Children of a New Earth

by Eliason, R. J.

  “I know. They just think that they have to talk like that to be considered men.”

  “And being a woman means putting up with it?”

  “No, of course not. They don’t understand the great American way of life, honor and decency and all that.”

  Amy rolled her eyes. Luke looked hurt. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I am glad you don’t feel the need to act like a baboon. And if it’s any consolation, now I am glad that you were chosen.” He smiled and nodded.

  When they got back to Amy’s house and told Elisabeth what they had heard the other boys saying, her sister was direct. “If they expect you to cook for them,” she said, “they have never had your cooking.”

  “When you get back . . .” Marlin trailed off, not wanting to give voice to the pleasant lie.

  Amy stared back, tears in her eyes. Looking at her father, she knew he wouldn’t last a week. As much as it would hurt her to watch it, she hated to leave him now even more.

  She fell into his arms, crying. In the end, she wiped away her tears and said an ambiguous goodbye, leaving the worst unsaid. She knew she would never see him alive again.

  Luke gave her a sympathetic pat on the back, which she shrugged off. He had come up early to help load her tools into the Jeep, as well as the supplies the men had brought up yesterday. Luke and she had attached a small flatbed this morning for the men to ride on. It would be slow going. Hell, down here in the valley, they could walk as fast as she could safely drive. Farther up in the mountains, it would be a different story. They had chosen this valley carefully. The approach was at a high altitude and treacherous. Even without heavy packs, it would be torturous on foot.

  They made their way slowly toward the center of the community. A cheer went up as they rounded the corner and followed the now almost invisible line of the gravel road.

  The community hall had been decorated for the occasion with two faded American flags. Two barrels and a couple of rough-hewn planks had been commandeered for a makeshift bandstand. It was small, but then again the dignitaries of the ranch amounted to Amos and Minister Posch, both of whom fit on it fine. The rest of the expedition was already gathered for inspection. Luke leapt from the passenger’s seat and ran to join them while Amy parked the Jeep.

  Amos called them to attention. The men all snapped into position with obvious pride. Amy stood at the end of the line, unsure what she should do. No one seemed to being paying her much attention anyway.

  Amos reiterated the problem the ranch faced and Jacob’s mission. Jacob called out, “Orders received, sir! We will do our best, sir!” He saluted. The men all followed suit.

  Then Minister Posch stood and intoned a short prayer, asking for God’s blessing on the mission and on the men who were about to “serve the cause.”

  Amos pulled out an old boom box, wired directly into an old solar panel. It was her own handiwork, she noted, as he tilted the panel toward the sun. A scratchy rendition of the “Star-Spangled Banner” played while the men loaded onto the Jeep’s trailer.

  Elisabeth broke from the crowd and ran forward to hug Amy. Amy felt a momentary pang of guilt. As bad as it was to be going, how much worse was it for Elisabeth? To be left at home with a dying father?

  Scott Callahan Junior was waiting for them at Barricade Pass. A look of poorly disguised scorn passed between him and his brother Patrick. The ranch did not have two more different brothers. Everyone knew why Scott wasn’t going, despite being young, strong, and unmarried. He had refused. Nobody ordered him about, he maintained.

  He lived in a tiny shack on the edge of the village that he took over two years ago to get away from his father. The only person that had anything to do with him was Daniel’s older sister, Ruth. The two talked about building a house in one of the neighboring valleys and having nothing to do with the ranch.

  Daniel’s father, Robert, had finally made peace between Scott and the ranch. Scott was taking over sentry duty at Barricade Pass for the summer. In return, Robert gave him two axes, a maul, and a crosscut saw. Robert would join him at the pass several times a week, and they would harvest logs from the adjoining valley. By fall, they should have enough for a house.

  Scott had lain four rough-cut logs against the barricade on either side, to serve as ramps for the Jeep. Amy drew a deep breath, aligned the wheels, and drove slowly over.

