A Long Time Until Now - eARC

by Michael Z. Williamson

  She did sleep, until Devereaux nudged her.

  “You’re on,” he said.

  “Right.” She blinked and was half-nauseated.

  He was a medic. Good enough.

  “Devereaux, can you cover me while I take a leak?”

  “Yeah,” he said, sounding a little embarrassed. Well, she didn’t like it either, but she wasn’t walking down there alone.

  There was just enough glow to carefully pick her way, and two cold, damp rocks made an uneven but workable seat. He stood about ten feet away, facing the other way, which she appreciated for discretion, and scared her because he wasn’t watching behind her. Gods, she hated this place.

  That done, she staggered back to the fire.

  It was graying in the east now. She was up for the day anyway.

  Two hours later, after gnawing on some stale, roasted goat, she fell into rough patrol formation with Barker, Ortiz, Oglesby and Dalton. The trucks should be only a couple of miles west, slightly south, and over a slight ridge. They should be easy to see. Dalton had a compass, with notes for azimuths to landmarks, because it would still be possible to miss them in all this rolling terrain.

  They walked about five meters apart, and she looked around constantly. The goats were endemic. There were also family herds of some ugly antelope, occasional large cows, and the yip of dogs, well, wolves, off up the hill.

  In between that, they muttered to each other, because talking about anything meant human beings were nearby. They all kept looking behind them, including her, irrationally afraid of being followed.

  They wore armor and carried rifles, because they just might need them. The ammo wouldn’t last forever, especially with them hunting an animal every couple of days.

  It still seemed unreal. Ten of them, here, with nothing they didn’t carry. She knew how to weave, how to spin, how to sew, how to dye, and none of that would matter if they didn’t pen some goats for wool, or find plants that could be retted into fiber. Even so, that was a full time job, and they had to build their own village first.

  The so-called “Simpler” times were nothing of the kind.

  Up ahead, Barker called, “Good news and bad news.”

  Oh, shit, what now?

  She jogged forward, following Dalton, and drew up with the others at the top of a hummock.

  The trucks were there, unhurt, just as they’d left them. However, the shadows next to them were occupied by a pride of lions.

  Dalton asked, “Can we scare them off with gunfire?”

  Barker said, “Nah, large animals usually think gunfire is thunder. And these critters have never heard gunfire, so it would be less than useless.”

  “What then?”

  “Looks like we can reach the rear of Number Nine, if we’re careful. Let’s hack down those two bushes,” he said, indicating two scrubby trees. “We’ll use them as shields, and shoot the shit out of one if we have to. Once we’re inside, we can drive around until they get scared.”

  “Yeah,” Dalton said.

  She didn’t have a better idea. It was sound on the surface, except it meant approaching lions who had no reason to fear humans.

  She and Dalton kept an eye on the lions while Barker and Ortiz chopped through the bases of the two shrubs.

  “Glad I have gloves,” Barker said. “Okay, I’ll take this one, Oglesby, can you handle that one?”

  “I’d be better,” Dalton said.

  “Yeah, but you’re rated expert. I want you clear to shoot if you have to.”

  “Hooah. What’s the ROE?”

  “If they approach, safety off. If they start batting at the tree, start shooting, and you, too,” he pointed at Regina and Ortiz.

  “Roger that,” she agreed. A small bore rifle against a lion? Yeah, that was smart. But it was all they had. She started jittering.

  They advanced down the slope, obliqued over to keep the vehicles between them and the lions, and made quiet, steady progress.

  Not quiet enough. One of the lionesses woke up and came around to investigate, padding slowly and confidently.

  She seemed confused by the trees and the camouflaged forms behind them, but she closed her eyes and sniffed.

  Uttering a growl, she moved to the side, trying to get a better view.

  “Swing the trees!” Barker said, and shifted his around in a strong grip, feet spread, as if wielding a chainsaw or machine gun.

