A Long Time Until Now - eARC

by Michael Z. Williamson

He heard a distant yip.

  If those damned wolves were around, they’d need spears or bows. The ones that hit Alexander yesterday had been beautiful animals, and he respected them. They’d also yield a warm fur that frost wouldn’t form on.

  If they were here forever, he planned to wear a few.

  He wanted to change his underwear and his socks again. It was going on two days since the last change, and they were crunchy. Hygiene was important. The field was messier than garrison, but there was no reason to become lice-picking savages.

  MRAPs were completely the wrong vehicle for this terrain. It was amazing they hadn’t rolled them both. The walking pace helped; had they just driven they’d definitely have spilled. Even like this, though, they constantly pushed twenty degrees of incline, and that was risky.

  He had seen the river earlier. They weren’t going to die of thirst. That long line of trees was obvious. It was a long way, though, especially detouring so the vehicles could have as flat a run as possible.

  There were all kinds of animals here. They’d seen a second herd of rhino. There were goats by the billions. Some large antelope things that might be saiga or a relative. Rabbits, or probably hares, popped up here and there. Wolves. They might have seen a lion. Caswell thought she had.

  Devereaux whistled and waved, and pointed. He angled over that way at a fast walk.

  The ground in front of Devereaux was rocky and lumpy under the scrub. Spiky stalks of bushes protruded between them. Yeah, that would have stopped the vehicle, permanently. The LT was being cautious, but he’d been right. Spencer would have driven right up on it, possibly into it, before identifying it.

  “Good find. It’s clearer over my way. They’ll have to turn sharp left.”

  He jogged back through clouds of bugs and windblown grass and gave Spencer that information.

  Spencer nodded. “Right. I hope we don’t run into any dead ends.”

  “It’s getting better. I can see the trees.”

  “Yes, I can too. But that means the terrain will get rougher.”

  “Hopefully the glaciers did their job.”

  Spencer nodded. “Hopefully.”

  If Doc was correct about when it was. If they were there.

  There was no way home right now, so he tried to put it out of his mind.

  Martin Spencer was chagrined. Yes, they really did need to go that slowly, and he should have known that, and he’d have wrecked a vehicle figuring it out. The fatigue and fear was affecting him as much as anyone.

  They made slow progress, but it was progress. They were all together, so if anything happened they’d hopefully not wind up with three poor bastards left behind while the trucks went home, but he was afraid of that every moment he was detached to the ground. A mere 100 meters was causing him to freak out.

  He scratched at his chin. The growth there was enough to be irritating, even before a helmet chinstrap. They were all looking and smelling like bums. His skin was greasy with sweat, and gritty.

  A blast from the horn made him jump, and he turned, expecting more wolves.

  Elliott waved him back. The trucks were at a nice flat spot he’d crossed a few minutes before. They throttled off and everyone debarked. The sun was sinking in the west over long hills. They’d been at this fourteen hours. Barker was breaking sticks and starting a small fire in a little hollow.

  Elliott said, “Okay, we’ll bivouac here tonight. And we need to assess food and water.”

  Water was getting critical. If they didn’t find some tomorrow, they’d be out.

  “What do we do for water?” he asked.

  Barker said, “We can dig a sump anywhere there’s damp rocks or a hollow. But we have to find them. If we find a stream or meadow, we use it.”

  Spencer said, “We reach the river down there fast. We can see it. We need to get there. Otherwise, we need to sit out a day with a solar still over plants and a latrine and get what water we can, but it’s not going to be enough. We have to move.”

  “It’s hilly down there,” Dalton said. “Ridges and stuff.”

  Elliott said, “We seem to have about eight klicks to go. We’ll do it tomorrow. We have the fuel. If need be, we’ll run along a ridge or valley instead of crossing them.”

  Barker and Dalton were muttering something and not paying attention.

  Spencer looked over, irritated. “Gentlemen, as informal as it is, this is a formation.”

  Dalton said, “Sorry, sir, and Sergeant. We were discussing something.”

  “What?”

