TRIBES

by Mia Frances

  Although it was only early May, the coming winter preyed on her mind. Alex couldn't forget how terrifying it was to be hungry. She was experimenting with drying plants, and jerking bits of meat, hoping that by the time fall came, they'd have the skills necessary to lay in a good winter larder.

  It was comforting to have a full belly. The change was most evident in the little ones, who appeared to grow taller almost overnight. It seemed like an eternity ago that they'd begun this long journey together. They'd been babies back then. They were less innocent, more wizened now. Hardship had changed and aged them. Yet they were still children, even as they went about their daily chores. Splashing each other as they captured the frogs, turtles, and crayfish that added diversity to their diet. Playing hide and seek amid the trees as they foraged for food. Giggling and laughing as they carried wood. They no longer talked about the past, their conversations focusing with singular purpose on the present. There was no mention of mothers or fathers, of homes, or schools, or friends. Society, civilization, were little more than faint recollections. They didn't look back, but neither did they focus on the future. Their concerns centered on the moment, on the tenuous hold they had on today. No one ever spoke of what they wanted to be when they grew up. No mention was made of rescue either. They'd come to the sad realization that this meager existence was all there was. There'd be no reprieve. There were no more dreams, only frightening realities. She shut her eyes and with trembling hands pulled the blanket close around her, waiting for the darkness to give way to the comforting light of morning.

  Chapter 25

  Alex paused a moment, listening to the insistent chirping of a bird. She scanned the branches. There it was, a robin, its bright red breast peeking out amid the pine boughs. She watched as it hovered beside its nest, squawking loudly at her intrusion. Alex smiled then moved on. She'd seen very few birds so far this spring. It was eerie, the forest being this quiet. A year ago, it resounded with twittering birds and buzzing insects, but now it was unnervingly silent. Could be it was just too early in the season. It was still cold. Maybe the birds and insects were waiting for warmer weather. She didn't want to consider the more ominous possibilities: flocks decimated, insects and animals brought to the brink of extinction. She'd seen some horseflies, spiders, ants, and a beetle or two, but little else. Even the blackflies and gnats were scarce this year. Dragonflies, butterflies, crickets, grasshoppers, and ladybugs had yet to make an appearance.

  Alex walked the trail, observing the changes that had transpired since the last time she'd passed this way. The trees were budding, their tender green leaves unfurling. The winter had taken its toll, broken branches littered the forest floor, casualties of the ice, wind, and snow. It would have been easier to take the road, but, even at this early hour, it wasn't safe.

  She looked around, trying to get her bearings. In less than a quarter mile, she'd veer to the right, watching for three huge boulders left behind by some ancient glacier. Just beyond them, the trees gave way to open field. That's where she'd pick wild mustard and goosefoot, dig for carrots at the base of Queen Anne's lace, harvest the roots of chicory and burdock, and cut tender milkweed shoots. In less than an hour's time, she could harvest enough food to keep them fed for a week.

  She wondered how the children were doing clearing the plot. Alex had finally chosen a place for their garden. It was in a small clearing a half-mile south of their camp. It was well hidden and couldn't be seen from the road, surrounded as it was by thickets of white pine, spruce, and tall blackberry brambles. The soil was dark and fertile with a small brook for water nearby. The choice had been a good one in light of the recent appearance of intruders in the area. Though she didn't think they had cause to worry, it still made sense to have the garden away from the camp. That way if their home was discovered, and they were forced out, at least they'd have a source of food.

  She saw a flash of movement and looked up just in time to see a chipmunk disappear into a tangle of tree roots. It was the first one she'd seen so far this year. Alex smiled. Spring was finally here!

