Working the horses, both ridden and carrying packs, up and over the bank of the little stream, Ulf and Ragnar laughed and joked as their natures demanded. The trip had been easy from Svendborg, a renamed suburb of old St. Louis, and they would be happy to be in Boulder tonight. The Rockies had been looming for several days as they approached, and it would be good to be back in school.
Gazing west, the plain undulated under the carpet of tall grass.
§
The wagon wheel was in bad shape and creaking with every revolution. The three students walking alongside were hopeful that another repair could be avoided, as being this close to Boulder the rest of the train might be tempted to move ahead without them.
The teenage boy, Stephan, was from Texas but had spent his summer in Oklahoma with one of the two young women with whom he was travelling. They were from communities close to each other with trade ties that had led to family relationships.
In her last year of study, Yvette appreciated the help that Stephan had provided her parents in his summer of swapping labor for room and board. She worried, though, that the skinny kid was allowing his infatuation to grow, and she cogitated diligently over how to let him down easily.
The journey was coming close to the end and Porgy was sad to see it concluding. Believing she had hidden her feelings for Stephan from both of her companions, she tried to respect their relationship. If only he would see he had options right under his nose. Porgy knew that Yvette was less interested in Stephan than the boy was in her and suspected that things would not work out. By arriving in Boulder before the two split, Stephan would be thrown into a society filled with available females. She cursed under her breath.
The wagon full of trade goods, including a breeding pair of rhea, moved slowly north. The wheel creaked and groaned and wobbled. Three young people said silent prayers to the gods of fate that they would make town before it broke.
§
Another pair of moccasins was going to be worn out and tossed aside soon. The paths being trod by the two friends ate them up. Soon Bill would have to dig the next pair out of his pack. But this close to their destination, the next pair would last for a while on city streets. He would be able to trade the laced boots that had seen little wear for something useful, and Bill would ask Gaagii for help in crafting another pair of hides to be saved for use later.
Blessing his lucky stars, Bill appreciated the Navajo he followed over the mountain trails. The boy was smaller than him but carried a pack as heavy. The crafted silver and turquoise jewelry that filled almost half of his pack would pay his way comfortably over the next year. He came from a family of means, but he acted like any normal person.
Loving the mountains for the beauty he relished so much, Gaagii wished he could do more for the big kid following him. He could have left the young man behind easily, but then he would have to travel alone, and that was not wise. Even the best of pathfinders could get into trouble in remote travels. He spent some of his time trying to figure out where he could improve Bill’s odds in getting a good job to pay for his education. He and his family knew people.
Noting the condition of his own footwear, reminded by looking at Bill’s, Gaagii wondered how the young man could go through so many moccasins. He had to talk Bill into trying them, as Bill had insisted that the heavy boots were better for the trail. After several hours there was no more argument. The supple, light gear was infinitely preferable to lead weights with no flexibility. The boots had so little wear that Bill would get a good price for them if he was careful.
Gaagii smiled. He was considering asking Bill if he would like to share an apartment over the school year. They had traveled well together, and even though the Navajo was used to fine accommodations and could afford them, he decided to inquire and invite Bill to be roomies. He would live in rougher digs if he had to in order to have good company.
§
A stage line covered several cities in the plains states. It was becoming a connected network as people found use in travel.
Sitting in front with her back to direction-of-travel in order to avoid dust, Tess fiddled with her makeup bag. She worried about the impression she would make soon in stepping down from the coach. It would not do to have the locals think her anything but high-positioned royalty. She cursed her parents for forcing her to travel by a public conveyance, for insisting that she attend a school in a town she had never seen, and for sending her alone.
Across and kitty corner from Tess in the coach was an ancient black woman. A professor at the college in Boulder, she was the eldest of the educators at the school. Soon she would be giving lectures again and doing research as students gathered information from old tomes they would bring to her for interpretation or a judgment of their value. There would be treasures, and Pearl would pour over them until she knew each word, each nuance, each interconnection with the rest of the knowledge filling her brain. The faces of those she taught as they grasped a new concept or absorbed critical information was wonderful, but her own opportunity to learn was her real reward. She looked forward to what the future would bring with a childlike anticipation.
Pearl looked forward in the coach as well. She loved to see the country change as it rolled past and the growing things. Noticing shortly into the trip that the young lady seated across was self-absorbed and spoiled, she wondered if she would be a student. Other passengers had attempted to strike up a conversation, but the haughty girl shut them down without any regard to the insult she gave. Pearl watched her. It would be fun to have the little minx in her class. She would make sure the girl would learn one way or another. Sometimes the least likely student could surprise a teacher. The question all depended on whether the child could be awakened to curiosity. That and hard work, as well as focus, of course. The most frustrating were the ones who had all the ability in the world but could not be bothered to learn. The young girl facing her looked to be one of those, and the old woman relished the challenge.