  Dalton looked at Elliott. “Permission to shoot a goat, sir? At least we’ll have some fresh food, and it’ll mean the MREs last a bit longer.”

  Good catch. They were down to a day’s worth, and most of the pogey bait was gone. He’d stashed a bag of chips. That was all he had left.

  Elliott asked, “Can you get one?”

  Dalton gestured. “Hell, they’re within fifty yards. Headshot, bang.”

  “But is an M-Four big enough for one?”

  Barker nodded. “Oh, hell yes. Not for anything much bigger, but it’ll bag a kid.”

  “Go ahead. Ears everyone.”

  Dalton raised his rifle, took a breath, steadied in textbook fashion and squeezed off one round. Fifty odd yards away, a goat convulsed and dropped. Some of its friends scampered away, while others merely stared in confusion.

  Barker took off at a jog. That caused the rest of the flock to disperse.

  Elliott nodded at Dalton. “Secure your brass,” he said.

  Dalton didn’t argue, he just scanned the grass until Ortiz pointed out the empty case, then grabbed it.

  Spencer said, “We might want to fabricate a brass catcher or two.”

  Elliott said, “Yeah, we’ll get there. First, I want a place to live.”

  Barker obviously had experience hunting. He drained the goat’s blood into two canteen cups and set it by the fire. He gutted, skinned and sectioned the animal in about three minutes flat. With some scrubby, bent sticks poked into the ground, he had a not-quite rotisserie set up in short order. He dunked the goat chunks in the blood and set them over the fire to roast.

  “Ortiz, can you take watch?” he asked.

  “Sure, Sergeant. Save me some. I like goat.”

  “Good. Goat. It’s what’s for dinner.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Sean Elliott’s training covered a lot, but despite that, taking a dump in the Stone Age, surrounded by hostile animals, roving flocks, a squad of troops and no privacy, with only an ammo crate as a seat, was not high on the list of fun things to do. That, and the short water had him dehydrated and slightly constipated, and the MREs and stress weren’t helping. That had hurt. He wasn’t sure how long the paper would last, either. That wasn’t going to be fun. Having a guard stand over you with a weapon while you took care of business in the open was that much more unique. He wouldn’t wish this on a loudmouthed sergeant major. Well, maybe a certain one.

  Oglesby turned and nodded after Elliott pulled his pants up and started fastening them. He nodded back, grabbed the crate, placed it carefully behind Charlie Nine, and headed to the fire. He had bleach wipes but wasn’t going to waste them, and would just do the Muslim thing of using one hand to eat and one to clean.

  Barker had meat sizzling on sticks. It was fragrant, brown, and bubbling with juice. He took a skewer and sat against a rock. Carefully, he blew to cool the steaming gobbet, and nibbled at it.

  “Huh. Not bad,” he allowed. It wasn’t bad at all. Better than MRE for sure.

  “Yeah, the blood provides some needed salt. But the protein is going to make us thirsty.”

  Sean tried not to blush. He’d wasted three days, and was moving overly cautiously, and he knew it.

  “Tomorrow the river,” he said.

  Barker said, “It’ll be good to have a proper bivouac and stretch out a bit, but I think we all napped while in the back of the trucks.”

  “Badly, but yes.”

  “I am in pain
,” Ortiz said, rubbing his shoulders. “I don’t know how you big guys manage.”

  Alexander said, “Try it in body armor not cut for your body shape.”

  Around a mouthful of goat, Caswell asked, “How much water is there?”

  Oglesby said, “One cooler half full of melted ice. One pack of bottled. Aren’t you a vegetarian?”

  “When circumstances allow, yes. Right now, they don’t. So I’m eating meat. Got a problem?” She fixed him with a gaze.

  “No problem.” He looked a bit taken aback by her tone. He lit another smoke. He had to be getting low.

  Barker looked at the cooler. “We should have a bottle each for tonight.”

  “We’re running out.”

  Spencer said, “Yes, but we can always run out. No need to schedule it. We need to be operating and healthy for tomorrow. There’s no advantage to running out early.”