  The muscles in her legs were aching as she approached the rocks. She'd pushed herself hard in her hurry to get here, now her body was rebelling. She rubbed her cramping calves, deciding she'd better rest. It was still early. She'd have plenty of time to collect what she needed and be out of the area before anyone else showed up. Alex hobbled over to one of the boulders and, removing her pack and gun, sat down. The ground was cold and damp, but she didn't mind; it felt good to get off her feet. She sniffed the air, there was a strange odor here that she couldn't quite place. It was very faint, but had a familiar quality about it. She looked around, but there was nothing unusual. No flowers or plants nearby. Only clumps of newly emerging grass, poking through the rotting leaves. She studied them, noticing that the blades weren't flat, but rather rounded. They were deep green, much darker than grass. Curiosity aroused, Alex forced herself back to her feet and went to investigate, the smell growing stronger the closer she got. She squatted beside one of the clumps. Snapping off a leaf, she examined it, trying to decide what it was. She didn't have a clue. Rubbing it between her fingers, she brought it nearer her nose. The odor was pungent. Alex took a small bite, chewing slowly as tears began to spill from her eyes. The taste was unmistakable. It was wild onion.

  She dug her fingers into the dirt, unearthing a tiny white bulb, and held it gently in her hand. Whatever damage the bombs had done to the ozone wasn't as catastrophic as she'd feared. The levels of ultraviolet radiation reaching the earth weren't high enough to cause an ecological Armageddon. The proof of that was in her hand. It was spring and wild onions were growing, just as they always had. They hadn't withered away, died off, or become extinct. If such an ultraviolet-sensitive species could exist in the aftermath of the war, then so could the rest of the plants. Life would go on!

  Alex dropped to her knees, fingers skimming over the delicate sprouts, sobbing inconsolably. They'd survived, but the books, music, art, science, and law, the knowledge of the centuries, were gone. No civilizations, nations, or societies would flourish in their lifetime, only tribes, tribes of savages!

  Alex wiped away the tears, trying to think positive. The future might not be so bleak. For all she knew, the government could have survived in some underground bunker in Washington. To reemerge like phoenix rising from the ashes. She wasn't holding her breath though!

  She was starting to get up when something red caught her eye. Alex strained to see what it was, but couldn't make it out. She took off her sunglasses and, squinting against the sun, studied it a moment. It looked to be a large piece of cloth snagged on some brambles. Whatever it was, she could probably use it for something.

  Alex stood, brushed herself off, and began walking toward it. It was good-sized. As she got closer, she could see it was a plaid shirt. Once she reached it, she realized it was made of heavy flannel. Alex carefully picked it off the thorns, trying not to tear it or prick herself in the process. When she finished, Alex held it up for inspection. It was in good condition, not a hole in it. Though big, probably a man's extra large, one of the children could get some use out of it. She couldn't help wondering how it got here. It had to be a recent arrival. If it had been here all winter, it would have been in tatters. The back was caked with dried mud, but the front was relatively clean. Since she couldn't imagine anyone discarding useable clothing in these hard times, she assumed that it had either been hung out to dry and inadvertently forgotten, or else had fallen out of a pack and been blown into the prickers. Both scenarios were equally unnerving. It meant that someone had been here recently, only a day or so before. The mud was a dead giveaway. They'd had torrential rainstorms the day before yesterday. If the shirt had been hanging here then, the mud would have washed off.

  It suddenly occurred to her that she better leave the shirt where she found it, undisturbed. It might have been left there on purpose. An ingenious warning system, a kind of bait for the unwary. A way of determining if there were
others in the area. She hesitated, then grudgingly hung it back on the bush. When she was done with her work, she'd come back for it. If it was still here, all well and good, she'd collect her prize and go home. If it wasn't, she'd be forewarned that there were others lurking about, allowing her to act accordingly and leave the area with the utmost speed and caution. Alex hurried to retrieve her gun and pack. From now on, until she was safely away from here, she'd keep her weapon close at hand.

  She stopped to adjust her pack, the straps cutting into her shoulders, leaving red welts on her skin. She'd loaded herself down with roots, 30 pounds or more, then tied two cloth sacks to the frame filled with other finds: dried pigweed and dock seeds from the previous year's plants, dandelion greens, fiddleheads, and chickweed. The picking had been good, better than she'd anticipated. In her eagerness to harvest all she could, though, she'd given little thought to how she'd get it home. It felt like she was carrying a block of concrete on her back, the bags swinging free, banging against her bottom and thighs with each step. It was a long way home. By the time she got there, she'd be ready to collapse, covered with bruises and unable to straighten up. But it was well worth the trouble. She stretched, throwing back her shoulders, trying to redistribute the weight, then pressed on.

