A Dawn of Mammals Collection

by Lou Cadle

  “Let’s keep looking for other plants too. We’ll turn around and gather as much of the grass we’re testing as we can find on the walk back. By dinner time, if you’re not sick, I’ll feel okay about everyone chewing on some.”

  “Maybe the squirrels bury nuts. We learned way back, like in junior high, that they forget some of them. Trees can grow from ones they bury. Maybe last year’s nuts are still there.”

  “Maybe,” Hannah said. “Start thinking on a way to find them. We can’t dig up the whole prairie. Or even under the whole stand of trees. So find us a way to narrow in on the caches, okay?”

  “Okay,” she said. “Is that an onion over there?”

  “Where?”

  Claire took two steps up the bank and pointed to a long, dark green stem.

  “Yeah, it could be. Can you dig that up too, please?”

  “Sure.” She set to work with her flat rock and soon had a small bulb uprooted.

  “It looks like an onion. Wash it off next.”

  “Okay.” Claire came back to the stream to do that. “Now? Want me to rub it on my hand?”

  “One plant at a time on one person. We don’t want to confuse our experiment results, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Smell it.”

  Claire sniffed at it. “Like garlic. Makes me crave garlic bread.”

  “Good. There’s a plant in our time that’s dangerous. It looks like onion but smells sort of mushroomy. Let’s look right around here for more of the onion. We’ll dig it up but not start testing it until tomorrow.”

  “There are twelve of us. We can test twelve foods at a time, can’t we?”

  “I’d like to keep the food-testers to two or three. We don’t want a bunch of sick people. One, we can handle.” She hoped.

  Chapter 15

  “I bet you Zach would do it. He’s braver than you’d think. He seems shy, but you know, he’s okay. Back when we were freshmen, I saw him stand up to a bully who was picking on a fat kid.”

  “That is brave.”

  “Well, he got the crap beat out of him, but yeah, it was.”

  “You make me so happy to not be in high school anymore.”

  “I guess none of us is now,” Claire said, sounding pensive again.

  “My high school years were bad enough, I’d be counting that as a silver lining to this whole deal.”

  “Huh, maybe,” Claire said. “There’s another onion.”

  They spent the next two hours at it, gathering two more likely-looking foods to test, and on the way back they loaded up on the grass species that seemed to be bothering neither Hannah nor Claire. There weren’t many of the mystery tubers to gather. After she’d decided it was safe—if it was—her next test on herself should be with something more plentiful.

  On the way back, they passed the fuel-gatherers again, who had strayed far from the watercourse. Hannah checked the sun. After noon, she thought. Something else to teach them, how to use a stick in the ground to measure time and check direction. She’d given day-long classes on all this her first year as a ranger. That was five years ago, but it was all still in her brain, and as the hours passed, it was coming back to her.

  Good thing it was. They were going to need every fact she could remember to live through this.

  * * *

  Back at the fallen tree, one half of the stockade—the downstream side—was done. The other side had been begun, but when Hannah and Claire returned, Ted said, “You mind if we take a break?”

  “Go on. Pace yourselves. It looks like we’ll have it by sundown.”

  Dixie and Rex’s voices were raised in argument. Hannah glanced up at Bob, who was watching them from his perch on the tree. “I guess I should go over there and break it up,” he said.

  Hannah would go with him. Maybe she could learn something about how to handle quarreling teenagers. “Claire, can you take over as lookout?”

  “What do I do?”

  “Just keep looking in every direction. Let us know if danger is coming. Mostly, today, that’s any animal that looks scary.”

  “Okay,” she said doubtfully. “I’ll try.”

  “Just do your best,” Bob told her. “That’s all anyone can do.”

  Hannah walked with him to the spot where Rex and Dixie had been working on making cordage. Rex was seated, but Dixie was standing with her arms folded. She caught sight of the two of them and said, “Mr. O’Brien. He isn’t listening.”

  “It’s okay, Dixie.” They came up to where the two had been sitting. The grass was trampled, and a good deal had been pulled up.

