by Socha, Walt
“Any ideas how all this happened?” Potts stood after filling Joe’s bowl and stretched.
“I’m still kind of pondering that.” He shook his head as he sat, focusing his attention on his porridge.
In-between spoonfuls, he looked around the fire. The children lowered their eyes at his glance. Eyes still red from crying. One of the youngest—Sura or Fasa?— broke a smile before looking down. He’d have to work on their names.
“How’d you figure on all the bowls and spoons?” Joe rose after emptying his bowl, shivering briefly in the early morning chill.
“Just figured stainless steel bowls and stuff were good long term investments.” Larry removed his bowl from a plastic tub of water, shaking out the last droplets. “Hand me that bowl. Got a wash tub and a rinse tub set up.” He reached for Joe’s bowl.
“Should have a third tub with bleach,” Potts said. “But apparently no one though of bleach.”
“You all seem to have thought of plenty,” Joe said. “Still not sure what I got you into.”
“Joe, we’re needed here,” Kristi said from across the fire. She sat between Alta and Sinta. This time he was sure of the name.
The other children looked up from their bowls at Joe. “Can’t argue that point.” Joe glanced at the village’s destroyed huts. He sighed, looked from Kristi to Potts, and then paused as he faced Alta. “How do your people honor your dead?”
Alta shifted to face the mound. A tear followed a moist trail down her cheek. “We cover them, building the mound higher, and provide special things to go with their memories.” Her voice broke. “And their favorite foods for their journey back into the earth.”
She stared at Joe. “And words.”
Joe nodded. “It will be done.” He looked from Potts to Kristi. “After we’re done eating, how about you help Alta with the kids. Have them pick out whatever belongings they think should be buried with their dead?” He turned to Larry. “You and me start digging dirt. We’ll fix up some sort of travois for the horses to haul it.”
“And Brent?”
“Leave him where he’s at for now.” Joe looked out across the meadow, where Brent sat on Flicker. “Kind of like him wandering around with that AR15 of his. But maybe you and he can switch off later.”
Joe helped the others finish up breakfast chores then watched Kristi and Potts lead the children back to the ravaged village. Some of the children started crying again but hopefully the choosing of burial items would distract them a bit.
Joe and Larry strode to the supplies and pulled shovels, axes, tarps, and horse tackle from several of the panniers.
“How’d you figure shovels?” Joe asked.
“And knives and axes. Enough for trading.” Larry hefted a shovel. “Even a few extra swords. Me and Brent kinda did some brainstorming.”
“Medicine?” Joe asked.
Larry snorted. “Well, Brent brought along all sorts of medicinal herbs. And seed. Witchdoctor stuff.” Larry paused, his face tightening into a frown. “But Kristi has an extensive supply of pharmaceuticals. She even brought a small field microscope and a loaded laptop. She really hit her bank account hard. Even bought a rack of reading glasses from the pharmacy in Bozeman.”
Joe was silent as they cut out two horses and lead them to the edge of the meadow. While Larry and Brent would probably not miss their families, he worried about Kristi even though she and her father certainly seemed to have their differences.
Within an hour, they had cut long saplings and rigged two travois, stretching a tarp between the poles. Then they started digging at a cut bank along the stream and moving the rocky dirt to the burial mound at the north end of the clearing.
By their third trip, the children had started laying out burial items with their parents and other relatives on top of the existing mound.
Joe and Larry dragged load after load to the mound, easily keeping ahead of the children’s efforts. Alta and the young ones, along with Kristi and Potts, slowly packed the soil in between the bodies.
When enough dirt was at the mound to provide a top cover layer, Joe and Brent—Larry was now on guard duty—started dragging dead wood. Four waist high piles grew around the mound at the four compass points, replacing the burned out fires that had protected the bodies during the night.
As the day darkened into twilight, Joe gathered the children into a ragged line in front of the mound. One by one, each stepped forward and addressed the mound and said goodbye to parents and relatives. As each spoke, Kristi wrote their words in her journal, a small headlamp aiding her in the fading light.
