by Chris Hechtl
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Hayden went to the trap every day and brought back a couple of fish. She was hopeful she would run into Bret, and when she realized that hope, she started to examine her feelings. She wasn't sure where it would lead. Did she like the guy because he was so mysterious, so gruff? The black sheep? Or because he had saved her? Or was it something else? She felt for the man. He must feel so alone, yet he refused to give up his pride and return to the group. Stubborn, she admitted she liked that in a man.
“If I can go with him, I will,” she told Dwayne, not looking at him. “If he'll have me. God, I wish I hadn't kicked the guy now,” she said, closing her eyes.
“I take it you like him now?”
“Yes. I'm kind of mixed up about it. I'm not sure what I am feeling. But he … he's a provider, you know?” He nodded grudgingly. “He's … safe.” She shrugged uncomfortably.
“I see. Well, you do what you have to do to survive,” he agreed.
Tanya had enough energy to weave some more mats and rope. Her nimble fingers were tripped up a few times, but Hayden brought the samples with her anyway.
They ran into each other on the third day. She was eager to see him. He had gotten a haunch of elk to put in the pool. There weren't any pools near his new camp—one of the downsides of being there. He had considered rigging a sling and suspending the excess meat under the waterfall, but he was fairly certain the grass rope wouldn't hold up under the constant water flow so he didn't want to risk losing the precious meat. Hayden was eagerly staring at the meat and licked her lips.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi, yourself. What?”
“I, um, they sent me over to trade,” she told him. It was difficult to tear her eyes away from the meat.
He eyed her for a moment then nodded slowly. “What do you have?” he asked amused, setting the haunch down.
She stared at him. “Um, isn't that heavy?”
“A bit,” he said wiping his brow on his clean shoulder. He rolled his shoulders. “Just a bit. More bulky than anything else. And well …,” he waved at the insects hovering around him and the haunch. The flies were beginning to buzz. She winced and tried not to wrinkle her nose at the smell of blood. Bret shrugged. “This is the price of hunting and staying alive I guess,” he said trying to ignore the pests. He was pretty sure a few of them were laying maggots in the meat. He couldn't do much about it though. It was disgusting, but they were also protein.
“I hate the things but they do good,” he said. She turned to look at him. He shrugged under her gaze. “If you're hurt they will debride a wound and keep it from going gangrene,” he explained. She blinked in surprise. “Don't forget to tell Doc to remember that,” he told her. She frowned thoughtfully and then smiled.
“You are full of things like that,” she said, smiling indulgently at him. “Useful things,” she said. He caught the look and snorted.
He nodded his chin to what she had tucked under her arm. “So, what do you have?” he asked, raising an eyebrow in inquiry.
She pulled out the mat and rope. He nodded. “I can get more,” she said, eying the haunch.
He nodded. “Okay, two mats, two ropes for the haunch,” he said.
“Deal!” she grinned. He cut a piece off and handed it to her.
“You've got two hours to bring the rest back. When you do, you get the other half,” he said to her. “Are all of the fish gone?” he asked, expecting that they had taken them all. She blinked at the slight bite in his tone.
“We left you a couple,” she said with a shake of her head.
He nodded. “Okay, I'll take care of that while I wait.”
“Take a bath,” she suggested. She winced internally knowing it sounded a little like an order.
“That too,” he replied with a snort and sidelong look of amusement.
She left, checking over her shoulder. He wrapped an end of the rope around the leg and dropped the haunch into the water to keep it cool. He sniffed at his underarm and then snorted. He took a quick bath and laid his clothes out by the side of the stream in the sun. He checked the trap and caught a few fish and gutted them while he was in the water.
When she came back, he was dressed, and the fish were on a string through their gills. There was a couple extra on the string, and each had been expertly gutted. He nodded warily as she waved the rolled-up rug and rope. Bill and Jim had come along with her. “Here,” she said looking around. He pointed to the piece of rope going to the water. “Keeping it fresh,” he explained. “The cold water is like a fridge. You can keep meat for a couple days like that.”
