Right of PassageŠ by Robert M. Blacketer 1998
All Rights Reserved
Webpage by Jilli / Fate

RITE OF PASSAGE

By:  Robert M. Blacketer

PAGE   2:

Resolutely, I set out for the settlement, running this time not in blind panic, but in the distance eating jog that Pop had taught me. I could hold this pace for a long time, but I chafed at sluggishness of my progress. As the settlement came into sight, I broke into a sprint, going flat out as hard as I could run. I raced on into the square, collapsing against its central pole, my hand firmly against the button that triggered the alarm. The siren "Whoop Whooped!" its clarion call as I sagged there, gasping raggedly for breath.

Mrs. Clark, who had been out hanging laundry, was the first to reach me. "Granz!" I panted. "North Pasture."

She blanched, the blood draining from her face. Mom came running up, her strong arm going around my shoulders, pulling my hand from the alarm button. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"He says there's a Granz in the north pasture," Mrs. Clark said unbelieving.

"Then there is a Granz in the north pasture!" Mom snapped. "Get all the children in and accounted for," she ordered.

Mrs. Clark began passing the order, sending anxious mothers off collecting their children. The older boys were out with the livestock and it took them an anxious five minutes to respond to the siren.

By the time everyone was accounted for I had regained my breath and we were a bit more organized. Leaving the children in the charge of the older girls, the mother's and the older boys gathered in the meeting hall. I briefly told them of finding the bull. "There was no doubt it was a Granz," I said. "He may go back to the mountains, but there is a good chance he will follow the cattle down here."

"Glenna," mom snapped, "get a message off to the mayor right away. Tell him a rogue Granz has attacked the cattle and that we are forting up."

Glenna Ross hurried to the back room where the emergency com equipment was kept. It was a low power unit, barely able to reach the main settlement. It was one of those compromises you have to make on frontier planets. Now we could only hope that help would get here before the Granz.

We took what measures we could, though they weren't many. The sheep had already been corralled for the night. There was not enough room for all the cattle in the barn, so we put the younger stock there, leaving the others to fend for themselves in the pen. There was a good supply of firewood, we had been stocking it against the cold weather that was coming, so we built a bonfire out near the barn. The wood was liberally doused with Talltree oil so that it could be lit instantly should trouble arise. If the Granz came, it might serve to fend him off from the livestock, as most animals fear fire.

Little Tommy Birk, his lip trembling, suggested that we make lances, like the knights used. I told him to go ahead. If nothing else it served to keep him and the others his age busy, taking their minds off the Granz. When Tommy grabbed up an axe almost as big as he was, Billy and I lent them a hand, lest they sharpen more than the poles.

Tommy now, I think he is going to be quite an engineer when he grows up. He had selected six of the long poles we had stacked there, all fairly straight, about ten feet long and four inches in diameter. I was surprised how much better it made me feel sharpening one of Tommy's lances. Not wanting to hurt his feelings, I carried one of the "Granz Lances" over to the house and leaned it up against the wall near the back door. Dismissing it from my mind, I went to check on the livestock. It was growing dark by the time I finished and it was a relief to get back into the house where all was cozy and warm, and mom had a hot supper waiting on the table.

We ate in silence for the most part, the girls all wide eyed and starting at every little sound. A sudden gust of wind blew over a bucket sitting on the front porch, giving us a start. Hildy screamed and ran to mom crying. "Don't let the Granz get me!" she wailed. Mom rocked her, soothing her cries.

"Don't worry munchkin," I said, putting an arm around Ramona comfortingly. "I won't let him hurt you girls." That seemed to reassure the both of them and soon they were chattering away, while mom did the dishes. Me, I just sat there and wondered what would I do, what could I do, when the Granz came. For I had no doubt that come he would.

A knock at the backdoor broke me from my thoughts and I hurriedly got up to answer it. Glenna Ross was standing on the back step, looking rather frazzled when I opened the door. Stepping aside, I ushered her into the main room.

"I got the message through finally!" she blurted out in a rush to mom. "The mayor got word to the hunting party and they are heading back."

We breathed a collective sigh of relief at that. Pop was on the way and we had nothing to worry about. I felt so much better. It was as though someone had lifted a tremendous weight off me. Then Mrs. Ross dropped it back on me with a resounding crash.

"They won't be able to get here until sometime tomorrow afternoon," Mrs. Ross went on, wringing her hands. "Something about the hover-truck breaking down after they used it to haul the men and horses up into the mountains."

