by Chris Hechtl
“Are you boiling and filtering water?” Bret asked.
Jim nodded. “Yeah, but two of the ditzes went and drank direct from the stream again,” Jim said sourly.
Bret winced. “That's not good. Parasites,” he shook his head. “Nasty shit. Dysentery. Watch out for Diarrhea. It's no joke. It can dehydrate and kill a healthy person in a couple of days easily,” Bret warned.
“It tastes better then boiled. Boiled … we're using clothes and stuff. It tastes like boiled sweat sock,” Bill said. They wrinkled their noses.
Bret fought to keep from rolling his eyes. “Then filter it,” Bret said and then shrugged at their expressions. Did he have to think of everything, he thought? He had been filtering his boiled water from almost day one.
“Filter?” Hayden asked.
“Run the water through charcoal and then through a screen. Charcoal, clean grass, and then a piece of muslin or other cloth. Sock if you have to. Use a tube,” Bret explained impatiently.
The girl nodded. “Like a water filter. Got it.”
“It is a water filter,” he said. “Charcoal isn't activated carbon, but it's the next best thing.”
“Oh.”
“Make a hole in the ground about a yard across. Line it with rocks and clay. Let it dry and then fill it with clean water and make a stew. Heat it with hot rocks from the fire,” he suggested. “You can feed that to the sick and injured.”
Jim blinked at him in surprise. “Seriously? Dude? Where do you come up with these things?”
Bret smiled roguishly. “Irish. My grandparents went to Ireland and saw it. Ireland or Scotland. I don't remember,” he waved. “Sheep herders used that trick for thousands of years. Stew goes longer then eating something straight.”
“Oh.”
“I don't have much more time,” he said, looking at the sun. It was steadily ticking up, which meant it would eventually be ticking down. It was a good hour’s walk up the hill back to his base camp. Trading with them helped; he had deft fingers but having someone else do the task was easier on him. It allowed him to focus on other things. He grimaced and then took a shot in the dark. “If you want another haunch from that boar, be here tomorrow with the same stuff around the same time if not earlier. Maybe a plate too if you've got one,” he said picking up his weapons. “Later,” he said walking off with a wave.
Hayden watched him go in surprise and looked at the others. The menfolk shrugged. She tried to take his departure in stride.
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When Hayden and the two men got back to their camp, they smiled. They were welcomed with smiles in return. Everyone was doing better, though Toshi didn't look that great. With fresh protein they had more energy to get things done. The voluptuous Tanya was kept busy. Two of the women brought back bundles of grass for her to weave all day long. Lucile was busy using clay Wayne was bringing to her to make pots and plates.
Those who didn't want to leave camp were kept busy doing their best to improve it. They used pieces of rope to try to tie together branches and pieces of debris from the plane to make the shelters better. Or they ground the ends of sticks onto rocks to sharpen them into stakes that they planted around the perimeter in an improvised dragon's teeth.
They talked about the rucksacks and stuff they had found out from Bret. Doc crossed her arms as she listened and nodded at the pitch thing but winced at the idea. “It's a sticky mess,” she muttered. “I'd hate to be desperate enough to have to try it. I think I remembered in my medical texts that it had been done back in medieval times,” she said with a shiver. “I still can't believe we've been reduced to … this,” she said with hunched shoulders.
Hayden eyed her. “It's better than nothing. Did you look into using a needle to sew wounds, Doc?” the girl asked.
“Um …”
“Keep it in mind, Doc. We'll figure out a needle and sinew thread for you. It'll be ghastly but better than nothing,” Hayden said, remembering what the handyman had said about fish bones. Florence nodded reluctantly.
“If you can whip up a needle and thread, we could do a lot to fix up the clothes we've got,” Tanya said from where she was sitting nearby. “And an awl would work out great for stitching other stuff,” she pointed out. The two women looked to her and then nodded.
