by A. S. Hames
There’s a banging on our tent.
“Go get your food.”
I’m glad to get out. The thought of spending a week in charge of these southsiders irritates me. While I untie Von from under his lean-to, I look across to the officers’ tents and the radio tent with its portable mast alongside. That’s where messages concerning our fate will come in and go out. I wonder what news they’re receiving right now. Maybe the war is ending and we’re about to be told.
Dub comes over.
“Hey, pencil legs, next time he twists your ear, punch him on the nose.”
I nod. I will.
Von’s keen on the leash, pulling me like he knows what’s up ahead. When we reach the mess tent, Taff goes in to get our wolf’s meal while Von, Dub, and I join the line and sniff the air.
“Cabbage,” Dub says. “In a river valley, there should be fish. Unless the army have to pay for fishing licenses now. Nothing would surprise me.”
“It’ll be meat and plenty of fruit,” I say. “We don’t need fish.”
A lean, dark-haired Pinedale boy of around my age joins in the sniffing. “It’s definitely cabbage,” he says, even though no one asked his opinion. “Unless it’s meat and cabbage. It won’t be fish – the rebels stole all the fishing equipment. At least, that’s what I heard.”
“Great…” Dub sighs.
I’ve heard enough talk about food, so I catch the attention of a passing sergeant.
“Sergeant, do you know anything about our wolf-handling training? Only we haven’t heard anything yet.”
He looks at me as if I’ve just insulted his grandma.
“Wolves,” he says. “If you’re not nice to them, they bite your face off.”
He’s about to leave, but I’m serious.
“Only, we haven’t been told if there’ll be any specific training.”
He snorts a little. “That’s because what you have there is already specifically trained. It’s a goddamn killing machine. Just make sure you treat it right.”
He leaves and I get the idea I’ve annoyed him.
Dub nudges me, which I dislike. “If we set Von on those southsiders, we’d have more room in the tent.”
“Stand back,” Taff calls. He’s returning with a bowl of pink meat and oatmeal for Von.
Dub turns his nose up, but as soon as Taff puts it down, Von is on it, hardly chewing, just getting it past his lips and swallowing. My stomach gurgles. I’m so hungry.
“No sign of any meat in the pats,” Taff says.
“Oh yeah?” says Dub. For some reason, he goes off to check.
“Your wolf’s lucky I don’t fight him for that lot,” the Pinedale boy says.
“Von’s a Hero of the Nation,” I point out. “The only one in this line.”
“I know,” the boy says. “I’ve seen the film.”
I’m surprised. “What film?”
“He led troops into victories and looked heroic. Maybe it hasn’t reached Forbearance yet.”
That’s more than likely. A lot of films are late getting out to the north-west.
“What about the handlers with him?” I ask.
“Not sure.” He smiles at me, although I can’t think why. “I’m Ben-Ray Eight-One,” he says. “Ben.”
I nod. Then I realize he wants to know my details.
“Jay-Ruth Two-Five,” I tell him. “And this is Dub-Gray Six-Seven…” but the returning Dub puts his hand over my face.
“She’s Jay the boring poet, I’m Dub the coolest guy in the army, and the oversized dog is one lucky animal because I don’t see what he could have done that’s so clever. I mean it’s not like he can fire a gun or come up with a battle plan.”
Ben laughs a little, but I’m disappointed at Dub’s rudeness toward our Hero of the Nation.
“I’m Taff,” Taff says, like it’s not important. “What kind of town is Pinedale?”
“Oh, it’s no town at all. We make up our numbers by adding in valley settlements between Forest 12 and River Four.”
“It sounds like a good place to live,” Taff says.
“It sounds like a good place to live,” Dub mimics.
Ben smiles in a kindly way, which I quite like. I try to get a sense of him, but there’s too much fooling around so it’s not possible.
Once we’re inside the mess tent, the cause of the slow line becomes clear. Although we’re among sixty volunteers, the army has only one person serving. And there’s not much on offer – just cabbage and potato pats, dry brown bread, a few berries, and sweet oatmeal.
“It’s not good enough,” Dub complains.
“You’ll have what you’re given,” the cook says.
Dub nudges me, which annoys me. I fear he’s about to rope me in.
“Hear that, Jay? Old sour-face talks like it’s his personal supply.”
The mess sergeant comes over and for some reason addresses me.
“You’ll make better soldiers on short rations. It prepares you for such a thing in the event of a temporary shortage on the Front.”
“Yes sergeant,” I say, aware that Colonel Five-Five and Lieutenant Three-Two are looking over. I hope they don’t think it’s me causing problems.
“Next,” the cook says.
I collect my meal and sit with Taff and Dub. While we eat, Von watches and drools, even though he’s already stuffed his belly.
“How come my pat’s smaller than yours?” Dub complains. He measures it against his knife then tries to measure mine.
“Go away,” I tell him.
Lieutenant Three-Two stands. I’m sure he’s going to tick me off.
“I’d like to give a brief talk on battlefield scenarios,” he says. Relieved, I try to look interested. “Did you know I gained my promotion from sergeant to lieutenant by killing ten enemy fighters in a pincer movement?”
