The Fool’s Path – Containment Protocol-Part 28

A reckless dash. Fiction. 2500 words, 13-minute read.

Image: https://www.istockphoto.com/search/2/image-film?phrase=lava+field

Watch where you step!

The rest of the Containment Protocol saga can be found here: https://raytabler.substack.com/s/containment-protocol-serial

Part 1 (the beginning), ... Part 27 (last episode), Part 29 (Regime Change)

The Fool’s Path – Containment Protocol-Part 28

By Ray Tabler

“Well, this is one thing they didn’t cover in training.” Booker eyed the surrounding black landscape in cautious amazement.

“Would you have taken the job if they had?’ Muñoz chuckled.

“Maybe not.”

For as far as the eye could see, the lava field appeared to consist of black, crumbly rock. The contours rose and fell, like a troubled, ebony sea. Previous flows flooded across underlying topography, piling up in hollows, scouring down high points. Only to deepen low points and build up small peaks the next time around. As a result, the three swahldets, and riders were constantly arduously climbing up a crumbling, sliding slope, then slipping down the next in barely-in-control skid.

Booker coughed and spat. The particles kicked up found their way into every crack, crevice, and opening on or about him. When he breathed in the abrasive grit irritated his throat, and clogged his nose. Rough black sand deposited in his hair, and grated the ack of his neck where the shirt collar rubbed, A glance at his companions revealed them to be coated in soot, gray streaks down faces and arms, where sweat streamed.

As bad as that was, the dinos they rode suffered more. They were closer to the ground, and in contact with the grit. Their broad feet punched through the brittle crust, sinking as much as a foot into the underlying layers. Steam gushed up with each step, aerosolizing the disturbed particles of pulverized lava. The swahldets moaned at particularly warmed pockets unearthed. At first, Booker could tell it disturbed Zunta to abuse the beasts so. They were not simply transportation. He’d raised these animals by hand, and probably considered them faithful companions. But Zunta faced a brutal choice. Kindness to the swahldets could spell misery, or worse, for his mate. Zunta spurred and whipped his mount on, faster and faster.

At the top of each rise, Booker could see a greater danger than irritating grit and pain for the swahldets. Running down from the peak of the volcano, and spouting spontaneously from random spots along the slopes, fresh, molten lava meandered all about like lazy rivers. It was a chilling sight, even in the oppressive heat. Zunta did his best to chart a course avoiding these fiery canals. But more than once, they topped a slope only to find a searing chasm ten yards wide and brimming with lava blocking the way. This forced backtracking, and detours, as awell as adding miles to the trip.

Zunta growled in frustration at the lava flow in front of them.

“Son of a bitch!” Booker panted, feeling just as frustrated as the tribesman. He wiped sweat away from his forehead and tried to determine how far the lava flow extended to the left and right.

“At least the glow from the lava lets us know it here.” Muñoz dug deep to find a silver lining in the situation.

“There is that.” Booker rolled his eyes up to sweep the star-filled sky, imagining traversing the lava field with only that to light the way.

Zunta urged his swahldet up on its hind legs, then stood in his saddle, holding to the beast’s crest with an outstretched hand. He peered about in the hellish gloom, searching for a path through the labyrinth of incandescent lava rivers. His swahldet crooned mournfully, long tongue hanging out in the heat. Booker’s mount returned the cry, half-heartedly. Booker sympathized.

Presently, Zunta allowed his beast to drop back down. Without a word to the soldiers, Zunta slowly rode along the edge of the lava flow, downstream. Booker shrugged at Muñoz, and followed. Muñoz, not really seeing an alternative, followed as well.

After a half mile of travel along the sometimes-meandering lava channel, muttering crossly to himself the entire way, Zunta halted and scowled at the molten rock, sweat streaming down his face. The other two came up even with him.

“He doesn’t look happy.” Muñoz wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, leaving a slightly less grimy streak.

“He’s not the only one.”

The lava channel seemed a few feet narrower at this point. Molten rock rumbled by to disappear into the darkness downslope. A small island of flat-topped rock divided the bubbling, radiant flow midstream, cutting the lava with a sharp leading edge, and creating lazy, multicolored eddies at the blunt trailing end as the oozing, liquid rock recombined. Booker watched the glowing swirls, exhausted and mesmerized.

Zunta turned his mount away from the lava flow and muttered something to Muñoz as he moved off into the gloom.

“He said, stay here.”

“Stay here? Where the hell’s he going?”

