The lions roared in their cages, their skin as pale as the spilled stars illuminating the night.
“Come on Cha-o-ha, live up to your name and get tell your jungle brethren to pipe down.” The father said, rolling his eyes as the truck trundled across the valley, using the nearly dry riverbed as a de facto road and shortcut through the sacred landscape.
“You could always drain out their noise with your thunder Wakinyan, or can you not live up to your name either? God of thunder only able to summon a drizzle.” His son smirked, the glint in his amber eyes visible even in the low light.
“I wouldn’t it want to rain too heavily on our guests when they’re not able to seek shelter.” Wakinyan said, extinguishing the glint, at least momentarily.
“You win this time dad.” Cha-o-ha said, his gaze turning back up to the Milky Way above.
A few minutes later a message came in on the radio. “What’s your ETA gents? We need them in for the press conference in the morning.”
“Still another four hours. Unless you want their faces smashed against the cage bars, then I can do it in three-and-a-half. Though that cleanup would probably take a lot longer than thirty minutes.” Wakinyan said, the truck climbing off the riverbed and onto a road which gradually ascended the nearest hill, the vehicle straining just a bit to get onto the waterlogged road.
“In that case, I hope they’re getting their rest in now, because they’ll barely have twenty in makeup before their big appearance.” Came the voice from the radio.
“Don’t worry about that darling. They won’t need makeup. They’re getting a nice, smooth ride.” Wakinyan said, just able to finish his sentence before swerving around a few pronghorns lapping at the prior day’s rainfall trickling down the drainage ditch on the road’s right shoulder.
“Darling? Didn’t know we were back in Victorian times. Should I expect you to show up in a corset?” The operator laughed.
“No. I’ll be in a penguin suit lined with buffalo fur.” Wakinyan said, turning the radio off before the operator could scoff in response.
The static of the radio turning off was interrupted by a rumble. The road under the truck trembled while something above it bellowed.
“What other mods do those lions have? I thought it was just cold acclimation, not fucking megaphone vocal cords.” Cha-o-ha said.
“That wasn’t the lions—SHIT!!” Wakinyan yelled as the whole mountainside started moving. Pebbles, rocks, and boulders pressed against the mesh barrier on the road’s left shoulder, forming tumors in the protective mesh. The lions yelped in pain as Wakinyan hit the accelerator, pressing their bodies against the steel bars.
“Fucking hell the whole thing’s coming down. Knew we should’ve flown them in this weather.” Cha-o-ha said, strapping himself in for once.
“Not our call and you know it. Now shut up.” Wakinyan said, palming the wheel as the barriers further ahead on the road became more and more strained, rubble falling over them as the truck worked its way up the mountain. The road turned from neophalt to gravel near the top, with the truck’s new shocks still able to keep things mostly smooth.
Wakinyan turned on the radio. “Sanctuary come in. We’ve got a rock slide on the way up. Get S&R ready just in case we can’t outrace it.”
“Understood Wakinyan. Two teams prepping now. First team is on the way now as a precaution; the second will be dispatched if we lose contact.” The operator said, her words just a little clipped.
“Roger that.” Wakinyan said, keeping the channel open.
The fallen pebbles were now not merely on the road, they were crashing against the wheels and scraping the glass on the mirrors. Both Wakinyan and Cha-o-ha were far too busy biting their tongues to speak.
Their silence was punctured by a shard of sandstone. It had splintered in just the wrong way, tumbling off the mountainside and stabbing the tire; its pop breaking the din of the other recently placed paving stones.
“Shit! We’ll never be able to change it here; just hope we can outlast the rock slide.” Wakinyan said, the pebbles now being rocks not doing him any favors as the truck careened all over the road; thank the Wakan Atanya there was no traffic the other way.
Thanks to the flat, the truck’s speed was cut in half; the falling rocks, no longer pebbles, smashed the mirrors and dented the doors. The lion’s cages detected the debris and went into full lockdown, leaving only the air microvents open as the lions bellowed in their cages, thinking for a moment that they had been blinded.
“Sensors are fucked too, not just the mirrors. We’re in it deep son.” Wakinyan said.
“No shit dad. Sooner we get out of here the better. At least it sounds like the rain’s stopped. Hopefully the erosion with i—”
The din was broken again, but this time not with the clap of thunder or the puncture of rubber, but the mangling of a barrier as an oblong boulder the size of a snub plane barreled through it, first sending steel shrapnel into the truck before the main body of the boulder smashed into it. The truck somersaulted in the air as it screamed toward the ravine below.