  “He didn’t—” said Dixie

  At the same time, Rex said, “It’s only that—”

  “Whoa. One at a time. Rex?”

  Dixie folded her arms and looked mutinous, but she stayed quiet while Rex answered

  “Even the longest grass doesn’t make much of a length of a braid.” He glanced at Hannah. “Sorry, but we couldn’t figure out how twisting it got us anything but a shorter piece.” Then back to Mr. O’Brien. “So I was thinking what we need to do is to introduce a new piece periodically. Like this.” He laid out four pieces of grass about the same length, then pulled one down an inch, the second down two inches, the third down three inches. Then he picked up a fifth piece of grass and nudged it up against what was now the shortest piece of grass. “So instead of there being a single weak joint, the weakness in the structure gets distributed along—”

  “But that won’t work,” said Dixie. “Because when you braid—”

  A scream split the air.

  Hannah’s head whipped around. Off in the distance, M.J. was running hard.

  She looked to where he was headed.

  The curved back of an animal moved in the grass. It raised its head, and even from here she could see the catlike face, the long curved fangs. A nimravid.

  And off the fangs hung a scrap of clothing. She took off at a sprint, but she was so far away. The animal shook its head to fling off the cloth and bent its head again.

  To feed.

  “Yell,” she shouted to Ted, who had leapt up and was running too. “Make noise!” She put on more speed, adrenaline driving her. She knew whatever had happened was irreversible, but maybe, just maybe, the animal hadn’t killed. Yet.

  Ted was ahead of her, shouting now as he drew closer to the animal. It raised its head and looked around, and snarled, an animal defending its kill from interlopers.

  Hannah ran as fast as she ever had in her life.

  M.J. grabbed his rock hammer from his belt and flung it at the animal. Its hips rose as it crouched lower, as if to spring.

  “Watch out!” she called.

  Ted paused, just long enough to release the Velcro that held his tool belt on. He took one end and whipped it around his head, getting speed behind the weight of the thing, and took another step toward the animal.

  Hannah drew closer. She began yelling too, hoarse inarticulate shouts. The animal spared a quick glance at her approach, and in that moment, Ted whipped his belt around and released it. It whistled in front of the animal’s face, missing its nose by inches.

  The animal backed off, snarling.

  Hannah’s lungs were burning, but she squeezed as much speed from her legs as she could. Dimly aware of more shouts behind her, she closed in on the nimravid. It backed away from Ted and looked at her.

  She could see blood on its fangs. Saber tooth, she thought. Wicked-looking fangs at least five inches long, stained with the blood of one of the kids.

  Her heart was in her throat as she came closer, not wanting to see, but needing to see.

  The nimravid looked at her, then at Ted, still advancing on it. It snarled once more, and then turned and loped away.

  From its kill? Please, no. Not that.

  Ted sagged and dropped to his knees, his chest heaving.

  She saw the body then, covered with blood. It was Jodi.

  But then the body moved, and a jolt of hope went through Hannah. As
she reached the girl, she could hear her whispering, “Is it gone?”

  “It’s gone, honey,” she said, dropping to her knees and assessing the damage.

  Seconds later, Ted came running up. “Aw, shit, man, that’s a lot of blood.”

  “She’s okay,” Hannah said, more to reassure Jodi than because it was true. Jodi had defensive wounds on her arms, long rakes of sharp claws, and blood was welling from one. Was there any arterial spurting? She took the girl’s hands, one by one, holding up her arms and checking each. No. The wounds were bad, and she could bleed out from them, but not in the next five seconds. “Where else are you hurt, Jodi?”

  “It’s gone?” the girl said. “What was it? I didn’t see it.”

  “What hurts?” Hannah said. M.J. had come up now. His flask was in his hand.

  Jodi said, “My back. It hit me in my back, and I went down, and then I could smell its breath and it clawed me.” Her voice was starting to shake. “My arms hurt.”

  “That’s all? Your back doesn’t?”