“I don’t know!” Muñoz’s normally easy-going demeanor showed some signs of wear in the oven-like heat and sulfurous stench. “Maybe he’s gonna go have a good cry. I might just join hi—”

Zunta breezed by them, his swahldet galloping. A hell-for-leather bellow erupted from Zunta’s lips. His beast reached the edge of the lava flow and leaped. For a long, heart-stopping moment the dino and rider sailed over the incandescent lava, a graceful, impossible sight. As if they practiced it every day, the swahldet expertly bounced off the island, and hopped to the far shore. After a tense second of scrambling in the loose grit there, the beast climbed nimbly onto firm footing.

Zunta spun about, both arms raised in triumph, and crying his victory over the lava in a ringing voice.

“Holy shit!” Booker breathed.

“Holy shit is right!”

Zunta called, a string of commands, interspersed with gestures and what was probably intended to be reassuring nods and chuckles.

“Let me guess. He’s double-dog daring us to follow him over.”

“Yeah. Claims it’s easy as falling off a log.”

“Let’s not say anything about falling. Okay?”

Muñoz grinned.

Booker sighed. “Did you happen to notice how far back he was when he started the run up?”

Muñoz shook his head. “I was whining and feeling sorry for myself.”

Booker decided he was going to do this, and urged his beast away from the lava flow to get a running start. “Try to stay out of my way.”

“Don’t worry. I will.” Muñoz hurried to moved aside.

Booker rode what was probably a ridiculously long way away from the lava, wanting to give his swahldet plenty of time to build speed. He imagined Zunta, already safe on the far bank, snickering at the over-caution.

“Well, screw you, cave man. Midnight lava steeple chase, on a dinosaur, no less, wasn’t on my plan for the day.” Booker muttered crossly, steeling himself to making the attempt. “Better be more than just an attempt. Or I’m going swimming in molten rock.”

After a terse prayer, Booker shot his legs straight out, and brought them down hard into his swahldet’s flanks. The beast shot forward, perhaps grasping that her life depended on speed. Booker was amazed and more than a bit frightened at how fast the swahldet got moving, and how quickly. It was like stomping on the gas pedal of sports car. His head didn’t snap back. But the hot wind whooshed trough his close-cropped hair, and sang in his ears. Within a few strides, the rolling, galumphing gate he’d associated with a swahldet transformed into a smooth, gliding sensation, punctuated by the rapid, regular impacts of its feet slapping the black earth. The hellish ribbon of lava approached with alarming swiftness, growing larger, and hotter.

Zunta and Muñoz cheered him on, waving arms. Booker noted this with a small part of his mind. Most of his attention was laser focused on the near bank of the lava flow, the very last spot of solid ground before the leap. He thrust the notion of aborting the jump from his mind, somehow knowing that he would never gather the courage to try this fool stunt again. The launch point rush at him, and simultaneously seemed to retreat down a long tunnel. Booker gripped the saddle, not trusting himself to hold the reins, lest a tug distract his mount from the jump at a critical instant. Booker fervently hoped the beast knew what it was doing, because he sure didn’t have a clue.

Then, he was flying. There must have been a mighty explosion of muscles as the swahldet left the ground, propelling its tons of mass over the lava. Booker didn’t feel it. The sensation he recalled was almost as silken as a well-oiled mechanism, deploying effortlessly. The beast was just that attuned to the task. An astounding degree of agility in an animal that large, like she was a thirty-foot-long house cat pouncing from the kitchen counter to the top of the fridge.

The heat directly over the lava was intense. Booker felt as if he was roasting, radiant energy slamming him like an open furnace. He had only an instant to register the sensation, and no time to worry about the effects. The swahldet’s front legs landed on the islet in the middle of the lava flow, absorbing the impact smoothly, flexing and bending. Momentum slammed Booker forward at a steep downward angle. His butt skidded forward in the saddle, torso lurching over the saddle horn, driving most of the breath from his lungs. Mercifully, his grip held firm, preventing a tumble over the beast’s neck and into the lava.

Booker certainly felt the impulse of the second leap, draped awkwardly forward over the saddle horn. There weren’t two separate jumps, simply one, long bound, with an intermediate boost off the island halfway through. It must’ve been an awesome sight watched from a safe distance. That lightning thought zipped through booker’s mind in midst of his terror.

The bounding swahldet seemed to rise up and slam Booker in the gut as she continued the jump. The saddle horn struck him hard. He wondered if it broke a rib. Before he could do more than start to worry about that, the dino’s feet landed on the far bank, running out the momentum of the leap. Booker managed to straighten up in the saddle, and gasp a shuddering breath. Against all expectations, he was safe. He’d made it.