  Gina kept her rifle ready, and already had the safety off, orders be damned. The Army had this paranoia that troops couldn’t manage a point and click interface, and if so, why did they issue the damned things in the first place?

  The lioness backed up, growling.

  “I’m going to watch this side,” she said, and moved to the right. If another animal came past there . . .

  Then they were to the rear of Number Nine, and easing around the side. Barker handed the tree off to Dalton to guard the front with as he fumbled with the padlock on the passenger side. That done, he scrambled up and they retreated back to the rear as he thumped through the inside, and dropped the ramp.

  She stepped against the grate and worked her way in, then put the safety back on her rifle. Ortiz slid past her, then Dalton, waving his tree as he backed up the ramp.

  Dalton hit the lever and the ramp rose and locked.

  It was tight, musty and metallic smelling. It took a week of fresh air to remind one how stinky these things were.

  “Okay, fire the bitch up,” Dalton said.

  “Working on it,” Barker replied.

  The diesel needed a few seconds preheat on the glowplugs, then turned over and caught easily.

  The lions took off at a trot, then slowed to a walk, but they kept going.

  That done, Ortiz hopped over to Number Eight.

  With Barker and Ortiz driving in column, the others walked ahead. The vehicles were unsteady going across the terrain rather than with it. Several times, Barker backed up and eased around an obstacle.

  This time, no animals bothered them, but they were walking in much closer proximity. She chose the middle and no one made an issue of it. Dalton took left, Oglesby right.

  By midday she was hungry, but the thought of more goat didn’t appeal. They needed to find something green, or something crunchy. She sipped water and kept walking, picking a route that seemed clear and flat as the terrain allowed. She pulled her eyepro down to cut the glare.

  Eventually the camp came in view, and there was a shelter of some kind, and piled brush marking the perimeter. She realized she’d been staggering in exhaustion, and suddenly felt lighter. How could a mere couple of miles be such a drain?

  The others stood waiting as they rolled in, and she walked past and shook hands with Caswell.

  “I’m taking a nap. Please tell anyone who cares.”

  She lowered her weapon, popped her armor and helmet, and sprawled on her bag.

  Far Eye flattened and became rock. The huts weren’t huts, they were beasts. They growled and rumbled. Were those wings that opened? And the travelers got under them.

  They were powerful wizards if they could control such huge beasts, and hide in the bellies.

  Yet these wizards didn’t know words and had poor manners. Their robes were strange. They shaved their beards.

  The great big beasts started moving, with smoke coming from one ear. Their legs moved like rolling pebbles.

  It was probably a good thing they were going, but they were only a half morning’s hike away. He regretted not leading them farther. They seemed harmless, but they rode in animals and had magic stars contained in sticks, and those strange water skins, and the big waterskin.

  The other newcomers had wolves that walked with them, and the little spears that flew fast. What was the name of the one? Yes, Bob Who Makes Things. Bob had made those small spears with feathers. They were almost like the little spears.

  It might be good to visit and see if these wizards became more polite. Some of their nice-nice things would be very helpful. Perha
ps one of the long knives that didn’t chip?

  He must tell Ashmi what he’d seen. They would smoke to the spirits. There was a lot to smoke about.

  Martin Spencer was glad to see the vehicles. The damned things were terrible off road, and he’d been afraid one would roll, once he remembered it was a very real possibility. In fact, he’d almost done that himself. Having both gave them a few more clubs, containers, and potentially an alternator to use for electrical power, either hand cranked or on a windmill. Maybe not soon, but he was damned well going to have the best gear possible, including power tools as long as they lasted. He might scavenge some metal for tools as well, from the strapping inside, the springs and such. He’d have to carburize it for tools. They needed that forge.

  Elliott stood next to him, looking satisfied. Then he resumed talking.

  The LT asked, “What’s the best way to chop small trees? The axes? Or should we just burn them at the base?”

  “You’re thinking of a palisade, sir?”

  “Yes.”

