by Chris Hechtl
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Halfway there along the shore the group of raiders were met by the trooper. Bret froze and watched the unfolding altercation from across the lake. He shook his head when he saw the trooper circle around to ambush them. After a moment he decided it wasn't worth the time so he moved on.
“You didn't find anything, did you?” Dwayne asked when they saw him.
They started in surprise at his quiet approach. Gisel shook her head, clearly dispirited. “Um, no,” she finally answered.
“So, he's gone isn't he?” Dwayne asked, working his jaw.
“I, ah, we don't know what you're talking about.”
“The guy. The handyman. Survival guy. Bret. I never did catch his full name. You pissed him off stealing his food and stuff. I don't blame him,” he said coldly. “You're lucky he didn't kill you for what you did.”
Gisel's eyes went wide. “We didn't steal!” She shook her head, but she could tell that wasn't going to work with the law enforcement officer. “Okay, okay, I admit we did, but it wasn't like he couldn't make more. He had more than enough.” She waved a hand.
The trooper's eyes narrowed. “Not the point. He's doing well. Too bad everyone chased him out of camp instead of listening to him,” he said shooting looks at them all. They flinched and looked at the woman who had slapped him. She seemed forlorn and bit her lip, looking away. She rubbed at her arm.
Together they went back to their base. They described some of the stuff he did along the way and then again in the camp. They showed the trooper the tools he had made. They learned how to make rope from woven grass. “It's so simple we should have thought of it earlier. Braiding, yes,” Tanya the hair dresser said, taking a rope and looking it over. “I should of thought of that,” she said thoughtfully. “What else has he done? Why isn't he here? Didn't you ask him to come back?” she asked, looking about the group.
“Yeah, no,” Gisel said, now looking away.
“We, um, went to the guy's camp. Bret,” Hayden admitted. Dwayne nodded, crossing his arms and just looking at them. “We, um,” she rubbed her arms and looked anywhere else but at them. “We took some fish and stuff the first time. Stuff he could replace,” she said.
“And the second time?”
“The second time there wasn't anything there but his shelter, fire, and wood. We, um, trashed it. Accidentally,” she admitted.
“It was an accident. I didn't mean to slip and fall,” Allen said, voice rising in pitch as he defended himself. They looked at him and then away.
Dwayne shook his head. “No wonder he left. I would’ve. Hell, I should.” He gave the layabouts dirty looks. They looked away.
Helen was the only reason he was sticking around, that and his sense of duty. His training, he thought. Helen, like some of the other people, was sick off and on, weak so he knew they wouldn't get far even if he did decide to move on. Most likely it was because of their diet or lack thereof he thought acidly.
The last critically wounded guy had died the night before; he'd buried him along with the others. If things didn't get better soon, he was pretty sure a few people might get desperate enough to resort to cannibalism.
He sighed, rubbing his cheek as no one said anything in the uncomfortable silence. Well, Toshi groaned, but that was due to his stomach pain. The video gamer was sick; most likely because the fool had drunk unfiltered water right from the lake. Doc was doing her best to treat him, but she couldn't do much. He was having a hard time keeping the water they were boiling down.
“So that's why you folks had so many ideas?” Helen asked, indicating the stuff around the camp. It was a bit improved but not by much. They had done their best to imitate what the handyman had done with the tools, traps, and wood and rock wall he had at his camp.
“Yeah,” Gisel said, rubbing her arm. She toed the ground. “I mean, it's simple stuff, but …,” she shrugged helplessly. “I wish we knew more about what to do,” she said, shooting an accusing look at Dwayne and some of the other so-called survival experts. “He seems to be doing fine,” she said sullenly.
It sounded like she thought it was unfair. Like it was some sort of competition, Dwayne thought sourly.
“You'd think with all these hands we'd be better off than him. But we're not. That sucks,” Allen said sullenly.
“I know. That's how it's supposed to be. It's supposed to be exponentially better to survival if you're in a group or so I thought. He's beating the odds,” Dwayne said.