Alta and Matu were the last. “Goodbye Mother, goodbye Father,” Alta said. “We miss you and wish you well on your journey.”
Matu followed with similar words, choked with sobs. The siblings started to step back from the mound, but then Alta stopped and spoke again. “Do not worry. Joe and his friends are with us.” She drew a deep breath, wiped tears from her face, and joined Matu and the rest of the children.
Larry slipped away and lit each woodpile, starting with the East and circling clockwise to finish at the North end. As the last fire took hold and sent yellow tentacles into the now dark sky, Kristi started singing “Let It Be,” first alone, and then backed by Larry’s low bass.
After they finished, Kristi led the children back to camp for a late dinner of trail mix and dried fruit while Joe remained staring at the illuminated burial mound.
Chapter 17. Day 3
The eyes peered at him through wire-rimmed glasses. “The path is blocked.”
The wrinkled face turned away and faded into mist.
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Chaotic thoughts vied for attention as the vision of an old man faded into the images of dead warriors. Then all images vanished as a full bladder and a lightening sky brought Joe to full consciousness.”
Here you go.” Potts appeared with a steaming metal cup as Joe crawled out of his sleeping bag. “Finally found the coffee, but it ain’t going to last long.” He set the cup down. “Boys that way.” He pointed to the edge of the forest beyond the boys’ tent.
“Any problems?” Joe crawled out of the bag and slipped on his boots.
“Brent’s on guard. Just passed here a few minutes ago.
And Zoey’s been wandering around. Other than trying to keep the horses close, she’s been quiet.”
“I’ll do a quick check on our incoming trail,” Joe said. “Then I’ll do breakfast.”
Potts stretched and groaned. “Damned gravity.” He turned and walked back to the campfire.
Joe sipped at the coffee and then visited the bushes. They’d have to work up a better latrine system. Kristi would have a fit otherwise.
When he was done, he rolled up his bag and covered it with a tarp. He downed the last of his coffee and headed toward the horses, detouring to the campfire where Potts was stirring a kettle, to drop off his mug. Once Snark was saddled, Joe rode back along the incoming trail.
It only took a half hour to reach the section of trail where they’d emerged from the mist. No changes other than the tracks being older. He rode another mile. The hills rolled into the distance, covered mostly with a mixture of tall majestic pines and oaks. Their tracks faded and vanished.
There would be no return. Not unless the mist returned. Deep inside, he knew that it would not.
The path is blocked.
Joe straightened his shoulders. He had to be positive.
Too many depended on him.
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Joe waved to the crowd around the cook-fire as he nudged Snark toward where Brent was saddling Flicker. “Anything?” Brent asked as he lowered the iron-shod hoof he had been inspecting. “Tracks just faded.”
“I figured that was what you’d find. Go eat. I’ll take care of Snark.” Brent held the reins as Joe dismounted. “Leave her saddled,” Joe said. “I’m still planning to scout downriver after breakfast.”
Leaving Brent shaking his head, Joe walked toward Potts’s smoking fire.
> Kristi looked up as Joe joined the fire circle. “What did you see?”
“Faded like magic.” Joe accepted a mug from Potts. Several of the children shifted to make room and Joe sat, savoring his coffee.
On the other side of the fire, Alta was helping one of the younger children with her spoon but broke off to fill a bowl from Potts’s large bubbling kettle.
“Let me know if you want more,” Alta said, handing Joe the steaming bowl.
Thanks,” Joe said. “I am going to scout downstream after eating. Are there are any villages in that direction?” Alta’s eyebrows narrowed in thought then relaxed. “There is one two hands by foot. Another fours hands away. There are no villages on the other side of the river.
All the main trading trails are on this side.” “Any chance I’ll run into traders?”
“No traders for many moons.” Alta frowned. “Who is going with you?”
“It is best that I go alone.” Joe looked around the camp. “Larry and Brent need to stay and protect you and the other kids.”