  Alex hung back in the trees, staring at the red shirt. She looked around cautiously, and, holding her gun with both hands, moved toward it. As quickly as she could, she picked it free of the bush again and shoved it down the front of her hoodie. As she was turning to leave, she caught sight of something blue downhill from her. She was curious what it was. The slope was steep. Once she got down there, it would be tough getting back up. There was a streambed at the bottom, a channel formed by melting snow and spring runoff. It was muddy, with puddles of water visible between the stones. The stream appeared to run parallel to the trail she was on, the incline less treacherous further on. Alex figured she could probably come back up that way. Was it worth the trouble though? Reluctant to risk bodily injury getting down there to get it, Alex turned to go, then stopped. They might be jeans and the kids did needed pants. Alex looked back over her shoulder, her resolve faltering. It was too good an opportunity to pass up.

  She pushed the branches out of the way and started down the slope. Her boots slipped in the mud, causing her to lose her footing as she began the descent. Her hands turned black from clawing dirt to steady herself and keep from falling. Alex fell twice, landing on her butt, mud clinging to the seat of her pants. Unable to get back on her feet without pitching forward and landing face first on the rocks below, she slid the rest of the way down on her backside. Arriving at the bottom, she stood up and tried to wipe the muck from her pants. They weren't just filthy, but soaked as well, the fabric clinging to her skin. She hoped the prize, whatever it was, was worth the effort. She squatted over a puddle, washing her hands in the water, trying to get as much of the mud off as she could, then wiped them on the front of her shirt. Alex straightened up and walked toward the mound of cloth, picking it up. They were jeans all right. Though worn and faded, they were still usable. She was puzzled. How the hell did they get down here? Only an imbecile would set foot in this ravine during spring runoff. He'd be swept away by the current. Is that what happened? The water took him, but left his pants? Highly unlikely. She suspected the pants had been left near the shirt, but were inadvertently blown into the narrow gully by a gust of wind. It wasn't that Alex questioned her good fortune; she was certainly glad to have the extra clothing. It just struck her as odd to find two pieces of discarded clothing way out here in the middle of frigging nowhere.

  Draping the legs around her neck, Alex shifted the straps on her pack, ready to leave. She set off walking down the streambed, trying to keep her feet on dry rock instead of in the mud. She kept her eyes focused on the ground, afraid to look up, fearing she'd stumble. She could admire the scenery some other time. Alex lifted her gaze slightly, trying to determine how much further before she could safely challenge the slope, when something, looking like a clump of dried brown grass, began climbing a mound of waterlogged debris 30 feet ahead of her. She blinked, then smiled. It was a fat porcupine. She raised the gun slowly, trying not to alarm it, but the thing was already waddling away as fast as its short, little legs would carry it.

  Alex tried to take aim, but it was surprisingly fast and agile, shifting directions as it began its ascent of the opposite slope. It was nearing the top when she finally got a clear shot at it. She squeezed the trigger, firing off a round. It sounded like a loud clap of thunder. The animal jerked, then struggled on, dragging its back legs. She'd winged it. Alex clambered up the steep incline in hot pursuit, but the animal disappeared over the edge. There were red smears on the rocks. The porcupine was leaving a trail of blood, one that would be easy to follow…she hoped!

  Out of breath, Alex arrived at the top, looking around anxiously for more spatters. Though it was losing a lot of blood, there was no telling how far it could go before it dropped. Alex wanted to make sure she got to it before a coyote, fox, or fisher did. Scanning the scrub, she quickly found what she was looking for.

  The forest was dense, saplings and hobblebushes forming barricades at every turn. Even wounded, the animal had the advantage. It was able to go places she couldn't. The pack slowed her down, getting caught on every low hanging branch. Alex was tempted to take it off, but just as she was about to let it slip from her shoulders, she spied the animal. It lay dead beside the trunk of a nearby maple. Relieved that the chase was over, Alex surveyed the area, trying to figure out where she was. Peering through the greenery, she saw that she was only a stone's throw from a streambed. Across the way, beyond the thicket of brush and brambles, she could see grey boulders jutting up from the ground. Though it seemed hard to believe, she was back where she'd started, directly across the wash from the place where she'd first found the shirt. She'd been running in circles. Well, at least she wasn't lost!