A shoe on the near side lead horse was getting loose. Disaster if lost on the road with many miles to go, this one would be noticed and attended to. The horse would remain sound and pull many more passengers to destinations of great interest.
Chapter 18
The last ice underneath the scree melted in the never ending cycle, and the pikas did not even notice. They had little need for water, as they absorbed most of what they required from sedges, forbs, shrub twigs, moss, and lichens. Theirs was a simple life. Eat, sleep, and breed and otherwise enjoy a warm rock in the sun until a raptor chanced by. Then it would be a quick dive into a crevice between rocks, or alternatively they would provide a hot lunch for the bird.
The water freed from the ice trickled downhill, joining other rivulets or ending in a depression to soak into the earth. Rivulets came together into brooks, brooks into streams, streams into creeks, and eventually creeks delivered their bounty into rivers. Some water coursed a path into low areas where it accumulated into pools, and other currents meandered until they evaporated… sometimes running underground for some distance and resurfacing occasionally before they played out or joined other currents.
A seasonal creek that held a respectable volume of moisture in the late spring and summer cut a deep and changing gully through what had once been the high deserts of southern Wyoming and parceled out its last drops as the weather warmed, changing from a steady flow to bare rock and sand in less than a week.
Just as the pikas had little cognizance of their disappearing water ice, the animals along the creek found it dry and moved their feet along other paths to find a drink. The natural cycle deserved little thought.
In the recesses of the steep, earthen ravine, wedged against a mass of willow rushes and drifted wood, a creature best described as marginally alive warmed as the waters receded. The chill of the flow had kept him in a state of torpor, somewhere between hypothermia and death for several days, allowing his injured brain the proper temperatures to keep swelling down. The low temperature was all
that had kept him alive.
The beating he had taken was horrific by any standards. A pipe wielded by a person intent on doing lethal damage had crushed his skull and the bones of his face. His hands were mangled from his attempts to shield himself from the blows, a forearm broken. The pipe had been driven end first into his ribs, and several of them were in the first stages of mending. The most debilitating injury to a man left marooned was a shattered kneecap. If he survived he would not look like his former self nor walk normally again.
Arc gathered his muddy thoughts as the sun beat down on him, bringing life back into the body he now required to function. He freed his legs from the silt that had built up around and on top of them. The effort was massive, as the blood that flowed in them was still cold, bringing intense cramps.
Not knowing why he was alive, not understanding that a warm bed would have killed him, the man that was once so filled with malicious intent now seethed with an insatiable desire to live. The entire purpose of his existence was now defined by the intensity of his rage and hate. He would survive. He could not let it be otherwise. There were people in the world he would make the focus of his wrath, and they would pay a terrible debt to him. From this moment forward any effort expended, great or small, painful, demoralizing, or disgusting, was an already foregone conclusion. Arc would have his vengeance.
There was a small puddle just upstream. A fin curled above the surface of the muddy water as a fish stirred the muck.
Crawling brought agony, but Arc focused on filling his belly in any way he must. The injuries to his face made it so torturous to scream that he managed nothing but a bubbly whimper. Sucking the flesh of raw carp would provide healing energy and protein, and Arc was already thinking about where the next meal would come from. He had to survive.
§
Stoking the fire in Olivia and Jody’s little cast iron stove was an art. The cool of the morning had been alleviated, breakfast dealt with, and now the fire would have to last all day, burning slowly enough to provide coals for the night fire to be built in the evening.
Bending to place the split logs inside, Olivia felt a flutter beneath her navel. A nagging, strange sensation had been growing in her mind for some weeks now, but she had been putting off thinking about it. She wanted to concentrate on business now that she was partnered with Jody.
The cabin door rattled on its hinges. A strong and insistent arm was pounding on the door.
Leaping from her bed where she had just finished lacing up her boots, Jody addressed the unopened door with some antipathy.
“Alright, alright… No need to break the hardware. Back off a little.” Jody thought the pounding unnecessary to the point of being rude.
Olivia watched as Jody released the latch.
Standing outside was a young man, and immediately behind an older man on horseback. Similar in their features and coloring, they were clearly related. The two women assumed rightly they were father and son.
“We were told there is a man here we should speak with,” the younger man said with a haughty air, “and we’ve come to inquire about the bulls.”
Olivia watched as Jody stiffened. The two had spent a lot of time together and were beginning to read each other’s body language. She knew Jody would handle the situation well but had taken offense.
“Well, your information is correct if you wish to find out about the animals, but there is no man here to deal with. My friend and I are in charge of all sales, so I’m sure you will find the answers from us as good and our prices as fair.” Jody glanced back at Olivia and winked slyly as she spoke.
Both men blanched, clearly taken aback by the information that they would be dealing with women. The elder man recovered first, and with a smug look and a narrowing of his eyes he changed gears.
