by Chris Hechtl
“Eat what you want to eat. Last time I checked we're all free here. You want to play rabbit, by all means go ahead. Me, I'm looking forward to another dino steak now or a nice fish fillet,” the skipper said, waving his hands angrily.
When Shawn stomped off, the skipper shook his head to the others.” Damned if I know what his problem is,” he said.
“Probably got a stick shoved up his ass,” a guy said. A few laughed at that.
“Up his ass, but not far enough if you ask me,” the skipper said. That got another chuckle. “Come on, let's see if we can figure out how to find more of these things for tomorrow. We'll need spears though.”
“It's a bit too close to dark to be out hunting now, Skipper,” Wilson said.
“True,” the fisherman said, turning a weather eye to the setting sun. “Tomorrow then. We'll get a dawn start. That's when the animals are out and about.”
“It's not that four legged chicken that I'm worried about. It's the others,” one woman said, shivering. The others nodded.
“Then let's make sure we have our own weapons ready,” one of the guys growled.
~~~~~O~~~~~
Now that he had taught others, they made more spears and hooked poles, so Roy was spared that duty. They found something even more miserable for him to do. Roy was selected to do latrine duty; for some reason he was alone in that disagreeable task. “I'm sorry, but I can't play favorites. And since you are okay with stinky jobs...” Klinger explained with a shrug. Roy nodded. “But, I do promise, everyone will take a turn doing the dirty deed, even me,” Klinger said making a face.
“You need to be where you can oversee the efforts of everyone. An officer's position, planning the next move,” Roy said.
Klinger's face twisted even more. “Yeah well, I signed on the corps as a noncom not a brass hat. I'll take what I can get.”
“I'll get it done…boss,” Roy teased.
“Thanks,” Klinger said, glad he hadn't gotten any argument. “See what you can do to improve it,” he said, throwing Roy a bone. Roy nodded. Klinger pointed to the areas where he wanted the latrines to be.
Roy walked over to the area and surveyed it before he dug in. He didn’t complain, he knew Klinger needed people to lead by example. It still sucked though.
“Got it handled?” Klinger asked, humping over. “Just dig a hole.”
“Trench would be better,” Roy replied, cocking his head in thought. “Someone has to do it. I'm just thinking of what is needed.”
Klinger snorted. “A backhoe for one.”
“I'll settle for a shovel,” Roy said.
“They’re in rather short supply you know,” Klinger said, eying him.
“Then I'll make one,” Roy replied. He looked about. Others were out making a crude wall around the camp. Work parties were in the plane looking for more food or gear despite the smell and horrifying interior.
“Necessity is the mother of invention after all,” Roy said.
“What's that supposed to mean?” Klinger asked. He turned to shade his eyes as he inspected the work. As expected one or two guys or gals were doing work while others would slack off. For some tasks that was expected; they couldn't and shouldn't crowd each other. He pursed his lips and made a mental note to spread some of the work crews apart.
It seemed Wilson had some in hand though. They were getting busy or at least looking like it. Good.
Roy waved a hand. “Huh? Oh sorry,” Klinger said. “You were saying?”
Roy snorted. “It means if you're given a shitty task and minimum tools but it needs to get done, you either bitch about it or find a better way to get it done. Bitching just gets you tired. I'm going to do something about it.”
“Good. Good for you. Good attitude there,” Klinger said awkwardly. He patted Roy on the shoulder and then hobbled off.
He roughed out a better shovel from bark, some wire and bamboo. He broke it twice, so he learned to not only limit the load of the shovel but also improve the design. A few people imitated his design. When someone “borrowed” the tool to dig a post hole but didn't return it, he went and made another. This time he used one of the vertical balusters from the spiral stair cases and a bit of metal instead of native materials. The tool held up beautifully.
He dug the latrine with the makeshift shovel he made but found he was frequently interrupted by people asking how to do stuff or make tools. Apparently others had seen what he did and either came to him or pointed those who asked for tools in his direction.
