by Chris Hechtl
“Who the hell can sleep now? With those…things!”
“Sleep when you can. I know it's hard, but...” a man said softly. Roy shook his head. He made a note to do something about the defenses when he had more light to see.
~~~~~O~~~~~
The next morning the camp was a bit fearful to get back to work. Now they knew there really was something out there to get them. Klinger rousted them out to get to work with heavy guards to watch over the gatherer teams. He set Roy the task of overseeing the making of new weapons and tools.
Roy created a series of tools to pull down coconuts and other fruit from the tall trees as well as branches. The tools were simple, really sticks with a hook on one end. He used a hammer, rock and a piece of the plane as an anvil to break open the hard shells of the coconuts.
He shaped a piece of metal into a makeshift machete, sharpening its edge on a stone. He did his best to straighten it, and then grunted as he bent the bit he wanted for a handle over. When that was finally done he wiped the sweat from his brow and then used rags to wrap the handle to protect his hands. He tied it off and then did a test swing with it. It was crude and definitely a blunt object, but it would suffice for the moment.
Roy used pillow cases and some of the spare clothes as sacks. Some of the kids helped, seeing it as a game. It was better than huddling in fear in camp or stuck washing blood soaked clothes or gathering branches for the fires and shelters. They took more than their fair share of food in compensation, but at least they distributed some of the rest to those who were unwilling or unable to work. Besides, Roy judged they burned more calories anyway.
Roy didn't care; he appreciated the help. They appreciated the sweet food. Their attention however wasn't without consequences. He got chewed out for endangering others in scavenging. Shawn Roberts tried to confiscate the makeshift machete from him but failed.
“At least he's doing something productive!” the skipper said. “Leave the man to go about his business. Hell, why don't you help him instead of getting in his way all the time?” he snarled. Roberts glared for a moment and then stalked off.
“Damned if I don't know what that man's problem is,” the skipper snarled.
Roy shrugged. “Some people are just like that. Bureaucrats at heart.”
“Yeah well, I've had it up to here with him,” the skipper growled. “He keeps that shit up for much longer and he'll get more than my piece of mind! I'll give him a swift kick in the ass!” he growled, adjusting his peaked hat. He'd found it in the wreck.
“As long as he stays out of my way I'm happy. He doesn't have to eat what we get. It's his choice.”
“His kind will suck on it anyway. Bloody leaches,” the skipper muttered darkly.
~~~~~O~~~~~
Roy helped their local survival expert Larry Wilson direct others to create additional shelters, the beginnings of a defensive wall and anchor the plane to the trees. Wilson was a good man, but he was a bit battered. He had his right arm in a sling. Doc had reset his dislocated elbow. He limped about from a twisted knee and ankle but still tried to help. His eight-year-old daughter, Wendy, clung to his side.
Both were grieving for her mother, Odel. She had been killed in the crash. Wilson, however, had refused to give in to grief; however, he fought and cussed his injured body. He was short tempered with most people unless Wendy or his blond son, Dennis, was near.
They used sharpened stakes as a deterrent around the perimeter, driving them in so they faced outward. There was talk of digging a trench or thickening the defenses, but Roy absented himself from that to eat a quick lunch.
The aircraft tended to rock with the waves, and there was some concern that it would float off if a storm hit. Since it was their only source of metal and manufactured material, it was precious. He worked with Wilson and others to secure the plane and dig into her. They talked about getting her lights and other things going, but it ended up being mostly talk.
When he put down his improvised machete, it was taken. He grumbled for a bit and then went and made another. That took hours, but at least he had the experience of making the first so it went a little quicker.
He later spotted Shawn Roberts with his old one, beating at a tangle of brush near his lean-to. Others were busy piling wood near the fires. Klinger had set them to clear the brush around the shelters and to find enough wood for the fires so Roy didn't make a fuss. They had rearranged things so there were fires out on the perimeter and the shelters were inside that. Improvised screens covered some approaches. When night fell everyone took their meager rations and then bedded down.
