by Lou Cadle
Someone halfway back in the line repeated it for him.
The way ahead was clear. Hannah turned and walked backward so everyone could hear her. “I saw birds flying straight this way this morning.”
“If it’s August,” Nari said, “maybe they’re migrating already.”
“Nope,” Hannah said, feeling as near to optimistic as she’d felt since Garreth’s death. “I saw the same birds—or the same kind—yesterday, and they were weighted down with water.”
Jodi said, cheerfully, “Bird psychic?”
Hannah said, “No, though that would be handy. I was just lucky enough to see it.” She faced south again, walked forward, and picked up the pace. Fast, slow, didn’t matter. The cost of faster was more sweating, if they had any moisture in their tissues to sweat out. But the cost of dawdling was still being out here when it was hot. So she went fast. She was thirsty, and she wanted that drink.
She just hoped she would get it today. Surely the birds wouldn’t choose a nesting or hunting territory more than a couple hours from water, though, would they? That answer, she wasn’t as confident about. But the bouncing, swooping flight yesterday, the need to rest in a bush: that was what told her that yesterday’s bird, flying from left to right, had been weighed down with water. This morning, at dawn, they had been flying high and straight, to the source of it. The flight was different because they were dehydrated too, and lighter from the lack of moisture.
There was a rise ahead, and she hoped when she reached it, she’d see the water.
But before she got there, the birds—either the same two, or ones very much like them—flew over her head. Lower, with that same dip to their flight.
Yes! She smiled before she could stop herself.
Garreth’s face flashed into her mind, and her smile faded as she remembered why she shouldn’t be happy. But she was not going to lose another one of them. Not to thirst, at least. Not today.
The rise came closer, and her heart beat faster from anticipation. Or maybe it was from the dehydration, come to think of it. But she trotted anyway, to the rise.
And there it was. A mile and a half away, she guessed, but that was no more than a half-hour’s walk, forty minutes at the outside. She checked her watch. It was 9:18. Before 10:00, they’d be drinking their fill.
She waited for the others to catch up to her. Laina was limping. But that would be better by tomorrow. Rex was massaging his forehead. Ahead, she had the cure for his headache too.
Ted reached her first. He whooped and offered her a palm in a high-five.
The rest all ran, then, up the last bit of slope, until they were all standing there looking at the sight.
There was a lake, and it was a big one. All around it grew healthy green trees, mostly deciduous, but a few evergreens too. At its near edge, where she could spy the shore through the trees, there was a stand of reeds.
The entire area was low-lying, in a bowl in the landscape. The trees extended out from the lake for quite a distance, suggesting a high water table or underground water source.
It struck Hannah for the first time that if the timegate was appearing in exactly the same spot, that she was watching the geology of the area transform, over millions of years, like a time-lapse movie of geologic processes. If she understood more about how and why the landscape transformed itself, she might know why the lake was here—or have been able to anticipate its appearance. The next jump—
The timegate. Uh-oh.
“People?” she said, over the excited voices. Everyone had stopped at the crest of the hill, waiting to catch their breath, and taking a moment to appreciate the sight of their salvation.
“Yes?” Bob said.
“Does anybody think they can find the timegate again?”
As one, they all turned to look behind them.
“Maybe?” Claire said, but the doubt was clear in her voice.
“I was thinking more of water,” Ted said.
Bob said, “How long were we walking?”
Hannah checked her watch. “Anybody have pencil and paper still?”
“There’s some in Garreth’s backpack,” Zach said.
“Will you take notes, please? It’s fifteen after now,” she said, once he had pencil and paper in hand. “And we made the turn at what time along the ridge yesterday?”
“Maybe four hours’ travel ago?” Rex said. “I’m trying to remember what the shadows looked like.”
Dixie said, “I’m thirsty. Can’t we do this while we walk?”
Bob said, “Let’s try to do it now, while it’s fresh in our heads. Five minutes’ more wait for water won’t kill us.”
They talked about their memories, counted the hills, and Zach wrote down the times and distances, as best as they could recall. There weren’t many landmarks to remember. One patch of dry bushes looked the same as the next.
Rex said, “Are we assuming we’ll walk as quickly later as we did this time?”
Bob said, “Better to have an estimate than no guess at all.”
Hannah asked Zach to read back his notes and, satisfied that they could get back to the vicinity of the timegate, she had them move along.
Ted was the first to break into a run, flying down the last slope.
“Wait,” she called, but there was no use. All the kids had started to run.
Bob said, “I guess we have to jog too, though it’s going to hurt my knee.”
Hannah raised her voice to carry as far as Ted. “Remember there are predators out here!”
Jodi raised her hand in the air, to show she’d heard.
“I guess that will have to do,” Bob said. “And walking will give us a chance to talk.”
Hannah braced herself for another lecture. But she didn’t get it.
“I’m glad you seem to be snapping out of it. For awhile there, you had turned from a leader into a liability.”
“I don’t feel like much of a leader.”
“But you are. And we still need you. So you’re going to be okay?”