  “Burning might be better. We can do a bunch of them at once and just keep the fires fed, and the ash and charring might help them resist decay.” Besides, the pioneer tools were all they had for heavy equipment, unless he could get a forge up and reduce ore to make others.

  Elliott squinted around. “Okay, we can use the tools for trimming, and for shoveling a rampart, then.”

  “Yeah, we need something defensible, even if it’s only against animals or stampeding herds.”

  “Right. And as much as our neighbors seem friendly, I’d like to be able to button up.”

  They talked for another couple of hours, some of it random BS, some of it repeats. They knew what they needed, but not how to do it. The others wandered in and out. For now, that was fine. They needed a bit of down time.

  Martin said, “What we need is a full platoon. I’d even consider borrowing some natives.”

  Elliott nodded. “Yeah, I thought about it. But we’d have to teach them how to do everything.”

  Oglesby said, “Worse than Afghans.”

  Elliott said, “Much worse. The Afghans function adequately at the iron age level at least, wouldn’t you say?”

  Martin said, “That’s a good summary, sir. The rural ones.”

  “Yeah. The locals have no idea as to anything.”

  Oglesby said, “And they’d want to share everything.”

  Elliott kicked the ground. “We’re alone. One short squad. That’s my biggest concern.”

  “Agreed. Give me three strong backs and I can set up a forge and start beating tools tomorrow. But we need the palisade, shelter, food, water, plumbing of some kind—”

  Elliott raised a hand and said, “One at a time. I have a rough plan for the palisade.”

  “So what’s the plan?”

  Elliott held up a note pad with a sketch. “About a two- to three- foot ditch with a two- to three- foot packed earth mound. Peak of the mound will have the palisade, and I want the saplings set down a couple of feet deeper. We’ll dig and fill as we work around. If we can bore holes through them at the top, we can drive twigs in to pin them in place, or we can set backbraces and lash them on if we can find a stringy bark.”

  Barker said, “Do both, and use rawhide from animal skins to lash with.”

  “Excellent, good,” he said. “We’ll buttress every ten feet or so. Then we’ll build shooting platforms. We’ll use the vehicles as high point for now, but we’ll want to build a central tower when we can. Eventually, we’ll want an actual moat and then start working on stone walls, but we may do that on the other side of the stream and a bit down the hill.”

  Oglesby asked, “How long is this going to take?”

  “Does it matter at this point?” Elliott replied.

  Martin hated hearing it like that, but there it was.

  Elliott continued. “We’re here for the duration. We need the best defense and best comfort we can get. We also need some latrines with seats, and then see about running water for washing, cooking and showering.”

  Alexander came over, looking a bit better. She’d been ragged. Sleeping problems? He had those, too, and this environment made it worse.

  He said, “Understood, sir, and I agree. So, how high do we want the palisade?”

  “Well, if we’re two to three feet down, and two to three feet up, call that five feet. Another five feet of timber gives a good height, but I’d rather it wasn’t reachable by hand from the outside. Ten feet would be better. But that means fifteen to twenty feet of log, which gets heavy and is limiting. So we may be replacing this as we go. For now, we want to start between us and the neighbors, so we at least have engagement cover.”

  Alexander said, “Shrubs, sir.”

  “Shrubs?”

  “Outside engagement range, say two hundred yards, we should plant long rows of shrubs close together. Let them tangle up, and it creates something else to slow them down. We can make gates so they’re channeled. And since they don’t have firearms, it means they’re outside both spear range, and the range they can throw anything flammable.”

  It was working. They had a project, they were interested, and they were busy. Elliott was turning out to be allright.

  He asked, “Do you know what shrubs will work?”

  “I can find something useful, and transplant a few.”

  Elliott said, “Do it. Now, what about shelter? Lean-tos?”

  Alexander said, “I can stitch leather using sinew or cut thongs. A-frame tents with goat or antelope hide will keep us dry.” She wrinkled her face. “I’d like something a little classier than the squats our neighbors are in.”

  “Good. Hold on. Formation!” Elliott called.

