savage 06 - the savage dream

by Blodgett, Tamara Rose

  Philip looked between the two women. Then, apparently seeing the same thing that troubled Elise, he slowly took Calia's chin and turned it to face him. His thumb went over the bumps. “What manner of lesion is this?”

  “Don't touch her!” Jim surged forward.

  Adahy grabbed him before he was two steps away.

  “Let me go!” Jim struggled. It was as though Jim was tied to a tree for all the good it appeared to do him.

  “Adahy, he has proven he means no harm.” Adahy gave a low growl and released Jim.

  Elise sensed the Traveler's frustration. And although his next words were spoken plainly—and though she would have known what he said even without her knowledge of Fragment and the speech of the Red Men—Jim did not make friends with his actions or words.

  “They might die. Hell—you guys might die. Even though you have super-genes and all. Chicken pox, or whatever the Travelers brought, is bad news.”

  “Bad what?” Calia asked, the hint of fear making her voice tremble.

  “Too horrible to overcome or to endure,” Jim said with deliberate clarity. His eyes traveled their group and implored them to understand their plight.

  Elise understood. The word death always made sense. It could only be uttered in one way—with finality.

  The party turned somber. Philip cupped Calia's face, his huge palm covering the entire side, temple to chin. “Illness will not win.”

  Jim gave a rough exhalation. “It's not about winning, big guy. It's about surviving.”

  Elise watched the males frown. Methinks they understand survival.

  “Have you guys already been sick?” He looked between Elise and Calia.

  It sounded like: Haveya gahyz alrhedy been sick?

  Elise had put entirely too much weight on any kind of separation of the words. The way he ran words together was partly why Jim was so difficult to comprehend.

  She nodded her slow understanding. “Yes. Illness claimed us two days past.”

  Jim's expression darkened. “Okay… so maybe this is just simple chicken pox, and you girls will just look miserable for about two weeks.”

  “Is this a common illness from whence you come?” Elise asked.

  Jim nodded. “Yeah. Everyone gets it, and gets over it.” His eyes grow serious. “But it's new here.”

  Elise shook her head. “Not new. I have never heard of chicken pox. Only pox.”

  A moment of heavy silence moved between them.

  Elise could see the pulse of Jim's heartbeat inside his throat. “Tell me it's chicken pox. That we're talking the same thing here.”

  “No,” Elise admitted, “just pox.”

  “That's bad.”

  “Why?” Philip asked, listening closely.

  “Because—dude, pox was eradicated back in the middle ages. The last known case was in Africa in the 1970s.”

  Perhaps Jim was insane, it occurred to Elise. She retreated a step.

  “God!” Jim spun in a loose circle. “I'm not crazy. This is serious. The girls could die.”

  “How do you know it is this… pox?” Edwin asked, looking at his sister with concern.

  “The mouth,” Jim answered. “Check out the mouth.”

  Edwin came to stand in front of Calia. “Show me your mouth.”

  Calia sighed and opened her mouth.

  And Elise covered her own as she saw what lay inside Calia's.

  Sores stood like bright, angry dots.

  Calia backed away from everyone's horrified faces.

  “What see you?” she asked, but Elise could tell by her expression she knew what they had seen.

  Elise knew what must be in her own mouth and hung her head. To come all this way, live a haggard existence—only to be killed by a disease she could not heal. The irony was not lost on her.

  Adahy came to her side and asked no questions. His eyes, however—his eyes told her much.

  Her lips parted, and he looked inside, his fingers gentle on her mouth.

  Adahy did not speak, but his arms gathered her against him.

  Elise noticed his skin felt cool beneath the fire of her own.

  *

  Jim

  “What must we do?” Philip asked, his frustration clear. Adahy wore a similar expression.

  “There isn't anything to be done. We have a vaccination for this in some lab down in the bowels of the earth, just in case a black plague gets its groove on, but here?” Jim laughed. Remorse covered his expression.

  My people caused this.

