Page 40 of Zinnia and the Zombie
“Exactly.”
She stared at the map, then nodded thoughtfully.
“What about traps?” she suggested. “Nothing high tech. Something simpler—like snares and nets. They aren’t fancy, but they can be effective. Some of these vines are incredibly strong—I’ve been testing them. We could weave nets, set up trip lines.”
“Primitive technology,” he murmured, but there was no dismissal in his tone—only consideration.
“The Grorn probably wouldn’t expect it. If they’re as technologically advanced as you say, they might be watching for energy signatures, weapons… but not plants hidden amongst other plants.”
A slow smile spread across his face. “You’re right. Their behavior patterns are predictable. They prepare for specific threats. Something outside their experience could be effective.”
He adjusted the map again, marking new locations. “Here, and here. Narrow passages where they’d be forced into single file. Perfect for your low-tech solutions.”
“How much time do I have?”
“They won’t begin the hunt until tomorrow.”
She frowned at him.
“Why not?”
“There are certain rituals they will perform first. They’re likely conducting a sacrificial ceremony for a successful hunt.”
She shivered. “Sacrifice? Like… an animal?”
“If they’re fortunate enough to have captured local wildlife, yes. If not…” He didn’t finish the sentence.
Her face paled as she stared at the distant ship, imagining the hunters performing some bloody ritual.
“So they won’t come until morning?”
“No. Their religion dictates that the sacred hunt begins at dawn.”
She let out a shaky breath. “That gives us more time, at least.”
“I’ll start setting electronic traps, then help you place the physical ones,” he said. “We still need to work quickly.”
The next few hours passed in a blur of focused activity. While he was gone, she began on her nets and he returned to find she’d completed three large nets and was starting on a fourth.
“I’ve activated every security system I could find,” he told her. “Most of them are severely degraded, but a few drones should respond if the Grorn trip the right sensors.”
He knelt beside her, admiring her handiwork. “These are impressive. Stronger than they look.”
“That’s the idea,” she said, showing him how the layers of fiber reinforced each other. “My mother… disappeared one summerand the old lady in the house next door took pity on me. She let me stay with her. She was the one who taught me how to do this.”
“She sounds like a kind person.”
Her lips curved in a reminiscent smile. “I doubt anyone would have said that to her face. She scowled more than she smiled, smoked like a chimney, and had a mouth that would make a sailor blush, but she kept me fed and clothed and occupied until my mother returned. She would have kept me even then.”
“But you didn’t stay?”
“No. I thought my mother needed me more.” She sighed. “I went back to visit her when I could, but she died the year before my mother did.”
He hugged her, hating the sadness in her expression, then asked her if she wanted to help him set the traps.
Together, they gathered the nets and other materials and ventured out into the dusk. He chose the locations carefully—narrow passages between buildings, shadowed doorways, places where the Grorn would be vulnerable—but there was no guarantee that the Grorn would pass that way.
She watched him work, giving him an approving smile when he returned. “For a high tech warrior, you did that very well.”
