by Chris Hechtl
He was also not sure about the wisdom of setting up a permanent camp. Especially with the people near. He decided to sleep on it.
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The next day he went to the lake to set up fish traps along the mouth of the streams. He wasn't certain if the others had done it, but he was ready to risk getting raided to try. Hayden saw him from across the lake. She was half-dressed; she had just finished washing. “Oh my God, oh my God,” she murmured over and over. She had to move fast she thought; no one else was up or awake enough to act.
She quickly finger combed her damp hair as she unbuttoned the front of her blouse a bit to expose some cleavage. She went over hastily to where he was, following the shoreline. She tripped once in her excitement but kept moving, eyes on the prize.
She found him up to his elbows in muck setting up a trap. He was a bit scruffy, but all the men were. They weren't shaving, so their beards were growing out. The girls were letting the hair on their legs grow out too; it was uncomfortable and itchy but warmer. She avoided a rock and then tried to pace herself; she was starting to feel lightheaded.
Dwayne used a knife to scrape off the fur on his neck but left the fur on his cheeks alone. Helen complained about …. She shook her head slowly, trying to force herself to keep her mind from wandering.
“Hi, big fella, what'cha doing?” she asked nonchalantly as she could. She was trying to be nice, trying to change his mind. He looked at her coldly. She bit her lip. “Look, I'm sorry about what happened. I … you hit on me at the wrong time; I was wrong. I'm sorry. I … I reacted, and I'm sorry.” She squirmed a bit.
“Whatever,” he growled, going back to work.
“Look can we bury the hatchet or something?” she demanded.
“Sorry, no can do, you took that remember?”
“I didn't; Wendy did. Look, I'm sorry about that too. We've been nothing but mean to you. I realize that. We all do. Look, the others want you back. You’re …”
“I'll bet,” he said disgusted. He brushed his hands clear and straightened. “Free meal. I've got meal ticket written across my forehead now I bet. No, fool. That's better.”
She looked at him and sighed, fighting her own rising anger. Damn, why did he have to be so stubborn and pig headed? “Look I … okay I'm not handling this well,” she said. She got closer. Her eyes went down; she tried to look as appealing as possible. “Look, just help us. It won't hurt you. We won't hurt you I mean. We need you …,” her voice dropped off.
“Oh?” he asked keeping his distance. “I seem to remember a lot of pain the last time you got close, lady. Pass. I've got a busy schedule so if you don't mind, buzz off. Go bother someone else.”
Her eyes glittered, but she fought to keep her tone neutral. “Look damn it. What does it take to get through to you? We're in trouble.” She waved a hand back to the camp. “Half the group can't even move. A couple are real sick. Doc's not sure they'll live much longer. We need help,” she said. Her voice rose plaintively.
He eyed her for a long moment then shrugged such considerations off. We all do, lady, but you've got to be willing to help yourself.”
“What's that supposed to mean?” she demanded, jutting out her chin.
“It means working together. It means doing stuff you don't want to do. Like this, I bet,” he said glaring again. She blinked. “Don't think I don't know that you wouldn't be within a mile of me if you could help it, lady,” he demanded.
She blinked again, mentally off balance. Damn the man, he was smarter then he looked she realized, fighting to keep her eyes from narrowing. This wasn't going well she noted with a sudden sinking sensation. “That's not true. I said I was sorry.” She fought to keep her tone even and not strident.
“Right. Sorry now, not then. You got your point across,” he growled. She tried a different tactic and pouted. He rolled his eyes. His anger was with her, her and the other layabouts. But did he really have it in him to just let them die? He couldn't decide. He finally made up his mind to do at least a little, see where it led. If they couldn't pull themselves up, then they weren't worth the effort.
“You want help? My help?” he asked. She looked at him expectantly, thinking this was it. He was about to have her spread her legs for food, to prostitute herself. Instead, he pointed to the marsh area nearby. She followed his finger, now thoroughly confused.