Alta’s face stiffened. “Please be careful.” She turned and went back to the children.
Joe watched her walk away as the contents of his bowl turned tasteless. Had he done something wrong?
“She’s not a child in this world.” Kristi moved to sit next to Joe. “And she’s worried about you.”
“She’s still way young.” Joe stirred his porridge. “And I’m worried about everything.”
“You think we’re here permanently?” she asked in English.
Joe paused, spoon in air. “I think so. I’ll check our incoming tracks again tomorrow. And maybe later today.”
“Any of those dreams?”
“No dreams last night. Well…leastwise, none like I was getting back at the ranch.”
“What do you normally dream about?”
Joe hesitated, thinking of his typical dreams of wandering lost in an unfamiliar landscape. “Just the usual,” he said, straight-faced. “Being attacked by sex- crazed women.”
“Right.” Kristi rolled her eyes. “Still going to look around?”
“Yeah, I’ll start out downstream. Alta says I should find villages to the south.” He glanced over at Alta. “It doesn’t take much figuring to place us somewhere in the temperate zone. Mid spring. Lots of wild greens coming up. And the village gardens have already put up a variety of seedlings.” He smiled. “Something for Brent to identify.”
Joe accepted a refill on coffee from Potts in exchange for his empty bowl. “So the long term problem—other than staying alive—is preparing for a possible winter. Be great if we knew where we are located.”
“This is maybe a weird question,” Kristi said. “But are we still working on the premise that this is our Earth?” “Good as any other,” Joe shrugged. “I’d better ride.
See if I can figure out where we are.” He gulped the last of the coffee and stood, looking around with his empty mug. “Leave it,” Potts said. “We’ll add it to the kid’s dishes.
Take a couple energy bars with you.”
“See you all later this afternoon.” Joe rose and walked in the direction of the horses where Snark grazed, still saddled. From the corner of his eye, he saw Alta watching him.
Once mounted, Joe nudged Snark toward the center of the clearing where Brent watched him from atop his own horse.
“You sure I shouldn’t go with you?” he said as Joe reined in next to him.
“No. But I’m still thinking you and Larry best stay here with the kids in case any more of those warriors return.” Joe sighed. “I’ll be careful. First sign of any trouble, I’ll back off. Should be back mid-afternoon.”
“I’m not happy about you scouting alone. But I did talk to Larry earlier,” Brent said. “We’ll be staying close. I’m planning to review local edibles with Alta later this morning. But we’ll stay within earshot. You be careful,” he added as Joe moved off.
After a quarter mile, Joe glanced over his shoulder at the camp. Smoke drifted upwards in lazy curves, following the light breeze. It looked peaceful except for the burnt huts. And the frightening and comforting vision of Brent making a slow circuit on horseback, his black AR15 hanging from a shoulder strap.
Joe nudged Snark into a slow walk. Once he got to the river, he’d go for an hour or so downriver, and then inland for maybe half that distance. He’d see how far he could get before returning by mid-day. Maybe upriver after lunch.
He headed uphill until he arrived at the four burned posts, pausing to eye the remains of carved figures, mostly human interspersed with a few animals. Maybe some sort of creation story or theology? From the shadows they cast, they might also serve as a kind of astronomical timepiece. From this vantage, he could see the Great River stretching out to the left and right in a wide, slow moving body of water. This should be a major transportation route. He scanned the horizon. No smoke except for Potts’s campfire. Wherever they were, it sure as shit wasn’t Montana.
He sighed and nudged Snark forward.
Within minutes they came upon the field where he and Larry had attacked the warriors who were abducting the children. Joe rode past, trying to ignore the rusty- colored grasses that betrayed the violence.
The path continued to the river. At the shore, the ruined canoes lay, now no more than driftwood. The bodies that Larry had dumped in the river hadn’t shifted far in the slow moving river. Shit. He’d deal with that later. Maybe drag them out to one of the many islands that peppered the shallow river. It would be difficult to dig holes in this rocky soil.
