Hunters Run Page 0,68

more. He tried not to wonder what had happened between Maneck and the chupacabra, which of the two had lost and which was still under the roof of branches, hunting him. It didn't change what needed doing, so there was no point spending valuable time on the question.

By sundown, he and his twin had gathered another six sheaves and perhaps a third of the branches that they would need to make the raft floor. The man seemed pleased by Ramon's wide, soft pile of iceroot leaves as well, though he didn't go so far as to say it. Ramon boiled a double handful of sug beetles and his twin roasted a cooper's dragon - one of the small, birdlike lizards that inhabited the low branches. The dragon had an unnerving way of writhing as it cooked, as if the flesh were still living even though both brains had been cut out and the thin, pale blood drained from the body.

They made small conversation, Ramon careful to ask the man's name and background. Then they planned for the next day - how to carry the branches and sheaves to the water for assembly, how much more would need to be harvested, whether they needed to strip more bark to use for rope.

"You've done this before," the man said, and Ramon felt a pang of distress. Maybe he'd come across as knowing too much.

"I explore a little. When I can. Most of the time, I'm stuck behind a desk," Ramon said, trying to seem flattered. "Banking. You know. But the money's good."

"You ever do any prospecting?"

"No," Ramon said. "Just go out, camp. Look around. You know. Get away from people for a while."

The man's expression softened a little, as Ramon had known it would. He felt a twinge of guilt at playing on the man's feelings that way.

"What about you?" Ramon asked, and his twin shrugged.

"I spend a lot of time in the field," he said. "Not much point staying in town. It's a pretty good living, if you know what you're doing. A good season, I can pull in six, maybe seven thousand chits."

That was a gross exaggeration. Ramon had never taken in more than four thousand, even at the best of times. Two and a half was nearer the average, and there had been several seasons he hadn't managed more than a thousand. The man's dark eyes seemed to challenge him, so he shook his head, feigning amazement. "That's really good," Ramon said.

"It ain't hard, you know what you're doing," the man said, settling back.

"What happened to your hand?" Ramon asked.

"Fucking aliens," the man said, and started to unwrap the bloodstiffened cloth. "I was shooting at them, and my gun blew up. Fucked me up pretty good."

Ramon leaned close. In the firelight, it was hard to see how much of the redness was the swollen flesh itself and how much was reflected flames. The skin of the palm looked like taco meat that had been left out overnight. Where the index finger had been was a rough stump, the flesh burned and scarred to an oddly beautiful opalescent silver.

"You cauterized it," he said. His mind went back to the camp where he'd found his cigarette case, where Maneck had revealed to him the story of his doubling. This was why the man had spent so long there. He'd been recovering from the self-treatment of his wound.

"Yeah," the man said, and his voice was casual and drawling in a way that Ramon knew meant that he was proud of having done it. "I heated up the knife until it glowed and then used that. Had to. I was bleeding all over the place. There was some bone I had to cut out too."

Ramon suppressed a smile. They were tough sons of bitches, him and his twin. He couldn't help feeling a little proud of himself too, for what the other man had done.

"Fever?" he asked.

"On and off," the man admitted. "No streaks up my arm, though. So it looks like no blood poisoning. Or else I'd be dead by now anyway, eh? So tell me about how you got caught by those devils."

Ramon launched into his tale. A little over a month ago, he'd been out camping by himself in the far north. His lover, Carmina, had left him, and he'd wanted to spend some time alone where she couldn't find him and his friends couldn't offer sympathy. He'd seen a flying box, gone to investigate, and the aliens had done