  “A little, but not like my arms.” She lifted them on her own and turned them to examine them. “Am I going to die?”

  “No,” said Hannah. “Ted, run back as quick as you can, please, and get my backpack. Make sure my first aid kit is in there.”

  Everyone was coming up. “M.J., keep them back, please. Don’t let them crowd us, okay?”

  “It hurts!” said Jodi, and she began to cry.

  “I know it does. M.J., give me your booze.”

  “There’s hardly any left.”

  “I don’t care. I want it.”

  Reluctantly, he handed it over. She couldn’t do much for the pain, not unless someone here had brought a bottle of aspirin to the hike, which seemed unlikely. The alcohol might not help much, but it was what they had. She set it aside, intending to give it to the girl in a minute.

  Hannah had worn a thin stretch camisole beneath her uniform, rather than a bra. She stripped off her shirt, then yanked the camisole over her head and slipped the shirt back on, for modesty’s sake, not taking the time to button it. The camisole she used to staunch the flow of blood on Jodi’s right arm, which was the worse of the two.

  “Ow,” said Jodi.

  “You keep it pressed on, can you do that? Hard as you can stand.” Hannah buttoned one button of her shirt then turned her head. “Anyone here have on extra clothing? Undershirt, overshirt, whatever?”

  “There’s my windbreaker,” Garreth said. His voice quavered.

  “Something cotton. Absorbent.”

  “I have an undershirt,” said Bob, just coming up. “Here. I’ll wear that and you use my regular shirt. There’s more material to it.”

  Good thought. She should have done the same. For a moment, she thought about tearing the shirt into strips, but she couldn’t. He’d need it.

  “Is anyone making sure that nimravid isn’t coming back?” she said, belatedly realizing she shouldn’t have sent Ted off alone. “And people, stick together for defense. I don’t want anybody moving ten feet from their buddy from now on.”

  “I didn’t think,” said M.J.

  “None of us did; , not really,” she assured him. “Now we know.”

  “We’re lucky they weren’t pack hunting,” he said. “There’s a lively debate about if they did or not.”

  “M.J., really, not now.” She took Bob’s shirt and wound it around Jodi’s left arm, using the sleeves to tie it tightly. Her camisole was soaked through with blood already.

  “Dixie, you don’t happen to have a sewing kit in that backpack of yours?” she called back.

  “No.”

  “I need a needle.”

  “I have one,” said M.J.

  She glanced at him, surprised.

  “It’s with the dental picks. For fine work cleaning fossils in the field.”

  “Look for it, please,” she said. These wounds needed stitching. No way was a Band-Aid going to take care of this. To Jodi she said, “Hanging in there?”

  “I guess,” the girl said. She was pale and trembling.

  “Backpack,” Hannah said.

  “Ted’s almost here with it.”

  “No, anyone’s,” she said, holding a hand out behind her. Someone pushed a backpack into it and she took it. She moved to Jodi’s feet and pushed it under her heels. It elevated her feet a little.

  “And the windbreaker. You have that, Garreth?”

  “I can get it.”

  “Thank you.” She thought she could stop the bleeding. With a needle and thread—she’d pull some thread from the hems of people’s shirts or jeans if need be—she could close the wounds enough to let them start to heal. But Jodi was looking shocky, and that could kill her. Elevate the feet, keep her warm. Good thing she hadn’t pressed the alcohol on the girl yet.

  “Bob, come up here, would you?”

  He came forward and Hannah got to her feet. “Talk to her. Keep her calm.”

  Bob got on the other side of Jodi, knelt down, and began chatting to her. Hannah had picked well—though what other choice was there, really? His voice was calm and reassuring.

  “Here, you can let go of your arm,” Hannah said to Jodi. “I’ll take over.” She put more pressure on the wound than the girl had, and held the right arm up in the air. She let go only to check the button of the girl’s jeans. A little tight, so she unbuttoned them and eased the zipper down.

  “What are you doing?” said the girl.