  Jim held up a palm. “I'm sorry. I don't think this is funny, not one bit. But there's…” He flipped his palms skyward. “This is a virulent strain of disease. Unbeatable without the proper meds.”

  Edwin gave a shake of his head. “Yet, it is the females who are afflicted.”

  Elise stood so quickly she became dizzy.

  “I remember,” she said ominously.

  They all looked to her.

  “I know where I have heard the word—small. It is small. The first word is small and the second is pox.” Jim's face fell into solemn lines of defeat. “That is so bad. It just confirms what I speculated.”

  “No,” Elise said. “The worst part of the disease is not the name, or what it does. It is who it kills. The Fragment have discussed the topic of limited numbers of females ever since I came to be a part of their group.”

  “You are no longer part of their group,” Calia reminded her.

  Elise smiled at the comment. “Yes.”

  Her good humor faded. “But the word ‘disease,’ in conjunction with smallpox, was used. For reasons unknown, they believe that this illness, for which there is no cure, swept through many years ago—decades, before my time here. It stole the life of females and the occasional male. It decimated the females so severely, women could not spring back from the onslaught.”

  “What of the sphere?” Edwin asked.

  Jim had been cupping his chin. His hand fell as his face rose, his gaze directed at Edwin. “Their home environment would be a natural insulator. That is why there are women and men in equal numbers. It makes perfect sense, except that where I come from, smallpox took everyone—women, children, and men.”

  Jim snapped his fingers, and Elise gave a little jump. “Can you heal yourself? Or her?” he asked hopefully.

  Elise gave a slight shake of her head. “Nay. Regretfully, I can only heal injury, not illness.”

  Edwin released what appeared to be a held breath. “We have a Healer at our clan.”

  Elise's insides vibrated with a tiny flutter of hope.

  “Is she like…?” She put her hand to her chest, indicating herself.

  “No. It is not a she but a he. And he heals illness. Yet disease of this type is unknown to us. I am not sure what he can do, if anything.”

  “We cannot allow Elise and Calia to fall sick and die,” Philip said plainly, as only the Band could.

  Adahy raised a muscular shoulder in apparent disregard. “We go. Find male healer. He make right.”

  Elise's heart swelled. Adahy's bravery and purity of thought was such a relief. It also made her sad. From what he had said—if she was his second chance at joy—what would occur if Elise did not survive their journey but instead, succumbed to a disease from an alien world?

  Or worse, what if she became a victim again under Fragment rule?

  She hid her shudder badly. Adahy saw it and brought her against him more tightly.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Jim

  So, it was a world of cavemen, sphere-dwellers, and the felon Fragment population, but people were still people.

  And they liked to argue.

  Jim knew arguing resolved nothing—not that, as the newest untrusted member of the group, they'd listen to him. No-oh.

  “We cannot just carry on without warning Clara, Matthew—our clan!” Calia said, flustered and angry.

  Jim noticed the high color in her face and swallowed his fear. Out in the elements as they were, it was un
likely they could take shelter. And the women would sicken. The disease's progress was well documented. He might be a geneticist, but he'd had all the rudimentary bio courses required to become a specialist in his field of study.

  He'd had to learn all kinds of shit he didn't care about.

  Ancient diseases had been kind of interesting in a distant recounting, far removed from his modern, comfy existence. Now Jim was in an ancient type of world, and if his presumptions were correct, they were up shit creek without a paddle.

  And what? They'd head to the east coast and hope whatever witch doctor was there would stir his cauldron and the girls would be okay? What about everyone else?

  A thought occurred to Jim, the worst yet.

  “She's right,” he blurted into the middle of their heated conversation.

  All eyes turned to him.

  Jim was used to being one of the taller guys around, a hairsbreadth under six foot one.

  But not here.

  He felt positively short compared to the clansmen of the Band.

  He swallowed again and plowed forward, “They're safe as long as they stay inside the sphere—as long as no one enters until this thing runs its course.”

  They stared blankly at him. God.

