Flight of the Golden Harpy Page 9

Kari flung the back door open, and the vehicle light revealed the harpy. Doc peered down at the still creature. He turned and looked at Kari with a frown. “You got me out of bed for a miserable harpy? I ain’t no damn vet,” he growled, and turned toward the cottage.

  Kari grabbed his arm. “Please, Doc,” she cried. “He’s dying. I don’t have any other place to take him.” She dropped to her knees and held Doc’s hand. “Please, I’m begging you,” she moaned. She lowered her head and wept.

  “Come now, dear,” he said, guiding her to her feet. “It’s only a harpy.”

  “He’s not just a harpy to me,” she whimpered.

  The porch light illuminated her damp face. “Aren’t you the Turner girl who was here yesterday?” he asked.

  Kari nodded.

  He walked over and looked at the harpy. Pushing the bloodstained feathers away, he saw the yellow wings and hair. “I’ll be darned. This is a golden. Haven’t seen his likes…” He paused in midsentence and gazed at the girl, leaning over the harpy. She was gently caressing the young male’s face. Her hands trembled, and she whimpered. Doc sighed. “Is this the golden that pulled you out of the lake and used the licing moss?”

  Kari nodded again.

  “I’m awake now,” he grumbled. “Might as well have a look at him. I owe him that much.” He lifted the wing and examined the curled up body. “That blast wound is at least two days old. I’m surprised he’s alive.” He straightened and took Kari by the arms. “I know this harpy saved you, and now you want to save him, but this poor thing has suffered enough. Let me put him out of his misery. I have the drugs. He won’t feel a thing. It’s the kindest thing we can do,” he said gently.

  Kari jerked free of the doctor’s hold and stepped back. She stared at the old man in horror. “You want to kill him?”

  “He’s beyond help and suffering. It’s cruel to keep him alive.”

  “No,” she said. “He’s not some injured animal, not to me. He’s been my whole life. I love him. If you kill him, you might as well kill me, too.” She kissed the harpy’s cheek and wrapped her arms around his neck. She buried her face in his silky blond locks and cried.

  Doc watched her for a long moment as she held the frail body. He calmly placed his hand on her shoulder, and she glanced up at him through her wet hair. “I don’t know anything about a harpy’s insides and haven’t done this kind of surgery in years, plus he’s very unstable. But I can’t turn you and your golden away without trying.”

  Kari threw her arms around the old doctor. “Thank you, Doc. Thank you,” she said between sniffles.

  “Don’t thank me,” he said seriously. “I want you to understand something. He’s probably not going to make it, so don’t get your hopes up.”

  “I understand,” she said.

  “All right, I’ll get a stretcher so we can get him inside,” he said, and hastily walked into the cottage. He soon returned with the floating bed. Kari and Doc rolled Shail onto it and pushed his limp body into the cottage. Doc flipped on the lights in his small hospital room.

  “If word gets out that I’m treating harpies,” he said, pushing the harpy on the operating table, “the whole damn town will think I’m nuts.” The full extent of the harpy’s injuries was revealed under the bright floodlights of the exam room. Cuts and abrasions covered the sleek muscles where the men had beaten him. The ropes that bound his wrists and ankles were so tight Doc had to cut them off, exposing deep gashes. Doc shook his head. Not only did the harpy suffer from two laser blasts, but he had also been severely battered. “Who did this?” he stormed.

  “Some guy named Jake.”

  “Jake O’Connell. I know him. I delivered that boy. He was a rotten kid, and now he’s a rotten man. He should be arrested for animal cruelty,” Doc grumbled. “It’s one thing to hunt wild game, but this kind of torture of harpies goes too far.” He placed an oxygen mask over the harpy’s face.

  “Why did they do this to him?” Kari asked.

  “I don’t think these guys see harpies as game,” Doc said, preparing the harpy and medical equipment for surgery. “It’s some kind of twisted justification. They think the harpies are seductive males that steal and molest women, so the hunters show no mercy. I’ve heard of some pretty unspeakable things that have been done to harpies. Your boy here could have gotten worse.” He scanned Shail’s injuries with a monitor and pushed back the locks to examine a cut under the harpy’s left eye. He smiled at the stunning creature. “Personally, I think those hunters are just plain jealous. These harpy males are always good-looking, and they can fly. Makes me wonder why they’d have to steal women.” Doc finished with the scanning. “Well, he’s got a few busted ribs, but they’ll heal, and so will that wing. But this blast to his intestines is the major concern, and his blood pressure is low. I don’t dare operate without a blood transfusion,” he said, looking at Kari. “And you, my dear, are going to provide the blood.”

