Free Meritorium (Meritropolis Book 2) by Joel Ohman Page A

her, accidentally clipping the edge of her shoulder. He paused, starting to turn back. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”
    “Oh, don’t you worry, I know exactly what you mean.” Sandy pushed by him. “I’ll leave you men to yourselves. I’ll just head over to the other womenfolk—if you need some cooking or cleaning done, you just holler.” She did a mock curtsy, and then in the space of an eyelash flutter, drew her bow over her shoulder and unleashed an arrow sizzling through the air directly at the snurtle, killing it instantly.
    She turned and walked away, the arrow still vibrating from side to side, impaled in the snurtle’s neck and pinning it to the ground.
    Jameson looked from Sandy’s receding form to Charley and Hank before laughing nervously. “Well, it ain’t nothing to be scared of anymore; that thing’s dead as a doornail. Not that any snurtle is something to be scared of—they’re mostly turtle.” He pointed at the burrow, where other snurtles were slowly emerging. “Look at the little guy’s family—they’re going as fast as they can, and they’ve hardly made it out.” Jameson looked over at the sweat bubbling on Charley’s brow. “Why, even hiking as slow as you guys, a snurtle couldn’t catch us.”
    Charley looked closer. The creature was long and slender like a snake and had a snake-like head with multicolored bands of black and white, but its body was covered by a hexagonal plated shell. And it had four stubby little legs, each moving so slow as to be comical.
    He grinned, trying to laugh with the others and pretend that the exchange with Sandy wasn’t a big deal to him, and that he wasn’t still unsettled about the slowly cruising snurtles. All the same, he quickened his pace down the trail.
    Charley heard Hank muttering to Jameson up ahead. “I told you I was the one that did most everything hunting the bion; half the work is breaking up lovers’ quarrels from these two.” Charley shook his head—he knew that he had likely created more problems for himself with Sandy up ahead than with the snurtles behind, but he couldn’t help himself from looking over his shoulder every now and then—just in case.
    ***
    Gradually, the terrain changed from the sandy plains that butted up to the lush Bramble to a savannah golden with wavy grass and scattered scrub trees. Buffelgrass tickled Charley’s outstretched fingertips, the foxtails waving delicately in the afternoon breeze. Charley heard noise—animal noise—and lots of it. Or perhaps it just seemed that way to Charley, so jarring was the contrast with the dead zone that buffered the mammalian-hostile confines of the Bramble.
    Drawing near to an umbrella-shaped acacia tree, where Grigor, Orson, Marta, and the rest of the hunting party congregated, handing out supplies and hunting gear, Charley was certain of one thing: the savannah was alive with the hum of life. Far off in the distance, Charley heard a roar, followed by trumpeting that soared on the wind in a crescendo punctuated by the sound of pounding hooves. The little hairs on the back of his neck stood up. A distant squeal pierced the air and then was abruptly silenced.
    “Charley, here you go!” Marta tossed a large wooden club in his direction.
    Charley started, but recovered quickly, and caught the club. “Okay, thanks …” He ran his hands over the gnarled wood that was as thick as his forearm and as long as his leg, the end swelling to a knot perfectly weighted for delivering a brutal whack.
    “Remember—” Jameson tapped the stick with his own—“these sticks are for subduing the combos, not killing them. We want to capture them alive, and as undamaged as possible.”
    “Only use your blades and bows as a last resort,” Marta added. “We already have some others in our company hunting some easier game for our meal tonight. You will all be helping us with the much harder chore of capturing some animal combos for the Venatio.” She looked at Charley, Sandy,