Dawn of the Yeti Read Free Page A

smiles, wide and full of his filed
teeth. A shark’s mouth, I think, but then he hits me with the butt of his club,
and it all goes dark again.
     
    *         
*   *
     
    The next time I
come to, there is a fire nearby, warm and bright. An odd smell fills the air,
one that I haven’t known in what feels like forever, the smell of meat. It
crackles and hisses, pops and spits. My mouth waters. My stomach growls.
    Above the cooking
sounds, faint whimpers drift my way. I catch them like tiny bubbles, fragile
things that will disappear if I strain too hard to capture them. I look around,
trying to find the source, while simultaneously keeping my movements to a
minimum. My head hurts enough as it is, and the last thing I want is something
else smashing into my skull.
    They sit around
the fire, the Banjankri, staring into the flames with religious fervor. A few
of them smile and their sharpened teeth glint and shimmer in the dancing light.
    I search for the
rest of my pack, knowing that one or all of them are around. Moving at a snails
pace, I tilt my head up and find Meredith huddled against the wall, but she is
alone and doesn’t look my way. It’s then that notice where we are: a giant ice
cave.
    It opens up above
me, tall enough for a Jo-Bran to stand upright. Icicles, thick as my arm, hang
from the ceiling, but for the most part, it and the walls are smooth, slick,
cold. I always figured that the Banjankri lived in caves, but I never figured
I’d ever see the inside of one. At least, I never hoped to see one. This isn’t
a place anyone wants to be.
    A dialect, thin
and whispery, fully of drawn out “sss” and breathy “h” sounds, creeps into my
ears. I turn to see the Banjankri talking and gesturing to one another, their
lips barely moving. One of them with a long goatee stands and pulls the spit
from the fire, holding it up and examining the hunk of meat attached. I gag as
I finally realize what it is that’s caused my mouth to water, my stomach to
yearn. Goatee holds up a leg, eyeing it as if it were a roast chicken. His
mouth opens and he tears into the leg with his shark teeth, tearing away a
large chunk that stretches and holds fast to its remains. When the others pull
Goatee down and begin to pass the spit, I turn away.
    The whimpering
continues, soft and even softer amongst the sucking and chewing of the others.
I wonder again at the source and hope that it isn’t the loser of the leg, but I
know it is.
    Meredith still
huddles against the wall. Unlike me, she stares at our captors, watches them
eat. Her aqua eyes are fixed on them, trained like a hunter. And there is
something within them that I’ve never seen before. Hate. Violence. A strength
that I never knew she had. A strength that frightens me.
    Laughter blooms
from somewhere behind me. I leave it be. I don’t want to see. God only knows
what the Banjankri find amusing. I shut my eyes, wishing I could shut my ears,
close the chewing and the laughter and crying. It’s amazing how all these
emotions can inhabit one space. And yet, the often do. As if pain and laughter
and fear have always gone hand in hand in hand.

 
    *     *          *

 
    My wife cries. My
daughter is silent. And the tears and screams fall from my eyes and mouth,
rolling into one. Somewhere in the background, I can hear the laughter.
    The memories and
images shoot through my brain, splattering across my skull and the backs of my
eyes. The kind of memories that need to be peeled away, flake after flake until
your mind is numb and raw. It gives me something to do. And it changes my pain
from a pounding to an ache. I peel and peel until every trace of them are gone,
even though I know it will only take the slightest of jolts, the sight of a
tree, the smell of lavender, the taste of a noodle soup—and it will all
come back again.
    When I finally
open my eyes, the fire has died down to embers, but it’s still light in the
cave. The Banjankri are curled up by