Bill and Jim cooked the meat and made an improved shelter. They talked animatedly about a proper teepee and how to make one. Miguel got back with the hunters and was wasted. The group had caught a small feral pig, but it had been a bitch to catch. One of the guys had been cut up by the teeth before they'd killed it. Doc went to work on him immediately, muttering about sepsis and proper working conditions. Hayden did her best to assist.
When she had a free moment, Hayden grimly thought of what Bret had said and got Tanya to make her a bone needle and thread from human hair. She handed it to Doc who grimly did her best to sew up the worst of the stockbroker's wounds. “He was damn lucky. The wounds are on his legs, and they aren't that deep. If he'd been gored, he'd be dead,” he said. The man moaned softly. She made sure the wounds were cleaned with boiled water before covering them with rags.
“He said to let the flies on them, Doc,” Hayden said cautiously, feeling like she was going out on a limb by trusting Bret's knowledge. Florence frowned and turned to her.
“He did?” Florence asked, putting one hand on the man's forehead and then neck to check for signs of a fever.
“Yeah, something about de something or other and gangrene.”
Florence blinked. “Oh. Debriding?” the internist asked. Hayden nodded. Florence looked thoughtful and then returned the nod. “Smart guy,” she said in approval. She looked over to where Bill and Jim were arguing with the construction guy about making their own fir branch teepee. She shook her head in resignation. They obviously barely had a clue.
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The next day they get the new haunch and trade gear. Wayne, the former car dealer, went with them since Doc made him get up to move. He admitted to feeling better, but he was tired. He immediately got a little uppity with Bret, pointing out that he wanted the stuff they made. He even made a play at renegotiating the deal based on the weight of meat to products, but Bret cut him off with a cold glare.
“Shut up,” Hayden said through gritted teeth to the guy. She stepped on his foot, and Bill gruffly pushed him behind them. “Sorry,” the girl said.
Jim dressed the meat, giving the heaviest load to the loud mouth and telling him to head off immediately. Bill cleared the fish trap with Hayden as Bret handed over his spare bow and arrows and got a lid on his temper. Obviously it was going back to the same old usual bullshit back at their camp. Pretty soon it would go south he thought darkly.
“Find each and every arrow you shoot,” he warned. They frowned. “Trust me. They are a pain in the ass to make. Hours for each one, so they are worth their weight in gold.”
The cook frowned but nodded. “Yeah, I getcha,” Jim said looking them over. He nodded again. They weren't perfect but a sight better then what the camp currently was trying to use. Each arrow had a notched end with pieces of feathers for fletching. The flint tips were held on with thread and dried sap. Clubs and crude spears just didn't cut the mustard. They were trying though. Trying and in general failing. With these he thought they'd do better, or hoped so. They'd at least get a shot at range. “Things are looking up,” he said.
“This is boar haunch like I said,” Bret said, pointing to the meat.
“Boar ham tonight,” the cook said grinning. His eyes lit. “Bacon! Pork fat really does rule!” he said, licking his lips.
Bret snorted. “Glad someone approves,” he said. “I've got some smoking actually,” Bret said with a snort. Jim blinked and then nodded. “I need some hickory and some more maple to do it right though,” he said shaking his head. “I've got peppercorn so at least it's a little spicy.”
“Dude, are you pulling my leg?” Jim asked, staring at him in disbelief. Bret handed him a peppercorn. Jim blinked at it, turni
ng it over in his hands thoughtfully.
“And smoking it?”
“Nope. It's easy. Just cut the meat and hang it from a hook near a fire. I use a drying rack and a rock wall to handle the heat and direct the smoke. Indirect is best; if you aren't careful, the drippings will catch fire and whoosh,” he said. Jim nodded again. “Throw some wet wood chips or needles and you'll get smoke.”
“So that's where you live,” Bill said with a nod. “I saw the smoke.”
“Yeah, that's me,” Bret said with a wary nod. He’d forgotten that. Signal smoke. Duh. He could kick himself.
“Cool,” Bill said as he finished gutting the fish and flicking the guts back into the trap for more bait. He strung a string through their gills. “Five. Cool. A couple ounces each but something is better than nothing,” he said.
