by Jack L Knapp
The stream was less than half a mile from the cabin, running roughly north-to-south. It flowed in a narrow gully that was slightly more than six feet deep. It would probably flood if we got a heavy rain such as I’d experienced.
We followed an animal trail down the gully’s side. The vegetation was thick and varied, consisting mostly of willows but with other grown back from the banks and up the sides. No gourds, though they might be growing upstream.
I couldn’t see over the gully walls, but then, no sight-hunter was going to spot us either; terrain can provide advantages as well as disadvantages. I looked for tracks but found nothing new. Old tracks indicated that large deer frequently came to the stream.
If not deer, they might have been left by something I had no knowledge of. What else might exist on Darwin’s World?
I had good knowledge of fossil discoveries from before the twentieth century, but that didn’t mean everything had been found. Fossil creation depends on where the organism dies and what happens afterwards. Luck plays a large part in fossilization, so there might be entire families of organisms that never left evidence of their passing.
Should I set traps by the stream? There were tracks of birds and the cross-stacked pyramidal trap would serve nicely as a bird trap. A snare might catch the deer that had left the tracks, but at the same time I didn’t want to discourage animals from visiting. They might decide to move away. It was something to think about, our current requirement for food balanced against future needs.
We moved upstream, hoping to find a new clay deposit. The stream-bed was well supplied with rocks which might be useful later, but for now we looked for edible vegetation or berries and clay for making more pots.
Cress grew in the water near the bank, the cattails had edible roots and green shoots. Millie gathered foods while I kept watch.
We found a spreading pool, shallow but deep enough to bathe in and wash my filthy clothes; two new blood spots, gained while butchering the rabbits, had joined earlier stains.
I brought up the subject.
“I really need a bath. If you like, you might move up to the top of the bank and keep a lookout?”
Millie gave me a funny look. “I suspect I need a bath as much as you, maybe even more. And I need to wash my clothes. You’re not turning shy, are you?”
“No. But I don’t know enough about you; it should always be the lady’s choice.”
“This lady will choose to be clean. Do you think we’re safe enough?”
“Wait; I’ll look around.”
I crossed the stream but found nothing threatening. Climbing to the top of the small gully, I looked around the countryside. Nothing moved.
I slid to the bottom and crossed to where Millie waited. “I couldn’t see anything dangerous, just woods and grass. I think we’re safe for a while.”
“Good!” she said, then immediately began removing her boots and the shirt and pants she wore today. She had no underwear, but did have socks. The Futurists had been nicer to the women than me, giving them the dresses they’d been wearing when I first saw them as well as a shirt and trousers.
Watching her undress was exciting; but I’d been alone since being transplanted, so even a cloud or a bush had occasionally been exciting.
I put my backpack down and laid the spear across it, shaft toward the stream. Following Millie’s example, I shucked my own clothing. My underwear had rotted away months before, but I still had socks, serviceable but dirty. I laid the socks across my clothing.
Everything was placed so that I could quickly get to the weapons; I might not have time to get dressed, but at least I would be armed.
Millie entered the water first. Her boots remained on the bank, but she took her other clothes in with her. As relaxed and carefree as an otter, she slid into the water and sighed with pleasure.
“This sure beats washing using a gourd for a bucket!”
“I got used to washing in streams,” I said. “It works, not as well as soap, but if you do it every day or so it’s not bad. I didn’t cross any streams during the last week before I found your cabin.”
Millie made a production of sloshing her clothes in the water, wringing them out, then repeating the process several times. I was content to soak and watch her. Sitting was best, I thought. She was female, and part of me was taking due notice.
She waded to the side, spread her clothes on the grass to dry, then slipped back into the water. This time, she was quite close to me.
“How long do you think we’ll be safe here?” Her voice was a soft murmur.
“I didn’t see anything. Predators hunt when the prey is active and a lot of animals don’t move around during the day. I think we’re safe for a while.”
“Oh, good. I was hoping you’d say that.” And she slid the few inches closer until she was in contact with my hip.
Her hand was underwater. I knew exactly where it was. And what it had found to hold on to.
“I got tired of waiting for you to make a move, Matt.”
“Millie, I’m not sure this is a good idea. I don’t know if I can watch out for danger if we--do this.”
“The Futurists gave me this new, young body. It works really well, but then they put me here with two women! I’m tired of waiting!”
Well, shucks. I didn’t want to get killed, but I was beginning to forget about saber-toothed cats.
I was insistent. “Look here, if we’re going to do this, it’s got to be quick, and we’ve still got to watch for danger.”
I was wavering. I knew what I wanted to do, and what I should do. Wanted was winning.
“You watch for trouble. Some other time I might need to be persuaded, but not now.”
I understood exactly what she meant. Sandra had probably been my partner last night; Millie was too eager.
“So you’re here and I’m here and Sandra is back at the cabin, and I don’t want to wait until tonight!”
How do you say no to that? I had no idea, so I didn’t.
She was naked, I was naked. I looked around, and then put my hands on her hips. I leaned forward and kissed her.
Well, I was always polite. Everyone said so.