Joe turned downriver and followed the trail as it followed the river southeast. He recognized pines and maples but he’d have to check with Brent about the others. Definitely not Montana.
The trail paralleled the river, well used but not recently. Unease grew. Where were the people who should live here? This land was rich in life, with deer and elk tracks everywhere. The raccoon and otter prints along the river hinted at a rich aquatic life.
Within an hour, Joe rode through an abandoned village. There was no sign of destruction, just no people. The huts were empty and showed damage from the weather. Seedlings had popped up out of the dirt on top of the nearby mound.
After another hour, the trail meandered inland, avoiding the distant steeper hills along the river, which appeared to bend to the left. Joe halted. It was about noon and probably time to turn back. He’d gone maybe eight or ten miles.
Clear skies provided excellent visibility. He stared at an isolated line of clouds to the south and frowned. No, not clouds. Smoke. Maybe a mile or two beyond those hills that separated the river and the trail. Maybe from the second village that Alta had mentioned. Joe nudged Snark into a trot and followed the trail inland as it skirted the hills.
The trail led up a slight rise and through heavy forest before breaking out onto a small viewpoint. Joe halted Snark. The trail continued downhill and curved east back toward the river, which appeared from the left to flow almost due south. A mile below Joe, the forest gave way to overgrown fields. The smoke originated inland. Maybe from a village associated with the cleared fields? But then why were they overgrown?
Movement at the river’s edge drew his attention and he pulled out his binoculars. Several canoes slipped into the river. One remained on the sandy beach.
He shifted his view inland, following a branching trail through the open area. About a half mile from the river, he saw a small group of people.
Joe’s stomach lurched. One tall individual led two smaller figures. Another adult followed. Even from this distance, he could make out the features of the white clay warriors. Taking children. Maybe from the second village that Alta mentioned.
Joe stowed the binoculars in his saddlebags and urged Snark into a gallop.
At the bottom of the hill, Joe emerged from the trees and halted. The trail forked a couple of hundred yards ahead, a smaller trail heading inland. Tall grasses and small bushes provided minimal cover. He dismounted, led Snark back into th
e trees, and pawed through the saddlebag. He found a box of shells and poured a handful into each of his shirt pockets, and then pulled the rifle from its sheath on the saddle and ran.
At the intersection of the inland trail, he crouched behind a small bush, feeling exposed. The fields were overgrown, but only for a year or so. Unless prone, cover was minimal.
After several long minutes, the lead person walked into view. He was dressed similarly to the attacking warriors. Same facial paint and leather loin cover. And the same chert-studded club. The warrior froze a few feet from the main trail.
“Halt,” the man called to those behind him in Alta’s language. The warrior’s eyes scanned along the trail. In seconds, his gaze penetrated the bush and locked onto Joe’s.
Club raised, the man sprinted toward him.
Joe chambered a round as he stood. The warrior’s enraged face filled Joe’s vision as he fired.
The children screamed as the warrior fell. With a thud of footfalls, another warrior burst into view, club swinging. As the second man closed the gap, Joe levered and fired again. The man staggered as blood spurted from his chest. He took another step. Joe fired again. The man collapsed.
Silence. Joe chambered another round and looked at the children who remained standing on the trail. He guessed the boy to be early teens, maybe preteen. The girl a few years younger. She cried. He stood still, eyes wide and fixed on Joe.
Joe looked up and down the paths. No movement.
Could there have only been two warriors?
“Are there other warriors?” Joe looked at the children. Why hadn’t they run? Then he saw the ropes. Their feet were hobbled. They could walk but not run.
The girl stopped crying. The boy next to her took her hand. They started backing up.
“Wait.” Joe held up his free hand. “Friend.”
The children stopped backing up. Wide eyes continued to stare.
Between Joe and the children, two bodies seeped blood into the rocky soil.
“Let me help you.” Joe wouldn’t be doing any more surveying today.