“Make a glove or cover your fingers when you use the bow. The cord can cut your fingers. Oh, and get a cover for the inside wrist. It protects against the slap of the string,” Bret said.
“Oookay.”
“Just pass it on to the person who is going to use it. They'll get the message after a few times firing it,” he said.
Jim nodded. “All right, I'll do that,” Jim replied, slightly amused. “I wish I could write it down.”
“I haven't gotten to paper yet. No time to make any,” Bret replied with a shrug. The girl snorted. She remembered making paper in school as a child. She thought about the memory and then her eyes widened slightly. Slowly she nodded. Yes, indeed. Helen would know she thought; she'd probably taught a class. There were a lot more things they could do if they could get over their being here and had the time and materials.
“Tell your guys to be careful of burning pitch. I had a scare,” Bret warned them, pointing to a missing eyebrow. Bill looked closer and then snorted as he leaned back.
“I thought I could use it to scare off a bear, but I learned it's not a good idea. There is a trick to it but it's trouble.”
“Oh, ouch.”
“You are lucky you didn't burn the whole forest down,” Bill said with a shake of his head.
“Oh, I did the test near the cabin. It's well …,” he shrugged. “Rocks and stuff,” he mumbled. Hayden blinked at him and smiled.
“Cabin?” Bill asked trying to hide his envy. Bret shrugged.
“I'd like to see it,” Hayden said softly. Bill looked at her and snorted.
“I'll bet,” Bill said dryly. “Me, I'd love to live in it.” When it was clear Bret wasn't going to volunteer to share, he poked Jim who looked up. “Are you ready?”
“Um, yeah,” Jim said.
Bret frowned and then handed a sack to the girl. Hayden blinked and looked at it and blushed. “I'll be back in a couple days. These trips are crimping my plans. I need to get what I can done before the weather changes. Summer heat will be a pain in the ass to work in, but fall …,” he shook his head. “I am so not looking forward to winter snow,” Bret said gruffly.
“Me neither,” Bill murmured. Jim nodded grimly. He worked his jaw but didn't say anything. They waved as they split up.
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She examined her feelings and her camp and compatriots as they come back to their home. Things were better; there were drying racks now, places for various things here and there. Each of them had a shelter now, so they didn't have to pair up if they didn't want to. There were several fire pits around the area, each for cooking or other things. There were racks for drying things out in the sun. They had even started working on a crude perimeter wall out of lashed together branches around the camp. They had started to regularly wash their clothes in the stream and even taken baths. Things were looking a little better.
She wished Bret would come back; she knew it would be a hell of a lot better. Somehow she knew he was a couple steps ahead of them even though he was only one person. She sighed. Jim eyed her, but she shrugged the look off and kept trudging back home. Home, she thought, how depressing.
The hunters had stayed close to base. When they saw the trio returning from a distance, they joined them. Dwayne nodded as they came back into camp. “Welcome,” he said, passing his improvised bow to Allen.
He took the bow and then examined it, testing the draw. He finally smiled in approval and nodded at the sight of the homemade arrows. “Nice,” he said counting the arrows. “Six,” he said neutrally. They'd have to do he thought.
“Six? Only six?” the waitress demanded stridently. “You mean to tell me we spent all day lugging grass, I've got itchy shit in my hair, and my fingers are cut up from … for six measly arrows?”
“And a bow. And some more food,” Jim said, eyes flashing a bit.
“But six?”
“It took hours to make each arrow apparently,” the woman said coming to his defense when a few of the haters started to group together. “Look at it—feathers, the stone blade tip, the threading. It's a bitch to make I bet. We certainly can't do it.” she said, fully defensive waving her hand angrily.
“She's right,” the trooper said nodding to her and looking over his shoulder to the others. He tested the draw again with an arrow. “I'll need to test it, but it's better than mine. Fifty-pound draw at least. Good. We can definitely use this.”
“It beats clubs any day,” one of the hunters muttered.
“Careful. He said be careful with the arrows and to recover each,” she cautioned, sounding concerned. Dwayne nodded.
