by Chris Hechtl
The others hadn't been idle; they'd stripped the carcass, gutted it, skinned it, and then broken the meat down into parcels for easier transport. Four of the guys had shoulder or rumps slung on their shoulders like rifles. Blood dripped from time to time.
Roy took the moment to survey the area but he didn't see anything edible. Instead, he gathered firewood, broken branches, dead bark from the birches, and tinder fungus. He packed his bag with it. Two of the ladies did the same.
“Okay, break's over,” Klinger said a few minutes later. They turned, but instead of a long stretch of woods Roy saw a skyline ahead, a clear sign of an opening. So, the trees were thin in this area, he thought.
When they got to the opening they were harassed by four winged vulture creatures and clouds of mosquito pests as they entered the defile. Those people that were carrying parts of the deer were covered in the flying parasites. They waved their hands in disgust.
“I'd give anything for a can of OFF,” one guy said then coughed in misery.
“Home stretch, people,” the point man said over his shoulder.
“Just keep an eye out like I taught you,” Klinger said. “Eyes front,” he growled. The point man nodded and returned to his duties.
~~~~~O~~~~~
Arriving at camp with the litters of meat and branches, they helped Betty with the dressing then washed up in the stream as the meat cooked over the fires. Klinger reminded the group not to drink the water; they had boiled water for that. The hunters bitched about not having a better and bigger canteen each.
Roy snapped his fingers, drawing all eyes in his direction. “Right, that reminds me, I wanted to get a load of clay for Lita, our resident potter; she had been asking for it now that she is more mobile.” Roy said. He cocked his head thoughtfully.
“It's nearby, about a mile away. Since dinner is going to take an hour…” Roy said and then shrugged.
“Damn it, I just washed up,” a guy muttered, flicking his hands to get the water off.
“You can do it again afterwards then,” Klinger said. He nodded to Roy and then to the other hunters. A few sighed wearily but picked up their weapons before they took off.
They arrived back in camp muddy and loaded down with clay. The potter practically bounced in happy anticipation, eliciting a snort from Klinger. “Anything to make someone happy and productive I guess,” he muttered.
Roy grinned as Lita planted a kiss on the weary Marine. He loudly asked the potter if she could manage making the canteens now or if she'd use the clay to make bricks or as mortar for the fire pits.
“I can get Hadji to make a mold,” she said. “A two part one, once we get the basic shape I'll make two, then use water to join them together,” she said with a nod. “A couple by the fire should serve as a good test run,” she said with a gleam.
Klinger stared at them, and then shook his head before he threw it back and chuckled in appreciation. Roy gave a small smile as one of the hunters smacked him on the back. He turned away from the stinging shoulder to give Lita a wink. The older woman blushed a bit, but smiled.
“Nice to be popular,” Lita muttered. “And to feel useful,” she said.
~~~~~O~~~~~
The next day Roy shook his head in disgust at the sight of the Roberts family's most recent efforts. Walter and Quinn jealously guarded the electronics and banged out spear heads, arrow tips, as well as cooking implements for Cookie and Betty.
The welder laughingly told him that the Roberts’s supporters had tried to make nails from strips of wire but it hadn't worked. “Stupid idgets,” he said snickering and shaking his head. “They saw what we did and tried to do the same with floppy pieces of braided wire”
“Which of course didn't work,” Roy said.
“Exactamundo,” Quinn replied. He waved expansively. The storm had one side benefit; those who had been loafing were now working in earnest. A work detail had been arranged to gather stones from the area; the potter was using some of the sand and clay to form mortar to make a better hearth and cooking stove for Cookie. Shelters were being erected everywhere, including over the wood piles. It wouldn't be much protection, but some was better than none.
Homemade canteens were laid out in the sand in neat tidy rows to dry in the sun. The plan was to fire them in a controlled flame, to help harden them further, then let them cool overnight. Lita expressed misgivings about it, stating they'd probably lose a quarter of the batch due to the night chill, usually a kiln was allowed to cool slowly over time.