Softening his tone, speaking more slowly, the mounted man replied, “Miss, I’m sure we can do business. My son and I are fine with whoever is in charge as long as the money’s right.” His eyes narrowed.
Noting the expression and subtle cues of the men, Jody was already sure she would like to play poker with them. They might intimidate another man or even be able to hide their intent, but Jody had been around enough to recognize that these potential buyers would go home empty handed. Dealing with a man, they would dicker back and forth and come away satisfied with a purchase, perhaps paying more, but their egos would get in the way when dealing with women. The father would make a point of instructing his son in how to take advantage and would try to low ball them, expecting success. Then his bruised ego would not allow for a realistic figure. The son would get angry because he wanted something and would be denied. He appeared to be used to getting what he wanted. The father would leave angry as well, but Jody knew their stories would filter through the community and later buyers would approach with more respect.
Closing the door in their faces, Jody admonished them, “Be right out. We’ve just got to ready ourselves.”
Locking eyes with Olivia, Jody’s twinkled with unexpressed mirth.
“They’ll wait. Let’s have another cup of coffee.”
§
Nursing hot tea in her always too-cold hands, Pearl appreciated the easing in her aging joints as well as the soothing effect in her vocal cords. The crowd was gathering for the evening lecture. The front row filled with her fellow professors, Angus and Bluehawk center stage, sitting with a man she recognized from one of the newly arrived trade caravans. Directly behind were the more earnest students mixed with the brown-nosers. Pearl was gratified to see new blood sitting in the rear seats, away from the rest. One group caught her eye in particular, young people she knew to be affiliated with the big stranger sitting with her two colleagues. They had proven to be consistent in their attendance since arriving in Boulder, and Pearl had an interest in cultivating their curiosity. She would do her best this evening.
Adjusting her shawl in the cool evening air and cupping her newly refilled, warm mug, Pearl took her time making herself comfortable center stage. The familiar chair next to the small table for her drink accepted her slight weight with the dignity she deserved. The crowd hushed in anticipation.
For the first time Pearl addressed the crowd with her eyes, hesitating in her words.
“We do not live by the clock. Most of you have never worn a watch.”
The elderly black woman hesitated again, allowing the words to sink in. She doubted that many here would truly understand the significance of her statement, doubting that she herself did, fully. She had never lived by the constraints imposed by time, either.
“There is no person here who fears starvation or can’t help a neighbor in need because it isn’t convenient and can’t be fit into our schedules.”
Another smaller hesitation.
“My lecture tonight will be informal. More a rambling of various thoughts and findings that pique my own imagination, creating questions yet to be fully answered. Many of the terms and concepts I will discuss may be foreign to you. The world of the past and the world we live in are two different places.”
The audience stirred. Those familiar with Pearl’s lectures relished her informal talks where she covered much ground quickly.
“A little background first. We are seated here in the center of a continent, east to west, bounded by two oceans. This continent at one time contained three great nations which lived at peace for the most part in the interest of mutual success. The area we are in was the most central of fifty states of the centrally located nation on the continent, The United States of America. North, Canada stretched east and west between the Pacific and the Atlantic oceans and up to the waters of the North Sea. South, Mexico filled the southern border to the west, ending in a narrowing far south of us which eventually joins with a southern continent. The United States was one of the great powers in the world for over a century, some would argue two, but was diminishing in influence when the reason for nations ceased to be a priority.”
A sip of tea invigorated Pearl. The cup was coolin
g, but a young lady would soon fill it again with precious heat.
“I will not dwell on the failing government. That is for lectures too dry for this fine evening.” Pearl smiled and the audience whispered in light appreciation.
“As an anthropologist I prefer to study society and the motivations within it. It is fascinating to me that people of the past were so intellectually blessed and yet failed to see how mentally challenged they were as a group.” Pausing for brief laughter, she continued, “That is one of the great failures of society now and as the populations in the past mushroomed. Any crazy faction could find reinforcement for their beliefs just because there were so many people and that there were bound to be others just as crazy. And the communication capabilities in the world allowed them to gather, each with the other. There was a breakdown in the natural moderation afforded by close knit communities. Communication worldwide meant people had little need to associate with others who held different ideas, so tolerance and balance was avoided easily. Many people lived within the strict structures of the ideas they happened on in their communicators, not in any actual human contact or experience.”
The approaching girl with the teapot gave Pearl an excuse to take a fast, deep sip before offering the cup to be refilled.
“It was a sign of the times that people became polarized in their beliefs. Instead of maintaining an open mind and discussing options, which might have actually led to an improving, progressing society, people insisted on the only right way being ‘their’ way. The media, blogs, and the few surviving newspapers and magazines were filled with positions taken but not with questions asked or solutions offered from negotiation or compromise.’
Hell Follows After (Monster of the Apocalypse Saga) Page 17