Two hours into the digging Clarice Roberts came over and chased him off to take dump. When she was finished she tucked the hoarded roll of toilet paper under her arm. “Now you can clean it up,” she ordered snidely. “Since that's all you're apparently good for,” she said over her shoulder as she walked off. Roy shook his head and then flicked dirt over the poop. Since he didn't want to step in it to finish digging, he turned and then dug another hole nearby for a second latrine. He judged they would need at least six for the group. He snorted when a guy came over and used the first he had made, just squatting over it.
“Don't fall in,” Roy said.
“Don't I know it,” the Aussie kid said. “Got any TP?”
“No, talk to that Roberts lady. She's got it,” Roy said, still shoveling.
“Hell with that, I'll find a leaf,” the teen said.
“Careful you don't get a rash. Hell of a place to get poison ivy,” Roy cautioned.
The guy chuckled and then pulled up his shorts and left. Roy looked over to the hole and then tossed a shovel load of dirt in there to keep the smell down just as another guy came over. A fourth was using a nearby six-foot palm tree as a handy urinal.
Pee was fine; pee might deter animals from coming into the camp. Or it might attract predators, they just didn't know. But it'd be nice if…Roy shook his head and kept digging.
After a lunch of fruit and water, he improvised an ax and then cut down a couple close saplings. But he found the soft ones with purple leaves to be sticky with a yellow sap-filled hollow core…obviously not good. Probably not even good for burning either. He tossed them aside and then looked for other candidates.
“Can we hurry it up here? People are using the bathrooms in the aircraft and complaining about the stench. And they are getting…full,” a guy said.
“Doing my best. It'd be easier if I wasn't alone though,” Roy said, sharpening the improvised ax.
“Is that an ax?” the guy asked.
“Yeah.”
“Where'd you get it?”
“Made it,” Roy said, head down as he kept working.
The guy blinked. “Oh, you're that tool guy,” he said tone cooling slightly. “Can I have that when you're done?”
“We'll see,” Roy said. The guy snorted and then stomped off. Roy shook his head. Since the guy didn't offer to help, he was in no hurry to lend him the precious tool. He skipped the nearby ironwood tree, even a chain saw would have a hell of a time with that he knew. The alien trees…he left those things alone. There were fortunately few of them, most were fern like. Eventually he found a more solid tree that wasn't too hard and cut it down. A couple guys came over to lend him a hand, interested in his tools and technique.
They took turns removing the branches. Those went to the people making shelters or the fire crew. They then had logs on hand. These they split using an improvised wedge and sledge hammer to create seats for the latrine. At a passed-on suggestion from Jane Dask, he went back into the plane and salvaged the seats from the bathrooms and mounted them onto his logs. He even improvised a privacy screen for the women.
Most of that work took the better part of the day, and he was tired when he was finished. He felt the irony when he had to stand in line to do his business in the latrines.
“You should have used it when you had the chance,” Dennis said smiling at him.
“Yeah I know,” Roy said wryly.
When he was finished, he checked the setting sun. He judged he had a couple ho
urs left, so he rolled his aching shoulders and then looked around. The guys that had helped him cut down and split the logs had appropriated his tools, so he looked to the mess section of camp. He wasn't impressed with what the others had gathered, slim pickings at best. Dandelions for a salad, some fruit, a few other things…he shook his head.
He was tempted to make more tools or rack out. Instead, he scouted the immediate area and found a nearby marsh with fields of cattails about a mile east of them. The gatherers were further beyond but apparently had ignored the bounty there. Roy shook his head, surveying the find. Around the perimeter he found creeping snow berries. The vines had white berries on the underside. He picked them off, eating them. He filled his pockets and kept munching as he went.
When he had his fill, he stocked up on more, using a cleaned ziplock baggie for the purpose. After a while though, his back started to bother him so he switched tasks. He dug in and harvested bunches of cattails. These he bundled up, root, top and all to bring back. When he judged he had enough, he rigged a sling and went back to camp, falling in with the others.
