Ben Dover's Arc

Chapter 140 of 150

Ben ran until the horn faded behind him. Then he stopped in a stand of thin pines and knelt. In his hands sat the recovered box with the sad face on the lid. Beside him the fox pressed close, and the box hummed the moment the two came near. Not a soft buzz. A loud, carrying drone that would travel through the trees. The hunters were still on his side of the field. They would follow the sound straight to him. He had nothing on hand to silence it. He set the box down and pulled his sack open. No felt. No straw. No brine. He had used it all crossing the field. The hum grew louder as the fox leaned toward the box, drawn to it the way every creature was. Ben pushed the fox back with one arm. The hum dropped. He held it there, arm out, and the sound faded. But he could not run and hold the fox apart at the same time. A small shape crept from the ferns. It was a broken thing, cracked and dry, its skin split like old clay. One large eye rolled toward him. It shook as it moved, weak on thin legs. Ben had seen its kind before, near the tooth site—leftover guards, hollow inside. It crawled to the humming box and pressed its cracked body against the wood. The hum dulled. Not gone, but softer. It was not enough. The broken creature was too small and too damaged to cover the whole box. Ben looked past it and saw why it had come. A rugged rock creature followed, slow and heavy, its stone hide veined with pale lines. He had met such a creature once and knew what it could do. Stone muffled sound. Thick stone killed it. Ben made his choice. He lifted the broken creature aside and set the sad-face box on the ground. Then he guided the rock creature over it. The stone body settled onto the wood, pressing down, wide enough to cover the whole lid. The hum stopped. Ben held his breath and heard only wind. Silence. But the box was pinned under a creature too heavy to carry and too slow to keep pace. He could not lift both stone and box and run. A horn blew, closer now, two ridges off. Ben stared at the stone creature and understood the trade. He could stay silent and trapped, or move and be heard. He scooped the fox into his empty wooden fox box and shut the lid. The fox went quiet, sealed. With the fox silent, the sad-face box quieted too—the hum only rose when the two came near. Ben eased the rock creature off, lifted the recovered box, and stood. He had the piece. He had a way to carry it quiet, box against box, fox sealed apart. But the stone creature could not follow, and the hunters were near enough now that one wrong sound would end him.