Mom patted her comfortingly on the shoulder and said, "Don't you worry Glenna. They'll get back in time," she said confidently. Then, surprisingly, she added, "Besides, Todd's here."

Hastily getting up I mumbled something about checking the stock, and dashed out the door. I didn't want mom to see the tears that threatened to erupt. Why couldn't Pop ever say anything like that?

The twilight lent sinister shadows to everything as I walked to the barn. The cattle were milling restlessly in the corral, and the sheep were a mass pressed into the corner of their pen. Speaking to them softly, soothingly, I made the rounds. Everything seemed okay, but there was almost an electric tension, akin to that prior to a storm, hanging on the air.

With one last look around, I slowly made my way back through the darkness to our cabin. Naturally my imagination insisted on peopling the darkness with all sorts of lurking danger, and it was with relief I reentered the warm, well lit, comfort of our home.

It had been a long day, and would likely be an even longer night. Having done everything I could, I stretched out on top of the bed, removing only my boots. It was some time before I finally drifted into a troubled sleep, only to dream of the paniced lowing of cattle and the terrified bleating of sheep. Coming up from the depths of sleep, it took a couple of minutes for it to fully register that I had not been dreaming. The cattle were lowing and mooing piteously while the sheep bleated in terror.

Jerking on my boots I dashed into the living room to find Mom already there. "Something's at the livestock," I shouted in my excitement.

"Yes," she said with a small shudder. "You look so much like your father," she smiled, brushing back my hair. "Be careful son," she added softly.

Doing my best to keep my hands from shaking, I snatched up the torch I had made earlier and lighting it in the kitchen stove, walked out into the darkness. Now I could have used a solar lantern, it would have given more light, but the fire on the burning torch gave me, I hoped anyway, a psychological advantage over the Granz, for I knew that was what had to be out there.

Holding my torch high, I ran to the bonfire, and held the torch to the oil soaked wood. The Talltree oil ignited with a rushing whoosh, filling the night with dancing shadow. One huge shadow in particular caught my eye. Squatting in a corner of the sheep fold, a terrified sheep impaled on its front claws, was a huge black creature. There in the night he looked to be as big as a house, with two firey red eyes, about seven feet from the ground, gazing intently at me. White teeth flashed in the darkness as he ripped a huge bite from the flank of the screaming ewe, before casually tossing its quivering carcass aside, to join the growing pile of slaughtered sheep. The others huddled in the opposite corner, awaiting his selection of who would be next.

The Granz, weighing in at a good fifteen hundred pounds, was all black, except for a white blaze on his chest. The elongated mouth seem packed impossibly full of gleaming white teeth. His front paws were tipped with savage claws fully nine inches long. The powerful jaws crunching flesh and bone equally easily, it stared at me a moment, contemplatively. If it held any fear of the fire, I certainly saw no signs of it.

Disdainfully, this embodiment of evil incarnate turned his back on me and leisurely reached out to drag another fat sheep to his slavering fangs. In the light of the fire I recognized Dancer, the fat old ewe who had spent a week in the house last cold season recovering from frostbite. Without thinking, I dashed the few short feet to the pen and, thrusting the torch before me like an epee, jammed it with all my force under the Granz's stubby tail. There was a sizzle of singed hair and skin as, with a ear splitting roar of fury, the Granz leaped clear across the fold and into the darkness on the other side. Still holding the smoldering torch, I began a somewhat hasty retreat to the house. Pausing at the door, I saw that the beast would be upon me before I could get inside. Turning at bay, I fanned the torch to light, weaving it between me and the ferocious monster. He was on all fours now, snapping at me with his teeth, where I sheltered under the overhang of the porch roof. I kept thrusting the torch in his face, doing my best to blind him or inflict some other damage.

Rearing to his hind feet, and towering over me, he slammed down on the porch roof with all his force. I had barely time to throw myself through the door before the roof came crashing down. Slamming the heavy door, I slid into place the massive bar Pop had fashioned for it. A heavy slam against the door caused it to strain against its fastenings but it held, for the moment anyway.

Mom was standing across the room, protectively in front of the girls, her huge chef's knife clutched grimly. Another powerful slam and a viscous ripping erupted, as the Granz smashed and tore at the logs of the cabin wall. How long they could withstand his savage assault, I did not know. One thing was sure though. We could not be here when he got in!

Motioning for mom and the girls to follow, I tiptoed to the back door. Easing it open carefully, I peered out into the darkness.