“We don't have any experience,” Florence said. She scratched at her hair and then tucked her stethoscope into her pocket.
“But I do, Doc,” the trooper said as he shook his head. “I know all this stuff, I took survival training years ago, I lived in Alaska, I've hunted, I've fished …, but he seems to be one step ahead.”
“It's not just that. We've got too many mouths to feed. Mouths like the layabouts who aren't contributing, plus the wounded,” the cook said. “And before anyone else points fingers, I will admit I have been one of them but not anymore.”
Dwayne nodded. He realized that the first few days no one had done much, and now they were in trouble. Now apparently the group was realizing it too.
“We're not built for this,” the repair man said trying hard not to sound like he was whining. He knew he was depressed. Word had gotten around about them being on another world. He didn't understand it. It didn't make a lick of sense, but after seeing the night sky and the three moons, it had to be. What else was there? They had given up on any form of rescue.
“Well, we'd better learn fast,” the trooper said. “I was a hunter all right, but that was my rifle. Sure I fished, but yeah, with a modern tackle box. This shit …,” he shook his head as he hefted the bent branch he had sharpened and had been using as a spear. Or trying to use, since he hadn't gotten a damn thing with it yet. “This is for the birds.”
“The handyman guy, he's got a bow,” the aide said softly. They looked at her. She shrugged, clearly uncomfortable. “And I smelled meat when we were there recently. Venison. There was a cloven hoof by the fire,” she said, wrinkling her nose.
“Deer,” the repair guy said, licking his lips. “Venison. Damn. I'm with the wrong crowd,” he grumbled. “I'd have me some of that any damn day,” he said. A few other hungry people nodded.
“Big deer,” the waitress said. She was hugging herself. Like many of the women in the group, they were perpetually cold, even when out in the sun. Today was cloudy and overcast matching the mood around the camp.
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Bret twisted his ankle in a tangle of roots during the move. It wasn't bad, not a full break or sprain, but it was bad enough to make him very careful. He gingerly put weight on it but then decided he should hold off as much as possible.
He was careful to favor it for several days, just making the basic shelter and fire. He did use the trimmer on his Swiss army knife to trim his nails, frustrated that there was so little he could do. Proper hygiene was important though; he was aware that if he didn't keep his nails trimmed he was liable to rip or break one and get an infection.
He shook his head. The day he tripped he found and used a sturdy branch with a U on one end as a cane staff. Fortunately, he had plenty of food on hand to survive for a few days. He did try to limp to the stream to soak his ankle.
Most of the kinks in his ankle worked themselves out overnight. He gingerly tested it the next morning and was careful to favor it for a couple more days just in case.
He had set up in a nice spot near the top of the falls. When he could he gathered nearby rocks and clay. He cut down a few small trees when he felt able. When he ran low on food, he limped back to his old base camp for the elk haunch he had left in the pool there.
To his surprise he ran into the woman who had slapped him crying near a patch of cattails. He quietly approached, unsure about the sobbing sounds but unwilling to avoid them. He would never forgive himself if he left someone injured alone to die. When he saw her, he was surpr
ised. She was gaunt and half starved; her clothes hung off her. But he instantly recognized her as one of his antagonists. There was no choice; he had to get past her to get to the pool he had left the meat in. If it was there, he thought darkly. He wasn't sure if they had checked it or not. “What's your problem, lady,” he asked her gruffly as he passed by behind her.
“What, you didn't steal enough? Meal ticket gone? Or just don't have a punching bag?” he asked as she turned around, clearly startled by his sudden appearance.
She stared at him in shock, unsure if he was a hunger-induced hallucination or not. Finally she bit her lip. He was huge, built with strapping muscles now that she had time to take notice and obviously not starving she thought. Her face fell when she saw his cold look. “I'm sorry,” she said softly, hands twisting and gripping each other. She was contrite; she really was sorry but felt lame about it.
“Sorry, huh. Yeah, right. Sorry I didn't stick around you mean,” he growled.