“Ah. So that's why you do that,” she said nodding. He took the things from her gently and nodded as Jim pulled the haunch out. The cook whistled softly. “Dude! How do you do it?”
“I’ve hunted with a bow since I was ten,” Bret replied with a diffident shrug.
“Oh.”
“Of course, I had used a compound bow,” he said, looking down at his improvised bow. “But hey, this works,” he said hefting his bow. “Making the staves and the arrows are a pain in the ass,” he grimaced.
“Really? Yeah, we've been having that problem.”
Bret frowned thoughtfully. “I remember how to make it; I saw a documentary on it. I used to eat that shit up,” he said. The others snorted. “The trick is to make a steam box, steam the wood, and then straighten it in a jig.” He grimaced and shook his head, scratching an itch. “Which I don't have, so I have to straighten it over the fire,” he sighed shaking his head as he remembered all the bows he'd burnt and tossed during the process of trying to make a decent one. “Have you been using the fish bones?”
“Um …,” they blinked at him in confusion.
He sighed. “I'm guessing no?” They shook their heads.
“No. Okay. Here goes,” he said, entering lecture mode again. “Fish bones and other small bones can be used as fish hooks, awls, or needles. The Indians did it. The Alaskan trooper may know Inuit methods,” he said.
“Okay,” Bill said amused. He tried to make a mental note to ask Dwayne when they got back to the camp. He hefted the haunch. Jim was a tall gangly guy but pretty gaunt. He tried to take an end, but Bill brushed him off.
“Anyone making clay pots?” Bret asked. They looked at him, clearly confused by the question. He sighed again, fighting the sudden powerful amount of frustration that welled up in him. “Okay. Think about it. My mom did some artsy fartsy stuff so I remember it. Find some good clay; it's usually white. You can find it under the top soil or exposed on the shore. There is some over there,” he said pointing to where he found his supply. “Clean it, then make stuff like plates and pots out of it, keeping it wet until you've got what you've wanted shaped. Then dry it by the fire and in the sun. It'll be porous and brittle, but something is better than nothing.”
“Um …”
“Porous, not fine china. Brittle and not very good without a proper firing and a good glaze. But it works to store or cook stuff,” he said, shrugging. “I tell you what. I'll trade another haunch for a couple more rugs, some more of this rope, and a clay pot. It doesn't have to be perfect, but it does need to be fire dried.”
“Okay,” Bill said looking at the others. Hayden nodded eagerly. She looked at the males and then waved as he picked up his gear and left whistling. He made sure to go off down the shoreline to the east and out of sight of them and the camp across the shore before cutting in on a deer trail back to his home trail. He realized he would have to remember to be careful not to leave a trail back to his new camp. He'd have to vary his route.
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The others got back to their base happy and laughing. The people there were enthused when they smelled the meat and saw their comrades returning. Jim had spitted a piece of the haunch the girl had brought back; Lori was eagerly picking pieces off of it to feed to the sick and feeble.
The vegetarians still protested eating meat, but they didn't balk at eating fish, berries, or the greens others b
rought back. They whined constantly about being tired, nauseous, bloated, and sore. One or two had diarrhea; Doc was concerned. She was not sure if it was the water or the berry diet. It was hard to roust them out to get them to do anything.
The hunters were surprised that everyone was happy when they came back with just a possum and little else. The group was eating and talking animatedly. “Let me guess, Santa visited?” Miguel the construction worker asked. They also had some greens but not much. They deposited what they had collected near the cooking fire.
The trooper snorted. The girls were grinning.
“So, the honey trap worked?”
“Hmm, honey, has anyone seen bees?” Now that she had more food and energy, it was easier to think she realized. Perhaps that would work with the others?
“What does that … never mind,” the trooper said shaking his head. “I take it he ….” He wasn't sure if he wanted to know if she traded food for sex.
“He traded for them. Three woven mats and some rope,” the girl said, ignoring the Alaskan's unasked question.