Klinger detailed able-bodied men and a couple women who hadn't done much that day to be on watch. That pissed a few of them off, and they grumbled after he left. But they clutched their spears when the first noises in the bush sounded off. Wary eyes scanned the shadows around the camp.
There was some grumbling about the division of labor. People like the Roberts’s family had put on airs about how good they were at managing large groups. Some had overseen and managed the labor but hadn’t done anything except boss people around and largely gotten in the way. Sometimes they had pulled people from one project to another before the first was finished.
Some people grumbled that others were lazy. It was obvious that some were still in shock. Roy shook his head. They'd better get over it; they had a narrow window for when the food in their system was processed. Once it was gone, their energy reserves would deplete quickly. They needed to get a lot done to insure survival. Speaking of which…he looked around. Eventually he found his machete discarded near a half torn-up bush. It was bent up but a rock and some patience took care of that. People grumbled at his pounding, but it didn't take a lot, just a bit of bending and a couple knocks and he had it out. He even used his multitool pliers and bent the top edge over by a quarter inch to stiffen the blade.
Once he was through, he was exhausted. He sharpened the tool for a bit on a stone and then reluctantly handed it off to one of the guys assigned to cut down trees for firewood. He patiently explained how to make the tool and promised to make more in the future.
However, he hid his second tool under his blankets and then checked the guards. Klinger was doing the same so he decided they were on the ball so he went to bed.
~~~~~O~~~~~
The first row of seats that was wrestled out of the aircraft was imperiously claimed by Mrs. Roberts and her mousy assistant, Susan. Susan staked them out with the little yappy terrier tied to the leg of the seats.
Doc, however, put a stop to that; she stomped over to them and claimed the seats for the injured. “After all, they need to be comfortable, so they can heal. You can damn well wait,” she snarled when they protested.
~~~~~O~~~~~
A group of women who had been laying out in the sun the day before whimpered in the chill morning wind. They were sunburned and moaned about it. A few hissed over the pain when they tried to take a sponge bath.
Their lack of activity the day before had pissed the others off enough so that Cookie, their resident chef, refused them food, fire or shelter. They huddled together in a miserable knot near the outer edge of camp. Dark looks were shot their way occasionally.
Roy came over and got a fire started for them, then handed them opened coconuts and pieces of aloe the botanist had found. “Sorry about the fruit; it's all I could find in the area,” he apologized. The coconuts’ milk had fermented into mush but at least it was something.
“Oh, thank you!” one of the girls said. He could hear her stomach growling. She tentatively took a piece of fruit.
Others also thanked him for the gesture. Greedily they sucked and nibbled the fruit bare.
“What I wouldn't do for a cup of coffee right about now,” one of the girls said.
“Starbucks. Think they're open?”
“I don't care, just get me one,” the first girl said. The others chuckled.
“A long way there,” Roy said. “All that stuff is out of reach now,”
he said. He pulled the aloe away from a girl who was about to eat it. “That's not food that's aloe.”
“Aloe? The cream?”
“Aloe the plant. Or something close enough to it for our purposes. They take the plant and pulp it, then use the extract for products. That's the real thing,” he said, indicating the cut pieces.
“Oh.”
“Rub it on your burned skin. It will help,” he said.
“Oh. Um, sure,” the girl said. She dutifully rubbed the plant cutting on her burned leg. She sighed when the cool touch made its way through the burned nerves. “That's good,” she murmured.
“See?”
One red headed young woman moaned she was sore all over. The red head had a soft husky voice. She was bruised on her arm and leg. She kept rubbing her feet awkwardly. He sat down and helped her do it. “God, I'll marry you,” she said, making everyone laugh. He was embarrassed and flustered. She shivered in the biting wind.
“Here,” he said, shucking his windbreaker. He offered her the thin jacket. “Share it,” he said. “Once you get moving around you won't need it though,” he said. She huddled under it with one of the other girls.