  Everyone came over and gathered, but not in formation. They faced to cover a broad arc, and all had slung weapons. Good.

  “Okay, first things first. There’s no way to correct deficiencies in gear, but be honest. Does everyone have at least five uniforms, undies, socks? Two boots and athletic shoes? Cold weather parka or goretex or something, and gloves? Hats or helmet liners? What about work gloves?”

  Four people had work gloves.

  “Okay, I’m glad of this so far. Everyone has a poncho or wet weather coat, I hope?”

  There were assents.

  “You all have rucks and weapons. Okay, then we have the basics. We also have a solar charger for phones and laptops. How many of those?”

  Everyone had a laptop. Everyone except Spencer and Barker had smart phones. The two old guys were holdouts. Martin nodded to Barker with a slight smile.

  Elliott kept talking. “We need to conserve vehicle fuel, but it’s not impossible we can distill some kind of oil from hemp or vegetables to make diesel. That will have to wait, though. In the meantime, we have a means to compute and record, and possible communication or at least traveling notes that don’t waste paper.”

  He wanted to start work, not kick things around endlessly, but the LT needed reassurance, and needed to have his formations and discussions. To be fair, it might mean better planning, less labor and not overlooking something. So he’d deal with it.

  Martin Spencer, along with Barker, backed and filled the MRAPs, while Elliott waved and directed them. They pulled up on the west side, with Charlie Nine angled slightly to create an arc. They were circling the wagons, as best they could.

  The four precious coils of razor wire, and piles of brush had to suffice to close the circle for now. The brush would turn into firewood once not needed.

  They idled down and Martin unbuckled and got out. Even if it didn’t matter, he was going to let the engine cool before he shut it down, possibly for the last time.

  As dusk grew long and dark, the damned wolves howled.

  Martin wasn’t much of a dog person, and those wolves were large, mean, unafraid of humans generally, and likely hungry.

  It was tragically beautiful here, with streaked purple twilight, and chill, and terrifyingly raw and wild. And he’d never get home. A
llison was lost to him.

  No one could see him blink back tears in the dim light, and no one would say anything if they did. Everyone had some kind of family or friends.

  He was glad to be in the arc between the trucks. That was good planning on the LT’s part. One person was on the floor of each vehicle, the rest in that arc. Next to him, Oglesby had headphones on, listening to something techno or club mix or whatever. It was just loud enough for Martin to hear, and it sounded like a grinding engine.

  He wasn’t listening to anything at night, though he really did want music tomorrow. At night, it was just too creepy to not hear every sound, and hearing them creeped him out even more.

  Barker and Dalton seemed to enjoy sitting up top on the guns, so that helped. But he really wanted to see that palisade up in a hurry. To his thinking, they could burn logs down and chop others with the axes as fast as they could make it work. They were going to need about a thousand of them for the perimeter, then more for reinforcement. They were going to have to drag them, too. That copse to the east was going to disappear before they were done. It would take weeks to build that.

  “We need some flat rocks by the fire,” Barker called down.

  “This fire?”

  “Wherever we put our cooking fire.”

  “Ah, I get you,” he agreed. They’d fry stuff on those rocks.

  He said, “Yeah, and I need a spot to put a forge, near the creek. A large granite rock will work as an anvil until I can do something better.”

  An en masse howl of wolves interrupted their thoughts. After it died down, Ortiz said, “And some landmines.”

  “I thought you liked wolves.”

  “I do. That doesn’t mean I want to get eaten by them.”

  Indeed. He’d always found wolves to be handsome creatures. Not now.

  He took a long time getting to sleep.

  The next morning he woke up stiff. He winced, jerked in pain, and tried not to let it show. When younger, he could sleep on a pallet of gear or a pile of rocks. Not anymore. He was going to spend the rest of his life waking up in contorted agony, then when his stomach meds ran out he’d spend the days in pain, too. He wasn’t a fan of suicide, but he expected there were limits to his tolerance for a life of torture. At some point he’d probably find nothing worth existing for.