“Fine. I'll help. The cattails you know about. Those curly things?” he pointed to a bunch of weird looking plants. “Those are also good eats. Dandelions? Great greens. You've got the making of a simple salad right there in front of you. It's not very nutritional, but it's something. Filling, if you’re into that sort of thing.” He looked around and then spotted what he wanted to find and bent over. A second later he was back up brandishing a snail. “Escargo?” He held up the snail in the morning light. “Something is better than nothing right now,” he lectured her. He pointed to a bunch of plants near the shade of a tree.
“See the pine tree?” She turned her head to look. “The pine cones that the squirrels and other animals missed have nuts. Nuts you can eat. See that?” he asked pointing to a hole. “That there is a warren for a rabbit I'll bet. Find the escape hole and put a snare over each hole and you'll get one,” he stated flatly. He picked up a trident fishing spear and looked at the stream. He pulled a leather bag out and dribbled stuff out of it.
“What's that?” she asked, wrinkling her nose at the wriggling things in the water. There was a bit of blood or something too she noted with a detached mind.
“Fish food. Bait,” he said. “I'd eat it, but I'm not that desperate. Frogs,” he said spearing a frog and then tossing it to her. She stepped back as it fell at her feet. “Frog legs. There is good meat there in the thighs. Meat means protein,” he explained, “which means you live. Throw pride away,” he said. He stabbed down and then swore. He pulled back and waited for the water to calm. He grinned as he checked the trap. “Not all bad,” he said.
“What?” she asked, picking up the frog by a leg. It was still moving, but not much. She wanted to bash it or something.
“I drove the fish school into the trap. I'll have to remember that trick sometime later,” he said with a note of approval in his voice. He pulled his shirt off, tied off the top holes then dropped it into the water. He dragged it until he caught a couple fish and tossed them to the bank. They flopped about until she hastily caught them from getting back into the water.
“It's not that hard. You’ve got to be patient,” he said. “This world has a bounty of treasures to offer if you open your eyes and look. It's even better than Earth. I'm not sure why.”
“Oh,” she said blinking.
“And you have to be willing to eat what would normally make you barf if you have to,” he finished. “Like I said, throw pride away, it just gets in the way at this point,” he said. He turned over rocks until he found grubs. He pulled them out and handed them to her. He brushed the dirt off and then popped one into his mouth. “These are good eating,” he said to her as she wrinkled her nose. She blinked at him and wrinkled her nose at the wriggling thing in her hands. “Don't think about it, just eat. Try to swallow it fast,” he told her patiently.
She shook and then popped it into her mouth. She gulped and felt at her throat. “Oh, my God.”
“Don't,” he urged. “Don’t barf. Just relax. Think of the energy,” he said. She shook her head, turning a bit greenish.
He pulled the fish out and then gutted them one by one with the knife. He flicked the entrails into the fish trap then tossed her a pair. “I don't need four. You can have that. Carry them by their gills, it's easier. Tell the trooper to make traps like I just showed you and check them twice a day. And don't mess them up,” he warned her.
She winced, remembering his trap. “Allen fell in,” she admitted.
“Yeah, I saw,” he replied dryly. “Next time be careful,” he said taking his shirt and untying the knots. She noted he was pretty buff. He had a few scars but his muscles we
re well defined. He'd lost most of his body fat as well. Absently he wrung the water out of his shirt and then put the shirt on a sunny patch to dry. “Do you see this?” He held up the tip of the spear. “Get someone to make rope with grass. Sharpen a stick. Find one bent in a fork and sharpen the ends and tie it to this. It makes it easier to catch them. It's a trident,” he explained.
He turned and looked around the area. After a moment he shook his head. You could throw it, but you'd need a rope on the end to pull it back. This stream is fast.”
“And cold,” she said shivering. “I don't know how you can stand it. You need to be careful to not get hypothermia,” she warned with a hint of concern in her voice. “Cold,” she echoed again, hugging herself.
