Smoke Rising

Written by Nathaniel Wilder

Warning: Story contains slight gore and death

Crouched beneath the plume of a large camelthorn tree, a lean and lengthy figure sprawled itself in the tall grass, trying its best to contain its limbs within the coverage of the shade. Peering through the meter-high blades of grass, the silhouette’s eyes were laser-focused from their leafy hide-out onto the desert plains which stretched before them for miles. This particular Alpha had travelled unfathomable distances through inhospitable terrain, for an unseemly amount of time, but had tracked its prey to this very point with natural ease nonetheless. He was now expecting a herd to wander into the clearing before him at any given moment.

This had been the expectation for hours. The torrid sun beat down relentlessly onto the ancient earth, causing the cracks in the ground to grow deeper and wider. The heat was devastating, both physically and mentally. Our lone predator suffered thus from the extreme swelter, as an intense mirage blurred his vision beyond a quarter mile. Even with his advanced eyesight and intuition, the trail was admittedly beginning to feel cold. The consequences of failure began to loom over the hunter and suffocate his internal fire, when suddenly, from over the horizon, a cluster of dark figures appeared through the glimmering heat. The embers inside of him began to spark and flame.

Across the great desert plain known to men as the Kalahari, the herd of prey slowly and carefully passed through. They formed a line as they went and followed a direct chain of command from their leader at the front. The scorching heat and mirages of the desert served as no less of an obstacle to their environment, even more so than the Alpha, who lay in the shade while they strode in the open blaze of the sun. As orderly as they appeared from afar, their internal fires erupted with tall flames, billowing smoke up from the inferno deep within their gut to the limit of each of their orifices. The smoke rose to their ears so that they were nearly deaf, it hazed over their eyes, so full of tears, that their vision was blocked, and a big black cloud of carbon got caught in their throat, creating a lump which could not be swallowed. The firestorm of their hearts erupted relentlessly, accumulating in hot beads of sweat on the surface of their skin. They were anxious; not because they could sense that they were in danger of the Alpha, but because they were hot on a trail of their own.

Unlike the Alpha, the herd were hunting a lesser beast on the food chain than that of their own relative place. Though they were superior in power and cunning to their prey, there were plenty of reasons to be nervous, and that they were. In nature, the prey and the predator have achieved a delicate balance of power; a complex relationship only slightly erring on the side of the predator. The herd knew of this dynamic too, and kept the notion at the forefront of their minds as they cautiously trod onward.

Further down the trail, another coalition had finally reached its destination. The stopping point for this group was a cluster of camelthorns and small shrubberies which would provide temporary rest from the arid heat. Most of them practically collapsed from exhaustion upon arrival. They too were fierce and mighty hunters; but today, more than any other, they experienced that fragile and uncertain balance of power. The lack of success in hunting for food or for mates had reduced their inner flames to ash. Landlocked and outnumbered, they let their anxieties be forgotten as they each drifted off into a deep, defeated slumber, possibly never to stalk or mate again.

It was at this moment that the aforementioned herd began to increase their pace. As they closed in on the coalition, fear turned to adrenaline, and the hunter within them emerged while the smoke in their throats began to subside. Like a nightmare, time and space melted together to become indistinguishable and incalculable; all that was known to them at present was the present. Now closing in at a galloping-speed, the herd roared and lunged at their sleeping prey.

As they did so, the earth before them trembled, and the ground behind them erupted into a whirlwind of dirt and sand. The cracks of the ground split into canyons and dry gusts of sultry air swelled from the core of the earth and engulfed the scene. As they were approaching, the sleeping coalition did not so much as raise an eyebrow at the apocalyptic scenario, possibly due to their exhaustion, or perhaps due to the intuition built deep inside of them that made them know: “it’s all over anyway”.

First, the herd surrounded the coalition. They continued with their cries of intimidation as they delivered blow after blow, ceaselessly and without mercy. The sleeping prey largely accepted their fate; some whimpered, some tried to run, but many succumbed to their inevitable fate at the hands of their only true predator. This was an age-old conflict to the coalition, but another day in the life of the herd. When it was all over, blood washed over the barren earth and poured into its many cracks, practically drowning the soil so unaccustomed to moisture and excessive violence. The Alpha watched the whole massacre play out. The “delicate balance” between predator and prey, which has for so long dictated the state of nature, was far removed from this hunt.

“Excellent shooting my boy!” shouted one member of the herd to the other. “What a rush!”

“And fine shooting to you!” replied the other. “I say, this is triple the trophy I was anticipating! How will we even make out with all of our spoils?”

“Who cares?” he replied. “Pick the best and leave the rest.”

“Right, right, you are! The more the merrier!” the leader chimed in, as he leapt from the bed of his truck and knelt down to stroke the bloodied pelts of the dead lions. Gazing out onto the slaughter with pride, a smile broke across his face as the fire inside of him warmed his body comfortably. His hunger had been resolved, and his thirst quenched, for today. With this happy thought in mind, he reached at his hip for a knife, and prepared to begin sawing away at the flesh of his new victims. Their near-lifeless bodies, still warm, continued to twitch and groan when he began, as if they had a fighting chance. While he envisioned the majestic mane of his trophied kill set beautifully on a mantle above the fireplace of his less-than-quaint home, he thought nothing of the countless prides that would now be without a father, or the excess of wildebeests and gazelle which would now roam this territory, confused and en masse. Instead, he thought of his own wife and child, and the prestige that would be brought to their name with such a heroic tale of sportsmanship and civility on his part.

As he daydreamt, a rustling sound nearby disturbed him from his happy task of dismemberment. Maintaining his frozen position, his eyes darted in a panic to locate the source, to no avail. Smoke began to billow from his stomach again as the grip on his knife intensified, and time and space began to mend while the heat drew sweat from his pores to the surface of his skin once again. A state of derangement swept over him and moments began to feel like hours, when suddenly a faint snap! from a twig unconsciously brought his manic focus to the culprit of the noise. There, between the stalky blades of tall grass, the silhouette of the Alpha, sprawled out in the shade, was peering back at him with leering eyes. However, they were not the eyes of a lion; but of another man!

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Nate Wilder,the author of Smoke Rising,is a chain-smoking white guy residing in America, probably forever.