“She snatched the mat out from under me,” Tayna said with a laugh. “Worth it,” she said defusing the girl's look of apology with a hand. “I can make more, which apparently he wants. I'm glad he appreciates my deft fingers. I always loved braiding.”
“He wants another trade. Same deal.” She told them the details.
“Ah, good,” the trooper replied with a nod of approval. The group relaxed at that sign of approval.
“Two, no, three mats, three coils of rope … did he say how long?” Bill asked. The girl and Jim shook their heads. Jim shrugged. “Okay, make it like twenty feet. And oh yeah, a pot.”
“Pot? Like weed?” he wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Like we need that now?”
“No, a clay pot,” she replied with a shake of her head. “He said he wanted one fired.”
“Um …”
“I can do it,” the female aide said quietly. They turned to look at her. She hunched her shoulders. Her friend rubbed her arm. "I did some pottery in high school," she said shyly.
“We should’ve thought of that, so simple,” the construction worker said with a nod. “I can use river rock to make a better fire pit with some clay.”
“He mentioned that a while ago,” the girl said embarrassed at forgetting.
“True,” the trooper said with a nod. He wasn't happy about losing one of his hunters. Then again, they were consistently coming up empty handed.
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Dwayne pointed out a bank of clay nearby, and the next morning they gathered some of the slippery stuff in a crude basket. It took a couple baskets to get enough for them to give modeling a pot a try.
They started with simple shapes; some of the workers commenting about being back in grade school playing with Play-Doh as they worked. But after a couple of tries, they had made a few pots, a mug, a bowl, and a couple halfway decent plates. The girls were amused by the progress and quite proud of themselves for the work. They washed up, took a rest break, and then went back at it. Since they had the rough process down, they went on to try to make more complex shapes. They made a few plates and a pitcher too, then left them in the sun to dry. They used the last of the clay to make extras for their own camp.
“I don't think they will hold water well, but it's something,” Jim said, examining the sun-dried mug.
“Hey! It's better than nothing!” Tanya said defensively. The cook nodded.
They put the pottery near the fire to help dry them, then let them cool overnight. Some of their work cracked due to being too close to the fire or drying unevenly, but some held up. They liked that they could boil water with it if they were careful. The pots didn’t last long though; they couldn't handle regular use. “We need a glaze,” Lucile murmured.
Hayden glanced her way and then away. At least she was working now, the girl thought as she went back to her own work.
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She met him at the trap site three days later. When he caught sight of her, he snorted loud enough for her to spin around and spot him. She smiled tentatively at him. She had the rugs, rope, and pot as well as an improvised broom and some other things they had made. Now that they had energy, the group's morale was improving. Bret's example was getting them to start thinking of various things they could make to improve their lives, not just wallow in self-pity. It was changing their base camp for the better.
He nodded to her but then caught sight of the two guys nearby. His body language stiffened slightly. She caught his gaze and then followed it to the two men. She realized he was now wary. Bill and Jim are there to do the heavy lifting. They had poles to carry the haunch.
He came down warily and was amused to see the men pulling fish from the fish trap. They nodded politely to him. He nodded back. He set the haunch down. It was a rear haunch from a buck, easily 250 pounds. He rolled his shoulder to relieve the strain he'd put on it and his collar bone.
“Dude!” the cook said looking at the thing. Bret had cut off the leg at the knee, shortening it to just the meat. He'd wrapped it in broad leaves. It was clean and fresh.
“Damn, still warm,” Jim said admiringly as he put a hand near it.
“I got it this morning early,” Bret said. “Dawn's the best time to hunt,” he replied with a shrug.
“Really,” the guys said.
“Hunting is best done then. I picked off a boar yesterday,” he said stretching.
“Damn, pig, good eats there,” Jim said with a grin.
Bret made a face. “Maybe for you. I'm not an Emril pig fat fan.”
“Um,” Bill looked at him in confusion. Emril Lagasse was apparently before his time.