“A bit,” he admitted. “You don't have any fat on you. None of you women do, so it's a bitch to stay warm. The best thing to do is to stay active. Keep your muscles moving and generating heat, though that takes fuel to do I know. Huddle up only at night together.”
She realized she was staring again when he cleared his throat and looked away. He looked about them and then met her gaze and then it was her turn to look away uncomfortably. Slowly she took the fish and frog. “Thanks,” she said softly.
“Ah hell, here.” He handed her the spear. She took it dubiously. He shrugged. “I've got another,” he said gruffly. He pulled another out of the long grass. “If they can't move much, have them straighten up and make weapons and tools. Stack rocks by the fire to heat them and direct the heat towards the people. Try to shit and piss away from the water. Boil the water before you drink it. It's not rocket science,” he said.
“Maybe for you. The rest of us are well …,” she shrugged.
“Soft. Yes, I know, all city slickers, all except that trooper. Alaskan or Canuke I bet,” he said. She nodded. “Yeah.” She watched as he strung the fish he had on a string and hefted the pole over his shoulder. “Tell him to make an atlatl or a bow from a good branch or sapling. It shouldn't be hard. Or make traps for the deer in the area.”
“Okay,” she said nodding. She wished she could make notes.
“Good luck,” he said gruffly before he walked off.
She blinked and felt a powerful urge to follow. He meant survival. Being with him meant survival she corrected herself. After a moment she turned to look back across the lake. Someone was looking at her. She could just make out Lori. People were there, friends now, people that needed her. They needed her help. His help, even if it was indirect. She sighed and carried the fish, frog, and spear back to camp.
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Back in camp she was met by an excited Lori. She told her story and then watched as Jim the cook stoked the fire and cooked the fish and frog. Jim's hands were shaking and not from the cold she realized. She told them about the trap and the things Bret had told her. Lori was smiling.
Dwayne and the hunters came back mostly empty handed. The others weren't happy. She told them about what Bret had said and showed them the spear. The trooper examined it and nodded in approval. He had her go over the story multiple times, explaining it over and over until she was heartily sick of telling it. But each time he gleaned something else, a glimmer of something she'd initially missed. She was impressed and realized he was using his training to draw as much knowledge out of her as he could. She only wished he'd been the one to talk with Bret.
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The next day they excitedly set out to check the trap. They picked off a few fish in the trap but left two for Bret despite a protest from the lawyer. “It's his trap, leave it. We've been down this road before,” Gisel said, now a changed woman. Dwayne nodded and motioned them to move on after he'd gutted the fish and dropped the offal back into the trap.
They took the fish back to camp. Dwayne stopped them at the other streams and had them show him the other traps. They rebuilt the traps the best they could. Feeling in better spirits, they went back to camp. She showed them the cattails and other plants, and they gathered bundles to eat as a salad. “The vegans will love this,” she said.
“Maybe. Let's get back to camp.”
There they made new spears and even a crude bow and arrow. They had no idea what an atlatl was. The evening meal is a hit though. People felt a little bloated after eating the food, but they were more energized later that evening and even more the next morning.
Dwayne went out that afternoon to check the snares. He came back with a possum and a weasel near midmorning. They eagerly stripped the carcass. Allen came back eagerly with news about a deer nearby. The trooper shook his head when he heard the description. “It's a musk deer or a mule deer. Trust me, kid, it's not good eating.”
“It's not? Why the hell not?” Allen asked indignantly. “It's venison, right? Besides, meat is meat.”
“Not quite. This meat is oily,” Dwayne said, dredging up what he knew about the deer. “They have very oily flesh; it's nasty with a bad aftertaste. It will turn everyone's stomach.”
“Dude!” Allen said, spreading his hands. He accidentally bumped into Gisel, then turned with a murmured apology. His outstretched hand backhanded Tanya right in the breasts. She gasped. “Sorry,” he murmured. He looked at Dwayne in appeal. “Right now, I don't care. Protein …”
Hayden snapped her fingers, getting their attention. “Oh, that reminds me!” the woman said, looking around. She pulled up the rock she'd been sitting on as a stool and looked. She picked out a grub and held it up. “Here is protein. Right under our noses,” she said popping it on a stick and putting it over the fire.