Some were dispirited; they had found some food but not a lot. “What have you got?”
“Cattails and snow berries. Good eats if they aren't too old. I'm not sure about the season for the cattails. They are tender though, so they should be okay.”
“Cat tails?” A guy asked, wrinkling his nose. “We saw tons. They are worthless.”
Roy shook his head. “No, you can eat them. The roots.”
“You mean you went into the marsh? And a gator or something didn't eat you? We went around,” another guy said, staring at him.
Roy shrugged. “You've got to go where the food is. This,” he hefted the bundle, “we can use the roots for food. Set some aside for a hearty soup. The stalks and other bits we can use to make paper or use as insulation or tinder. Heck, even toilet paper,” he said. “That's how the ancient Egyptians and Babylonians did it anyways. Papyrus.
“Ah, you're the guy on latrine duty?” another guy asked, wrinkling his nose.
“Today, yeah,” Roy answered. The other guy nodded.
“So, they sent you out to find TP? That sucks.”
“No, I did it on my own,” he said. He heard chatter, like people talking. It took him a moment to realize it was birds. He looked around and noted bird poop. He looked to the sky to see birds circling the area. “Hang on a sec here,” he said and pointed.
“What? Come on man, it's getting dark,” his buddy said. “Ain't you tired?”
“Hell yes, but I'm hungry too. This won't feed everyone you know,” Roy said. “Here,” he pulled out the bag of snow berries and had them snack on them. “Pass it around. It's something. Trail mix.”
“Thanks,” a guy said. “Never thought we'd be reduced to hand and mouth,” he muttered, taking a few and popping them in his mouth. He munched, then passed the bag along.
“Watch out for the berries that look like blueberries. If it's not the right stalk and leaves, walk away. They have three berries on them and are blue, but they are poisonous,” Roy warned.
“We heard. The botanist lady found some real ones. She had us pick some and the leaves for some reason.”
“Good. The leaves can be boiled to make a tea. Very good for you,” Roy said with a nod.
“How the hell do you know all this?”
“Ever watch the Science channel? That Suvivorman guy?” Roy asked with a smile. That earned a snort of amusement.
His bag of berries didn't last long, but it did pick up their spirits. He tucked the empty bag back into his pocket for reuse. “Waste not, want not. It's not like we can go to the local grocery story for more of these,” he said to the team. A few nodded.
He had them divert when he heard the sound of birds. He led them around a couple hills until he reached the edge of the rookery. The botanist became excited when she spotted fruit and other plants they had missed. Roy snorted. The group stopped and gathered the materials.
The weary crew came back to camp with back packs loaded with various fruits, an avian one of the guys had killed with a rock, eggs, aloe plants, and tubers. They were eagerly welcomed by Cookie who took charge of the spoils.
“Home sweet home,” a guy said wistfully. “What I wouldn't do for a beer right about now.” That statement sent others into a bit of a funk.
They ate a hasty evening meal and then found places to rack out. The shelters had again been improved, as had the walls around the camp. It was still open at the beach though. Roy wasn't sure about the walls; the Raptors could jump over them. They weren't very high, and most were made out of tangles of wreckage and brush. He shook his head. He'd seen the smaller animals jump up on top of the 747. If they could do that, they could easily jump the wall. But at least it was some comfort. False comfort, but comfort none the less. He just hoped Klinger didn't let his guard down.
When the Roberts Clan returned from bathing in the stream that ran from the spring they set up a prayer meeting for others of like-minded people. Roy ignored it, too tired and sore to care. He was a bit put out though; he found that someone had gone through his stuff while he had been distracted or while he had been gone. He looked up with narrow eyes. His multitool was gone as was his laptop and a few other things. Since the Roberts were busy, he checked and sure enough found his missing stuff in their gear. Muffins took the treat he handed her to keep her quiet. He made a note of all the spoils then took just his stuff back. He snagged a roll of TP for good measure. When he went back to his shelter, he took the time to hide it.