  Sean said, “I’m not sure I follow what you said, but one bottle, go ahead.”

  “Neither am I,” Spencer said. “I meant, we will run out sooner or later, so let’s stay hydrated while we can.”

  Caswell asked, “What about that care package? Anything useful?”

  Alexander said, “It’s got ten toothrushes, five mini-tubes of paste, three rolls of floss, twenty bars of soap, four packages of pencils, one of pens and some envelopes and paper, some crayons, a box of tampons, six used bestseller paperbacks, a box of double A batteries, six pairs of tube socks, a pack of disposable razors, four chapsticks and some lotion. It had two boxes of cookies, but we killed those yesterday.”

  “At least it’s mostly useful stuff,” he said.

  Spencer said, “It’s all useful. Someone did us a favor.”

  Alexander pointed to the back of the truck where the box was. “If we ever get back, you can write them a thank you letter. They included their address.”

  “I will,” he said.

  Far Eye was enjoying the evening. It was a little cool, and he pulled his cape in tighter.

  Strangers were here on the Mid Hills. They left a deep trail to the south, up onto the flats, but had a village here, away from any water, flint or good trees.

  Their huts were strange. The sides appeared to be slabs of dun rock, and they were open at the bottom. He also wondered how they’d built and settled here without anyone noticing.

  They were short. Their robes were of a very strange hide, mottled in colors. It wasn’t any animal skin he recognized. It would blend in well if they held still. Two were female, with fine figures, but slender. The strangers wore belts and carried sticks, and their speech was strange. It had few sounds, but they ran the sounds together into a stew of sounds.

  The one atop the rock was obviously a watcher. He held his stick in both hands. It might be a magic stick. It was carved into an odd shape with limbs sticking out cut short.

  “See?” he asked Scraggle.

  “Far away strangers.”

  “Assume.”

  “Meet?” Scraggle asked.

  “Watch. Meet tomorrow maybe.”

  “Maybe spirits?”

  “Look like small people.”

  It was strange to have only two females. None of them looked like children. The men should have mates. They acted almost like a hunting party, except they were villaging, not hunting. They had those large huts.

  They were not like his people. They were not like the other newcomers.

  He would watch. They wouldn’t see him from here.

  Sean Elliott knew he’d done badly, but he felt better now. Though they were still low on water, they were within sight of the river at least. They’d take care of that tomorrow. There were plenty of meat animals to hunt. They’d have to find vegetables to balance it out.

  Trinidad spoke up in his high voice.

  “Sir, there are two humans on the lip to our west.”

  “Stone age?”

  “I dunno, man. They seem to be wearing loose fur hides, so I think so. Tall. One has a dreadlock Mohawk. The other has three stripes of hair, like a skunk.”

  “Are they aware of us?”

  “They know the fire is here and are peering. They think they’re well outside the light. I guess they don’t have night vision.”

  Devereaux said, “The Afghans don’t have night vision.”

  Elliott almost chuckled. “Yeah, we can make those jokes. But the locals have found us. Should we try to contact them?”

  Spencer said, “No, sir, I’d say don’t spook them. We’ll try for daylight.”

  Stone Age people. If they were here for a long time, and it seemed like it, local contact was necessary. Trade. Primitive skills. But it was one more crushing responsibility of many.

  “Sergeant Spencer, can I talk to you for a minute?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Once again they went around the back of Charlie Nine, but only there. He wanted to be within quick reach of the others, just in case.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t know your first name. It was on the manifest, but . . .”

  “Martin Spencer, sir.”

  “Martin. Thanks. I don’t want to get too informal, but we need to be friends as much as soldiers until this is over.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’m Sean.”

  “Noted, sir, but I’m going to keep this form of address for now.”

  “That’s fine. And I respect that. How old are you?”

  “Thirty-eight, sir.”

  He hadn’t looked that old before, but now, shaggy with bits of gray in his beard and sunken eyes, he did.

  “Deployed a few times?”

  “Third rotation.”

  “Good. I can rely on you for advice, then. Okay . . .”