“And wear a bracer and bow glove,” Jim said. The girl looked at him. “I remembered a bit from Robin Hood now,” he explained. She snorted. So did the trooper.
The trooper took a smaller group and went off to hunt. They came back less than two hours later with a turkey of all things. “Hey look, it's Thanksgiving!” Jim joked when he held the bird up by the ankles.
“It's a hen. I hated having to kill her, but we need the food,” Dwayne said, cradling the bow.
They dressed the bird, but Jim and the others had a bit of a problem with the pin feathers “I wonder how he does it?” Hayden asked, wrinkling her nose.
“Find out.”
The young woman shook her head. “He won't be there for a couple days,” she said, sounding a bit put out over that.
“Oh?” Dwayne asked, turning to her.
She grimaced. “He said he's taking too much time coming down to the shore, something about bears.”
“I've seen a few,” the trooper replied with a knowing nod. “You have to be careful. Make a lot of noise so they know you are in the area.” He frowned thoughtfully and then rubbed his furry chin. “I bet they are waking up now. It must be scary being out on your own.”
“Hell, it's scary now with them around,” Tanya said looking around nervously to the dark beyond the fires. After a moment all the women and even some of the men were doing it, creeping together and closer to the fire as they looked about the darkness around them. The trooper sighed.
“Well, since we've got an extra day and extra food and it looks like it's going to rain, we can work on stuff here,” he said firmly. He nodded to Miguel who nodded back.
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The next day it rained for several hours. At first it was a light mist, then it began to pick up speed and force until it was a steady drizzle and then rain. Those that were bored in the group due to the enforced inactivity kicked or pitched rocks into the lake and patched the shelters the best they could. Fortunately they have an extra shelter for some of the firewood and materials so they were kept reasonably dry.
Dwayne went out into the wet when the rain momentarily stopped. He came back when the rain started again, cursing softly at the unwanted moisture. He shook and tried to dry himself off with Helen's assistance. Since he was cold, he moved in closer to the fire. Doc worried about his catching pneumonia or hypothermia from the exposure to the cold and wet. Helen bit her lip and stuck close to her man, huddling with him under a blanket.
On the following day, it dried out slowly due to the cloud covered skies. The sun wanted to peek out,
but it seemed the clouds weren't quite ready to finish wringing out all their moisture or just wanted to stubbornly cling to the area. They planned out what to do but scaled things back to the local area in case of more rain. Dwayne took half the hunters to hunt while Miguel and Bill improved the shelters, patching holes where they had appeared in roofs and doing their best to create paths with branches so people could get about without churning the dirt up into mud and muck.
In the afternoon they started to gather rocks before they decided it would be best to talk with the expert. They tracked down Lucile, the aide turned potter, for her knowledge on how to build a kiln.
“I don't know!” she said helplessly.
“Do what you can. Try to remember.”
“The kiln that I used was a box about yay big,” she measured a distance with her hands. “And it got hot then cooled off. This is …,” she waved her hands helplessly.
“I remember a little,” she finally said when they looked away crestfallen. Bill turned back to her. “I mean, a little from a tour in a museum,” she finally said.
“Anything will do at this point,” he said softly, urging her to continue. She hesitantly described a beehive design. “That will do,” he said, squeezing her shoulder. She ducked her head as he turned away and went to work with Miguel.
The gatherers had split into two groups. One gets firewood, complaining about everything being wet. The other gathered what plant food that they could find.
In the afternoon the hunters came back with two turkeys and a sow. They were in great spirits. “Now that's more like it!” Dwayne said triumphantly, hefting the bow over his head. The group clapped and cheered.
They ate well that night, but Jim and Dwayne remembered to save some for later. A few people complained about their being stingy with the portions, but Jim just mulishly dug in his heels and put the remainder of the food away. When a few of the guys looked ready to steal it, he set upright on top of it to keep the larder secure.
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The next morning he was proven right when they reheated the leftovers for breakfast. Hayden was anxious to get going. She knew no one had checked the fish trap for days; it might have flooded due to the rain or been destroyed.