Okay? No. She’d never be okay. Some experiences changed you forever, and not for the better. As awful as it was, what had come before in her life, she knew that there was more to come, that these ancient worlds had worse to throw at her. Whenever she thought of that, she wanted to sit down where she was and give up. “I’m trying,” she said.
He let some time pass before he said, “We need shelter, right?”
“We do.”
“A bunch of trees. Maybe we can build a log cabin.”
“I don’t have the knowledge or skill. And we don’t have an axe.”
“A big lean-to? A wikiup?”
“Maybe.” Her mind was still working too sluggishly. But even discounting that...planning for survival, working for survival: that required a certain mindset. You had to really and truly want to live. She did not.
But you don’t want another one of the kids to die.
That was true. So she tried to think through the fog of dehydration. “If we can find more clay, we can make bricks. That’s pretty simple.”
“And bake them underground, like we did the pots?”
“Yeah, keep a big fire going. At least there’s plenty of fuel for it out there.”
“So you’ll build a brick house?”
“Not entirely. But up to chest-high or so. Waist-high might do it. I’m thinking, there are some big animals here, and bricks might be protection enough.”
“We’ve seen one, but there are others, I’m sure.”
“So a lean-to won’t do it. We need something to stand up to an animal pushing against it.”
“I’m pretty sure the uintathere could push over a wall of bricks.”
“No doubt. But we build it between the trees, and they’re unlikely to come in there. The trees will be a defense too.”
“What about a roof?”
“I guess take down saplings. Build a frame. Make cordage, and lash some sort of roofing material. Pine boughs, maybe. I don’t see anythi
ng like gingko or palm.”
Bob was silent for a while. They were approaching the edge of the trees, following the trail of the teenagers. “We need an axe. We’d have so many other choices, if we had one.”
“I don’t know how to make one. I’ve never made arrowheads, even.”
“All we need is a sharp edge. One sharp edge. So if we broke rocks in half, we should get some. And then why not use them as hand axes? Just hold the thing on the dull side, and use the broken, sharp edge to cut through things. The most basic tool imaginable, but it should be effective, at least for cutting down saplings.”
Hannah heard laughter from up ahead. “They’re not keeping watch.”
“No. Maybe their noise will keep away predators.”
“The hand axe. Sounds good. And we need a quick shelter, while we’re finding clay and making bricks. We won’t build it overnight.”
Bob nodded. “It’s a lot of work. Are you up to it?”
“I guess I have to be, don’t I?”
“And we need food. I’m damned hungry myself.”
Hannah wasn’t. But she knew she needed to eat. “When you’re hydrated, you’ll feel that worse.”
“So, fishing has to come first, before shelter.”
“Yeah. At least we have the net already.”
“And Claire’s pole.”
“Did she manage to bring it?” It had been chaotic back at the plateau, and Hannah hadn’t done a thing to make sure all the gear came through with them. But Bob, it seemed, had. Or maybe the kids themselves.
Bob said, “You sure you’re up to this?”
“Do we have any choice?” she said. “If I were home, I’d take a vacation and spend two weeks in bed, watching old movies and crying myself to sleep. But that’s not an option, is it?”
“No.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I know you must be grieving him too. I don’t mean to be selfish.”
Bob nodded.
They followed the kids’ path into the trees. The woods got dense, and then the trees thinned again and the land sloped down to a rocky shore. The kids were mostly in the lake already, washing themselves and their clothes at the same time. Hannah noticed that wads of the saponaceous plant leaves were in more than one hand. They’d brought them from the Paleocene. Now they’d have to hunt another such plant here.
She wanted to warn them of possible dangers, but she wondered if there were any in the lake. It didn’t seem the right climate for crocodiles or alligators, nor was the lake at all swampy. It looked like the sort of lake that, on a summer vacation, would be pleasant to swim across. It was on the tip of her tongue to call out “Be careful,” but she stopped herself. If there was a danger, it would present itself soon enough. And saying “be careful” every time they did anything made them stop attending to the words at all.
But she really wanted them to be careful. No more deaths, please.
At the lake, she peeled off her pack and rooted inside for the bottle. She filled it with lake water and offered it to Bob. He shook his head and knelt by the lakeside, scooping water into his mouth. Hannah drank from the bottle. It actually hurt her throat, which, like her tongue, was swollen and dry. She put the bottle down and made herself wait.
The kids were now splashing each other, in good high spirits. Only Laina sat apart, on the beach, lost in thought.
Claire said, “We should be quieter. We’re scaring the fish away.”
“We’ll fish somewhere else, then,” Rex said. “It’s a big lake.”
Hannah finally spoke up. “Predators,” she said. “We don’t know what’s around the lake.”
That stilled the splashing game.
“I know it looks familiar, and safe,” she said. “I was thinking that too, that it’s like someplace I’d go to for a picnic.”
The people deepest out began to wade back in. Except for Ted, who stood, leaned back, and fell on purpose, like a felled tree, splashing into the water.
It was clear water, a blue lake. Hannah saw a bird swoop in, hit the water about the center of the lake, and flap back up, holding a fish in its beak.
She realized the fish was just living out its nature. And the scene was familiar enough. In the 21st century, she would not have given it a second thought.