“Well, we don't have a kiln.” Cookie said in exasperation.
“Yet,” Lita said, holding up a finger. “I have trust in some of these guys. They'll come through for me,” she said, with a smile to Roy. Roy nodded.
“A beehive one, Ma'am. We'll see what we can do when we have enough time and materials,” he said.
She nodded. “See that you do, sonny,” she said. He smiled politely to her.
The clay canteens would be porous until they found something to use as a glaze, but the native-made containers would supplement the limited number of plastic and glass containers they had left. “Can we use the resin? Make forms and mold it?” Walter suggested.
Betty frowned thoughtfully and then shook her head. “I'd rather not trust the sap. We don't know if it has any chemical issues for people. We don't want them consuming a toxin, even in small quantities,” she cautioned.
Walter nodded, deflated a bit.
“But, we can try the resin as a glaze,” Roy suggested. He looked to Lita. She cocked her head. “What do you think, a thin coat? A couple millimeters thick? Just enough to wet the surface like epoxy?”
“We could certainly try it,” she said thoughtfully. “The outside. They could fire in the firing pit.”
That perked Walter up. In the afternoon he helped her apply the resin with a small scrap of wood as a paddle.
~~~~~O~~~~~
The hunters had brought in enough meat for two days, so were busy working on better weapons with Klinger and Roy. When the Roberts tried to divert the rocks for their own purposes, they were told to back off.
Since they were taking a day off hunting, Klinger led a larger troop to the clay bank for another load and to gather material in the area. They returned ladened down with grass bundles, tubers, cattails, and clay. They had a brief lunch and then went out for a second trip.
~~~~~O~~~~~
The red headed Eliza returned to the camp from the leather works and complained loudly. “Hey!” she barked, getting everyone near attention. They looked up and then over to her. “Someone has peed on the racks and ripped them up. We know it's not an animal, damn it, so what gives?” she demanded, hands on her hips. “What, we've suddenly got a PETA group here?”
Some people shrugged at this news; a few smirked. Roy sighed. “It's a problem; we'll need the leather soon,” he said, loud enough for those near to hear. Eliza looked over to him. He nodded to her. “We're going to need a lot of hide shortly, from tents to things like gloves, grips, lashings, sacks, shoes, and other things. We are already running low on spare cloth to use as bags. In a couple months, most of us will be in rags despite washing them,” he said.
Eliza nodded. “Luggage won't work for bags unless it's carry on. We all know this. The big bags are good to store stuff around camp, but I for one don't want to drag a bag with those little wheels around in the bush!” Eliza growled.
“She's right,” Klinger said. Some muttered at this news, they apparently hadn't thought it through. “You can wash it though, right?”
“Yeah, we're working on it now. I don't know if any permanent harm is done though,” Eliza said. “Just more work for us to do,” she said. “Some asshole needs their peckers tied in a knot,” she growled, stomping off in anger. Dark looks were cast toward those who were smirking earlier.
Roy shook his head. Again, division. Some people were enjoying causing hate and discontent. He was damned if he knew why though. It was stupid; they needed everything, especially a common goal of surviva
l. Being malicious…it just made more work for people. And it made those who acted up less likely to get help when they needed it.
He looked at the group under cover of stretching. From the satisfied smirk on Catrina's face and the guilty look her partner Susan had, he was pretty sure who was ultimately behind the act. He couldn't see the two squatting and doing it, but…he shrugged the thought aside and decided he'd better review his security again. There was no telling when they'd return their malice to him.
~~~~~O~~~~~
The fishers return laden down with seaweed washed up during the storm, as well as bags of clams and fish hanging from lines. They also came back with a scary story. “We were setting up fish traps along that banks of the stream and saw a bunch of fins going up stream,” Flower said, sounding a bit shaky.
“Fins?” Klinger asked. The girl nodded, biting her lip. She shook like a leaf.
“Shark fins, dark ones,” Jake said, taking up the narrative. “Big and small. Six of them.”