He quietly talked to them about helping out. When they whined about not having things they could do, he gave them ideas. Some were simple, like finding and untangling rope, others were braiding grasses into rope. “Look ladies, you remember the Raptors, right?”
They nodded emphatically, eyes wide in remembered fright. One shivered. “Well, we need wood and things for the fires. We need wood and materials to build better shelters and to keep those things at bay. They don't like fire…”
A few of the girls nodded. “But it's…it's dangerous in the woods!” one girl said, voice quavering in fear.
“Yes, yes it is. But go in groups. At least one person on watch with a weapon. If you see an animal, stand tall, don't run, and make a lot of noise. Bang on stuff, let the others know. Throw rocks at it. We'll come running.”
“We…we'll see,” one girl said, biting her lip.
“The good thing, if you're in the tree line, you're in the shade,” he teased. That got a laugh.
“You shouldn't be slacking off. There is work to be done, get busy,” Susan said. Roy eyed her for a moment. “Well, there is!” she said with a huff before she turned about and left.
“Unfortunately, she's right, I've got more work to do. So do you ladies, please lend a hand.”
“Oh, we will. Thanks for…for everything,” one of the girls said. She already looked drowsy. He shook his head and got up. He dusted sand off his head and waved as he walked off. The girls waved goodbye.
He found another wind breaker in the pile of gear and tucked it under his arm. It was a camo pattern and a little small for him, but it would work.
“Why'd you help them?” a kid asked.
“Someone has to. If they don't get food, they will be useless.”
“Yeah, well, their type is useless. They'll sit about begging for handouts. Users all of them. We don't need that here.”
“Yeah, but I bet you'd lay any one of them,” Roy teased.
The teen snorted. “Hell yes!” He chuckled and walked off shaking his head.
~~~~~O~~~~~
Roy and Captain Grumby were finishing a new set of spears; these with shards of metal as cutting tips when they heard a bunch of honking.
“Is that a car?” the skipper asked. Others were looking up as well. A few looked hopeful.
“Nah, animal,” a guy said. He shook his head and pointed. “Coming from that direction I'd say,” he said, just as people started running from there towards them.
“Ah, hell,” the skipper said, getting to his feet. Four legged animals came around the edge of the rocks on the sand and honked. They swung their heads about, looking at the downed plane and camp.
“Not happening!” A guy said, shaking his head frantically as one of the creatures squashed a tent. “No, no, no!” he snarled, waving and shouting wildly.
Wilson nodded. “It's like a bear people; stand up to them!”
“Yeah, unless they stampede!” a girl said.
“Just shut…ah hell, yell!” Wilson yelled, throwing things.
The animals honked in distress, but pressure from those behind pushed the leaders forward. After a moment the taboo broke, and the animals darted to the tail of the plane. They honked as they splashed around it, then kept going.
Roy grabbed his machete and spears and ran forward as the heard thundered in a cloud of sand past. He threw a spear and missed. His second hit an animal though.
“What the hell are you doing?” the skipper bellowed, cupping his hands to his mouth. “A wounded animal is more dangerous!” he yelled.
“Wound hell, I'm trying to kill it! That's lunch getting away!” Roy snarled, throwing his last spear. It hit the animal's back on the right side, sticking up like a matador's spear. The animal honked in distress, turning about to try to use its beak to pull the distressing sticks out of its back.
“Now you're talking!” the skipper said, rushing past Roy to stab the animal with his own spear. Luck or skill was with him, he had dropped low to attack the animal and swung upwards. His swing dug into the animal's ribs. The metal tip cut through the softer underside and glanced off a rib before getting between the ribs and digging in further.
The pole was snapped out of the skipper's hands though as the animal whirled about. Others looked back at it and raised their heads to honk. Roy stepped in and kicked the wounded animal. It staggered. A tackle from the skipper dropped it to its side. Roy rushed up to the snapping beak and kicking legs and dug his improvised blade into the throat and then sawed out. Blood gushed immediately, and the animal’s struggles weakened to feeble moves.