But now, there was the memory of the giant bird snatching up Garreth in its killer beak. She knew this to be the same thing, part of the same pattern of nature. But the moment of the bird hunting and catching prey had lost its simple beauty for her. If it were big enough and mean enough, it would kill her. It was a meat-eater, a predator, and it was killing to survive.
As must they.
Bob said, “We need to organize.” He clapped his hands. “Class!” he said.
Ted finally did quit fooling around and wade back in. They all stood, dripping. A few took sips from water bottles.
“I’m hungry,” said Nari.
“That’s one issue,” Bob said. “Hannah? What’s number one priority?”
She tried to organize her thoughts. “We have water. We need food and we need shelter. To build the shelter I’m thinking of, we need clay and we need saplings, or thin straight trees. To get saplings, we need to learn how to make an axe. Bob has an idea on that.” She gestured for him to take over.
He explained the concept of a simple hand axe.
Ted said, “I think I could do that.”
“I’d like to fish,” Claire said.
“Okay,” Hannah said. It felt like a physical effort, pulling her mind and will together. “So what if we divide into three groups. The net team and Claire will fish. Bob can take some of you over around the lake that way. You’ll be looking for clay and saplings, for a good home site. And I’ll go with another group to do the same thing.” When she counted the numbers, she felt another stab of pain at remembering Garreth wasn’t part of the count.
Rex, Dixie, and Ted could work the cast net. It had taken more people to operate it at the beginning, but as they gained skill, the numbers required to accomplish the same thing diminished. Those were the three most experienced. Claire would fish with pole and line. That left Bob and her exploring with Nari, Jodi, Laina, and Zach.
It was strange how the loss of one person made the numbers feel so much smaller. Jodi and Zach volunteered to go with her, and she led them into the trees, counterclockwise from the fishing spot. She explained what they were looking for—a stand of bigger trees for protection but which also had a clearing, or a patch of brush easy to remove, big enough to build a house. And then some saplings nearby to harvest for the structure. Clay soil. Thick evergreen boughs for roofing. Any plant, like a vine, that might be usable as cordage without having to weave grasses into cords.
“That’s a lot to look for,” Jodi said. “Do you expect to find it all in one spot?”
“And the clay—I don’t know where to find that,” Zach said.
“Don’t forget to keep an eye out for danger too,” Hannah said.
Jodi said, “It feels more like our world, do you notice?”
“It does,” Hannah said. “But it’s not our world. We humans had killed off almost all the big predators there were in North America, over the past twelve thousand years or so, since the first Indians arrived and they began the slaughter. There are just a few mountain lions and wolves left.”
Zach said, “We’re the endangered species here, aren’t we?”
Hannah hadn’t thought of it in quite that way before, but he was right. “We are.”
They wove in and out of the trees, stopping to drink small amounts frequently. She could feel her body still aching for more fluids and suspected it would take a full twenty-four hours to recuperate from the days of dehydration. She kept her eye on her watch, wanting to make sure to return to the others at the promised time, not wanting to worry anyone needlessly.
“Look!” Jodi said. “Horses.”
They had walked out of the woods at the lake to refill the water bottle and had startled several foot-high
horses drinking. They scattered at the sound of the intruders.
“Those looked a little more like horses, at least,” Zach said. “Than the last ones, I mean.”
“We’ve moved forward in time.”
“But those other animals—the ones at the hilltop,” Jodi said. “The hell pigs and the name I can’t remember. They didn’t look like anything at all normal. Familiar.”
“Yeah,” Hannah said. The sight of horses had reminded her of Traveller, the Paleocene foal Garreth had tamed. She wished—for all the good it did—that she wasn’t reminded of him so often.
If she couldn’t forget him, at least she should get engaged in a work project, to distract herself from painful memories. She checked the shore while Zach filled the water bottle.
She said, “You two see these prints?”
Jodi came toward her.
Hannah held up a hand. “There are some right by your feet.”
The girl looked down. “Oh, these little half-moon things?”
“Hoof marks.” Hannah looked around, and over in a pile of pine needles at the wood’s edge, she saw scat. She walked over to check it. “And scat here. Looks a lot like deer or antelope.”
“Are there deers?” Jodi frowned. “Sorry, it’s deer, isn’t it, the same for the plural.”
“I don’t know. I saw oreodonts. And there are animals like deer this long ago, I believe, even if they aren’t quite our deer yet.”
Zach handed the water bottle to Jodi and said, “Deer had to evolve from something.”
“That’s true,” Hannah said. “I bet these are edible.”
Jodi said, “We have fish.”
“Not quite yet,” Hannah said. “And I’d like everybody to eat red meat too, and organs, for the nutrition of them. Let’s keep looking for a campsite.”
In the next patch of woods, she found a fruiting tree. It was no fruit she knew, and the fruit weren’t dropping yet, so they probably weren’t ripe. She grabbed a low limb and gave it a shake, and one of the fruit fell. It was not quite round—more like lemon-shaped, though not citrus. It was thin-skinned. Hannah took out her knife, cut it in half, and found a big seed inside, a pit.
“What is it?” Jodi asked.