  She stared down the trail. The road had been well-packed gravel years ago. Now, it was almost all overgrown with grass and weeds. It served one essential function though: it still cut a path through what otherwise would be impenetrable forest. The rich, old forest had been all but destroyed in the ecological disaster. Now, thirty years later, a thick scrub forest of new growth had erupted.

  This first valley was shallow and short. They were soon rising again. The next pass was much higher, well above the tree line. The altitude of the second pass was enough to make it difficult for the average person to breathe well. It was here that the Jeep would be its most useful.

  As they reached the peak, Amy’s head swam. The Jeep sputtered, and she remembered with a jolt that combustion engines took oxygen too. Then they crested into the pass, and the road level out. They came out the other side, and she stopped, looking down on a world she had never visited before.

  Hundreds of feet below them, she could see the tree line. It seemed the forest stretched out forever. A line of lower mountains blocked her view of the plains that she knew lay below. For that, she was glad. Already it was too much. A lifetime of having the steep walls of their little valley on either side made this view dizzying.

  “God, I hope the brakes work,” she muttered as she drove slowly over the edge and downward.

  The rest of the day passed in a tortuous haze. The Jeep lurched over huge potholes and rain-cut divots with bone-jolting force. She lay heavily on the ancient brakes, trusting neither them nor the pockmarked road. Once they made it down into the tree line, she had to stop frequently for the men to clear dead falls from the road. She wasn’t sure what worried her more—the way the temperature gauge rose or the way the fuel gauge dropped.

  It was mid-afternoon when Jacob called the first halt. Amy gratefully let the Jeep roll to a stop. She popped the hood and started to rummage through her tools.

  “Whatcha going to cook us, missy?” Shawn called out as he climbed wearily off the trailer.

  “I am not your cook!” Amy yelled, brandishing a wrench. Shawn took a step back.

  “Enough!” Jacob barked. “Put down that wrench,” he told Amy before turning on Shawn. “Another comment like that, and you will be doing to cooking for the rest of the mission, understand?”

  “Yes sir,” Shawn growled.

  “Besides,” Jacob continued as he pulled a bag from the back of the Jeep, “This one’s on me. MREs,” he declared. “We need to make time so I talked Amos out of most of our remaining emergency rations.”

  “MREs,” Horace said, “Meals Ready to Eat. Thirty years old and as good as the day they were packed.”

  “More than thirty years.” Larry grimaced. “They were almost ten years old when we got them. And they were awful the day they were packed.” Larry had served in the Marines and spoke from experience.

  “MREs kept many a soldier alive in the field,” Jacob told him. “Soldier’s best friend.”

  Larry’s dim view of MREs was not shared by many. For most of the younger men, MREs were the stuff of legend. They had grown up listening to the old men talk of their days fighting, complaining of the many hardships they had endured. Now was their chance. Come what may, they would have earned their right to tell their own grandiose stories of their days serving the cause.

  After passing out MREs to the men, Jacob approached Amy with two packages and a battered case. “Let’s talk a minute,” he said.

  Leading her away from the men, he handed her one of the meals. He sat down with a groan. “Damn, that was one bumpy ride,” he said. “Pardon the language, Miss.”

  “I’ve heard worse.”
/>   Jacob laughed. “Yeah, Marlin can cuss a blue streak. I forgot you weren’t brought up like most womenfolk.”

  “I was brought up just fine,” she retorted.

  “Sorry, I meant no insult,” he said, placating. He pulled a battered map from the tattered case. He laid it out on the ground. “Any idea where we are?”

  “None,” Amy shrugged, looking at the map.

  “Everything has changed so much, I can’t be sure,” Jacob replied and then chuckled. “Well, the mountains haven’t changed. We are somewhere between here and here.” He pointed.

  Amy measured the distance with her fingers, the way her dad had taught her. “Shit,” she said.

  “Now just because you know how to cuss, doesn’t mean I approve,” Jacob warned.

  “But that means we have only come about twenty miles. We have used almost half the fuel already. We will be out before we reach . . . anywhere.”