One of the other animals moaned. Roy turned and pulled a spear out. The four legged green and brown animal had seen enough though; it retreated with the rest of the herd.
“What the hell did you two just do?” a guy demanded.
“Meat!” Roy said helping the skipper to his feet. “You okay, ?”
“Yeah, but I'm going to sure feel that in the morning,” the older man said, rolling his right shoulder. “It's been years since I played tackle football.”
“Didn't look that way to me. Good save, Skipper,” Klinger said. “Though next time guys, let it run and bleed out. Don't risk yourselves,” he said.
“Now what do we do with it?” the skipper asked.
Klinger snorted. “Isn't it obvious? Slaughter it. Get with it boys,” he said, clapping the skipper on his good shoulder. The captain gaped at the corporal for a moment, mouth opening and closing like a fish for a minute before he stopped and sighed.
“Me and my big mouth,” the big guy said.
“More like big appetite,” the professor teased. “It's obviously a ceratopsian, most likely a descendant of a protoceretops. Fascinating,” he said.
“Are you going to admire it or get to work?” the disgruntled skipper demanded. “Come on; lend me a hand since no one else will,” he said.
Roy looked over his shoulder. The camp was avoiding them; most of the guys went about their business. Wilson started to come over, but Klinger told him they could handle it so he changed course. Roy shook his head. “Our mess, we get to clean it up it seems,” he murmured.
Together they slit the four legged carcass's throat to drain out the blood, and then gutted it. They didn't bother skinning it; it had pebbled skin like a chicken, with pin feathers in odd places.
“Damn thing is heavy! Got a good three hundred pounds of meat here!” The skipper said, grinning. “We'll eat good today!” He grinned, patting his belly. “I'm planning on eating a couple pounds at least!”
“Yeah well, three hundred pounds of meat and almost three hundred people. Do the math,” Roy said. “And we need to save some for later.”
“You really know how to spoil a guy's mood, you know that?” the skipper growled.
“Sorry. Come on, let's get this done. Coo
kie is waiting,” Roy said.
Once that messy detail was done, they found a sturdy branch and spitted pieces of it over Mrs. Roberts’s strenuous objections. She had been appalled by the killing and slaughtering of the animal.
“Tastes like chicken. Here, you should try a piece. Keep your strength up,” the captain said, offering the man a piece of cooked meat.
“It might be that your temper is because your blood sugar is low. Hunger can do that,” a woman said. She hunched her shoulders and looked down when Shawn turned a glower her way. “Just saying,” she muttered.
“And what about those things? What if those Raptor things come back?” Shawn demanded. “They'll smell the meat! The…the guts!” He said, indicating the offal. Others who heard his rant looked up in sudden distress.
“We can do something about that,” Captain Grumby said. “After all, I think the guts will make great bait.” That got a laugh from people near him. Roberts clenched his fists and then stormed off. “Hell, so would Roberts,” he growled, jerking his thumb to the retreating stock broker. Roy snorted.
The cooked meat put people in a much better mood; it gave them more energy but pissed both Roberts off. There was a roe about fat and flesh, how they shouldn’t kill god's creatures, should eat only plants. For the most part Roy ignored it, too busy using a finger to gather up any juices on his plate. He didn't want to waste a thing.
“God sent us here; that's one of his creatures. We were given a chance at a fresh start, and we need to do it right,” Mrs. Roberts said stridently.
“I disagree!” Captain Grumby snarled, banging his fist on a piece of metal he had been using as a table. “People should eat what they want. We need all the protein we can get. This is no time for crap like that,” he growled. “We're in a survival situation. It's us or them. Well, I choose us!” he said, jerking a meaty thumb at his stained shirt.
“Agreed,” Wilson said, taking some of the gristle off his son's plate. The nutritionist Betty, Klinger, the Mclintocks, and Roy stood firm. They nodded. Others did the same.