Cha-o-ha and Wakinyan grabbed onto the bars of the roll cage, their callouses somehow turning even more white as the truck smashed its way down into the valley, the trailer detaching as it tumbled down. Its descent was finally stopped by a tree centuries older than the Lakota nation itself.
After a few moments, Cha-o-ha and Wakinyan got up, their heads wringing from the impact of not only the boulder, but the airbags as well.
“Shit. Not that I’m surprised, but the trailer detached.” Cha-o-ha said, taking a look at the truck. Its once-gray body was pockmarked with brown pebbles, as well as having a more-than-substantial dent from the boulder that sent it over the edge. Its trailer hitch had also broken off, seemingly twisted by one of the Wakan Atanya themselves.
“Of course. We’ll find them though. They’re not exactly easy to miss.” Wakinyan said, opening the truck’s back door. “And speaking of missing . . .” He pulled out a couple of archaic tranq guns with wooden stocks.
“Finally.” Cha-o-ha smiled as Wakinyan grabbed two flare guns and a portable radio as well, setting a beacon on the truck before radioing the sanctuary.
“Sanctuary come in. We got hit by a boulder and launched off the hillside. We’re alive and only have minor injuries. Will be searching for the lions with our tranq guns.”
“Negative Wakinyan. We have two teams headed your way as we speak. They’ll handle it.” The operator said, her tone as knowing as it was annoyed.
“No can do. We need as many people as we can get looking for them. Who knows what’s out there?” Wakinyan said.
“Nothing that a lion can’t handle. We brought them in to be apex predators, remember?”
“Yes. But they’re an apex predator, not the apex predator. What happens if the Oglala or Sihasapa find out what we’re doing and take credit for themselves? Time is of the essence.”
“Fine.” The operator said, hanging up for now. Wakinyan turned and looked at his son, who had been slowly making his way up the hillside.
“Dad, I found where the trailer went off.” He pointed to a forked rut higher up the hill. The truck’s remaining tires took had taken the less steep route into the forest, while the trailer continued down into the valley. Wakinyan and Cha-o-ha made their way down, tranq guns at the ready as they shuffled into the valley below, barely keeping their footing on the drenched forest floor.
After a few minutes, they found the trailer. It was overturned, with the two cages thrown on the ground, their emergency exits opened up to prevent them from crushing the animals inside. There were also the remnants of their chip-collars, smashed against the ground just like the cages.
“Sanctuary come in. We’ve found the cages and collars. No immediate sign of the lions. Dropping a beacon now. This will be our contingency evac point.” Wakinyan shouldered his weapon and placed a beacon on the underside of the less-damaged cage.
“Understood. The two teams are still on their way. Keep us updated.” The operator said.
“Roger that sanctuary. Wakinyan out.” He turned to his son, who was clearing out part of the underbrush.
“I’ve got two sets of tracks next to each other.” He said, gesturing at the forest floor.
“Well that’s one piece of good luck; three or four more and we’ll really be in business.” Wakinyan smirked as they followed the trail as best they could; the storm had caused a fair few amount of branches and other debris to cover the forest floor.
The trail eventually ran dry at a small clearing with cowlicks of half-eaten grass. “Looks like some pronghorns were grazing here. Probably spooked by the storm.” Wakinyan said as he searched for the continuation of the trail in between the tufts.
“Maybe they could have been spooked by something else?” Cha-o-ha said with just the hint of a smile. He pointed to a well-trodden patch of grass, with footprints that started very tight together then exploded outwards. Unfortunately, they were packed so closely together that there was no way of telling what exactly made the prints.
“Good catch son. But are we sure it wasn’t the lightning?” Wakinyan said, following a few of the branches out from the main cluster and slinging his tranq gun over his back as he investigated. Cha-o-ha did the same on the opposite side of clearing.
The first trail Wakinyan followed were clearly just pronghorns that fled into the forest. But the second veered hard to the left just a bit before the forest, zig-zagging until finally . . .
“Blood!” Wakinyan said, joy outweighing relief for once. “It’s not much more than a trickle, so I’m guessing the thing can still move pretty well. Still, stay ready.”
“Good, because I haven’t turned up shit.” Cha-o-ha said. The pair traced the trail, the flashlights attached below the barrels of their tranq guns lighting the way while the low growls of scattered pronghorns attempting to reunite as a herd keeping them on edge.
About a quarter of a mile in, Wakinyan stopped. “We’re getting closer to the herd, or whatever’s left of it, and if our wounded pronghorn is there, the lions may well be too. Understood?”
“Yes dad.” Cha-o-ha exhaled, sweeping the ground to decipher the trail just a bit faster.
