses for themselves, speaking little, then they hammered their pitons and set their ropes. Within a few moments, they were ready.
“Me first,” Timber said.
He wiggled himself past Canyon and down the tube. Canyon listened intently but could hear only rushing water. After a moment, Timber tugged on the rope and called Canyon in ruhi.
I’m down. Seems safe enough—dark and quiet. Lots of trees.
Canyon pulled the rope up. He leaned his head back to see Predator, then said, “Predator, maintain your grip at full strength. Turn your front wheels to the left 40 degrees and your back wheels to the right 20 degrees.”
The little trike didn’t move.
“Predator, respond,” Canyon said sternly.
Still, the trike didn’t move, speak, or show it had heard.
Better call him Wulf, Timber said.
I fucking won’t.
Just do it.
Canyon growled in ruhi as a response.
Predator’s screen flared bright and the metal fingers on the end of the mechanical arm opened with a hydraulic whir.
Water and gravity grabbed the little machine and whisked it straight down and out the hole at the bottom.
Predator seemed to fall slowly, its chassis catching air, its screen illuminating the forest. Shadows flared darkly …
… and then Timber grabbed Predator mid-air by the arm.
He laughed triumphantly and placed the little trike on the ground.
Canyon shook his head, set his ropes, and followed.