Zunta rode up next to Booker, slapping him jovially on the back and shouting excitedly.

“Holy crap! I’m alive.” Booker looked back across the lava at Muñoz. “Hey, I made it!”

“I see that.” Hand cupped at his mouth, Muñoz shouted back. “Kind of wish you hadn’t. Because that means I have to try now.”

“Looks that way.”

“Alright. Move back. I don’t want to crash into you.”

Mumbling and obviously not eager, Muñoz guided his swahldet well away, halted and spent a moment checking his gear and eyeing the distance. He crossed himself, and brutally spurred his mount forward. The swahldet sped toward the bank, gait transforming into the glass-smooth gallop Booker recalled riding himself. Her feet moved almost too fast for the eye to follow. How did a beast so large move so elegantly?

From the far bank, it appeared as if Muñoz and his mount simply rose into the air over the lava, levitating. Booker knew that was an illusion, but the perception was uncanny. Before the sight could be properly appreciated, the swahldet’s front legs hit the island and prepared to transfer the energy into the second half of the leap.

That’s when things went wrong.

The flat ground of the island crumbled away from below the swahldet’s front legs. Her forelimbs plowed shallow trenches in the hot, black ground. The rear legs came down on the island, on a firm surface but the rigid timing of the jump had been destroyed. Instead of a graceful, sequence of movements, there followed a desperate, panicky spasm.

Booker could clearly see the gravity of the situation dawn in Muñoz’s eyes. The swahldet made it partway across the lava before dropping to the surface and skidding a few more yards, leaving a fiery wake with residual momentum. The dino wasn’t dense enough to sink into the lava, but her splayed legs and vulnerable underside was in direct contact with the viscous, molten rock. She began to burn.

Zunta recovered first, shaking Booker out of his shock into action. He slid out of the saddle and sprinted after Zunta to the edge of the lava, shielding his face from the intense heat. Zunta held his long lance in one hand. With the other, he roughly forced Booker to his knees. Booker why. But then he felt the shaft of the lance on his shoulder. Zunta ran the lance out to Muñoz, using Booker’s shoulder as a fulcrum to support the long shaft extending out over the lava. It reached to within a few feet of Muñoz’s wild grasp.

Booker scooted closer to the lava, hoping to bring the lance within reach. Muñoz stood atop the burning dino, as close to them as he dared. Somehow, the swahldet was still alive, but in horrible agony. She wailed and thrashed about, head barely above the flames of her own burning flesh. Muñoz stood atop the sizzling beast, legs bent, riding her like a surfer at the crest of a troubled wave. It couldn’t last long. At any moment, the swahldet might roll over, dooming both man and mount.

Muñoz must’ve run the numbers and come to a decision. He leaped, and snatched at the bouncing lance. Booker watched, heart in his throat. Muñoz grabbed hold of the lance, dangling from one hand. The weight dug into his shoulder, and bent the lance shaft so that Muñoz dipped dangerously close to the lava. Parts of the shaft above the lava began to smoke from the intense heat. Frantically, Zunta hauled back on the lance shaft, pulling Muñoz towards safety. Splinters gouged into Booker’s shoulder as the wood of the shaft dragged over him. He felt, and faintly heard the wooden shaft begin to crack under the pressure.

Muñoz desperately worked his way hand over hand along the shaft, losing his carbine to the lava below in the process. He cursed at having to grip the hot, smoking wood. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion, although booker realized only a few seconds had elapsed.

The shaft cracked partway through, dropping a panicked Muñoz a few inches closer to the hellish lava. The rounds in the magazine of the dropped carbine began cooking off from the furnace heat. Crack! Crack!... Crack! Crack! Crack!

Zunta dragged the lance back with all of his might, groaning and gritting his teeth, feet digging into the volcanic gravel. Booker tried to stand, hoping to buy Muñoz a bit more elevation above the lava. The scene seemed like some special room in hell.

SNAP!

The lance broke in two, dropping Muñoz from sight. Booker and Zunta scrambled forward in the gritty, black scree. They peered over the edge on their hands and knees.

Muñoz lay sprawled on his back at the very edge of the lava, looking exhausted, and slightly singed around the edges, but alive.

“How about we don’t do that again, hey?” He gasped.

END.

Tune in next time for Part 29- Regime Change

The rest of the Containment Protocol saga can be found here: https://raytabler.substack.com/s/containment-protocol-serial

Part 1 (the beginning), ... Part 27 (last episode), Part 29 (Regime Change)

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