We explored each other’s tonsils for a minute and I explored lower. Very nice, even perky. Yes indeed, perky was the word. I was happy and eager to see this go further, even after last night, so the kissing was less protracted than it might have been.
I tried to concentrate on her, but I couldn’t get that hypothetical saber-tooth completely out of my mind. The critter was possibly out there somewhere, deciding that inter-species voyeurism wasn’t fun and could we please hold still while he used those long fangs on us?
But we finished, satisfactorily for me at least and Millie wasn’t complaining; job well done, more or less. And no saber-tooth showed up to interrupt our fun.
Finally, I just sat down in the water. She saw what I was doing and decided to do the same. Perhaps she washed a bit longer than was necessary for cleanliness. Well, people say women need time to get there and time to come back down. At least I was now watching for danger instead of watching Millie!
I could cheerfully have lain down in the stream and gone to sleep. I wonder if women know just how much sex takes out of a man? But I didn’t. She was still washing--or maybe trying for seconds--but I needed to rinse out my clothes.
The weapons stayed on the bank, the clothes got a good sloshing around in the water. As soon as they were as clean as I could get them, I wrung them out and got dressed. They would dry on the way back.
I picked up the knife and axe, installed them in their respective carriers, and picked up my spear. Millie gathered up her mostly-dry clothes and dressed. I put my boots on and looked at her questioningly. She nodded, showing a lot more energy than I had.
I was tired, if not quite exhausted. She was still--perky. Women are different. Mostly I like the difference, if I’m not too tired.
We headed back the way we’d come, moving downstream now.
&
nbsp; I had the urge to look behind me to see if there were furrows in the grass. But no, my butt wasn’t really dragging the ground, I’m almost sure of it.
Maybe the saying isn’t meant to be taken literally.
We had almost reached the path when I saw a fresh track, a human one. The footprint was large; it probably belonged to a man.
There was still a bit more adrenaline in my system; I felt a sudden jolt as the flight or fight reflex overcame the exhaustion. I held out a hand to check Millie and looked around carefully. The track was still damp; he’d just crossed the stream.
Millie was opening her mouth to say something when I looked at her and shook my head, lips pressed firmly together.
I looked at everything in view. I took my time, examined every place the maker of that track could be hiding, finally decided he’d kept moving.
Still, he’d been here. It had to be a he, large foot, enough weight to make a deep impression on the soft ground near the stream. Maybe he was a stranger. Or maybe he was the one that the women had chased away.
And maybe he was heading for the cabin where Sandra was alone, maybe alert to danger but maybe not. I glanced back at Millie and began running.
Chapter 8
Millie ran behind me, trying to keep up. I had the spear in my right hand and I fumbled to shrug the backpack’s straps from my shoulders. I eventually got them free while I kept running.
Finally, I saw the cabin through the trees. There was no one outside, but the door was slightly ajar. Sandra wouldn't have left it that way if she'd had a choice.
I slowed down and concentrated on moving quietly. The noise Millie made was far enough back not to be detectable.
My spear was ready, left hand just behind the socket, right hand far enough down the shaft to provide strength to a thrust. This grip would ordinarily leave the spear slanted across my body, but by extending my left arm forward and pulling the right elbow in tight, the lethal stone tip was at eye level, pointing forward. I pushed gently against the door.
As the door swung slowly open, it revealed a stocky man inside, facing away from me. He wore leathers, deerskin I thought, and held a small buckler in his left hand. I couldn’t see his right hand, but Sandra was facing the man, knife in her right hand, left extended forward in guard position. There was a bloodstain on her right side, just above the hip.
It was enough.
I lowered the spear tip and lunged forward, my weight behind that chipped-stone point. It entered his back just below the ribs and to the left of the spine. He straightened in shock and I saw the short sword in his other hand.
The blade was long, leaf shaped, and made of metal. It wasn’t like my Futurist knife; this weapon was made for stabbing.
My dart sank in until the end of the spear-shaft dimpled his skin. He grunted, stumbled forward, I pulled back, and the shaft came free just as it was supposed to, leaving the dart in his body. I held the shaft up as a guard against surprise--the spear was a weapon in its own right--as he collapsed, never knowing what had killed him.
Surprise! Let that be a lesson to you, close the door when you come in!
I got a surprise of my own, movement to the side of the door, revealed as the door swung further open. I had brushed it with my hip while spearing the first man, revealing a second man looking at me. Like the other, he held a buckler in his left hand, short sword in his right, and an astonished expression on his face.
My dart tip was gone and the others were in the pack I’d dropped back along the trail. As he brought up the small round shield, I thrust forward with my empty spear shaft.
The socket-tip punched him in the face just below his left eye and skidded up beside his nose, finally ending up in the eye socket.
Well, there went the old binocular vision; I’d probably ruined his whole day too. Still, he was tough and determined. That small shield was coming up and the stabbing point of the long, heavy blade now pointed toward me. He should have been in agony from the eye injury, but maybe he hadn’t felt it yet.
Sandra saw her opportunity. As the man faced toward me, his attention focused on the point of my spear, she sprang forward and used both hands to plant her knife into the back of his neck where it joined his body.