She held a hand out then let it fall. She didn't have the strength to move much. “Look, I know you don't understand ….”
“I don't?” he demanded pulling the haunch out of the water. He held it by the ankle to let the water drip off. Her eyes were wide when she saw him holding it. Food was right there, and she had missed it. “Really?” he demanded. She bit her lip, and her eyes fell. There was no way she could overpower him to get it she reminded herself. That left one avenue left. She had to throw away her pride to survive she thought.
“We are all in the same boat, lady. Unlike you I don't resort to stealing,” he said gruffly. He moved off. She started to cry again, sobbing as she realized he was going to leave her there.
He sighed and stopped. His shoulders hunched; he hated the sound of a woman crying. It did things to him, twisted him up, and made him want to stop it somehow. Finally he sighed heavily. “But I'm not a complete ass,” he rumbled. He found a rock and pulled out his knife as he set the haunch on it. She sucked in a fearful breath, but he ignored her. He cut off six or seven pounds of meat and then tossed it her way. It landed in the grass and dirt at her feet. She looked down at it and then up to him.
“Wash it off, boil it, then eat it," he told her and then moved off. “Damn, I hate hearing a woman cry,” he said as she snatched the meat up with trembling hands.
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Hayden went back to camp with the piece of meat clutched to her chest. Half of the people are sick or just lying around. She clutches the meat to her chest, ignoring the blood. She gives it to the cook who cleans it and spits it. The smell gets some people going, others nauseated.
Trooper came up with a rabbit he had snared. He's the only successful hunter in the group; the others can do beater jobs but aren't worth spit. They'd tried to corner elk and not gotten anywhere but tired, hungry, and sore.
“Where'd that come from?” he asked nodding his chin to the elk. He had lost weight; they all had. His clothes didn't quite fit; they were baggy now.
“Bret the handyman,” the woman said. She was shaking a little. “He came back for a leg he left in a pool. I … I was crying and … he tossed me a piece.” She looked down and away, rubbing her arm embarrassed.
“Great. Like scraps for a dog,” someone said in disgust.
“I'm not complaining. You?” Dwayne demanded looking around. He looked at the meat and nodded. “Damn. That'd make a nice roast. Nice guy. I wish I'd gotten to know him a bit better.”
“Me too,” Hayden said quietly.
“Do you think he'll be back?” the waitress asked. She ignored the jealous look her partner was shooting her way. Wally was a nice guy, warm in bed, but not a provider. Not this kind anyway she had realized. Natural instincts was starting to kick in, and if a guy couldn't provide, he wasn't worth spit. No matter how cute his buns were.
“I don't know,” the woman said with a shrug. She was hoping so but didn't want to get anyone else's hopes up only to let them down.
“Is there more? Let’s go check,” a guy said getting up. He wavered when no one followed.
Hayden got up slowly, shaking herself. “I don't think there is. I checked the pool after he left. Nothing.”
“Huh,” he sat back down dejected. She shook her head, and the trooper pushed her back to her seat.
“Obviously this isn't working,” Dwayne said, loud enough for everyone to hear. A few that had been napping groaned tiredly. “We need food; we need to work together. We didn't know how good we had it back on Earth.”
“Right, Earth. I still think this is some sort of sick experiment. We're in some sort of VR like the Matrix or something,” Gisel said. “No way could any of this be real.” She looked about herself, but everyone just gave her a pitying look. “Okay, so I may be wrong. It might be something like Lost or something else, right? I mean, right? We could be on Earth still, right? Some sort of island?”
“Not in a million years, lady,” Dwayne sighed. “Sorry to burst your bubble but real estate like this would be a premium where we are from. You and I both know it. We haven't found any sign of there ever being another soul here. No trash, nothing. And there would be. The wind alone would blow crap around.”
“True,” the repair man said with a nod. Gisel sank to her knees dispirited.
“What we need is this guy to come back. If you hadn't chased him off …,” Lori said glaring at Hayden.