  Kari was puzzled, her face frowned with doubt. “I’m no doctor, but don’t blood types have to match? We’re not even the same species. Won’t my blood kill him?”

  “Without blood, he’ll surely die. Most animals don’t have blood types, and he’s animal enough. I don’t have time to argue about it. Either trust me or take him elsewhere.”

  “I have no choice but to trust you,” she said. She sat down in a living room chair, and Doc drew her blood.

  “I took quite a bit, so stay put,” he ordered, returning to the exam room. “I’m too old to pick you up if you faint.”

  Kari waited in the other room and agonized over the blood transfusion. She stood up and did feel dizzy, but managed to walk to the doorway. “Is he all right?”

  “He’s got your blood, and it’s compatible. He’s doing okay,” Doc said, not even looking up from his patient. The machines buzzed as Doc worked on the harpy’s wound. “I’m surprised these old lasers still work. Haven’t used them in years.”

  Doc appeared to be enjoying himself and hummed throughout the operation. Kari leaned against the threshold and watched, feeling a little nauseated and weak.

  “I’m cutting out these damaged intestines, but he’s got plenty to spare,” Doc said, glancing up at her. “You look pale. If you’re going to vomit, take it outside.”

  “I do feel a little sick,” she admitted, backing out of the room. “May I use your communicator to call home?”

  “On the desk.”

  Kari looked at it and called, “Do you have a portable com?”

  “There’s one on the kitchen counter with a location shutoff.”

  Kari went to the kitchen and called home.

  Maria answered. “I was just leaving for the night,” she said. “Your father is in his den. Do you want to talk to him?”

  “No, just tell him I’m spending the night with Carol.”

  “Okay, Miss Kari. I will tell him,” Maria said.

  Kari wandered back to the small hospital room. “I’m feeling better now. Can I help?”

  “Not with the surgery, but you can clean up the deep cuts with antiseptic, save me some time,” Doc said. “I’ll seal them and deal with that broken wing later. I put an antibiotic patch on him. Should fight the infections.”

  Kari cleaned the injury on Shail’s broken wing that hung down from the table and then washed his wrists and ankles. As she removed the dry blood, his wounds were revealed. Rage started smoldering in her when she saw how terribly Shail had suffered. “I should’ve got my laser gun and killed them for this,” she muttered under her breath.

  Doc glanced up. “You do care a hell of a lot about this harpy.”

  “Yes, and I can’t even explain it. Since I came back from Earth, I’ve been fighting these feelings, but the moment I touched him, the battle was lost. Charlie says the harpy has a spell on me.”

  Doc chuckled. “I don’t know about that superstitious Indian and his talk of spells, but I know love is the worst spell. Makes us do crazy things. Well, I’m finished,” he said, stretching his ti
red back. “I sometimes surprise myself.”

  She looked at him, questioning the outcome.

  “I’d say his chances are fifty-fifty. Better than a few hours ago,” Doc said. “I got to say this harpy’s looks are deceiving. He’s got a slight, almost delicate-looking body, but underneath the skin, he’s tough and resilient … heartier than most humans. Must be the animal blood. Strange these creatures don’t hold up in captivity.”

  “I really must thank you, Doc.”

  “No thanks until the final results are in. Now let’s have a look at that wing,” he said, pulling the long wing from the floor and resting it on a small table. “It’s a clean break. He’s lucky it’s not in a million pieces or blown clean off. A good old-fashioned splint will fix it. But it’ll be some time before he flies. I don’t have the expensive equipment they have in Terrance that can mend a broken bone in a week.”

  Doc set the wing with a clear plastic splint. “That should hold it, and he’ll have a hell of time getting it off.” He sealed the open cuts and lacerations with a small laser. “If I’d gotten him sooner, he’d have no scars, but these little scratch marks will give him character, especially the one under his eye. He’ll still be a handsome thing.” Doc chuckled. “We need to put him in the spare bedroom. Don’t have that many visitors, but it wouldn’t be wise if they saw a harpy in my cottage.”