"We have to get out of her," I whispered to mom. "Take the girls and get them to the meeting house. I'll cover your retreat," I said confidently.

She looked like she was going to argue for a moment, and then pulled me close for a hug. Tucking the big knife into her apron pocket, she took the girls by the hand, whispering to them that they must be brave and not make a sound, no matter what. When she was ready I took another look out back, but the Granz was still busily demolishing our front wall. Pop had built well. Although shaking on the foundations, the wall was still withstanding his devastating attack. At least for now, which is all I asked.

Quickly, before my weak knees betrayed me, I stepped out into the back yard. Feeling foolish at how much better I felt with it in my hand, I picked up the Granz Lance Timmy had insisted I keep. Cautiously, I eased out from the house, the snarls and savage roars of the Granz accompanied by the sounds of splintering wood, sending shivers down my spine.

Mom kept the girls facing the meeting house, and set off at a stately walk, fearing to run lest it attract the beast's attention. Backing slowly away from our house, the only real home I had ever known, I stood rear guard for mom and the girls.

I thought we were home free, when Hildy tripped over a bloc of wood in the dark and fell headlong with a cry. My blood froze as my ears strained into the sudden silence, all sounds from the front of the house having abruptly ceased. Looking over my shoulder, I motioned for mom and the girls to go on, tensely standing my ground. The seconds seemed hours!

Then, a massive shadow separated itself from the house and darted into the open. It was the Granz and he was charging straight for mom and the girls!

With a savage yell to attract the Granz's attention, I took to my heels, dragging the long pole behind me. A glance over my shoulder confirmed my one hope, that the Granz, like most carnivores, could not resist the urge to pursue fleeing prey. It doesn't matter if they are starving or have just fed, their instincts take over.

Another glance over my shoulder showed him gaining rapidly as I rounded the corner of the house and darted out into the front yard, where the bonfire still cast some light. A quick glance back dashed my hopes of making it to the fire ahead of him. Desperately, I grounded the butt of the makeshift lance, aiming the tip as best I could for the white blaze on his chest.

Seeing his prey at bay, he gave a savage roar and, impossibly, increased his speed. Just as he came to the end of the lance, I dropped to my knee, steadying it with both hands as he charged blindly into it. There was a meaty thunk, the lance bowed, and then I was flying through the air, the broken end of the lance in my hands. I hit the ground hard, the breath knocked out of me. Before I could get up, the Granz was looming over me. Puffing with fury, he just stood there, glaring down at me with his hate filled eyes. I saw my death in those flame filled ebony depths.

Dispassionately, I noted the blood-flecked foam on his nostrils. 'Must have hit a lung,' I thought with some satisfaction, the idea of having scored on my enemy strangely comforting. Blood was dripping from the jagged end of the shaft, where it projected from his chest. I could feel the heat of the fire on the side of my face, and I groped blindly with my left hand for anything to use as a weapon. My eyes held his as my fingers closed on a chunk of wood, perhaps four inches in diameter. It was warm under my hand so I hoped that it was in contact with the flames.

Slowly the Granz lowered his head, his eyes never leaving mine, until we were nose to nose. I held his gaze, trying to dominate my fear. "You stink!" I snarled, putting as much defiance into it as I could.

He jerked back, startled, and I swung my improvised club at him. More by chance than intent, I hit him on the side of the head, the flaming tip taking him square in the eye. With a roar of pure rage he swatted the club aside with a backward swing of his front leg, nearly dislocating my shoulder. He then put his foot down on my chest, the claws extending up over my face and roared his rage to the heavens. Vainly I tried to move, pinned beneath his mighty bulk. He ignored my futile attempts to move his foot with my good hand as he slowly raised his off foot, holding it poised above me, as he glared down at me in rage and, seemingly, anticipation.

The left side of his face was a mess of singed hair, with the eye being nothing but a dripping mass of ruined flesh. The sky was beginning to lighten in the East as I felt his muscles tense for the blow that would rip down the side of my head. I could only hope that it would be quick.

Just then the Granz was distracted by a bloodchilling roar of savage rage such that I hope to never hear again! I could not help wondering 'What now?' as a shape charged out of the night, slamming into the Granz's head with such force that the Granz overbalanced and rolled off me. At the same time something heavy hit me in the side. Rolling away from the Granz and its attacker, I felt the unmistakable outline of a heavy slug rifle beneath me. Unbelieving, I moved off it and hurriedly sat up, dragging it across my lap with my good hand.