~~~~~O~~~~~
Roy was hassled the next day before breakfast by the Roberts Clan and others for not attending their ceremony. He put this off, stating he was agnostic, making some wary. Even the skipper had attended, praying for fish since they'd come up dry with the improvised net and tackle they had contrived.
When the skipper heard that Roy was being put upon, he listened, arms crossed when Roy said he was agnostic. “To each his own,” the captain said, but there was a hint of disappointment in his voice. “We've practiced freedom of religion for centuries in America. I don't see why the same can't be done here,” he said, nodding to a few individuals who were not Christians.
“He was just absent so he could steal!” Mrs. Roberts accused. That started an ugly mutter and dark look from the captain.
“I had the same problem actually,” Roy commented patiently. “Fortunately, I suspected who took it and low and behold, when I looked I found it,” he said, hefting his multitool. “Want me to tell them just where I found it? I found all sorts of other people's stuff there too.”
Mrs. Roberts flushed. She glared at him as people began to mutter darkly. “It's all a big misunderstanding,” Cookie said, trying to smooth things over. “Borrowed without permission no doubt. As to the other things,” she looked at the woman.
Susan cleared her throat. They turned to her. “I picked up a few things from the unclaimed baggage,” she admitted.
“Right, and since I was digging latrines all day in full public view, anything that went missing in that time period can't be laid on me,” Roy said, eying Susan. He eyed her and then her boss pointedly.
“I don't like what you're implying,” Shawn Roberts snarled.
“I personally don't like being called a thief myself,” Roy said, eyes flashing. Mrs. Roberts hastily backed off. She dragged Shawn and Susan away with her. Cookie looked distressed after them. Roy shook his head.
New work details were handed out later that morning, Roy absented himself to hide his gear up a tree or buried it in the sand.
When he returned he found he had been tasked with salvage of the aircraft. He went to work with a welder. They tore into the remains of the aircraft, but no one had a plan. Like the others Roy wore a breathing mask to fight the stench.
A few things were found, cleaning supplies, cabinet doors, and bits of things under seats or among the debris. A work crew was organized to take more of the seats out as well as take
down the overhead storage compartments to use in the camp. Another was after the wiring to use as lashings in the camp.
Roy went to work, using his multitool's pliers to remove the bolts and screws. He was popular; there was only one other multitool with the salvagers. He got to just pull bolts and screws out, which he pocketed for later. He was lucky, he didn't have to do any heavy lifting.
What he really wanted to do was get into the engines. He'd love to get one of the turbines. He bet he could make all sorts of things with the blades. Sure, they had holes in them, and were curved, but they were hardened, forged from metals to withstand the forces needed to keep the aircraft in the air. He wasn't sure if they'd take an edge, but he'd like to find out—an ax, a plow, whatever. A dozen or so ideas came to him.
Unfortunately, it was all useless; two of the engines were gone, in the ocean off shore. The remaining two had been pretty banged up, one was facing down and had been nearly ripped off at the wing root. The other was a torn up mess. It stank of jet fuel, so he wasn't keen about playing with it. He shook his head and went back to work.
“So, here is where you got to! Hiding…oh fog! The stench! Almost as bad as rotting fish! How can you stand it?!” Captain Grumby demanded. “Come on out of there,” he growled. “Let's get some air,” he said.
Roy nodded. He'd gotten the other doors open, those he could, and they'd even removed the glass panes from the windows. There was a breeze going through the aircraft but not a good one. He followed the big sailor out into the bright sun.
“Think you can whistle up some fish hooks and sinkers and such?” the skipper asked.
Roy cocked his head. “Get me something to use…I'm not sure earrings would work well. We could try it. They should be flashy enough for bait,” He said.
“The glitter might work,” the skipper mused, rubbing his chin. “What about the line? We've snapped a few things we've tried. The bits of string can't handle the load and the salt water.”
“Wiring might work. I don't know if this aircraft has fiber optics; we could check. We could heat the plastic or glass over a fire and stretch it. But I doubt it could handle the tensile strength required,” Roy said thoughtfully.