  He tried again, slowing his speech. “The disease must be defeated. It lives for only so long then dies naturally.”

  Jim could see from their expressions they understood him better. No contractions or slang.

  Check.

  “No one should go inside the sphere.”

  Calia blanched. “Never? We may never enter again?”

  Jim raked a hand through his hair. “Not never. Just not right now.”

  Then he said the worst thing. “I think this might have been a plan to kill everyone off.”

  Elise stepped forward, which confirmed Jim's thoughts that she understood him the best.

  “Please—Jim,” she began tentatively, “explain what this could mean.”

  But it was Adahy who put the facts together. “No females, no people.”

  “Oh no,” Calia said. “Of course, it makes sense. If enough females die, then eventually, there will be no one.”

  Jim nodded. “Within two generations, there would be no children born. It would go from one coast to the other, sweeping everyone, killing everyone. It's much more effective than bombs—weapons. A good old-fashioned plague is a one-step deal.”

  It made a terrible sense to Jim. They were sent on a basic reconnaissance. Procure genetic samples. Make off with them. Give the populace smallpox because—damn—that would take care of that little Fragment problem.

  In effect, the criminals from his world could then still funnel here to die of old age. Actually, from a completely scientific standpoint, it bordered on brilliant, although absolutely unethical.

  If what Elise said was true—that there had already been a plague, and that was the reason for the low women-to-men ratio—a second round would do the trick.

  “Calia,” Philip said, grabbing her arms and pulling her close, “we are two-thirds deep on our trek. To turn and go back, when illness threatens both you and Elise—it is foolhardy.”

  “It'd condemn them to death,” Jim said.

  “I find I do not like you overly,” Edwin commented to Jim.

  Jim shrugged. “Don't kill the messenger, pal.”

  Edwin advanced toward Jim, whose bowels performed a little hop as he advanced.

  “No.” Adahy stayed him with a swipe of his arm. “Need Traveler.”

  Edwin gave Jim a look of consideration. “I dare say we do. However, at the point we do not....”

  Jim didn't care for the casual implication of his death. Not one bit.

  “And if I didn't lay it out for you, the women would die and everything would slide down the mountain. You'd chase it but never catch the solution.”

  Edwin's eyes glittered at Jim darkly.

  These guys.

  “I know you speak true,” Calia said as Philip's forehead touched hers. “I hate that there is no way to warn the sphere.”

  “We will send a courier pigeon upon arriving at the clan,” Philip said.

  “In the dead of winter?” Jim was impressed they had a communication system of any kind.

  “They are bred for the weather,” Edwin replied.

  Interesting. “How many days until we get to The Clan of Massachusetts?”

  Edwin sighed. “Three nights hence.”

  “And a day,” Philip said.

  Adahy nodded his agreement.

  Jim tilted his head, gazing at the sky. It was a scooped-out bowl of pewter.

  It didn't just threaten snowfall—it promised it.

  Dammit.

  “What about food?” Jim asked.

  Adahy untied his rucksack. Frozen pieces of pheasant were stacked neatly inside.

  “Ah—eating that how?” The pheasant pieces looked like bird-sicles.

  “There be a hot spring a day's hike hence. When we reach it, we shall fill a pot and light a fire. We eat meat in the morrow,” Edwin said.

  “The women can bathe, mayhap the fever will burn its way out?” Philip said, pressing his forehead against Calia's once more.

  Philip spoke, “Her skin is fevered.”

  Edwin's face closed down.

  Jim reined in his expression and was quick enough on the draw that he intuited the siblings weren't that chummy. It was clear Calia liked the big guy and had not wanted to leave the “sphere” they referenced. Also obvious was Edwin's game plan to hustle her back to the east coast, meet the mom and dad, and marry her off to some buddy of his.

  She's not having any of that noise.

  It was the perfect situation for tempers to flare. Then you tossed in the illness threat, and everyone was just so fucking pleasant.

  Jim covertly glanced at Elise.