  He took a deep breath.

  “I have to sleep sometime. Eventually. I’m not, really, and I know others are having problems. We may need to medicate for a few days. But I can’t handle everything twenty-four-seven by myself.

  “I know you operate differently than I do, but can you give me honest feedback when I’m awake, and keep the general gist of my instructions when I’m not?”

  “Since I’m effectively acting first sergeant, yes, sir. I can.”

  “Thank you. Any immediate advice?”

  “I think you’re doing okay now. I won’t hold the last four days against you. It’s insane. None of us handled it well, no one could.”

  “Thanks, but that’s true of combat, too. It’s got to be handled.”

  “Yeah. Well, we’re handling it now.”

  “Do you agree we get to the river first, then find locals?”

  “Yes, sir. Water. Food, and the river will have fish as well as watering holes for game. It will have reeds, and I’m pretty sure there are cattails or such, which are edible.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, like a mild watercress, sort of. And the tops make tea, or can be used for bandages. It can be pressed into paper. Useful stuff. Anyway, after we have food and water, then we can find locals.”

  “I figure we need to recon the area, see who’s here and if they’re friendly, and then find a good place to settle in for a long wait.”

  Spencer nodded. “Very good, sir. We don’t want to be too close to neighbors, but I hope we can work out trades.”

  “Yeah. I want to talk about this a lot more, but I’m groggy, and we need to reach the river. Long term planning after immediate needs.”

  “You should lie down, sir. We’ll take turns, you, me and Barker, I guess.”

  “Okay. But wake me at once for anything.”

  He stretched out in the back between the seats. Ortiz lay on one. Devereaux was on the other, his feet on the floor. Tall, that man was.

  It wasn’t comfortable, but he’d manage. It was better than the ground. He tucked his helmet at the angle that worked for a pillow, sort of, drew up his feet and crossed his arms. That would work. He closed his eyes and listened to the mumbles outside.

  Martin Spencer awoke for the third time at sunrise. He vaguely r
emembered dawn and the depth of night. He’d slept sitting back against the tire, and leaning forward on his hands. It wasn’t good sleep, nor a lot of sleep, but . . . well . . .

  “How are we doing?” he asked. Caswell and Barker were on watch. The west was still dark purple fading to a gorgeous blue behind and east. He shivered slightly and was damp from dew.

  Barker said, “Our observer slipped away about an hour ago.”

  “Okay. Well, we assume he’s following us. It suggests there’s a settlement not far away.”

  “Hopefully. Do we really want to meet them, though?”

  “I don’t think we have a choice. We’re moving into their territory.”

  “Yeah. I just don’t know what we’re supposed to do.”

  “Is the LT up?”

  “Yes, I’m here.”

  “Any ideas, sir?”

  “A bit. I want everyone to eat and drink. Clean uniforms all around. These are getting nasty. We’ll wear body armor and take weapons. We’ll walk on foot to the river and see if we can find signs of these local people. Anyone any good at that?”

  Barker said, “I’m pretty good, but they may be better.”

  “Yeah, well, we do what we can. Water first. Look around the terrain. If we don’t find anything, we come back here before dark. We can move down closer tomorrow, after we’re sure we won’t get stuck in the mud.”

  Martin asked, “Body armor and what else, sir? Water of course. Food?”

  “Yeah, enough food for today. What’s left?”

  Barker said, “Some MRE components and a few candy bars and snacks. Running out of that, too.”

  The CO winced. “Crap. Okay. Take it. Sleeping bags also. Fully armed but light otherwise.”

  “Okay. Then machetes and knives as well.”

  Alexander added, “Toilet paper.”

  Elliott said, “Definitely asswipe. Fair enough on the blades, but everyone keep things sheathed, and empty weapons. I don’t want any NDs, any trigger play, any accidents. I’ll tell you when to load. Two mags each is plenty.”

  “Hooah. What about wolves, sir?” Ortiz asked.

  “Yeah, if you see an approaching threat, say something and load up. But we’re not here to fight, we’re exploring and trying to be friendly.”