“Well, they won't get far, that river ends at that pond and waterfall,” Roy said. They looked over to him. Klinger nodded.
“How can sharks stay in the fresh water? Shouldn't they…like die or something?” Jake asked.
“Bull sharks,” Captain Grumby said, coming over to them. They looked up to him. “Bull sharks can live in fresh or salt water. They usually swim up rivers and give birth to their young there. They are nasty customers,” he said shaking his head.
“Yeah, but these fins were black,” the girl said. “Sticking out of the water,” she said, using her hand. “All black,” she said, “not just the tip.”
“So, not a lost reef shark of some sort. Something else,” Sandy Jenkins said, drying her hands on a rag as she came over. “Can you draw the shape?” she asked.
“Are you thinking river dolphin of some sort?” Flower asked, looking affronted. “Cause it's not. I've seen those in sea world. This was a shark fin,” she said definitely. She poked Jake and he nodded too.
“All right, well, we'll put a ban on crossing that river and let people know to give it a wide berth,” Klinger said.
“The marshes too. They can go in the marshes,” Sandy said.
Roy frowned, looking at Klinger. Klinger rubbed his jaw. “We've got the crocs in there, but they are a known threat. We're not going deep, sticking to the edges. I can't see us going in deeper. But we need the materials,” he said. “So it's a problem. We'll just have to risk it,” he said. The others seemed ready to object, but he waved a hand. “Life is all about risk people; we'll have to be on guard and get the job done quickly. In and out, don't linger to paint a portrait or anything,” the corporal said. Reluctantly they nodded; after all, their heads wouldn't be on the chopping block.
That night everyone took a vote and decided to take the next day off as a rest day. Camp duties would be rotated so everyone could participate. There was excited chatter about the idea, and what they could do with the time off. Most wanted to just rest, but a few were interested in improving their own shelters or doing chores like washing their clothes or taking a bath. Again Klinger warned them about the sharks and not to go into the water. That sobered a few would-be bathers.
The fishers talked about a New England clam bake, and the girls talked about making lieges from the local flowers and holding some sort of evening dance.
~~~~~O~~~~~
The next day everyone got a late start and spent the morning after chores getting ready for the party. Klinger and a hunter were grumpy, but the skipper and engineering professor pointed out it was good for morale.
“Besides, Doc said everyone needs a break to let muscles mend and people’s bodies to heal. And you know and I know it's not all fun and games. People will catch up on some things like mending clothes and such,” the skipper said.
“Yeah yeah,” Klinger said, waving a dismissive hand. “But you and I both know people will still sit on their ass and sleep. Then bitch because nothing got done and that they need more time to do it,” he said.
Roy shrugged. “So? They will have to cope. We all will. Now what?” He said, turning to their resident fish expert. “This is your show. Cookie said she's taking the day off too.”
“This way,” the skipper said excitedly, waving them on. Klinger shot Roy a look but then snorted. The skipper's enthusiasm was a tonic.
The skipper had them dig a pit on the beach and then make a big bonfire, then laid out layers of dried seaweed when the coals were red hot. The hot coals made the seaweed hiss. They laid on top of that the crab, then another layer of sea weed, another layer of food in this case clams, then more seaweed, fish, and so on. “It's like a sandwich. When we're done we'll cover the whole thing and let it bake for a while,” the skipper said with a grin.
“Good,” a guy said, wiping his brow. “I thought this was supposed to be a rest day!” He said.
“It'll be worth it,” Roy said. He grinned. He'd been to a couple New England clam bakes when he'd been at MIT. It was worth the time and effort.
Klinger rotated the guards, and then had some hunters who complained of being bored work on making spears and improving their gear with Wilson. Dennis and Wendy tried to help. Dennis pestered them for news on baby animals, making a few smile. He was a bit down about the lack of another capture though.
The Roberts Clan made a show of working on the hut but with less manpower. They complained loudly that people could come and help them; such complaints were largely ignored.
Flower lived up to her name, picking flowers with Hetty, Chloe and the girls. When they judged they had enough in the piles, they wove them into lieges.