  Dropping to her knees, she took a stick and carefully flipped the animal over on its back and gutted it, trying to keep from pricking herself on the quills. After skinning it, she wrapped the meat in the newly acquired shirt and flung it over her shoulder, tying the pelt to her pack. Once she got rid of the quills, she could use the fur to make mittens for the kids. It had been a fortuitous day, both clothing and foodwise, but right now all she wanted to do was go home. She'd hoped to be out of the area by mid-morning, but between retrieving the jeans and tracking the porcupine, she'd lost track of time. She looked up, trying to determine the sun's position in the sky. It was overhead. Alex winced; it was afternoon, a time when others might be out foraging and hunting. The fact that she'd fired off a round didn't help matters. If anyone was within a mile or so of here, they'd know they had company. She needed to get going…now!

  Alex had taken only a few steps when a crow squawked, swooping out of a nearby grove of trees. Startled, she looked around nervously, her gaze coming to rest on something hanging in the branches. The breath caught in her lungs as she gawked at it in disbelief, swallowing back the bile pouring into her mouth. She shuddered at the gruesome sight, yet couldn't tear her eyes away. No! Not this! Her hand clamped over her mouth muffling a scream. She knew why the shirt had been left there. It marked the location of a grisly food cache. Insects circled the hanging carcass as it swayed slowly in the wind. Almost obscured by branches and budding leaves, it dangled eight feet above the ground, suspended by the sole remaining limb, a footless leg. If not for the bird, she'd have never known it was there. Like beef in a slaughterhouse, the carcass had been carefully skinned and gutted, the lower portion of three extremities severed at the joint in an attempt to give it the appearance of a large game animal. But even as it hung there, meat red and oozing, she could tell what it was. It had a broad chest, narrow rump, and muscular thighs. It was unmistakably human!

  Were the survivors so desperate for food that they'd broken the ultimate taboo? Resorted to cannibalism? Would the sick and infirm, the slow and the weak become p
rey? The strongest hunting them down and feasting on their flesh? Alex stood riveted watching the swaying corpse. It looked like a scene from a terrifying nightmare. She scrunched her eyes closed, then opened them again. It was still there, like a looming specter, an omen of the horrors yet to come.

  She could be mistaken. Maybe it was nothing more than a skinny bear. Alex took a wobbly step forward, trying to get a better look, then stopped abruptly, rooted to the spot. She was deluding herself. There was no doubt what it was. Those weren't front paws, but a man's arms severed at the elbows. She stumbled back against the tree, her eyes fixed on the body. She was sure it was male. Though missing his head and feet, she guessed he'd been a big man, a six-footer. She began to tremble. Where was Wolf? Her gaze shifted to the shirt hanging at her side. Alex crumpled to her knees, sobbing. She had no way of knowing if it was his or not. She scrutinized the mutilated corpse: the width of his shoulders, the size of his waist, the thickness of his thighs, then looked away, tears streaking her cheeks.

  Alex rose to her feet and staggered toward the slope. She had to find Wolf! She stopped abruptly, turning back to the body, wondering if she should cut it down. Surely, he deserved a better end than this. She lowered her eyes and walked away. Everything had to remain just as she'd found it. Whoever did this, couldn't know she'd ever been here. The animals that killed and butchered him had to think their secret was safe. Shame overwhelmed her. She was a coward. That wasn't some animal strung up there like a side of beef to be desecrated and defiled, it was somebody's son, brother, husband, or father. It could be Wolf! The depraved psychos that killed him would return to chop him up and then roast him or boil him in a stew. She couldn't help him, no one could, not anymore. He was dead, long past feeling or caring. "I'm sorry," Alex whimpered, as she bolted and fled, leaving the cadaver slowly twisting in the breeze to suffer the final indignities of its end alone.