Savage Survival

by Darrell Bain

  “I guess it's all right. It's not like I have to go to school tomorrow and face the titters and talk like one girl I knew did. Her folks finally moved away because of it.” Lyda sighed. So many things to think about.

  Gary made a motion to leave but Lyda stopped him. “I didn't get a chance to talk to the new people the scouts brought in after we got them settled down. What do you think of them? Are they good people?"

  “Sorry, I should have informed you. Yeah, me and Jimmy talked to most of the men and Maryanne talked to the women. They're just regular folks for the most part, and a lot of them are still grieving for lost kids or wives or husbands or so on, like most of us."

  Lyda suddenly felt small. She had been so absorbed in her own trauma and the pressing demands after her ascension to a leadership position that she hadn't had time to think much about her own lost parents—or to dwell on the fact that most of the people in her camp must have lost members of their own families. “I'm sorry, Gary. I should have thought of that."

  “What?"

  “That most everyone has had something bad happen to them, or to someone in their family. I'm not the only one, but I've been thinking like I was. That's wrong."

  Gary nodded solemnly. “Maybe, but perfectly natural. And you've been acting to protect others, which shows what's been in your mind. Like I said at first; your instincts are right, even when you don't know why you're doing some things. I can tell you for a fact, that's rare. You're a good person; don't ever doubt it."

  “Thanks, Gary. Mom and Dad always tried to teach me right from wrong, even when I didn't always listen very well."

  “They did a good job. Listen, I need to get going. I'm going to break us up into squads today and run through some practice defensive measures. Why don't you give me an hour or so, then come watch and supervise?"

  “You don't need supervision for that. You know a whole lot more about it than I do."

  “The folks will like it if you're there. And you need to see what we're doing, if you don't mind me saying so. You'll learn a bit about how to organize units for fighting."

  “You're right. Call me when you're ready. I'm going to talk to Dorothy and see if she has any idea about what Charlie was thinking when he left."

  * * *

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “He says he knows where there's another food machine, Big Bill. Do you want to see him?"

  The man called Big Bill was sitting regally on an upturned tub shaped into a seat, surveying his domain. He still held a rock streaked with dried blood in one hand. He kept it in sight to let even his homeboys know he didn't mind using it. The fight with the Rocky Mount gang was over. They wouldn't be back, but neither did he want to pursue them. Let them have their little spot. He already had enough problems, what with deserters, recalcitrant women and a shortage of supplies. He needed to branch out, find easier pickings, get the losers organized, then maybe go back after the Rockies and take over their food and water source.

  At first, this had seemed to be a drop made to order for a tough ex-con. The strong rule the weak, always, when no other authority is present. He figured a former con would have easy pickings but it wasn't all a good ballin’ layout like he thought it would be at first, despite the lack of porch monkeys like he had to live with inside, hatin’ on you ‘cause of your white skin. The food bricks were okay, but they only came in one flavor from each spot. To get variety, you either had to trade or conquer. Same as the women; variety came there the same way. He preferred to conquer if he could. He didn't give a damn right now what the aliens had in mind for them in the long run. He just wanted to spread his rule far enough so he wouldn't have to worry about other gangs. Big Bill had learned quickly, the first day after his capture. Control the food machines, control the people. That was the key here. The absolute key, and sharp rocks made good iron when that was all you had to work with.

  “You want to see this dude or not, Big Bill?"

  “Yeah, bring him here."

  The man was weak-minded, but he had some interesting information. “There aren't many people there, sir, and the place is being run by a little girl."

  “A little girl?"

  “Yes, sir. A little girl name of Lyda. She's got a big dummie that's like retarded but he does what she says and there's another one or two she's got buffaloed. That's how come she's able to be in charge.” That wasn't strictly true, of course, but how would this boss know?

  “Lyda! You said her name is Lyda? How old is she? What does she look like?"

  “She's uh, about eleven or twelve I guess. Long red hair."