Quinn got a couple of the apprentices to help him cook some of the wood. Once they had a fire going, they dampened it with a covering of dirt but left a hole on either end to let the fire breathe. That would allow the wood to cook into charcoal for later use in the forge.
~~~~~O~~~~~
Mid-morning Roy slipped away from camp and took a load of his gear to the cave. He returned a couple hours later the long route via the marsh with a load of sulfur, cattails and dried avian dung scrapings. He was greeted by an angry Klinger who wrinkled his nose at the smell. “Where the hell have you been, Professor…Phew! What's that smell?” he demanded, waving a hand in front of his face.
“Guano. I need it for an experiment,” the professor said.
“Shit…okay…” the corporal said, shaking his head. He stepped aside, upwind of the professor.
Roy snorted, then coughed. “Yeah, it's rank,” he said. “But necessary,” he said.
“For what? To keep the animals away?” the skipper demanded.
“You'll see,” Roy said.
Roy got some charcoal from the fire, then took himself off to the side downwind of the camp. He worked alone but kept a mask on. He was wary; he hadn't done this sort of thing before. Chemistry wasn't really his strongest area of expertise. He should hand it off to the old chemist, Walter, or the girl Sandy, but both were busy. Besides, this was his idea. It was dangerous, and it was his neck on the line.
He settled himself and then got to work on making the gunpowder. He'd made a mortar and pestle in advance for the project and had a set of tools and containers nearby. He judged he really should process the guano some way to get a better result but wasn't sure how. Dried perhaps or washed or something. He shrugged the idea off. For now he ground the mixture in the required ratio dutifully. Since he wasn't sure it would work, he varied the recipe a few times but made a note of which was which to repeat later if necessary. When he finished each sample, he let it dry in the sun for a few minutes, and then spooned it carefully with a stick into in a couple extra clay flasks.
He cracked the cattails and spun the fibers within into thread to form a wick. He did his best to keep it fluffy though; the fluffier it was the better it lit. He even tucked in some pine needles for good measure. He dug a hole in the sand, added a flat rock at the bottom, then a wick and a tablespoon of gunpowder.
Klinger came out of the camp around that time, and the gate guard pointed in the professor's direction. The two men noticed the flask and curious goings on and came to look. They picked up one of the flasks and gingerly looked it over. Klinger immediately got the idea when he noted the wick sticking out of the end.
Roy hastily took it gently away, “You are holding a live and possibly unstable grenade there,” he warned. “And I admit you probably have more experience about this but…”
Klinger's eyes widened at this news. Roy stuck a wick into another flask, then plugged it with clay around the wick. He took it a dozen feet away and set it down before he lit it with a lighter and then ran. “Fire in the hole!” he said, hands clasped to his ears.
Klinger and the guard instinctively covered their own ears and turned away, looking for cover. The flask went off after a few seconds, startling the camp with a thump and welter of sand and dust.
Klinger laughed at the commotion and waved the arriving guards and people down. “The professor here has worked out how to make gunpowder and was running a test folks, he just forgot to let the rest of us know,” he said with a grin.
Sheepishly, Roy shrugged as people patted him on the back or shaded their eyes and pointed to the settling site where the flask had gone off.
“It's dangerous though,” one of the hunters pointed out.
“That was why I set this up away from camp,” Roy explained. Shawn Roberts was upset but kept quiet. His wife glared at the professor and commented under her breath acidly that it wouldn't help much.
“It's a start,” Klinger said.
“It is more than that,” Roy said. “A grenade doesn't just have to kill; the loud noise could frighten animals as well,” Roy pointed out.
Klinger got thoughtful, and a hunter laughed, “Are you kidding? A Rex is too stupid to run unless someone shoves it up its ass! How are you going to get close to do it?” he pointing out. General laughter erupted at this, and the crowd melted away.
“It's not just a predator deterrent,” Roy said. He quietly pointed out to the corporal that they could set a charge off to drive a stampede over a cliff or into a pit trap.