From the reaction, I’m guessing we didn’t. We do know he attended school though, as non-school kids are restricted from progressing beyond sergeant.
“In a difficult situation with superior numbers on the enemy side, I made a suggestion to my captain that we split our platoon, sending half one side of the enemy and the other half the other side. The idea is that, once you’re in place, you attack them front and rear giving them no chance.”
No chance. That sounds decisive.
“On the strength of that move, I was proud to take over the platoon from my captain, who sadly did not survive the encounter.”
That’s unfortunate. Maybe he wasn’t such a good captain, getting killed in such a simple move.
After we’ve eaten, the tables are cleared, a projector is brought in, and a white screen is erected. They even put up a narrator’s lectern. Back home, we usually have someone sit on a chair out front mumbling their way through the narrative notes while we take in the silvery moving pictures.
“Who would like to know the truth?” the lieutenant says.
“Me!” goes the roar. And that goes for me too. The truth is exactly what I’d like to know.
“I’ll tell you the truth,” Dub says to me. “If you question their running of things, you get a smaller pat.”
“Pay attention,” the lieutenant says, “and make sure you take in the full truth of the official film.”
Dub whispers, “I bet they don’t mention suicide squads.”
The truth of the black and white film begins with a woman shopping in a big provisions store. It must be in another part of the Nation, because the shelves are packed with all kinds of foodstuffs.
“A typical scene in a typical town,” the lieutenant says, reading aloud from the narrator’s sheet.
But now the woman leaves the store and is grabbed.
“Outsiders in blood red uniforms attack this innocent woman. Our way of life is under constant threat.”
I’m not sure where they came from, but their hands are on her… so I study a point below the screen. In truth, I’d prefer to be out walking Von.
Even so, on the edge of my vision th
ere’s blood on the body of the woman. The attackers laugh as they damage her, but, mercifully, the scene changes to a country road. The woman’s naked body has been dumped by a tree. I fear she’s been abused before death.
“Look what the redcoats did to one of our women.”
I wonder how many trees there are in the forest over the river north of Forbearance, because I find it’s better to count big numbers than to think about the particular type of violence evil men do to innocent women.
In the film, a car pulls up and a man gets out.
“A doctor arrives.”
The doctor’s shocked face and flowing tears tell me the woman is definitely dead. Taking into account everything from saplings to dead wood, I reckon it’s fifteen trees per hundred feet and the same across. Two hundred and twenty-five trees per 10,000 square feet. Let’s call that a patch.
The scene changes to a sanctuary. There are flowers in vases.
“Peace at last,” the lieutenant says.
The forest over the river covers three regions. The near before the road, the far high, and the far low. Around six square miles apiece. The dead woman lies beneath a large painting of the Leader of the Nation. He’s looking down on her damaged face. Her body is covered by a sheet, which is good because it spares us the sight of the Leader looking at a naked woman. So six square miles apiece. Say three by two miles. 1,760 yards per mile. 5,280 feet. Three miles is three times 5,280 feet. In the kind of miracle you sometimes hear about, the wounds on the woman’s face disappear. I am in awe. 15,840 feet.
“Sadly, despite the Leader’s miraculous efforts, the woman does not regain life. Even our Leader cannot undo every evil brought on us by our enemies. That is why we must continue the fight to regain justice, freedom, and peace for the Nation.”
The poor dead woman’s face fills the screen. She sleeps like an angel.
“So – who will avenge her?”
“Me!” is the cry from the ranks.
The truth of the official film continues. Two children play in a field while a baby sleeps in a buggy. They are unaware of two redcoats sneaking up on them with knives between their teeth. The death of a child is a powerful image, so even a fraction of a second of it is enough to push my gaze away from the screen again.
Two miles. Two by 5,280.
10,560.
15,840 by 10,540.
On the edge of my vision, their blood looks so dark.
Let’s call it 15,000 by 10,000. We can add the extra five per cent or so on at the end. No, we’ll omit it because the far high region is thinner on trees than the near and the far low. So that’s 150 by a million.
150 million square feet divided into patches of 10,000 square feet.
15,000 patches of 225 trees.
The grief of a parent is also a powerful image.
15,000 by the first hundred is 1,500,000. And by the second hundred is the same again. A quarter of a hundred is just under 400,000.
There are more tears at the funeral. Small coffins always look sad.
That’s roughly 3,400,000 trees. Now I multiply that by the near, the far high, and the far low regions then round it to the nearest big number, because there can be no real precision in such matters unless you actually went in and counted them all.
Ma. Among all those trees. How long will she stay there? And when she leaves, where will she go? And when I return home, how will I find her?
As we file out of the mess tent demanding justice for our horribly murdered fellow citizens, one boy demands we head directly to the Front. Thankfully, I’m in the majority in preferring to complete our period of training first.
“Walkies time for the furry hero,” Dub says, yanking Von’s leash away from Taff. “Anyone coming?”
“There’s campfire singing,” Taff says. “I might go to that.”
“It’s you and me then,” Dub tells me.
“I might go with Taff.”
“You can’t. We have to walk Von.”
I don’t understand why it needs two of us, but before I can say so, Dub’s mouth is close to my ear.