  Be damned, Big Bill thought. The goddamned kid that fought him so hard, then escaped before he could turn her over to John Rockner—after the Rockies had already paid for her. “Where is she?” he demanded.

  “What do I get for it?” Charlie asked. He had seen Big Bill's reaction to his revelation. “It ought to be worth a lot."

  “It'll be worth a goddamned mouth full of iron if you don't spit it out right now. I'll give you what you deserve after I hear you out."

  Charlie flinched, sorry now he had left. Even if Dorothy quit him, the brat had at least kept him supplied with food and water. When Big Bill began to rise from his seat, his sharp rock grasped tightly in his fist, Charlie pointed hastily. “It's over that way. You can't see from here, but there's a big round-looking rock sticking up from the sand. That's them."

  “How many men?"

  “I—maybe four or five, I think. That's all.” He didn't mention that men and women both were being organized for defense, nor that Lyda had been bringing more people into her camp every day. He wanted his news to be worth a good reward.

  “Put him on ice, Bone. We'll take him with us. If he told us anything wrong, I'll personally crush his wimpy fucking skull."

  The man called Bone led Charlie away. He had begun to tremble and wonder how to go about changing his story without getting killed in the process.

  * * * *

  That night, after most of Lyda's Team, as it was called among her charges, had gone to sleep, she consulted with her leaders, the ones with the most responsibility. The council, as she thought of it in her mind, consisted of herself, Gary, Maryanne, Gary's friend Jimmy, the boy Jacob, Willy, and a married couple by the name of Amber and Shane, who had been selected by Gary. They had all eaten before coming over to see Lyda at the small alcove in the big rock others were already calling “Lyda's office". After speaking with Dorothy, Lyda had reluctantly decided not to consider her for a position of real leadership, although Lyda figured Dorothy would do well as the water monitor, where she had been assigned. Earlier, she had asked Jacob to be present because she found him very adept at anything mechanical they had to work with.

  Lyda had just discovered that a number of her team had retained their phones and several still had some battery power. She had immediately put the boy in charge of rationing the calls and gathering information, direct and relayed from all over, as well as having him ask around to see what other items were on hand that could be used to help them survive, a task she knew she should have thought of earlier.

  Now Jacob was giving his report on news gathered from the phones. He was proud to be included in the group and trying very hard to act as solemnly as the adults.

  “The spiders are still rounding up people from all over, but that's all. They're not actually hurting anyone or destroying anything unless they're attacked or the people resist. Someone in China that spoke English said they saw an Atomic Bomb go off. It almost blinded her and she didn't know what it did to the spiders.

  “The president made a speech. He said God would protect America and that we should avoid the spiders as best we could and not fight back. He said the government was negotiating with them to find out what they wanted with humans. None of the people I talked to believed that part.

  “I got a message from right here in the desert that was relayed through a couple of other people. We're in the Arizona and New Mexico dry country. There's a ba
rrier that kills anyone who tries to leave. I was told that there had been some people living out here but all their homes were melted. If they were in them, they were killed, otherwise, they're still wandering around like us."

  Lyda remembered seeing the barrier out beyond the seep hole she had discovered. They must be on the very edge of the concentration camp they were sequestered in, though she thought that wasn't the correct term. Ever since studying about how the American Japanese had been confined during a war back in the last century, she had always envisioned concentration camps as something like big jails. Or like the places the Jews she had read about in that same war were kept. She wasn't sure exactly what a Jew was, except the term had something to do with religion and Israel in the Middle East where the terrorists came from. Lyda suddenly realized how bereft of knowledge she really was, despite reading so much. The adults must know much more than she did. Some of them, anyway. Mom and Dad sure had.

  “Have you heard anything about how many people are here?” Lyda asked.

  “Naw, I mean no, except everyone I've talked to says it's thousands and thousands. I talked to someone in El Paso and he told me the mayor said there were thousands of people missing from there already and the spiders were still rounding up others. Oh yeah, the president said the government was negotiating to make sure the prisoners got humane treatment."