Within three minutes, they found their wounded pronghorn resting under a Ponderosa Pine, its right hind leg cut open and still leaking blood. The tree itself was old enough to completely protect the pronghorn’s back. Much of the remaining herd covered the front. They were arrayed in a semi-circle with their horns pointed out, with a close rank of five larger animals and an outer rank of seven; it was a half-schiltron formation that William Wallace himself would’ve been proud of.
Wakinyan aimed his light higher up the tree so as not to startle them any more than they were already, using the reflected light to get a better view of the scene. “There’s some blood on their horns. Lions must’ve gone in for the kill and had a bad time. We really need to move if they’re injured.”
He shouldered his weapon for the first time in a while, digging into his knapsack. "We need to see where the other blood trails go, and we can’t spook them while we do it. Keep your flashlight focused on the ground.” He said, putting his hand on Cha-o-ha’s shoulder as they stalked closer to the wounded herd.
“Dad, I’ve got three trails here, but one looks different, it’s almost rusty. Is that our lions?” Cha-o-ha said.
“Yes it is. They have extra iron in their blood; it helps with blood flow in colder environments. They’re still only a couple generations removed from living in Tanzania, so without that iron, their blood vessels would shrink up so much that their organs would fail from lack of blood flow. They wouldn’t make it through a chilly October night, let alone a full winter.” Wakinyan said.
“Dad, their trail. It runs right through . . .” Cha-o-ha was cut off by the grunting and stomping of the herd.
Wakinyan’s hand came out of his knapsack; it had a couple pomegranates and a grapefruit which he threw on the ground. While the pronghorns’ noses perked up, they were still far too spooked to eat. Instead, one of the males lost his nerve and charged Cha-o-ha; who yelled as he backpedaled, firing the tranq gun into its left foreleg, its advance immediately halted. Once it fell asleep, Cha-o-ha took a breath. He had no time to reload before the other animals were on him. He braced himself, then heard a crash.
But that crash wasn’t a horn digging into his ribcage. It was his father’s revolver. Supposedly, it had drawn blood at Little Bighorn, and it was still in prime condition today. But this shot wasn’t meant to kill. The bullet buried itself in tree bark rather than flesh. Its purpose was to remind the pronghorns who the apex predator was, a fact that they had no trouble recalling as they fled from the skirmish site.
“Sanctuary, come in. We’re on the trail now. Looks like our lions got into a skirmish with some pronghorns. No fatalities that we can tell, but both sides got bloodied.” Wakinyan dropped a second beacon.
“Understood Wakinyan. First team has arrived at the original beacon.” The operator said.
“Roger that. Wakinyan out.”
The trail meandered through the pine forest without any pattern whatsoever, almost as if the lions were still scouting the terrain even when wounded. After roughly ten minutes of near silence, Wakinyan and Cha-o-ha finally heard something that sounded like it was from just over the hillock they were traversing: a stream.
“This might be it son. There are two lions, and I don’t know how many shots we’ll be able to get off. So aim true, just like our ancestors always did. Like your namesake always did.” Wakinyan said.
“Thanks for keeping the expectations low dad. Though I’m glad you went with his actual name when naming me, instead of naming me fucking Crazy Horse.” Cha-o-ha laughed, his knuckles a touch less pallid than before, but still constricting the tranq gun.
They reached the stream; it was at most three feet wide and half a foot deep, seeing as most of the snow had run off already. And running parallel to it was another trail of blood, this time from something much larger. It led back into the trees across the stream, ending, or at least redirecting, at what appeared to be a rounded block of sandstone.
Wakinyan and Cha-o-ha pointed their barrel-mounted flashlights at the rock, only to realize it wasn’t one. It was a buffalo carcass, probably a juvenile. Old enough to leave its mother’s side and herd, but young enough to still be vulnerable on its own.
Before they could approach and inspect the carcass, Wakinyan and Cha-o-ha heard two more sounds. The first was the dull hum of a recon drone, likely sent from the search-and-rescue team that couldn’t be far behind. The second was, thank the Wakan Atanya, snoring. The lions had already enjoyed their meal, and the combination of a few thousand calories and stress had them both out like a light. The drone recorded the scene, and search-and-rescue quickly got the animals into new, larger cages after Wakinyan and Cha-o-ha tranqed them both, just to make sure they stayed asleep.
The operator came in on the radio. “Well done you two. Let’s never do that again. Think you’ll be up for the rescheduled press conference this afternoon? You both deserve to be there.” She said.
“A press conference? Fuck that, we already have proof of concept.”