  Flushed skin, just like Calia.

  Great.

  Everyone needed food. “I'm starved. How much trail mix do we have left?”

  Jim looked from one male to the next. And he was thirsty. The stupid canteen things the Band and women used were like bricks of ice.

  Edwin's eyes narrowed on Jim. “You are akin to the leech. You take. What have you offered but a ridiculous hypothesis.”

  Enough of this bullshittery. “Listen, I don't know what your deal is. But I know what I'm talking about.” Jim gave a regretful glance at Elise and Calia then gave Edwin his attention again. “The girls will die. The females of your—your clan—will, too. And you'll have your high-handed principles to sleep with.”

  Edwin came after Jim, and he stood frozen in a moment of what felt like exquisitely slow motion.

  Then Jim ducked as Edwin's arms came around him. He staggered from the glancing bear hug, swiveling to avoid it.

  “Edwin—stop!” Calia yelled.

  Yes, Edwin… asshat.

  A hand brushed against the back of his borrowed winter cloak and was gone. But when Jim looked up from his knees, a different sight than the anticipated fist of Edwin's anger greeted him.

  Fragment dotted the knoll behind them.

  Only a steep ravine separated the two groups.

  These were not the guys Jim had traveled with through the Pathway.

  This group was the closest thing to men from his world, but their evolution in this one had not been as kind.

  Jim got roughly to his feet, Edwin forgotten.

  The Fragment were a group of fifteen plus.

  In Jim's group were two of the Band. Then there was Adahy, who looked like he could handle himself pretty well, and Calia, who—even though she was a chick—seemed tough as nails.

  He glanced her way. When she isn't sick, that is.

  Right now, both the women appeared to be in robust health. Deep pink bloomed on their cheeks. Only Jim knew it was a parody of health. The spots came first, then the fever, then the malaise.

  It was a matter of time before the illness reached its peak.

  In the meantime, the m
en of the Fragment who had obviously tracked them had sighted them.

  Or more accurately, they had seen the women. Jim guessed that the Fragment had already tallied his little group and dismissed the four men. If what he'd been briefed on before was accurate—and no doubt, the Helix Complex had conveyed a lot of truth by omission—the ratio in groups of Fragment was fifteen men to one woman. Those were horrible odds.

  Desperate ones.

  And that was just what this group looked like to Jim: desperate.

  A groan sounded behind him and Jim turned.

  Elise's false coloring had lightened beneath her skin so the pink stood like too-bright spots on her otherwise pale face.

  “I cannot go back.” Elise fought to remain calm, but Jim knew the signs of a panic attack when he saw them.

  “No.” Adahy tried to soothe her. But his eyes were on the advancing Fragment.

  Uneasy glances were exchanged among the men.

  The Band looked at Jim. “Do you know war, Traveler?”

  Jim had been trying for incognito but he saw that he'd have to come clean. He shook his head. “No. I don't know war. But I know martial arts.”

  Jim chuckled at their faces.

  Elise's expression morphed to one of guarded hope. “Tell me you add to our numbers.”

  Jim lifted his shoulders. “I don't know for sure. But in my world, my skills are considered a deadly weapon. I can get tossed in jail if I defend myself.”

  Philip spoke, but never took his eyes off the party as they made their way into the depths of the ravine, “Then why do you propose to help us?”

  Jim was impressed. The Band were beginning to understand him. “Because I'm not in my world. These guys are criminals. If I want to live, I'll fight.”

  Philip turned to stare at him. “Yes.”

  Edwin's face was stark with anger. “You told us not that you had fighting skills.”

  Jim gave a bitter laugh. “Like that would have mattered? You were about ready to kick my ass because I wasn't agreeing with your every thought—or because I was a liability for not pulling my own weight. Give a guy a break.”

  “I will break you,” Edwin said with menacing deliberation.

  I'm tired of this guy. “Yeah? Maybe. But right now you need me. It's all about the numbers. And ours are crap. They have what—ten?”