  “Shit,” he replied. “I mean, I see your point.” He stared at the dark shadows of the forest. Already they were creeping forward. Evening would be short this side of the pass. “Well, that’s why I wanted your opinion.” He shook his head. “That pass was wicked. I don’t think we could walk it, not with packs anyway. What are the chances of finding fuel down below?” he asked.

  “Slim to nil,” she replied. “Dad always said they were running out when he came up here. I wouldn’t count on more.”

  “Even if we did find some,” Jacob went on, “we’d have to pack it back to the Jeep. No, I can’t risk it. We need the Jeep to get back over that pass, and we shouldn’t need it on any of the lower trails. We leave it here.”

  “You mean go on foot?”

  “We knew it would come to that sooner or later. I guess it just came sooner,” he said.

  He stood up and went to the others. “Listen up, everyone,” he called. “We camp here tonight. Tomorrow, we continue on foot.”

  “What!?” several voices exploded together.

  “You heard me,” he repeated. “We go on foot. You all knew it would come eventually. Well, it has come early.”

  “Why?” Mark retorted angrily. “I thought we were taking the Jeep.”

  “Jeep’s only got enough fuel to make it back over that pass. Unless you would like to lug all the supplies we need back over on foot, we need to leave the Jeep now.”

  “Why didn’t she bring more fuel?” Patrick wanted to know.

  “I made all I could,” Amy retorted.

  “Maybe we can get more down below,” Luke suggested.

  “Maybe we can trade her for more fuel,” Patrick commented to Shawn.

  “The decision has been made!” Jacob shouted. “One day and the discipline is already going to hell! Kurt, start unloading the packs. Shawn, Patrick, you get the tents. Get to work everyone!” He stomped back to his map and went back to studying it.

  The men grumbled as they started setting camp. Shawn kept shooting her dirty looks.

  “I don’t mind walking,” Willie said. “That ride was rough.”

  As soon as the packs were unloaded, Amy covered the Jeep and the trailer with a canvas tarp. She had to search for rocks and sizable logs to hold the tarp down so the wind wouldn’t blow it off.

  Amy spent the whole evening repacking her tools. She could take only the essentials. They would have to be divided up evenly between all the packs. She knew that the men would begrudge her every ounce.

  It was full dark before she was done. She went straight to her solitary pup tent. She collapsed on her bedroll thinking that she would have to remember to thank Luke for setting it up for her. No one else would have.

  When Luke’s voice woke her in the morning, she was too groggy and sore to be thankful. Clouds had rolled in overnight, and it was cold. She could feel moisture in the air. It’s going to be a horrible day for walking, she thought as she collapsed her tent. They ate a cold meal of yet another MRE. Whatever the men thought, Amy was not impressed with the rations at all.

  Jacob ordered rain ponchos out. He was quickly vindicated. They had barely shouldered their packs when the first drizzle started.

  They continued their winding descent along the road. According to the map, there should have been a more direct route. The impenetrable scrub did not invite them to find it. “We’ll get nowhere lost,” Jacob said.

  Thunder rolled around them, and lightning lit the otherwise dull day. They plodded along, their spirits sinking. At least we aren’t up on the pass, Amy thought. Lightning could be dangerous high up in the mountains.

  The drizzle grew to a steady rain, and their feet became soaked in the growing puddles. The intensity of the storm kept increasing as the day went on. By early afternoon, the winds began to grow fierce. Lunch was dry granola that Larry’s wife had made. They walked on.

  Jacob tried to keep their spirits up by telling them stories. Stories that Amy was sure he thought were motivational, though more often than not, she couldn’t see the point.

  The ponchos worked well against the rain itself. But as the wind grew worse, it whipped the edges of the ponchos and blew moisture under them. Amy was soon soaked and cold.

  The intensity of the storm continued to grow. They walked closer to the edge of the woods, looking for shelter, until Jacob yelled at them. “It is dangerous to be under trees in this wind.”

  So they plodded on making what progress they could, sticking close enough to the trees to block out the worst of the wind, but always keeping an eye out for falling branches.

  The storm did not abate as night fell. Fearful of getting lost in the dark, Jacob found the most sheltered spot he could and called a halt. They huddled together in a narrow gully, struggling to keep their ponchos both over and under them. It was the wettest and coldest night Amy had ever experienced.