“You are not going to eat that are you, lady?” the lawyer asked aghast.
She looked at him with a smirk. Dwayne cleared his throat, and they turned to him. “Why not? I've been doing it the past week or so,” the trooper admitted. “That's why I've got what little energy I've got. Haven't you?” he demanded. The others shook their heads. He sighed in exasperation. “People, people, look. I keep telling you ….”
“Some things I can't do. Don’t ask me, bub,” the lawyer said shaking her head. “I mean seriously, eat bugs?” she demanded wrinkling her nose. “I saw that in a couple new age restaurants, and it turned my stomach then,” she said. She grimaced in distaste as Hayden ate the grub she had spitted.
“Hey, don't look at them like that,” Hayden said as she swallowed a second grub. “Think of them as nasty cooking. Sorry, Jim, no insult to you,” she said shooting the cook a look. He shrugged.
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At Bret's camp he had felled several small young trees with his flint ax and brought down another yearling elk, this one a doe. He wasn't happy about that; does were important to keep the population healthy and self-sustaining. But what was done was done he reminded himself.
When he had been skinning and dressing the meat, he had had a close encounter with a black bear. It had clucked at him but hadn't charged, allowing him to back away and get out of the area. It was a scary reminder that he wasn't alone in the woods.
He grimly determined to do better. The bears were obviously drawn to the blood and then to his kills. They could also be smelling any drippings from the pieces of meat he was carrying back to his base camp. That was not a good idea he thought. He couldn't help but shiver at the idea of running into a bear at night.
He would have to make sure any future kills were further out, get what he could easily carry, and then get clear of the area quickly. The trick was to get the head and offal out fast and then rig a sling or travertine sled to pull the kill away from the scraps he thought, rubbing his beard. Hopefully without leaving a blood trail he reminded himself.
He has enough rock and space cleared for his planned hut or cabin, but he was not sure about how far to take it. He needed shelter, permanent shelter. Something to last through the winter … unless he wanted to take his chances and migrate south.
He had been curious about building a tree fort. Again he looked up at the trees around the area. After a moment he shook his head. It would be a wasted effort. Most of the tre
es around the area were conifers, pines, spruces, and the odd birch, maple, and oak. Most of them were young pines and spruces though. With the warm temperatures of spring during the day, the sap was already running, making it a pain in the ass to cut the trees with his improvised ax and hatchet.
When he got calluses, he had to scale back his efforts and clean his hands carefully. He had calluses, just not the right ones. A few blisters had him worried. The last thing he needed was to get an infection.
When it was obvious he needed to pace the wood cutting, he tried to work on other structures. He knew he would need more than one eventually, so he mapped out what he wanted to do.
Trees around the perimeter he mentally marked for use as wood or convenient poles for buildings or fence posts. Anything too big to handle fell into the pole category obviously.
He made a teepee with small trees, branches, and the base on top of rocks he had collected. The walls of the teepee were woven fir branches and pieces of hide that hadn't quite been turned into leather properly. He was still getting the hang of that process and knew the hide would rot, especially if it got wet. It would start to stink too.
Still the tepee was home. He ran his hands over it and then piled additional material near in case of gaps or needle loss. He had to make certain of replenishing the pile periodically.
When he was ready, he tried out a fire in the fire pit inside the teepee, making certain the smoke-hole vent worked. He didn't like how high the flames got with pine needles, so he made a note to use other things if possible or not use the fire at all. The last thing he wanted was to wake with the place going up in a fireball around him. Or not wake at all, he thought darkly.
He had another fire pit outside. The beginnings of a kiln was nearby as well as a smoke rack. All was good, he thought munching on a piece of venison. But why did he have that damned nagging feeling. His conscience no doubt, he thought, trying to put images of the girl and the others out of his mind.