“Pork fat rules,” Jim said amused as he looked the haunch over. “Cool,” he said.
“Um, can we trade for a bow and set of arrows? Maybe more than one set?” Bill asked carefully. He tried to heft the haunch but couldn't. “Shit man, have to cut it up,” he muttered.
“Yeah, probably,” the cook said with a reluctant nod. He realized the thin poles they had brought wouldn't take the weight.
“I dunno,” Bret said carefully. He cleaned himself up in the stream. He glanced in the fish trap; they had left some for him. “You can keep all the fish; I've got enough food for now,” he announced, shaking water droplets off.
“Oh, cool,” Bill nodded as Jim cut the haunch up at the knee. He went over and hefted a trident and tried to catch the remaining fish. Hayden saw his efforts and snorted as she watched, arms crossed. She was still cold and wondered if she'd ever feel warm again. Knowing their luck probably not until summer.
Jim finished portioning the meat into three sections and then washed up. “Thanks, man. You have no idea,” he said shaking Bret's hand when he got to his feet. Bret winced when he hit a blister.
“What?” Jim asked, reading his expression.
“Nothing. It's a blister,” Bret replied, holding his hand up so they could see it.
“Blister?” the cook asked.
Bill looked. “Shit man, don’t pop it.”
Bret grimaced. “I'm trying not to. I'll probably need to lance it if it doesn't go down soon,” Bret said with an exhaled breath as the stinging subsided.
“How did you get it? Hunting?” the girl asked, suddenly concerned.
Bret looked over to her. “No, cutting a tree down. I need a better ax,” he said looking the blister over. He shook his hand out a bit.
“An ax?” Bill asked eyes wide. “You have an ax? There weren't any on the plane.”
“Cutting a tree down?" Jim asked as well, looking surprised. “You cut a tree down? Seriously?”
“I've been cutting trees down. Been doing that since we got here. They need to dry out though. The ones I'm using for the teepee are dripping sap,” Bret replied with a grimace.
“Teepee? Sap?”
“Yeah,” Bret sighed shaking his head and running a hand through his hair. He winced at the tangles. "Damn sap gets into your hair, an
d it's worse than gum," he said. He roughly pulled the tangle out. He finger combed his hair for a moment. Fortunately his hair had started short. “I'm probably going to have to shave my head at this rate,” he said picking hair and sticky bits from his fingers. “It is one way to keep fleas at bay too.”
Hayden winced in sympathy. The other men looked at each other.
“The sap is good for stuff,” Bret said, rolling on and not really noticing their expressions. “Boil it and pitch sap's great for sealing wounds or cracks and stuff,” he explained and then shrugged. “It's a work in progress. I'm working on it in other words,” he said, dropping the subject. “Is that the stuff?” he asked pointing to the gear. They looked down at it and then nodded. “Okay, I gotta get going. I got that boar by accident, dropped the frigging tree on him. He was just there, hiding in a hole under a bush nearby. Pure dumb luck. But there is a bear sniffing around my camp site now so I've got to keep an eye out,” he sighed.
Jim winced. “Ouch.”
Bret nodded, cold sober. “I suggest you do the same. Don't bury food. Hang it by a rope over the fire or stick it in one of those pools as long as the water is cold,” he said picking up the bundle of gear. “Oh, and tell your people to work on a rucksack and drag system. You'll need it to carry heavy loads,” he explained.
Hayden frowned thoughtfully. “Um.” She looked confused to Jim and Bill. Bill shrugged, unsure about what he was talking about either.
“If you don't have a backpack or duffel, then it's the next best thing. It is easier to carry stuff," he said, demonstrating. He used pieces of rope to fashion shoulder straps then put the entire bundle on his back. “See? There,” he said bouncing to make certain it was snug. Everything fit and nothing shook loose. “That's better. And my hands are free,” he said, spreading his hands to show them, then picking up his staff.
They were quiet for a moment. Finally Bill nodded. “Gotcha,” he said gruffly.