  That drew a laugh from all the adults. Even Lyda had to smile grimly. If this was humane treatment, she didn't want to see what inhumane was like!

  “Anything else, Jake?"

  “Well, I've got a couple of hammers, a crowbar and a tire iron that I borrow during the day. I'm using them to make our hand axes better. I wish I had some glue to make the cloth stick to them, instead of just tying it on. It's real slow chipping them into a good grip and smoothing them out so they don't hurt your hand."

  An idea popped into Lyda's head. “Do you think you could chip out some steps up the rock so someone could climb to the top?"

  “Good idea,” Gary said immediately.

  “I think so."

  “Okay, why don't you go get a good night's sleep and start early in the morning after you eat? Okay?"

  “Sure, Lyda, I mean, Miss Brightner."

  “Thanks, Jake. You're doing great. Get Patrick to help you."

  “I will. He's getting better now.” Jacob left, moonlight showing the beaming satisfaction on his face and in his bearing.

  Lyda was pleased with herself. She was learning how to handle people, especially the younger ones.

  “What about the training for fighting, Gary? Do we need more?"

  “Yes, Miss Brightner. We should run through it every day and be sure everyone knows and recognizes the squad leaders and has the contingency signals I told you about memorized. We got new people today; we'll get more tomorrow, I'm sure. They all have to be integrated and sorted according to ability and ... willingness, I guess we can call it. Willingness to stand up to the gangs. Those who will fight like wildcats to avoid slavery. More slavery, I should say; we're already slaves of the aliens, even if they aren't giving us orders."

  “Do what you think needs to be done, Gary. Just meet with me a couple times a day to keep me posted, and I'll be there with you at least once a day so I can keep everything memorized, too. At our morning team meeting tomorrow, I'm going to tell everyone you're the military commander and that you're in complete charge if we get attacked. Okay?"

  “Sure. It's a good move. Use the training me and some others have. I'm also setting guards as of tonight and if Jacob can get us to the top of the rock, I'll have lookouts up there day and night."

  “Good.” Lyda munched on the remains of a food brick, reminding her of another item and also aggravating her because of the lack of paper and pen. There had been a few PDA's but with no way to keep them charged; they were mostly useless now. She was glad she had a good memory; it was just that she had never been so busy and handled so many tasks and so much responsibility, especially all at once. It was hard to keep track of all she had to remember and to do without having it displayed in writing somewhere.

  “How's the food and water holding out?” Lyda asked Jimmy. He was taciturn but agreeable, and a willing administrator, quickly becoming a key person now that Gary was busy organizing for defense. She had asked him to become sort of general overseer of the camp, finding out what was needed by whom and where and seeing that it was dispensed fairly. Lyda had observed him from a distance and was especially pleased he made sure the young children were well taken care of and that he was gradually finding things for them to do; some helpful, some simply to keep them occupied. Lyda wondered if his special treatment of the kids meant he had lost one or more of his own children.

  “We can handle a few more,” Jimmy told her, “but pretty soon, we'll need to let our faces stay dirty. There won't be enough water for washing and drinking both."

  Lyda had seen that coming. Well, she could show one of the women how she had used sand to clean herself and her clothing; there was certainly plenty of that to go around. That thought led to another: could sand be used as a weapon, maybe flung into the face of an attacker and blinding them? She would ask Gary. In the meantime—"Go ahead and start rationing it tomorrow, Jimmy. We need some reserve in case we get a sudden influx of people."

  It was Maryanne who brought up a point everyone else had overlooked, including Lyda and Gary. “Has anyone else noticed that there's only white people around here? I wonder what that means?"

  “Be damned,” Gary said, his mouth twisting in a wry grin. “Maryanne, that's good. We should have noticed that sooner. There's no Blacks here, no Orientals nor obvious Hispanics. We're all Caucasian!"