“We'd all partnered up by then,” Dwayne reminded them, nodding to his lady. She nodded back, working on a frame for the new rabbit skin. Helen was a good woman, a school teacher, and a coworker of Hayden. She'd come to her friend’s defense a few times but he could tell now she was just too tired to argue. “Well, most of us. There are more of you ladies than us men,” he said, nodding to the girls who had partnered together and the group of ladies who had shacked up with one male.
“Hmm, maybe we can trade with him. You know …,” the store clerk started to say softly then shrugged helplessly. Like they had much to trade was the open statement.
“Hell, I'll fuck his brains out if he feeds me,” Tanya said. Her partner glared at her. She shrugged it off ignoring the look. “You know I'd share with you,” she said to him. “That's about all we've got to trade, isn't it?” she demanded looking around at the surprised disgusted looks. The women in the group were the pragmatists, and some realized right away that was true. They'd have to throw away their pride to get what they needed to survive. If he let them. Big if.
The bank manager nodded slowly. “Sex was the oldest form of trade,” he murmured.
“I don't know about that. We … we could trade skins and well, frames,” Helen said, holding up the frame she had been working on. “If we can catch anything to skin. When we do I mean.”
“True,” Dwayne said with a grateful nod her way. He knew she was salving his pride at not being a successful hunter.
“Or we could just go take it. He's one guy,” someone murmured into the darkness.
“One armed guy and we're all weak as a kitten,” the trooper said disgusted. “Besides, I'm not going to steal. I'll take his charity and thank the guy. Besides, we kill the guy and then what? We'll be right back in the same boat starving a couple days later.”
“Can we get him back?”
“I doubt it.”
“Charity? He gave some to her,” one guy said indicating the woman.
“Honey trap,” the hairdresser murmured. They started sharing out the meat. Each person got a piece the size of their thumb. There were some greens to go around and some berries, but they had picked the area clean.
“That's it. We've picked this area over. It will take time to regrow. I know we're not supposed to leave a wreck but there is no choice,” Dwayne said.
“You mean it's time to move on,” a woman said. He nodded. “Rescue isn't coming,” she said, eying him. He shook his head no. “I didn't think so; it's been too long,” she murmured, near tears. “There is nothing here. No berries. We have to go further and further away to find stuff, and we'r
e too tired and weak to do it.”
“Exactly.”
“We are hunter gatherers,” Helen murmured. They looked to her. “That's what we've been reduced to. Her face fell, and she cried softly in Dwayne's arms. Other people looked away, clearly uncomfortable. They were all discomforted when one of their group broke down like that.
“Do you think he'll be back? He's so much better at this then we are.”
“God, I hope so.”
“Obviously.”
“We're here, right?”
“He clearly doesn't need us. And since some of you stole from him ….”
“I didn't hear you protesting the food before,” Gisel said snidely. “Besides, what's done is done.”
“Hey, I went to college to study finance not this survival shit,” the banker complained waving a stick. They shook their heads.
“I know, but we're here now. You'd better learn fast. We'd all better or we're screwed.”
They talked about the situation, but Dwayne was certain it wouldn't get anywhere. Eventually they went to bed dispirited.
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Meanwhile Bret has smoked the last haunch and was busy planning the area including the layout of his planned cabin. He had located the resources in the area and used a piece of charcoal and birch bark to map them out. He used other pieces of bark to draw out plans for what he wanted to do. In his exploration he'd remembered to bring back samples of clay and other things to test at night. They worked out quite nicely. The clay fired well. Though he found out through trial and error that if he got it too hot too quickly, it shattered, or it got rather sooty and burnt from the fire on one side.
Since the waterfall was nearby, the fish in the area was limited. Some of the pools upstream and downstream had some fish, but most were sunfish, not really good eating. There were frogs and turtles, but he wasn't keen on eating them yet. Spring wasn't the best time for fish apparently. The other stream had better fish he thought. He rather regretted leaving the area, but that was the only thing going for it. Well, that and cattails he thought. Obviously the fish were either running upstream to pools in the mountains or were coming down as spawn. Either way he wasn't sure.