  Jacob passed out more MREs. Amy was starved after the long day’s march, but she grimaced at the package. The crackers were soggy as soon as they were opened, and there was no hope of heating the main dish.

  Patrick grumbled as he spooned cold, wet, chipped beef into his mouth. It was the only attempt at conversation. Jacob sat slightly apart from the others. He had nothing motivational left to say. If anyone went to complain, he gave them such a sour look that they stopped.

  The storm ended around midnight. By that time, it was too dark and too wet to unpack the tents. They slept were they were, in a cold, huddled mass. Despite exhaustion, Amy found sleep elusive. She stared off into the night, feeling miserable. Finally, the monotony as much as anything lulled her to sleep.

  When she woke up, she was greeted by a vast, shimmering wonderland. It might even be pretty, she thought angrily, from inside a nice warm bed. Heavy drops of water clung everywhere. Amy shook the worst of it from her hair and stood slowly. She had never been so stiff in her whole life. Her legs were asleep and bore her weight numbly. Her back ached, and her head hurt. Her legs began to burn with pins and needles as life returned to them. She moaned and began to rub them.

  “Think it’s bad?” Horace muttered unsympathetically. “Try it at my age.”

  Even the young men, who only a day ago had spoken romantically about the soldier’s life, now grimaced as another round of MREs were passed out by Daniel.

  “Breakfast in fucking bed,” Larry growled as he took his.

  For Amy, hunger had overcome taste. She ate quickly without relish. When everyone was done, Jacob ordered packs made ready.

  “Walking will loosen us up and dry us out,” he told them.

  It has done no such thing, Amy decided as she splashed through the umpteenth ankle-deep puddle. It was nearly noon, and after four hours of walking, she was sore and tired. No one else seemed to be in any better shape. Even Mark and Patrick were so worn out that they forgot to be mean to her. Shawn, possibly not even realizing who she was, had even muttered “’scuse me” when he bumped into her.

  Shortly after noon, they came upon an open meadow. The ground rose slightly, and the sun shone on drying grass.

  �
�This is as dry as we are likely to find,” Jacob said as he lowered his pack wearily. “We break early and dry out. Let’s set camp.”

  There was a collective sigh of relief as they all lowered their packs. Luke gathered the driest firewood he could find and, with the aid of some fire starters from his pack, managed to get a blaze going.

  Amy cursed when she discovered her pack had leaked. She heard many of the others cussing. It had been a common enough problem. She managed to find a set of clothes in the center that was only slightly damp. It was a big improvement over what she had on. She walked a ways into the woods to change.

  When she returned, she found that Daniel had taken over fire duty. He had extracted his cook gear, and he and Larry were working on the first hot meal they had in what seemed like forever.

  Luke was setting up his dome tent. Amy cursed again silently. She meant to set his tent up for him, in return for the other night. She was sorry she didn’t get back sooner. She went to help him finish.

  “Wow, that was sure some storm,” he said as she approached. He seemed to be the only one whose spirit hadn’t been lost.

  “You could say that again,” she groused, though she felt better despite herself. “That is, if you are totally insane. I’d say that was the most miserable experience of my life.”

  “Sure, but think: it’ll be a great story to tell the grandkids.”

  “Grandkids?” Amy snorted. “Sure, Luke, when you have grandkids, I’ll come over and tell them the story of the time their granddad got rained on.”

  Luke blushed and looked away. He didn’t speak at all while they finished setting up the tent. Afterward, he mumbled thanks and walked off. He spoke only briefly during dinner.

  I don’t know what’s gotten into him, Amy thought sourly. Sometimes he can be as moody as, well, as Mom always said I was. She finally decided there was just no explaining some people and left him by the fire.

  The next couple of days went more smoothly. The weather was clear, and the sun was warm. Every night, they laid wet clothes over tree limbs and bushes. By morning, they would be that much drier. They marched through a thick pine forest that had slowly replaced the scrub.