  “I saw Blacks and Mexicans—Hispanics, I mean—being herded along at the Mall, but they went to one ship and those I was with went to another."

  “I didn't notice,” Lyda said. “That blue light thing they used knocked me out, or maybe just caused me to lose my memory. Anyway, I ... I saw Dad being killed, then Mom tried to grab me and one of the little spiders lashed out at me with the blue thing. The next thing I remember, I woke up in the desert."

  “I was conscious the whole time,” Maryanne said positively. “There was nothing but white people on our ship."

  “Same here,” Gary said.

  “I was knocked out, too,” Jimmy announced, “Just like L—like Miss Brightner. I don't guess that really matters, though. The thing is, why are they segregating us?"

  Gary rubbed at his itchy whiskers, not quite a beard yet. “I suspect we'll find out when we know what the aliens want with us in the first place."

  “Jimmy's right,” Lyda said. “It doesn't matter right now. Survival and keeping the bad gangs away from us are the first priorities. That and protecting the kids and women from the...” She couldn't think of a word bad enough to describe who she meant.

  “Just call them the bad guys,” Gary suggested, “Even though they're not all men. There's some amoral women with the bad guys, too."

  “I saw,” Lyda confirmed. “Mostly men, though. I heard someone say Big Bill was an ex-con. That means he's been in prison, right?"

  “Right. And that's generally bad news."

  “It's going to be bad news for Big Bill if I meet up with him face-to-face again,” Lyda said, and called the meeting to an end.

  Gary hung back after the others left her office. “You seem awfully confident you can handle Big Bill if you meet him. Are you talking about him, or his whole gang?"

  “Him."

  “Is there anything here I need to know?"

  Lyda considered. Gary was trustworthy. Not only that, she knew she couldn't possibly run the team without him. Could he maybe find a better use for the gun than her own personal protection? She didn't think so, but it was a possibility, and besides that, he probably needed to know she possessed it in case something happened to her. Better for him to get it than one of the others. She looked around to be sure no one else was watching and pulled it just far enough out of
her pocket to let him see it.

  “Be damned. You've had that all the time and never showed it, not even to help cement your authority. My admiration for you just went up another notch."

  Lyda gave a small shrug and nod. “I got it after I escaped. I'll tell you about that later, but I thought I better let you know in case something happens to me. I wouldn't want just anyone to get their hands on it."

  “You're absolutely right. Keep it to yourself, but tell you what: if it comes to a fight with a gang and I think it might swing the balance, I'll ask you for it. Otherwise, you keep possession. Okay?"

  “That's why I let you know. There's part of a box of ammunition in my backpack, too."

  “Okay. G'night, now.” He touched his hand to his forehead in a salute, not very military, but Lyda smiled, knowing for sure he respected her now. There hadn't been much question before, but it was nice to be certain.

  * * *

  CHAPTER SIX

  John Rockner could see across the green shimmering barrier keeping him from leaving this damnable place. Although, he thought, I never had such a good drop before. Now I don't have to risk going back to prison, being called a baby raper and winding up a punk for some big black porch monkey. He checked behind him to where two ten year old girls were following obediently. He had them well trained now, both to guard him and to service him when he wanted it. He looked out across the barrier at the throng of blacks in the distance, damn glad he was separated from them. In the slam, even though he was a big man, he had taken a lot of abuse from the fucking rugs. Not to mention the fucking sanctimonious crackers who didn't understand that girls needed to be broke in young.

  Rockner turned away, deciding that perhaps it was for the best he couldn't get out. Some of the things he had done since taking control of that first food machine would get him an injection if the monsters ever left. In the meantime, best to get back to the gang and make sure no one was stirring up talk against him. He patted the little automatic in his pocket, wishing he had more ammunition for it. He pretended he did, even though he was down to four shells of his only clip. He knew that without his gun, he would probably be deposed quickly, probably after some very unpleasant things happened to him. As it was, he had found others who would go along with whatever he said, so long as he kept them in food and water. And women.