Ignoring the cries of rage and fear from the Granz, I examined the Godsend by the flickering light of the fire. It was a heavy slugrifle all right. Not only that, but I knew who it belonged to. It was Pop's!

More by reflex than thought, I checked the action, to find the bolt was jammed. A faulty cartridge had misfired, and then jammed in the chamber. The manual, which I had studied under Pop's watchful eye, simply said to remove the bolt assembly and clear the chamber. That, however was a rather lengthy process.

There was, however, a quicker, if somewhat more dangerous method. Scrambling around, I found a fist sized rock. Turning the rifle so I could see the bolt, I used the rock as a hammer to force the bolt open, and then back, praying it would bring the cartridge with it. This procedure ran the risk of setting off the defective round, which could maim or kill, or of leaving the round wedged in the chamber. Trying not to rush, yet afraid of being too late, I worked the bolt open, the misfired round popping out onto the ground.

Quickly I chambered a new round, feeling it go home with a satisfying snick. I had fired the rifle for familiarization under Pop's tutelage before, but never at a living raging target. Turning to the churning mass that was the Granz, I saw that it was indeed Pop who had come to my rescue. He had somehow managed to avoid the Granz's claws, while clinging precariously to his back. He was taking quite a beating though as the Granz threw himself around trying to dislodge his attacker.

Sitting up, my useless left arm dangling at my side, I braced the heavy gun across my knees, trying to draw a bead on the Granz. In the uncertain light I could not get a clear shot at the Granz, and I dared not risk hitting Pop. The Granz rolled a couple of more times, slamming Pop into a tree and breaking his grip. As the Granz reared over him, I breathed a silent prayer and squeezed the trigger. The heavy gun boomed, slamming into my shoulder savagely. Bracing it as best I could I hurriedly worked the bolt, as the Granz turned to face me. Hastily aiming at his chest, I squeezed off another shot. He staggered at the impact of the heavy slug, yet tottered on toward me.

Frantically jacking in another round, I braced the butt to my shoulder. The Granz loomed over me, rearing to his hind feet. Shoving the muzzle up under his chin, I jerked the trigger, the rifle bucking savagely, tearing a tendon in my wrist. I barely had time to throw myself to the side as the Granz came crashing down, the butt of the splintered lance spearing the ground where I had been a second before. Gasping for breath, I crawled away from the still quivering body of the Granz. Such incredible vitality!

It was growing lighter all the time and I could dimly make out another shape lying close by. Staggering over, I was surprised to find Thunder, all flecked with foam and collapsed in a tangle of legs. His eyes were wide open and he wasn't breathing. I had heard of such things before, but had never seen it. Pop had been Thunder to death getting here!

My ribs were hurting, a sharp ache that seemed to send pulsing waves of pain through my body, as I limped over to Pop and collapsed to my knees beside him. He looked so pale lying there in the half light of dawn, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, his right leg folded back under him.

Reaching out with my right hand I felt for the pulse in his throat. At my touch he surged upward, swinging blindly. "Its okay Pop," I said, putting my hand on his arm. "Its me."

"Todd," he choked, and then sagged back to the ground. "I'm sorry I let you down son," he said. "I should have been here!"

I was really confused now. It just wasn't like Pop to talk like that. "Its okay Pop," I soothed. I could hear voices in the distance now and it was comforting to know help was on the way.

"I'm sorry son," he repeated. "I nearly died when the radio call came in. Axel tried to turn the hover truck around too quick and smashed a fan on a rock! I could have killed him right then and there," he said bitterly. "I never said a word to him though. Just got on Thunder and headed home. Never whipped a horse before in my life," he finished softly.

A quick look over my shoulder showed Mom hurrying across to us. She had taken time to gather up blankets and bandages. Mom could always keep her head in a crisis, that was for sure.

"I rode all night," he went on, his hand squeezing mine. "I nearly died when I saw you under the Granz. Then that blasted rifle jammed on me!"

"Sure surprised me when you jumped him," I said.

"Surprised me too," he chuckled. "But it seemed like a good idea at the time. He had my son."

Mom was there by then, examining him in the light from a lantern held by Mrs. Ross. Pop barely groaned as she carefully straightened his leg, which had been broken when the Granz flung him aside; the only indication of his pain the way he squeezed down on my hand.

I had never felt closer to Pop in my life than I did at that moment, as we lay there, wounded but victorious, while mom rendered first aid. Two men together, father and son, secure in their love for one another.

The End.

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