SURVIVIAL OF THE FITTEST

By Susan Zell

Disclaimers: See Chapter One

CHAPTER THREE

"First Blood"

Roxton's rifle was nearest and swung around with deadly accuracy. The shot took the sabertooth in the chest and slammed it to the side. It ploughed into the grass and slid to a stop six feet from Veronica's deer hide boots.

The air was suddenly filled with the hunting roars of three more of the beasts, coming from three different sides. Malone fired and the nearest big cat stumbled, jerking wildly, screaming in pain. It darted off into the brush.

Another crack echoed in his ear as Roxton fired at another. A bullet caught the beast in mid air as it lunged at Veronica.

She managed to avoid the limp body as it fell toward her, slashing out with her knife just in case.

She heard Roxton's warning cry as another shot from Malone missed the third prehistoric creature. Roxton barely had time to switch targets and slam home the bolt. The cat barreled toward him, it was almost the height of Roxton at its shoulders. Wide claws were extended and ready to rip into him. Roxton didn't flinch; he stood steady as stone against the charge and fired directly into the animal's face. A shorn off mandible flew into the air, indicating a headshot. Roxton tried to get out of the way as the beast fell to the ground and rolled madly toward him carried by its momentum. Veronica grabbed his arm and yanked him aside.

Even though, it caught him a glancing blow on the hip and the two went down in a tangle with the limp cat. Roxton lost his grip on the rifle. The sharp ache in the lower half of his body dulled his wits as he attempted to shake off the effects. His brain was screaming at him that the rest of the pride would take the advantage.

"Stand ready," he yelled at Malone who was the only one still upright.

The lad clenched his jaw. He understood Roxton's alarm. He was all that stood between them and an attack. Veronica was just gaining her feet. Malone couldn't tell if Roxton was all right. The amount of tension in the hunter's voice as he shouted to him sounded laced with great pain.

Then the grass parted and another huge beast erupted from the grass right in front of him. It's giant canines spread wide, it reached out with its long powerful forearm and was about to lend a killing blow when Malone shot it. It fell to the side dead.

Roxton gained his feet stiffly, his rifle once more in his hands. He nodded sharply to Malone. "Keep moving and reload."

"What do you think?" queried Veronica as she rose with her bloody knife, blonde hair falling a bit over her face, eyes darting about for more signs of the pride.

Malone stared amazed at the lithe huntress. Her physical appearance seemed more suited to a English ballroom filled with adoring suitors, until one saw her like this, smeared with blood, blue eyes flashing harshly and a deadly knife gripped in a muscular arm. His apprehension about his chances, both in staying alive and wooing this woman only gained momentum.

Roxton shifted painfully from foot to foot as he tried to work out the pain and growing stiffness in his left leg. It was bearable which meant nothing was broken, thank heaven, but there was a smear of blood on his thigh. He cursed silently. It would only make the beasts more determined than ever. "We might have given them a good turn, enough to make them think twice about wanting us for a meal. But, based on the lack of game we've seen over the last few days, I'd say the beasts are starving." He pointed quickly with the nose of his rifle as they walked past one of the carcasses. "You can see the ribs beneath the coat."

"You mean, we're the best thing to come along in days," Malone noted with despair.

"Afraid so. They'll attack again." Bloodied or not, Roxton knew, the cats were not about to let their prey escape.

The small troop moved on. Heart drilling minutes went by as they approached ever nearer to the hill. If only they could get the mount at their backs, they could concentrate all their firepower forward against the sabertooth pride. Then they would have a chance.

At least until their ammunition ran out. Roxton hated leaving the casings behind, but they didn't have much of a choice. These bullets they were using were some of the last of the better supply. Most of the remaining bullets had been reloaded over and over again. It was the only way to make their supply last in this savage world where nine times out of ten it was a fight to the death. But it wore on the casings. Most of them had hairline cracks and he half expected the ammo to jam in the rifle or just blow up in their faces.

The warmth of his blood dripping down the length of his thigh ended the hope that perhaps the smear of blood had been the big cat's instead of his own. He tried quickly to gauge how bad the wound was by the steady flow. He knew he should stop and tie a tourniquet around it but it would make little difference in the long run if they could not reach safety.

They had almost arrived at the hill, and for a brief moment, the small group thought they might make it. But then the half starved beasts attacked again, this time in unison.

Marguerite was fixing the evening meal while the professors checked their new specimens. It was a bit early for such a meal. In her society days, she wouldn't have eaten dinner till practically eight. To eat any earlier appeared uncouth. But it had been a long day of labor and the professors always seemed in better moods when they ate around five o'clock. And above all, Marguerite wanted to keep them in a good mood.

There wasn't much of a meal, mainly vegetables, no meat, but that was easier to digest than most of the meat around here anyway. She had fixed a fair amount of food, fully expecting the others to return by now. But of course, they were nowhere to be found.

Professor Summerlee came and squatted beside her. He gestured to the roasting rack. "May I?"

He smiled so kindly that immediately Marguerite warmed and nodded. "I'm afraid I'm not as good as you in the seasoning department. It's probably very bland."

Summerlee lifted one of the skewers of vegetables to sample one on the end. He had the good graces not to grimace. It needed quite a bit of spices actually in order to be palatable. "Well, that we can remedy," he assured her gently.

Marguerite was genuinely grateful. And suggestions from Professor Summerlee never seemed to be mocking and hurtful. He always wanted to help and he offered his assistance so good naturedly and without an ounce of disdain for her inabilities that she relished his intrusions.

She helped him pull his backpack over and open it. Digging inside, he pulled a small leather satchel.

"Your medicinal herbs?" Marguerite eyed him worriedly.

"Like most good herbs, they serve a variety of functions. You'd be surprised what a little bergamot can do to a pot of vegetables." His face crinkled into a wonderfully devious expression that Marguerite couldn't help but laugh. As he broke apart the dried herb, the wonderful scent of orange wafted up. He began a complex blend of various pouches and sprinkled it over the meal. The fire beneath sizzled and snapped at the excess.

"That's a tad spicy," she warned.

"It's good for the blood flow," he said. "A small pinch of cayenne pepper can restart a heart, you know."

"You are a veritable fountain of useful information." She watched as he put another hefty pinch of the spice over the roasting vegetables.

"That and a bit more salt and I think we'll have quite a delicious meal on our hands. You are a godsend in this place, my dear."

Marguerite couldn't help the pleased blush that rose in her cheeks even thought she knew plainly that it had been Summerlee's assistance that had made the difference. But bless him he never once demanded recognition. He always gave such accolades to everyone else.

She leaned in to give him a gentle kiss on the cheek. "Thank you."

"My pleasure."

He made to put his satchel away but Marguerite stayed his hand. "Would you mind if we left it out? Perhaps after we have eaten we can season the leftovers again." She had a very wicked look in her eye.

Summerlee chuckled. "You're not still mad at Roxton, are you?"

Marguerite grinned. "Of course, not. But if they're going to be late for dinner, there is a price to pay. I was looking forward to roasted fowl this evening. They are the ones fumbling on this one, not I."

"I happen to like vegetables," the elderly man noted.

"You and Veronica both." She shook her head. "I, on the other hand, prefer a little bit more sustenance in my diet."

Summerlee chuckled and shook his head at her, but to her delight he left the satchel out. Marguerite gazed up into the night sky. She wondered for the hundredth time where the Roxton and the others were. Probably eating some delicious roast chicken right now. She hoped the hunter choked on it.

tbc