  “Helping you breathe more easily, that’s all,” she said.

  Garreth came running up with Hannah’s backpack. “Ted went back for the windbreaker. He’s the best runner.”

  “Thank you,” Hannah said. She said to Bob, “Hold this arm up, please.”

  When he had it, she rooted through her pack for the first aid kit. “Laina, you back there?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” came the answer.

  “I’m going to need thread. You pull out the thread of the hem of your shirt, or anyone’s, whoever’s comes easiest, and thread the needle that M.J. has. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  The other kids were talking in hushed tones.

  Hannah looked at her pitifully small collection of first aid supplies. Somewhere in the pack she had.... She rooted around. Aha! Still wrapped in the tiny package it had come in, there was an emergency blanket, one of two she carried. With her teeth, she tore this one open and got hold of one side. She snapped it out and put it over Jodi.

  “Talk to me, Jodi,” she said.

  “It hurts pretty bad,” the girl said.

  “I wish I could help. This is going to sting.” She unwrapped her camisole from the right arm and pulled it away. With her teeth, she unscrewed the flask. The last of M.J.’s booze (vodka, she thought) she poured over the wound.

  Bob reached in his back pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. “Here. It’s clean.”

  “Thanks.” She dabbed between the claw marks, soaking up the thinned blood but not pressing the handkerchief to the wounds themselves. Her camisole hadn’t been sanitary either—nowhere near. But now that the alcohol had a chance to do its disinfectant work, the blood wasn’t flowing as fast now. Lower blood pressure, for one thing, as she stayed shocky. There were three long wounds. One would probably close on its own, with an assist from a butterfly bandage or two. The other two wounds needed stitches.

  “How’s the needle coming?”

  “Almost have it,” said Laina.

  “Bring it here when you’re done.”

  While she was waiting, she handed over the right arm to Bob to keep elevated. She checked Jodi’s left arm, found the worst of those slashes, and began treating that with alcohol wipe and gauze pads. She had an elastic bandage, intended for sprains, but it should also work to keep some pressure on these wounds and slow the bleeding further. She wrapped it around Jodi’s arm and secured it just as Laina came up.

  “Here’s the needle. Everybody is getting the thread out of their shirts.”

  “Great
. If I don’t need it, tell them not to lose it.” She might need it another day.

  “Do you need help?”

  She glanced at Laina. “Are you okay with blood?”

  She gave a tiny shrug. “My grandfather’s a doctor. I guess it’s in my genes.”

  “Then yes. Hold her arm up and steady for me.”

  “Hey, Jodi,” Laina said. “It’s just me.”

  “Hi,” said Jodi. “I’m sorry to be so much trouble.”

  “You’re not,” said Bob.

  Laina said, “You’re worth our trouble, Jodi. The ranger has you. Everything will be fine.”

  Jodi said to Laina, “I was so scared.” Her tone said she was ashamed of that.

  “Anyone would have been,” said Laina. “You’re brave.” Her eyes drifted to Hannah’s hands.

  She scrubbed the needle well with an alcohol wipe. She ran the wipe down the thread, for all the good that would do. Hannah had never stitched a wound before and had no idea how to do it. She pulled out the only pair of latex gloves in the kit. She wasn’t worried about her being contaminated by Jodi’s blood, but about introducing the infection from her own body into the wound. She tore open another alcohol wipe and dabbed at the wound.

  “Either of you know where to start? Or what stitches to use?”

  “Start in the middle,” said Bob. “One stitch, tie it off, cut it. Then halfway between that and the ends, on both sides, take another. Keep splitting what’s left in half.”

  Sounded good to her. “How did you pick this info up?”

  “I have three kids, one of them a frequent ER visitor. I’ve watched it. Though they have tiny curved needles there.”

  Hannah was lucky to have a needle at all. She took a breath, dabbed at the blood with a square of gauze so she could see where to start, and began to stitch. Every time the needle went in, Jodi flinched. Laina kept saying, “Be brave. You can do it.”