  Kari and Doc moved the harpy on the floating stretcher down the hallway to the spare bedroom. They placed him on a double bed, and Doc sat down in a chair, gazing at his winged patient. “I’m beat,” he said. “When you called home, did you tell your father about him?”

  “No, Dad would kill him.”

  “Yes, John doesn’t care for harpies, especially gold ones,” he said. “When you used the portable com, I figured you didn’t want your father to know you were here. What are you going to do with the harpy? He can’t stay here. The whole town would find out before long, and you can’t take him home. If he survives the night, he’s going to need a lot of quiet care. Turned loose too soon, he’d die from those injuries. Plus he can’t be caged. They get depressed and suffer from shock. When he starts feeling better, I don’t know how you’re going to keep him still. Your problems are just beginning, keeping a wounded harpy.”

  “I don’t know what I’ll do,” she said, realizing that Doc had a strong point. The harpy stood a chance at survival, but her father was Shail’s greatest threat.

  “Don’t worry about it now,” Doc said. “If he’s alive in the morning, we’ll figure it out. Besides Jake, who knows you have him?”

  “Three of Jake’s hunting buddies, Carol and—”

  Doc interrupted. “Carol Baker from the grocery?” he asked with a raised voice. Kari nodded, and Doc continued, “That blabbermouth. By tomorrow the whole town will know about the harpy, including John. You better move your vehicle into the garage, or they’ll know you’re here. If he survives, you better move him tomorrow night. I can picture your dad storming my door.”

  Kari rose to move the vehicle, and Doc followed her out of the bedroom. “It’s late,” he said. “I’m going to bed. The closet has some clean medical gowns. You can use one for sleeping, and there are some blankets and pillows for the couch. Make yourself at home.”

  “Doc, you act like an old crab, but you really have a heart of gold.” She hugged him. “I appreciate all you’ve done for me and the harpy.”

  He weakly smiled and ambled off to his bedroom.

  She moved the vehicle into the garage, shut the door, and came back into the cottage through the back kitchen door. Grabbing a medical gown, she went to the bathroom to change. She saw in the mirror that dried blood stained her clothes, her face, and hands. After cleaning herself and her clothes, she slipped into the gown, grabbed a blanket for the couch, and decided to check on Shail once more.

  A dim bedroom light illuminated his six-foot frame, and Kari saw he breathed easier. Touching his sleeping face, she comprehended he might die in the night. “You shouldn’t go alone,” she said softly. She turned off the light and climbed on the bed, carefully putting her arm around him. A feeling of contentment consumed her, as though she had always belonged near him. She closed her eyes and snuggled against the golden male.

  6

  The throbbing pain in Shail’s side caused him to gasp, and he detected the scent of men. Startled, he opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. He struggled to sit up, but lacked the strength, and the slight effort made his suffering worse. He shook his head, trying to clear his mind. He had been taken from the floating structure and put into a large cage. His body shuddered with fear, for he had lost his courage and fight.

  Shail smelled fresh air flowing into the musty room and glanced toward an opening. It was night, and the safety of the dark trees lay beyond. Lured by the open window, he gritted his teeth and again tried to rise, but unbearable pain shot through him, making him cringe and sweat. He breathed hard with anxiety, knowing the hunters had far worse plans for him. Though he didn’t understand their sounds, he sensed their poisoned minds. Their thoughts had dwelled on hanging him by his wrists and then removing his sex organs and wings. His heart beat faster, dwelling on this fate. Shail grasped the material to drag himself closer to the window and noticed his wrists weren’t bound. Perplexed, he glanced around the shadowy room.

  On the far side of the bed rested a sleeping female. Her long blond hair hid her face, but when Shail leaned over and sniffed, her scent was unmistakable and unforgettable. Her presence made him relax and breathe easier. He had waited ten long seasons to hold her again, and now she rested beside him, but how? Traumatized by the abuse, his memory was foggy. He shook his head again, trying to remember. She had held him as he waited for death, but he thought it was dream, the same dreams they shared since her return to his land. He nuzzled her cheek, making sure she was real. Shail closed his eyes, trying to recall the last few lights.