“Shut up and listen,” he says. “I’ve worked out a way to escape.”
9. Escape Attempt
BEN
I watch Jay go. There’s an intensity to that girl you don’t see every day. There was a woman like that in the next valley. Some said she was an empath, although she denied it. I met her once and she scared me. The story was she could see into people’s minds, and even place her own thoughts there to make people act against their will. In deep winter, she died though – starvation, officially, but I was told of screaming and stabbing and parts of her body being cut out and going missing.
Of course, a few days before her demise, we had the business with Pa. His love for Ma was so strong, but our neighbor, Mr Three-Nine, accused him of having too much of a liking for Mrs Three-Nine. The information was based on the sense gained by this supposed empath in return for food to keep starvation at bay. Pa swore he never went near Mrs Three-Nine and that his love for Ma was absolute, but he couldn’t deny a secret liking for the woman. Pa was a spiritual guide across many valleys. His reputation meant everything to him. He was so ashamed of his fall from purity, he shot himself.
I sigh and go back to my tent. The army is already bringing me down. Jay is nothing like an empath. She’s just… interesting.
JAY
With maybe an hour of daylight left, Dub gives me some instructions. I’m not too sure about playing along, but Von and I head out along the edge of the parade ground, down through the trees, toward what I’ve learned is River 125. Dub will meet us there in ten minutes. He says traveling separately will arouse less suspicion. I don’t know why anyone would be suspicious, but that’s Dub for you. I just can’t think why he supposes I’m interested in hiding aboard a troop truck, or stealing a car, or whatever crazy plan he has in mind. The fact is he’d be shot if they caught him or he’d become a wanted criminal if he got away. Dub might have nothing to lose, but I have a home to protect and a career to begin once the war is over. Running away won’t solve any of my problems.
Down at the river, the water is slower and calmer than earlier, but my mind isn’t. I can’t think why I’m bothering. Dub is always full of wild talk and rumor. Take the towers of the long-abandoned city on the coast. From what I’ve heard, most of them have fallen, although three or four still stand. Everyone knows they were once occupied by occult priests who worshipped the sun. Why else would you need to live so high in the sky? But Dub – he’d tell you of some half-baked history whereby ordinary people lived in such towers and used strange machines beyond our understanding.
“It’s a good plan,” he calls as he approaches. “You’re going to like it.”
“Why didn’t you run away when we were back home?”
“They’d punish my family. You know that. This way, I get to be free with no survivors to report me. I did tell you everyone here will die, didn’t I?”
“So you wouldn’t return to Forbearance?”
“No.”
“Where would you go?”
“The far southwest, maybe. I could live on the coast.”
I’m thinking he’s come up with a plan to steal an army car. After all, he knows I can drive a tractor, which is similar. He’ll be sorely disappointed when I refuse to go with him. I just hope he doesn’t punch me.
As we walk, I throw a stick for Von to chase, although he doesn’t seem too bothered. I’m not so bothered either.
“Dub? Do you know how many trees there are in the forest over the river back home?”
“What a stupid question.”
“Have a guess.”
“I don’t know.”
“Just a rough guess. Go on.”
“I said I don’t know. Ten million, maybe.”
“What? If that was a guess, you were lucky. Very lucky.”
“Lucky is good. You never know when you might need to be lucky.”
We’re soon crossing a cle
aring where a tributary creek swings around to meet the river. At the water’s edge, the official film comes back to me, even though I don’t want it to.
“What did you think of the film, Dub?”
“It’s only actors.”
“Yes, but…” He has a point. It’s easy to forget they’re actors. “Those were real events though. Those attacks by the redcoats – they really did happen.”
“Reckon you can jump it?”
“What? The creek?”
“Yes, dung head, the creek.”
I let his rudeness pass. The water here is ten feet across to one of the flat rocky mid-river islands so I’m looking for a point on this side high enough to make a jump possible. Dub nudges me, which I dislike.
“Come on,” he says.
He hurries to a point that stands a foot above the water and juts two feet into it. He takes a walk away from the edge, turns, runs, hits the top of the spur and leaps, legs waggling… and splosh. He’s across but his boots are wet.
“Come on, Von,” he calls.
“What if he can’t make it?” I say.
“He’s a wolf.”
As it is, Von just bounds through water eighteen inches deep, enjoying it.
“Your turn,” Dub says. He’s laughing like I’m already wetter than the wolf.
I take the same run-up as Dub and give it everything. I take off… I’m flying… my feet waggle… splosh! My feet are in the water. I fall backward. Now my backside is in the water too and Dub is laughing again, only harder.
“You are such a loser.”
“I’m not,” I say. “You just haven’t seen the best of me.”
Why did I say that? Is there a best of me? Is there something amazing waiting to come out to impress the likes of Dub?
“We ought to head back,” he says.
“Yes, we should.”
“What do you reckon is over the other side?” he says.
I shrug.
“Come on, we’ve got time for a quick look before we head back,” he says – and he’s off across the little island and leaping across to another. Finally he’s on the far side of the water. Von is right there with him, sniffing along the ground at what’s new. I set off after them.