Darwin's Quest: The Search for the Ultimate Survivor by Jonathan P. Brazee Page A

October didn’t even have a chance to scream. We could hear her skull crush, and we didn’t need to feel our telltales vibrate to know she was dead.
    The Hell Pig dropped her lifeless body and glared at the rest of us. We stood there in shock for a moment, then something came over us. Like our far distant ancestors on the African plains, we felt the fury of the pack. And as they learned to drive leopards off, we too started hooting and hollering in wordless rage as we moved forward en mass.
    Whether our slight bamboo spears could really damage that walking tank or not, I don’t know. But at the moment, I wanted nothing more than to drive it deep into his belly, to pull his guts out onto the ground. And that was certainly my intention. Maybe, that porcine brain facing us could recognize unadulterated rage. Maybe it didn’t realize we couldn’t really hurt it. For whatever reason, it simply turned and ran, bolting through the underbrush. I wanted to chase it, to bring it down. But a few steps into the bushes, I realized what I was doing. My mind cleared from the rage. I stopped and hurried back.
    A St. Bernard was already trundling over to October. I was still amped, still hyped. Yash leaned back and howled at the sky, putting sound to my feelings, to all our feelings. October was dead, but we had triumphed. We had beat back the beast with our own force of will.
    Hamlin reached down and picked up the deer carcass, slinging it over his shoulder. He started walking back, and the rest of us followed. We didn’t even bother looking back at October and the St. Bernard. The field staff would evacuate her before long, and either she or Bernie would be back in time for dinner.

 
    Chapter 8
     
    “It’ll be October. It’s gotta be her. I mean, that was ballsy. What did Bernie do, I mean besides becoming a popsicle?” Our smoking team was back together, smoking deer meat, and Ratt was trying to guess who was going to come back.
    “Yea, no question. It’ll be Tobie.” Joda, evidently bored, had wandered over and agreed with Ratt.
    “Well, whoever it is, she or he better get here soon. That deer steak is looking pretty good to me.” We had saved a steak for whomever came back, and now I was eyeing it.
    “It’s rather late, already dark. I wonder what’s up,” put in Lindadawn.
    “Ah, who knows? Maybe the vote got delayed or something.” It was a little later than what would normally be expected, but I wasn’t too concerned.
    “Well, when things don’t go as routine, you know that usually means the producers have something up their sleeve.”
    “Good point. But all we can do is wait and take it up the you-know-what, whatever it is.”
    “The ‘you-know-what’ is right,” she said with a laugh. She slid up on one hip and pointed to her butt several times with an in-and-out motion. “That’s one way of putting it. Or where to put it, I might add.”
    We all laughed, but I couldn’t help but notice her butt when she did that. She didn’t have the cute factor of Joda or Ratt, and she was not the beauty that Alfhid was, but she was still attractive in her own way. And while Alfhid was feminine strength, Joda was goofy endearment, and Ratt was funny irreverence, Lindadawn was smoldering competence. I was still waiting for her to break out and take over the show. Neither Hamlin nor Josh would stand a chance against her.
    And here I was judging the girls. And not even all of them. Julie was still with us. I guess I didn’t classify her as a threat. And Borlinga, well, Borlinga was Borlinga. I wondered how the girls judged the boys, both as males and in terms of the game. Joda obviously thought the world of Hamlin, but what about the rest? And what did they think of me? Maybe I didn’t really want to know.
    And how would I fare against the other guys? Hamlin probably had a following. Josh, too. Yash was a male Ratt in some ways, maybe more physical, but as funny and outgoing. I am sure he had a viewer following.