He collapsed and she stumbled forward as he fell. I grabbed her, yanked her upright, and pushed her behind me. I switched my spear shaft to my left hand and fumbled for my axe, trying to watch everything in the cabin at the same time.
There was a movement to my rear; I almost gutted Millie, but she squawked and jumped back in time to avoid the strike. I took a deep breath and began to recover from the adrenaline-fueled fear and combat madness.
I was panting and trying to get my breath, I was spattered with blood, there was blood all over the floor of the cabin. One man was dying from a knife that still stuck up from the back of his neck, another one was dead or nearly so; I’d had to step over him as I turned toward Millie.
He might not be dead yet, so I drew my axe and turned it hammer-side down. I swung hard at his head and brained him. If he wasn’t dead before, he was now. His companion got the same treatment.
I pulled Millie into the cabin and slammed the door behind her, holding it in place while she dropped the bar into the locking hooks.
So much for airing out the cabin; it stank of blood, shit, piss, and whatever smelly things are in the human abdomen. Butchered humans smell a lot like fresh-killed animals, only worse.
My spear was done. The socket at the end had split when it hit the bones of the second man's face. A triangular piece had broken off the old wood, despite the reinforcement I’d wrapped around it. The cord and glue had also come loose, but the old spear had done its job one final time.
The second man, the one Sandra and I had killed together, was the reason for the blood on her dress. He’d used his long blade to try to convince her to drop her knife and had ended up putting a two-inch gash above her hip. Well, she’d returned the favor, her cut not so long but better placed and much more lethal.
The three of us huddled against the wall, shaking with reaction. I listened at the door to see if there might be more of them outside, but heard nothing.
Recovered, I was finally able to leave the two women holding each other while they wept from the shock and fear. I freed the short swords from of the hands of the dead men; it took less than a minute. Their fingers still gripped the hilts, even after death, but I managed.
Their weapons were reasonably well balanced, likely copied from ancient Roman or Greek weapons; swords intended for thrusting had been the weapon of choice for foot soldiers back then.
I handed each of the women a sword, then looked out through the peephole in the door.
Nothing moved, but I would have to scout the outside to be sure; there might still be more of them. One surprise, finding a second attacker in the cabin, was enough.
I had to speak sharply to get through to them, but finally Millie was able to function. Sandra had acted when she needed to, so if she was a little hysterical now I could forgive her that.
I told Millie to bar the door after I went out. That might provide them a little short-term protection, but I realized that the cabin wasn’t a safe refuge. An attacker couldn’t get through the walls, but we’d be forced to come out sooner or later and face whatever waited.
I opened the door and scuttled into the trees, some thirty yards away. I carried my knife and axe in readiness and tried to control my breathing, even while listening for any disturbance. Waiting, just inside the trees, gave me time for my breathing to slow. I remained there for a long five minutes, then continued around the edge of the clearing while stopping every few paces to listen and observe. The whole process probably took at least an hour, but I found nothing, not even the tracks of the two men who’d died in the cabin.
By the time I finished the sounds of the forest had returned to normal. Insects, birds, a squirrel chattering in the distance; if they’d been disturbed before, they weren’t now.
&n
bsp; I thought about something that hadn’t occurred to me, the war club I’d made; I realized that it might be preferable to my knife or axe. Clubs kill by crushing, unlike stabbing tools such as the attackers' short-swords.
Perhaps I would make a new club, better than my first effort. Stone-headed clubs are lethal and they don’t get stuck.
Finally I went back to the door and tapped on it. A voice whispered “Who?” and I barely kept myself from giggling. Reaction is a funny thing, and all that came to my mind was the thought that we’d been invaded by owls. But I whispered “Matt” and the door swung open.
We began putting the cabin to rights. Millie and I grabbed an arm apiece, dragged the nearest dead man out, and left him just inside the edge of the forest. We went back, got the second one, and gave him the same treatment.
I have no idea why dead men feel so much heavier than live ones, but they do. Still, we managed. After a short break to catch our breaths, we dragged the bodies farther into the woods.
I collected the belts and scabbards that each was wearing. The covering they’d worn over their private parts was a loincloth made of thin leather. They could keep the loincloth and the sleeveless vest that covered their upper bodies, the leggings too. Those things weren’t worth salvaging, nor were the crude shields. I couldn’t think of any possible use for those other than combat between humans.
There wasn’t much we could do about the bloodstains. I began carrying in double handfuls of dirt before finally remembering my turtle shells. I used them to scoop up dirt which I spread over the stains to soak up as much of the blood as possible.
While the women prepared food, I went out and fashioned a broom from branches. Cord tied the leaves and stems into a bundle around a long handle; I used this to sweep the bloody dirt into a pile. I scooped it up and took it outside, then repeated the process with fresh dirt. After dumping this, I tossed the soiled broom toward the forest.
The floor was better, not perfect, but it would have to do. By the time I finished, the women had cooked the rabbits.
It was not the most appetizing food I’d eaten, and certainly the surroundings weren’t the best. But the rabbits and bread vanished and I felt better.