  * * *

  On a southern island, Shail had met Aron after his long flight over land.

  “You found her?” Shail asked.

  “Near the human river city,” Aron relayed. “It was wise I was sent to watch over her. She is your match, Shail. Like you, she fearlessly but foolishly faced a pack of grogins alone. This darkness she comes to her father’s home.”

  “Tomorrow I shall go to the lake of our meeting,” Shail said. “There, she expects me.” Shail and Aron lifted their heads, detecting the distressing sound of a metal bird. “It nears the nests of many fledglings,” Shail said, darting into the sky, and Aron raced after him.

  They flew rapidly to the island, hoping to lure the hunters away, but they arrived too late. Landing on a large limb, they gazed down at a hunter dangling an injured fledgling by his tiny wing. The human beast prodded the terrified, squirming youngster, and Shail sensed the pathetic silent calls from the baby harpy.

  Shail relived the feeling of rage, an uncommon emotion for harpies, but it had been growing in him. Only recently, he had found two of his cherished males cut to pieces and hanging from a tree. As a golden, he was the monarch and protector of the flock. He couldn’t stand by and allow an innocent fledgling to suffer the butchery. Preparing to attack, he arched his wings.

  Aron sensed his intentions and grabbed his arm, saying, “The fledgling is beyond your help. Be not reckless. Your flock needs you.”

  Shail broke free of Aron and glared at him. “This one needs me now,” he relayed, and sailed off the branch. He dove straight down toward the hunter, catching the man by surprise. With both feet, he kicked the man’s back, slamming the brute into a tree. He quickly snatched up the fledgling and flapped hard to escape the laser blasts zipping past. Halfway through the open forest, he felt a terrible sting and smelled his burning feathers. He struggled to maintain his flight, but his wing was limp, and he and the fledgling tumbled to the ground. “Flee and hide,” he told the baby. The fledgling scrambled into the dense underbrush, and Shail went in the opposite direction, knowing the men would pursu
e him. As he leaped into the foliage, he heard and felt a second blast hit his side, forcing him to his knees. He gazed up and saw the hunters running toward him.

  Aron swooped down and landed between Shail and the men. He fluttered his feathers and flopped his long brown wings hard on the ground, behaving like a wounded bird. “Look, a blast must have hit that brown!” one man yelled.

  “Forget the brown,” another man said. “He’s trying to draw us off the golden.” Shail attempted to run during the distraction but collapsed after a few feet. “I am lost, Aron,” he silently relayed to his faithful friend. “Do not come for me. I order you to save yourself.” Teary eyed, Aron leaped into the air and disappeared in the trees.

  Holding his wounded side and dragging the damaged wing, Shail managed to crawl against a wide tree trunk. He coiled up on the ground and shielded his body with his wings. The men swiftly surrounded him. He viciously hissed, warning them to keep away, but they produced ropes and grabbed for his legs and arms. Once in striking range, he battered them with powerful kicks, striking fists, clawing nails, and a flailing wing. He snapped his teeth at their approaching hands. His aggressive assault forced them back, and their eyes conveyed surprise. The young hunters had never encountered a golden male and were accustomed to hunting the docile browns. Shail quietly seethed as they doctored their wounds and discussed the best way to deal with his defiant nature.

  The men chose to beat him into submission. They struck and poked him with long sticks. Shail frantically twisted in the dirt, trying to deflect the blows and hide under his protective wings. Toward dark, his body was weak with blood loss and the abuse, and his spirit was crushed. He panted hard, covered his head, and gave up. He curled up into a tight ball and shut his eyes. Seeing he was finished, the men leaped on him and held him down with their weight. He felt the tight ropes tethering his wrists, ankles, and wings. They grabbed his hair and gagged his mouth so he couldn’t bite.

  They laughed and prodded him, treating him like a trophy. His bravery slipped away, and he watched them with timid eyes. Their leader stood over him, and Shail performed the act of submission. He tilted his head back, exposing his throat, and hoped the man would slit his throat, giving him a quick, dignified death. The ritual was known to hunter and harpy and was a measure of honor between the species. A wounded harpy that performed this act would no longer hinder his enemy, and the ethical hunter could prove his decency by ending the suffering of the dying creature.